#I feel like I might have overstepped a few boundaries with this one
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howdeepthegrave · 3 days ago
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Completed Agathario stories + one Agathario series I've written that I actually almost feel a little pride over. Maybe you'll like them.
Leave a Little Light On: Post-show fix-it two-point (episode 4 and episode 8) canon divergence. Agatha and Rio overstepped some mutual boundaries on the Witches' Road. That act leads to familiar consequences with some possibly dangerous repercussions. Why I think it's a good 'un: Just pleased with the arcs I gave everyone.
The Time We Have Remaining: Four story series starting as canon divergence from just after episode 5 of Wandavision. Agatha cons Wanda into bringing Nicky to the Hex... But she doesn't expect Rio to be along for the ride. Why I think it's a good 'un: I got to spin a few things in new ways, got to do my own take on Wanda as part of the coven on the Witches' Road, played with the duality of Wanda as herself and as the Scarlet Witch, and the last story got a bunch of people into shipping Lenda (Lenny Busker×Wanda Maximoff) and that amuseth me greatly.
How I Cry: aka Cuddle Buddies. Trauma and mental illness have left Rio Vidal isolated from much of the world, hardly able to bring herself to leave her home even to spend time with her small friend circle. A suggestion from her therapist leads her to explore an online world of isolated and touch-starved people looking for others to spend time with. This, in turn, leads her to Agatha Harkness, a fellow sufferer of severe social isolation with a history of trauma. Rio and Agatha connect almost instantly, but what begins as a way for both of them to simply feel less alone slowly blossoms into something more. Why I think it's a good 'un: I put a lot of my own personal mental health issues into this one, and some people apparently felt genuinely seen and comforted by how I handled things.
Working On It: A goofy one-shot based on this post of mine in which social media influencers Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal navigate keeping their relationship a secret from their respective followings (for various reasons.) Why I think it's a good 'un: I am inordinately proud of the usernames I made up.
We Carry On: The requisite rock band AU. In the mid 2000s and early 2010s, Coven True were a band on the rise. Then, a series of health issues, personal tragedies, and interpersonal disputes brought an end to the music. Over a decade after the band broke up, former Coven True frontwoman Agatha Harkness has built a successful solo career and settled in to raising Tommy and Billy, the sons of her deceased bandmate Wanda Maximoff. When her agent Lilia Calderu approaches Agatha about the possibility of getting the band back together for a reunion album and tour, the offer is almost tempting. Almost. Agatha might even go for it, if it would not mean having to deal with the person she has shut out of her life the most seriously: her ex-wife, Rio Vidal. Why I think it's a good 'un: I wrote an Agatha and Rio who, when they get past some of their background issues, manage to communicate with each other openly. Also the family dynamic between Agatha, Rio, Tommy, and Billy is fun, I think.
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sturnsdc · 3 months ago
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The Alchemy
pair: Jack Hughes x fem!reader.
synopsis: Yn has had bad experiences in romance, and when her mom asks why she's so sure about Jack, the memories start to answer for her, helping her understand why Jack is the right one.
words: 4,9k
warnings: just some corny shit, slightly influenced by taylor's song the alchemy, probably some mistakes in the writing—english isn't my first language, non-canon events, slight angst, cussing, mention of surgery, a mom who's apparently quite sensitive, and reader's had some really bad experiences in the past, use of “yn”.
A/N: this is so bad, i'm sorry, this is what happens when i listen to music while watching a Devils game
main masterlist                  nhl masterlist
dividers from: @cafekitsune ! ♡
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This happens once every few lifetimes
YN´S POV
this afternoon, when my family organized a meal and my parents told me to invite Jack, i didn’t expect that sweet melody i’ve been obsessed with these past few days to start playing, and right at the moment my mom walked into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, looking at me almost hesitantly, as if she wanted to say something.
“sweetheart, can i ask you something?” she said in a soft, cautious voice. I swallowed the cookie i was eating and nodded, frowning in confusion.
“sure, mom.”
“throughout your teenage years, i saw you with a few boyfriends—boys who seemed amazing, promising, and very charming. And i can see that Jack is even more than all of that, but… how are you sure?” she said. I stayed silent for a few seconds, processing the question. “Don’t get me wrong, we all adore Jack and his family, and we adore them so much that i need… to trust. I need to know that this time we’re leaving you in good hands, and that he’ll be good to you.”
“he’s different. And i know i’ve said that before, many times, actually, but i know i’ve never felt the way i feel with him. And he’s not perfect, you know? but i’ve realized he doesn’t have to be,” i added, looking at my hands for a second before meeting my mom’s gaze again. “I feel good with him, happy, even with things that seem so small, like, sometimes i can’t see him for weeks, and all it takes is seeing that big smile of his to make me feel safe.”
These chemicals hit me like white wine
What if I told you I'm back?
The hospital was a drag
Worst sleep that I ever had
then i quickly remembered one of those many moments when just seeing his smile was enough.
Jack had surgery, and we were all waiting for him to wake up. A part of me felt incredibly nervous—what if he’s still upset? These past weeks, he had been in such a bad mood with everyone. He sighed constantly, answered defensively, and his performance started to drop. We were losing him, and this had to be the solution. It had to be.
right?
but what if it wasn’t? what if something else starts to frustrate him?
what if he doesn’t want me here?
he doesn’t know it yet, but i spent the night by his side, holding his hand and suffering from a terrible backache because of the uncomfortable chair in the room. Luke had asked if i’d rather go with them, but how could i do that? i couldn’t bear the thought of him waking up in the middle of the night and realizing he was alone. At the time, i didn’t even ask myself if he’d prefer me to leave. It didn’t cross my mind that he might not want me there. Maybe it was too soon to be this close?
we´d been together for a month, and although we´d been great friends before that, i never worried about overstepping boundaries with my closeness—until now.
i sighed, staring at the options in the vending machine in front of me. My favorite cookies weren’t there, so i chose the not-so-bad option.
‘the things i do for you, Jack Hughes’, i thought, feeling my phone vibrate repeatedly in my jacket pocket. When i pulled it out, i saw i was getting a call.
“naked cat,” it read on the screen. That´s Luke, so i quickly answered, feeling my heart race and anxiety wash over me. His voice came through as i bent down to pick up the cookies i’d just bought.
“are you busy?” i heard his voice—it sounded irritated, or maybe just tired.
“not really, just went down to grab something to eat. Why?” i asked, trying to sound calm.
“Jack woke up, but he won’t stop asking for you. He wants you here, and he’s being so… annoying.” There was definitely some irritation in his voice.
“i, uhm, i’m coming,” i said, sounding more desperate than i’d intended. “Is he alright tho?” i asked softly, walking back toward the room.
“he’s fine. He’s just being a jerk,” he said. “Please hurry.” Then he hung up.
well, that’s a good sign, right? i mean, he wants me there.
i felt heat rise to my cheeks, and my heart pounded so hard it felt like the whole hospital could hear it. My hands were sweating, and my footsteps seemed so loud, as if everything else had gone silent at that exact moment. Or maybe it was just my anxiety consuming me. I wasn’t sure. Either way, i had to snap back to reality when the cookie package almost slipped from my hands embarrassingly, right at the entrance to Jack’s room. I quickly grabbed it, but the noise was loud enough to make everyone turn to look at me—including Jack.
that’s when he smiled.
he smiled in a way i´d never seen him before—not even when he talked to kids or hung out with his friends. His eyes crinkled, his cheeks turned slightly red, and he looked genuinely happy to see me.
i felt my heart melt, and i completely forgot about the past few weeks—the arguments, the tense nights, and the distant days. I forgot all my worries and doubts because there he was, still groggy from the anesthesia, smiling at me.
his smile was so genuine that i knew i’d never forget it. I wanna see him smile like that for the rest of my life. I want him to always be that happy.
his family looked relieved; his brothers gave me tired smiles, and his parents exchanged glances with small grins.
“you’re here,” he said, his voice groggy but smiling so brightly.
i smiled unconsciously at the memory, and my eyes drifted out the kitchen window, quickly finding my boyfriend in the yard, talking to my cousins—probably about golf.
“with the others, i got overconfident, and that’s why it was devastating to lose everything with them. But with Jack, it happened naturally, and i had the pleasure of getting to know him deeply before falling for him. He’s an incredible guy—with convictions, plans, and a deep love for his family and friends. And, you know… there are certain moments—the kind that make you realize you made the right choice.
before, even a short, silly fight could destroy a year-long relationship, even if it was over the most trivial thing. So i got used to expecting little, predicting responses, and bracing myself for how things would turn out. But he’s the one who opened my eyes and made me realize it won’t always be like that.”
I circled you on a map
I haven't come around in so long
But I'm coming back so strong
this time, the memory made me sigh.
we argued—it wasn’t a calm discussion, nor was it resolved. I can’t even remember what the fight was about anymore, but i know it ended because Nico called Jack, saying it was time to leave. Jack just sighed in defeat, said a brief goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, and slammed the door. Not long after, i followed.
that was almost a week ago. Now i’m in Boston visiting my family, and Jack is wrapping up his road trip with a game in Toronto. We’ve spoken briefly, and even through messages, the tension is palpable.
Luke and Nico have spent the last 48 hours begging me to forgive him and call him already. They say he’s constantly looking at his phone and that they’ve caught him rereading our conversations over and over. They tell me he’s sorry and that they can see it in his face and in the way he plays.
i’m trying to believe them—i really want to take the first step—but whenever i try to send a sweeter or longer message, my mind reminds me of all the times i’ve done that before and ended up humiliated, feeling like an idiot. So i can’t.
i decide instead to watch the game with my family, all of us sitting near the tv, watching every play. They were winning—Jack had even scored a goal and made an assist—but every time the camera focused on him, a pain in my chest grew stronger. He looked angry, frustrated. He wasn’t enjoying it.
my dad kept glancing at me every time Jack appeared on the screen, almost as if silently asking me what was going on. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t tell him that his daughter was too much of a coward. I couldn’t admit that i was afraid Jack would react poorly, that everything might fall apart over a fight i can’t even remember how it started.
my mind was spiraling with doubts when the intermission arrived. My phone vibrated, and i grabbed it like it was a lifeline. It was a message from Luke. My heart sank when i opened it. It was a picture of Jack, taken not so discreetly from behind. He had our conversation open on his phone.
we haven’t talked in hours, i thought.
“please, just talk to him,” Luke’s message said
“y´all play in NJ on saturday, right?” i replied, and he quickly answered.
“yup, so please come back. I’ll even pay for your ticket if you want.”
and that’s how i ended up here, hiding in the crowd, watching them win again. We’d talked a little more since then—he’d gone back to calling me affectionately, using all the nicknames—but i kept up the act. Part of the deal with Luke. Deep down, i still couldn’t forget the way he spoke to me during the fight.
today, he seemed more upbeat—not completely, but definitely more than he’d been during that game in Toronto.
i saw him smile when Nico scored a goal, and his face looked more relaxed. Something in me hurts at the thought of that changing when he knows i´m here. Luke and Nico talked about how regretful and upset he was, but we still needed to talk about what had happened. It couldn’t happen again—not something like that.
the game went on, and i tried to enjoy it as much as possible, celebrating the goals and finally their victory against the Rangers.
“at least he’s having a good day,” i told myself.
but the moment had come—i had to see him. Following Luke’s instructions, i waited until the locker room was almost empty. While waiting, Nico came out and smiled with relief when he saw me there, wearing Jack’s jersey and offering a small smile of my own.
“thank you,” he said, and i could tell from his voice that he truly meant it.
finally, Luke came out, and i could hear Jack’s voice behind him.
“what’s that supposed to mean?” i heard Jack ask, his tone questioning. But his brother didn’t answer. Instead, Luke smiled at me and came over to hug me before Jack could see me.
when Luke stepped aside, Jack’s question was answered. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and it looked like he’d lost his breath.
i´m not much different. Even though i knew i’d be seeing him, it felt different in person. He is here, and i don´t know whether i wanna laugh, cry, smile until my face hurt, or drop to my knees and stay there. I feel happy to see him, to know he is still here. But i´m also anxious—the possibility of things going wrong loomed larger and larger.
“hey,” i tried to say, though i had to clear my throat when my voice came out higher than usual, thanks to the anxiety.
but he didn’t answer. He ran to hug me like he hadn’t seen me in a year. In his arms, i felt him tremble. I could only hug him back just as tightly, taking in his cologne, the dampness of his hair from his quick shower, and the warmth radiating from his body.
“i’m so sorry, i’m really, really sorry,” he said, and i could hear the pain and sincerity in his voice. That was all it took for my tears to fall. I cried just like i had the day i came back to my parents’ house, sobbing into my old bed, thinking i’d lost Jack. But this time, i cried in relief because he is here, holding me just as tightly, apologizing for what had happened.
“i’m sorry too, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”
he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands. His eyes were red, his lips trembled, but he was looking at me with so much love.
“we’re gonna fix this,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “This can’t happen again. I don’t want to ever feel this fear of losing you again, so we’re gonna fix it.”
and we did. When we got home, we talked for hours, setting personal and relationship boundaries and clearing up what had happened that day.
“Jack makes me feel safe,” i confessed to my mom. “He shows me everything i’ve learned from my past experiences and helps me use it in a positive way,” i added, looking at her. “He helps me, and together we’re building a relationship that tries to be as healthy as possible. And i didn���t even know that that was possible before being with him!” I laughed bitterly. “He makes everything feel right—but not in that honeymoon phase way, you know what i mean?”
So when I touch down
Call the amateurs and
Cut 'em from the team
Ditch the clowns, get the crown
Baby I'm the one to beat
this time, the memory was more casual, sweeter, and perfectly represented what it feels like to be in a relationship with someone like Jack.
we were in the garage, in a space we decorated together, which has a small net and some sticks and plastic balls we use for “training.” We had dinner about half an hour before, and Luke was so tired he decided to head to bed early. Jack and i, however, weren’t sleepy, so we decided the best thing to do was burn some energy by training. Well, Jack calls it training, but all i do is stand in front of the net and clumsily try to block the balls he shoots my way.
i don’t think i’m much help in his training, but honestly, neither of us cares. It’s fun, and i love feeling this free and silly with him.
“come on, at least try to catch it!” he complained, laughing loudly and teasing my slowness.
“i am trying!” i defended myself, but i laughed just as hard.
Jack shot another ball in my direction, and this time, i actually managed to catch it. I let out a squeal of surprise and looked at Jack, who was smiling widely.
“i did it!” i jumped into his arms, and he hugged me tightly in return. The garage echoed with our loud laughter and cheers, and that repeated for a while until we finally started feeling tired.
the next morning, when i turned on my phone, I didn’t expect to find a message from Luke. But when i opened it, my heart melted instantly. It was a photo from last night—the moment I hugged Jack after finally catching the ball. It was a beautiful photo, and Luke’s message made it even sweeter.
“i was gonna tell you two to shut up because i could hear you from my room, but when i saw you two i couldn’t bring myself to do it. You looked too happy. Still, please shut up next time.”
“and… with Jack, everything feels so natural, even though i know being with him involves attention and some undesirable things. Normally, one would think that’s one of the biggest issues, but he’s shown me he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure i stay comfortable and true to myself.”
Cause the sign on your heart
Said it's still reserved for me
Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?
when i started dating Jack, i should have expected that this would eventually become public, that people would find out at some point and our bubble of love and safety would be invaded by thousands of eyes and opinions. However, even though i thought about it once, i never imagined it would happen this soon. I didn't think it would happen now.
it all started with a mistake. I filmed a tiktok, just talking about a book i read and wanted to share with the group of people who follow me on the app. However, i never thought the video would reach more people than usual. It was no longer 100 views; it was nearly a million, and the comments were no longer about the book.
@/garretlover: omg, is that Jack Hughes??          
@/hughesyjack: What?              
 @/garretlover: Yeah! Look at 0:42, on the right side, you can see a guy walking behind, and I swear it's Jack, he literally looks just like him!                      
@/oliviarofan_acc: Yall are delusional, it's just an average guy with brown, wavy hair.
these were just examples, but there were many more, debating whether the blurry figure in the background belonged to the famous hockey player or if it was just a guy who looked very similar. The comments were divided, and the video kept going viral because of this situation.
but what am i supposed to say? should i post a video clearing things up? should i say it’s not him or should i be honest? Jack and i had never talked about a situation like this because we never thought it would happen.
then, the pages dedicated to posting content about the New Jersey Devils began to take notice, some posting the news of this rumor that was getting bigger and bigger.
i guess my biggest mistake was opening the comments on these posts, because unlike my tiktok, there wasn’t so much debate about whether it was true or not, but people were giving their opinions about this controversy.
@/jackswife: why would people think he's with her loll
@/huggybiggestfan: Standards are so low now...
@/john928: What happened to the models? I thought players always dated models, or at least beautiful women
@/kay_fl: I saw the video before she deleted it, and honestly, her voice is so annoying, how could Jack be with her? I'd be in constant pain LMAOA
@/sidney87fan: Isn't she his fourth girlfriend this month? lol, I swear he's always with different women, people worry too much, he’ll probably dump her in a few days.
is this what it all comes down to? they just saw a two-minute video, i was just talking about a book, why is everyone now commenting about me and him?
i know i shouldn’t let it affect me, that i should stop looking at the comments, but it's addictive, and my finger keeps scrolling down the screen, with new comments appearing constantly. "She's fat," "she seems annoying," "she’s uglier than the last one," even darker comments, wishing horrible things for me and sharing information i’m not sure is public or if they got it from somewhere private.
any app i opened felt like a virus, it was everywhere, and i could only read the opinions of what they thought about me from that video, not even realizing it was nighttime until i heard the front door open and Jack's voice announcing his arrival.
“hey, babe,” he greeted, and i could feel my whole body tense up. My chest hurt and i wanted so badly to respond, to greet him and run to hug him like i always do, but i couldn't, because i knew that if i spoke, the knot in my throat would be obvious, and i felt like if i moved, my body would hurt more than ever. I saw him appear in front of me. He looked at me, and his brows furrowed when he did
“what happened?” he asked.
i shook my head and cleared my throat to speak, “Nothing, how was your day?” i asked, making an effort to stand. However, i didn’t go to hug him, but walked past him towards the kitchen, feeling a tear slip down my cheek as i heard his footsteps following me.
“it went well, the guys were in a good mood,” he replied softly, and although i was giving him my back, i could feel his gaze, intense, analyzing.
“that’s good,” i said quietly, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, which i quickly drank to get rid of the knot in my throat. Instead i felt like vomiting, and had to put the glass back and hold onto the counter, fighting the urge to empty my stomach.
there was silence, long enough to make me more anxious. My stomach twisted, and i had goosebumps. I couldn’t turn around to look at him, and my whole body hurt.
i heard him sigh, and before i could panic from it, i felt his hands on my waist, and his chin resting on my shoulder. “What’s going on, babe?” his touch was warm and comforting, and when he wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me tighter, i could feel myself starting to fall apart. The tears began to fall uncontrollably, and my sobs were so loud i couldn’t speak. He didn’t rush me, he waited.
when i finally regained my breath, i started telling him everything that was going on, and he listened to every word without interrupting. When i finished, i looked at my shoulder. We stared at each other for a few seconds, without saying a word, until he straightened up, pulling away from me and using his hands on my waist to turn me around. When we were face to face, he opened his mouth, looking directly into my eyes.
“i don’t care if it was a one-minute video or a ten-minute one, or if i was on the side or the whole screen. I’m your boyfriend, you can show me, i can sneak in. Now, if you want it to be a secret or private, i’ll respect that, but believe me, i don’t mind being in something that involves you, because i really want this to be serious and real,” he started. “You and i both know i didn’t used to take things seriously, and that i had some casual relationships like people are saying, but this is different, and i see a future with you.” His hands gently caressed my waist. “Eventually, people will find out, but today I can start demanding that these posts be deleted and that no one talks about my private life. I can’t promise they’ll forget it, but i’ll do everything i can to make you feel comfortable again and to make sure you don’t feel like you owe anyone an explanation.” In his eyes i saw sadness. “I’m so sorry that this side of my job is affecting our relationship, but i really want you to feel safe enough to tell me anything that bothers you, because i swear i’ll do everything i can to change it.”
i don’t know if it was the tone of his voice, or the sincerity in his eyes. Or maybe it was his touch, his warmth, and the way his words seemed hypnotizing, but something about him made the pain in my chest start to lessen little by little, and only the remnants of my suffering were left in my swollen, irritated eyes and my congested nose.
“i’m sorry, i really didn’t want this to happen,” i said, and he quickly hugged me, to which i reciprocated, my body losing its tension and energy.
we stayed like that for minutes, or maybe hours, whatever it was, it was enough to make me feel better.
“by the way, don’t believe what they say, to me you’re beautiful. The most beautiful girl,” he confessed, making a small smile appear on my face.
“Jack is really an incredible guy, and even though at first i tried to resist, he made me understand that i shouldn’t,” i saw him stop talking to my cousins, and the smile on his face was so big that i started smiling without realizing it. “He...”
These blokes warm the benches
We been on a winning streak
He jokes that it's heroin but this time with an "E"
"Jack, in the recent photos posted on the team's social media, we've seen you looking very happy, and this season has been one of the best of your career. Is there something keeping you this motivated?" said the voice of that interviewer whose name i’ve forgotten.
this is the third time i´ve watched this video, but i can’t stop, and i feel like i’m smiling more each time.
Jack smiled, letting out a small laugh as he looked down. “Well, you know, the usual,” he replied, though you could feel the emotion and nervousness in his voice from that question.
oh, he definitely knows why he’s been so happy heading into games.
“is it about that girl? people in the comments talk a lot about how happy you seem since they’ve seen you with her,” the woman insisted.
“yes, she’s really helped me a lot, along with my family. She’s like a heroine,” he said, surprising me the first time, as he usually wouldn’t have said something like that. My heart beats so hard I feel like it’s going to leap out of my chest, and my cheeks burn so much they feel like they’re going to explode.
“I suppose she really is a heroine, since we haven’t seen results like this from the Devils in such a long time. Do you feel confident you’ll advance in the playoffs?”
then the video ended, followed by another, and another, and another. People in the comments started calling me the “heroine,” and unlike when the rumors about our relationship exploded, this time people seemed to support us, even seeming happy about the change in the star player.
“he’s different, and everything feels so right,” i sighed happily, watching as people slowly began entering the house, including Jack. “I know it’s hard to trust again—believe me, i know—but he’s worth it. And if you ever doubt it… he’ll show you a thousand times why you should believe in him and in his love.”
Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads
Beer sticking to the floor
Cheers chanted, cause they said
There was no chance, trying to be
The greatest in the league
Where's the trophy?
He just comes running over to me
winning the Stanley Cup isn’t easy. Every team fights through long and grueling games, and each player endures physical and emotional challenges, chasing their dreams and hoping to achieve the ultimate prize while enjoying what they do. From my experience, i’ve seen these guys give it their all—pouring in effort, tears, hope, and trying to maintain faith in the incredible team they’ve built. They had to fall so many times, feel frustrated, stuck, questioning everything they know over and over again. But only by doing that were they able to rise again, coming back to win with breathtaking games—like the one where Jack pulled off another hat trick, like it was nothing, helping the team secure that electrifying win that pushed them into the finals. Now, after six incredible games, I can see the result of all these months of hard work.
there are screams, tars, leaps of joy, and i can feel my own cheeks wet as i watch how everything they fought for finally led to this prize—the Cup. Seeing Nico lift it felt surreal, and i feel like my heart is about to burst with happiness as i watch them smile and embrace each other. I don’t even know how much time has passed anymore, because i feel like i’m floating. I hear them singing, laughing, and i watch each of them lift the Cup, kissing it and savoring one of the best moments of their lives.
i spot Jack and Luke, hugging each other tightly, and beside me, i hear their mom crying with pride for her sons.
is this really happening?
then he looks in our direction, and his eyes find mine. I can only smile, and at some point, time begins to blur, and i find myself standing in front of him.
he won the Cup, but i swear, my prize is seeing him this happy. My prize is the way he runs into my arms, lifting me into the air and spinning me around as he laughs, refusing to let me go.
this is where i always want to be—supporting him every step of the way, in every moment. I want to be by his side.
i remember that moment perfectly because the photo Quinn took of us has been my lock screen ever since. We even have a framed photo at home to commemorate that day.
This happens once every few lifetimes
“so just trust me, because i know he’s the one,” i said, looking back at my mom and noticing she was smiling, wiping a tear from her cheek. At that moment, Jack walked into the kitchen, just as the song ended, smiling and greeting us, completely unaware of our little conversation.
yes, this is where i want to be forever.
© sturnsdc 2025, i do not authorize my work to be translated, copied, and/or modified on any platform without my consent and proof of it.
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bittencandy · 4 months ago
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ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔣
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Summary: It's such a dumb thing to have a crush on Mammon, your awful boss and the bane of your existence. You just wanted a few days off from your job to get your head on straight again, but of course he'd have an issue with that.
What you weren't expecting was what happened next.
Warnings: 18+, mammon calls reader a 'bitch'. Toxic dynamic. Degradation. Reader has breasts and vagina but no fem pronouns used, described as wearing skirts. Oral (let's be honest, mammon is not a giver but let's indulge in the fantasy), overstimulation, multiple orgasms.
Notes: 11.2K words. Not proofread. Reader is down bad, Hellborn!reader. Mammon being an insufferable pervert.
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It's astonishing, even to you, how you've managed to developed feelings for someone who might be the most obnoxious demon in Hell - a tall order to fulfill, but he does so with a concerning ease.
His arrogance is on steroids, he's lazy, selfish, and has the manners of a pig. And despite crafting his image and brand around an aesthetic that implies comedy, he has the wit and sense of humor of a stunted schoolboy.
He is royalty. Maybe you could blame his ego entirely on his status, but somehow that might be giving him too much credit. You're sure that if he lost everything in a snap, overthrown and reduced to the lowly rank of the very demons that he despises, that he'd still cling onto his pride and overconfidence. You couldn't pry it from his dead hands.
Worse than all of that though, is that he's also your boss. An overbearing, exhausting, respectless boss. He oversteps personal boundaries, pushes you past your limits, and treats you like a tool to be used rather than a living being.
At his beck and call, that's what you are. He isn't mindful of your personal time or if you're off the clock. Like this very morning when he had woken you up four hours before your alarm could do the job.
You had barely registered that you were even conscious as your hand blindly searched your bedside table for your phone. Functioning entirely off of muscle memory.
The sound of his ringtone had cut through the peaceful atmosphere with all the subtly of a gunshot. You tried to blink past the sting of sleep and the shock of the light pouring from the screen as you accepted the call with the swipe of your thumb. You hardly had time to lift the device to your ear before the rough pitch of his voice - which was way too cheery for 3 a.m. - spilt out from the speaker in an unbroken stream.
"Heyyo, how's my little assistant doing? Good, good. Listen, I've really been cravin' some Mexican - you know the place, right? Of course, you do! I don't pay you the big bucks for nothin'! So, I was thinking that you could go and get me some. Probably a coupla burritos, maybe - or . . . hmm . . . Ya know what, make sure to get the party box. And make sure they skim out on the hot sauce this time, yeah?"
The line had hung up with a click, leaving you to sit alone in silence that suddenly felt too quiet instead of peaceful. He hadn't let you get a single word in. The option to try and reject his order was cut off with an abrupt kind of casualness.
You didn't want to move from the warmth of your bed. You didn't want to get dressed and figure out the exact restaurant that he wanted, because it probably wasn't even open this late. And despite his assumptions, you didn't know just which one he was referring to with his vague instructions.
Your mouth was dry, your eyes were threatening to slip shut again, and the sun hadn't even begun to dawn in the horizon, but the even bigger punch to the gut was when a notification dropped down from the top of your phone's screen.
Ball and Chain
wood u do me a solid n pey for it :)
Its kinda expinsive n i don think i hve the money rn thx
All in all: a total piece of shit.
And yet, like an absolute push over you've managed to develop some weird sort of attraction to him. It's Stockholm Syndrome - forced proximity or something. At least that's the excuse you make for yourself. How else could you possibly explain it?
You've been told that you have bad taste in men before. You've heard it from your parents. Your friends. Even coworkers have voiced their confusion in your past flings and boyfriends.
You've dated your fair share of red flags. "Bad boys" if you want to be cliche. One was emotionally unavailable, one was a cheater, and the other an arsonist with a penchant for outbursts that often resulted in murderous rampages. But somehow Mammon makes them all seem normal. A true talent.
So you can't manage to figure out why the guy that makes you want to bash your head into a wall also makes something hideously saccharine and soft pulse in your chest each time you see him. Something that you've horrendously recognized as affection.
You can't track when his voice shifted from nails on a chalkboard to charming and pleasant. It's gravely, coarse, typically held in a jeering lilt. You've seen some flinch at the sound of it, the loud way that he often projects it causing many to roll their eyes or scoff, and yet, like a lab rat that's been trained, you find yourself hoping to hear it again.
Maybe it's his power. The control he wields as a Sin. The ability he has to kill most demons with the flick of his hand.
You've been at his side for years. You know all of his quirks. How he likes his frappuccino's with so much caramel that it's practically seventy-five percent of the drink. He has the windows on his limo tinted so that he doesn't have to see the poor; turning on one of those sensory videos is the only way to successfully get him to focus, and he can't really handle eating anything spicy. He'll practically bite your head off and accuse you of trying to kill him if any kind of hot ingredient makes it into his lunch, though he'll refuse to stop trying to eat it. Chewing and swallowing while he moans and groans past the pain.
He's a terrible person. A PR nightmare. A horrible boss. And somehow, he's got you wrapped around his finger.
It's more than a little pathetic. Any self-respecting demon would have left by now. Fizz has - and if anyone else could possibly have a spec of understanding on your situation, it would definitely be him. But he's left. Finally severed his ties with Mammon and saved himself before the Sin could properly chew him up and spit him out.
You do respect him in that aspect. A part of you lives through him, latching onto his act of defiance, his reclaiming of independence and imagines that you're the one who finally told Mammon to go fuck himself.
But you don't think that you could truly move on from him. That you could let go. Truthfully, you don't think that you want to.
You've spent too many years with him to leave now. At some point, somehow, you've grown fond of him. All of the hatred and irritation boiling and simmering down into a soft devotion.
You like him. You actually like him. It feels like a sort of betrayal to yourself, but the sting of it grows duller and duller with each passing day until you're sure that it will soon vanish entirely. Like a faded memory.
It makes it seem normal then that you've managed to grow protective of him. Some might say the word "possessive" is better suited, but it seems like an exaggeration to you.
There are many facets to your tasks as the King of Greed's personal assistant. One of them being his bodyguard - not that he technically needs it. He holds powers that most demons could only dream of wielding, but it doesn't keep you from fulfilling your task and sheltering him from the crazed fans that often attempt to swarm him.
You've delt with all of the demons parading themselves in front of him. Desperately throwing their bodies in his path to try and get his attention, with their tits and asses on display like the perfect depictions of desperation.
So, by all accounts, it shouldn't have struck a nerve in you to see him talking to her.
You weren't allowed into the court room. Only high-ranking demons are permitted during hearings of this caliber. Namely the Goetia Family and the Sins.
You were left alone in the lobby, sitting on some gaudy, velvet cushioned waiting chair while you waited. The room is always uncomfortably quiet. Almost hollow in a way, with its vaulted ceilings and spaced-out walls giving it an eerie resemblance to catacomb.
The almost rhythmic tapping of the receptionist's fingers sweeping along her computer's keys echoed from the stone and marble floors. It was annoying. Like a persistent bug circling outside of your ear.
But the irritating noise of the keyboard clicking muted down into a distant hum as all of your focus narrowed down onto the phone you held in your palm. You were tuned in to a live feed of the trial to make sure that he wouldn't make a complete ass of himself. Though the likelihood of that was dim, you still had hope. You were holding out that the fidget toys that you had given him beforehand would occupy him enough to keep his usual antics down to a minimum. But you weren't going to hold your breath, either.
It was a quick glimpse of it, the view on the both of them out of focus while they sat far off in the background. The focal point of the live video trained on some imp, kneeling and bound in chains as he stared forward, eyes wide and chaotic with fear and fury.
You couldn't see what had captured his attention. The scope of the camera fixed entirely on him but based on his expression you could gather that it was more than likely Satan. His judge and possible executioner.
Hearings like this surprisingly aren't extremely common in Hell. It isn't every day that all of the Sins - excluding Lucifer, of course - are brought together to deliver unholy judgement on a demon. All of the Rings were probably glued to their phones and TV screens to watch the trial, frothing at the mouth with the possibility of watching blood spill.
But you couldn't be bothered to pay that any mind. The imp became long forgotten; the obnoxious voice of the pale, avian Goetia strutting about the dim room and the deep timbre of Satan dulled into a muted hush as your focus narrowed down onto a single, fleeting interaction.
The camera barely picked up the audio. The sound of Mammon's voice coming out muffled despite the hearing taking place in a large, cavernous room. The grin on his face was a joyful one, the flash of his serrated teeth making the sinister edge of it even more sadistic in his obvious gloating.
It felt like ice was in your veins, streaking up your throat to choke you as he shuffled over from his end of the gallery, dragging his chair with him to plop himself at her side. Smiling wide, happy and practically vibrating in place before his expression shifted into something bordering on sleazy.
You couldn't help the way your talons sunk into the arm rest of your seat, claws sinking into the padding with dull pops! as you watched his gloved hand slip onto the face of the counter to walk his fingers over the worn wood as he spoke.
You didn't miss the soft smile her left head passed him, long lashes batting at him before she casted her other half a questioning look. As though she was gauging her other side's reaction to whatever he might have said to her. Like she was asking her other part permission.
Permission to do what?
That's the question that twisted in your stomach and coiled like something molten and nasty.
He was practically leering. Eyebrows raised while he grinned at Leviathan dumbly around some dick shaped popsicle. Never have you ever wanted to slap him so strongly before. Not in all of your years of working under him has he made you feel so angry but seeing them together made your blood a venom in your veins.
It was a brief little interaction, and in a split second it managed to dig under your skin like a splinter.
You aren't sure why their relationship cuts at something deep. The bonds that the Sins have with each other has been considered almost familial. Having been casted from Heaven, it's brought them close despite their all of their differences. It's a relationship that you know you don't have with him. You're just the grunt meant to pick up his morning coffee and schedule the meetings that he probably won't bother to show up for.
Why would he ever look at you? You're just another person who works for him. Someone below his rank.
You know it's stupid. Your little crush. And yet, you can't find it within yourself to try and tear it down, to pick it apart piece by piece until it crumbles and disappears. You aren't dignified for that apparently, so instead, you wallow.
It's been close to a week since the hearing, and you still haven't managed to snap yourself out of the headspace that it had all but shoved you into.
There's been a cloud over you ever since. Nasty and suffocating. You've tried ignoring it. Moving past it and simply focusing on your work like you always do, but it's stubborn. Sinking in deep and latching on like some sort of parasite.
Seeing Mammon everyday doesn't help. It's only invigorating the burning ache of jealousy that threatens to cripple your lungs and leave you choking each time you have to look at him.
It's a slap to the face each time. A not so gentle reminder of the way he had sought out her attention. It's rare to see him deliberately seek out someone. Sure he has his fans. It's no secret that he loves being in the spotlight, preening under the approval of thousands, eating it up light he's starved and it's the only thing that might save him.
But for him to invite himself into someone's space without the motive of something underhanded, which seems like a defiance against some sort of law in nature, is something that you never imagined seeing. It makes you sick your stomach that it wasn't for you.
You need a break. A moment to properly catch your breath and recollect yourself. To get a grip so that you don't slip and let your emotions get the best of you. The last thing you want to do is have a break down during work, possibly in public, and in front of Mammon no less.
It's why you're standing in the middle of his office, in front of his desk. Though calling it an office is being a bit generous, considering that he spends all of his time in it sitting on his ass, watching trash television from the flatscreen that he had posted on the wall across from his desk, ignoring the important phone calls and meetings and business updates that he should be approving.
Much like he's doing right at this moment. There are piles of paperwork and files that are stacked into columns on the face of his desk. Forgotten in favor of the food that he's shoveling down his mouth, cheeks bulging as he sits with his attention transfixed on the screen.
The urge to pick up his slack and sort through the documents is kneejerk, and you have to forcefully remind yourself that you're not here to do his job.
"Mammon, sir," you call.
He doesn't so much as flinch at the sound of your voice. He definitely didn't hear you. His vision hasn't strayed from the cheesy reality show playing. There's a glazed over look in his eyes that has irritation prickling along your skin.
"Mammon." You try again, but he's still miles away. Or his ignoring you. That's definitely a possibility. You repeat his name two more times. The control in your tone audibly slipping, turning thin and clipped. The irritation, the stress of your job, the jealousy still lurking underneath it all has your restrain fracturing.
You hardly register your body leaning over, one of your palms striking down on the desk with a pronounced crack that reverberates up your arm in a heavy ache. You're too distracted to fully notice the flash of pain, too caught up in your impatience.
Finally, he acknowledges you. His eyes shift from the TV and move onto you. But the glance that he gives is quick and lazy.
"What are you doin' here?" he asks, gracelessly cramming in another grab of chips past his teeth.
You have to suck in a deep breath to keep your temper in check. A slow inhale and the simmering heat building in your body dies down into a faint thrum. You clear your throat, pulling back from the desk to straighten your posture and you make a deliberate decision to ignore the bit of ketchup that's transferred onto your palm from his desk.
"I wanted to request some time off, sir," you answer. The words are like ash on your tongue, but you swallow the guilt down. You're allowed to make time for yourself. You're allowed to ask for this. "Not for long. Just a day or two to relax and get a few things in order. I've ran it by Juno already, and they've agreed to cover the days I'd be gone. It's a short amount of time and they have enough experience to be capable-"
"No."
You blink at the response. There's a finality to it despite the relaxed way it was delivered. You're not exactly surprised by his refusal, mostly disappointed. Still, it doesn't keep your annoyance and confusion from showing on your face.
"Can I ask why?"
He sighs like you're the problem. Rolling his eyes dramatically before speaking around his chewing. "I'm not payin' for your leave."
Cheap bastard.
"I don't need you to."
"It's still no."
"Why not?" You can't hide your exasperation now, your arms flaring out from your sides.
He doesn't answer, opting to silently drop the near empty bag of chips, and for a moment you fear that you've lost him again. The sound of his chewing is horrendous this close, and despite having worked for him for three years, it's a habit of his that you haven't entirely moved past. Even worse is that you somehow manage to find him attractive, like some kind of curse.
"Cause I need you here-" one of his lower hands raises to point a finger at you, almost performative like he's in a commercial- " taking care of business and keepin' this fucking machine runnin.' "
"That's what Juno is for." You can't help how slowly you enunciate the sentence, slipping it from your tongue carefully like he's slow.
He doesn't appear to be insulted. When he speaks your name, it's laced with an affection that you wish was real. But it's too sweat, too gentle to be authentic, and the truth of that is like a knife in the chest.
"You know no one else does it like you do. You're the only one that can almost keep up with me." His face is pinched in a sincerity that logic tells you is fake, but that foolish romantic in you delights in the sight of it. "You're the glue that keeps this place together. You handle all the borin', useless bullshit while I entertain the masses. It's what makes us work."
Us.
It's so tempting. So close to what you want, but it's not real. You have to force yourself to keep your head on straight and ignore the fluttering in your chest.
He sits up from his chair and rounds his desk to approach you; the bells on his fool's cap chime and jingle, growing louder in his approach. He's still wearing that patient, understanding expression. The sharp edges of his grin have softened into something gentle, and it's so easy to pretend that it's authentic.
It takes you by surprise when he doesn't stop, raising up a pair of hands to cradle your face in his palms. It's a manipulation tactic. You know it is. You've seen him do it to Fizzarolli in the past. Using embraces and tender touches to lull him into a false sense of security, and it pisses you off that he's doing it now. It pisses you off more that you're actually lured by it.
His hands are cool. You can feel it through the rich leather of his gloves; buttery and smooth, chilled by the natural cold of his skin. But it's soothing in a way that it shouldn't be.
"You've never asked for time off in all these years. Are you really gonna leave me now?" He frowns. He's pouting. "You know the rest of 'em are bloody useless. Couldn't find their asses with a fuckin' map. You can't leave me with them, it'll be a disaster."
You want to tell him that he's being dramatic. That it's only two days, but the words die out in your throat. His eyes have gone wide. Big and pitiful like a puppy that's been kicked. It's the image of dramatic. An exaggerated display of hurt and worry.
A stubborn streak of guilt shoots through you despite your basic reasoning. The voice of common sense flickering out for one moment before you're able to reign it back into place.
He's just manipulating you. He's too lazy to deal with his business himself and as good as Juno might be as a temporary stand-in, you doubt that they'll be able to balance all of his responsibilities and yours - even if it is for two days.
All of the assistants before you had either been fired or died. He's not an easy individual to work for. He's exhausting, particular, and petulant, but you have to trust that Juno will be able to handle it. For your own sanity, they have to.
"C'mon, sweet thing. Tell me what's wrong in that little brain of yours." His voice dips from the high tone that it's usually held in, lowering into something smooth and husky.
You don't know if you've ever heard it sound like this before, and it's like you've been doused in something liquid and simmering. A shiver trickles down your spine and settles in your toes.
He did that on purpose. He had to.
His eyes seem like they're burning. The bright chartreuse boring into you, cutting past your defenses and layers and rummaging around to strip you bare.
You have to stop this. You have to get back in control before this tail spins into something that you can't handle.
"It's just two days," you repeat, choking the words out like they're made of dust.
His fingers flex subtly. The points of his claws hidden by the leather daring to dig at your cheeks. His expression hardens, eyes narrowing. But it's the thrum that's tainted the atmosphere that truly lets you know that you're treading into dangerous territory. It's electric. Pulsing and wild and licking at your skin with the threat to sting.
"You're actin' pretty fucking selfish, ya know."
That's enough to snap you out your trance. You rip yourself out of his hands, backing away to create space so that you can think. Clarity drops over you like a bucket of frigid water, and the combination his static filling the air has your stomach flipping.
"I don't see how this is a big deal. It's not that big of a deal, you're just making it one for no reason."
In comparison to the other accusations and insults that Mammon has jabbed at you during your time with him, this is far from first place, but it's enough to tip you into an angry ramble. You can't seem to stop yourself now that it's started. Your mind and mouth slipping away from you and finally letting everything that you've been struggling to keep contained gushing from out in deluge.
"You're such an asshole. You're selfish, and stupid, and you have the table manners of toddler -" his mouth twists into a snarl, and if you were able to help it you'd shut up, but you can't - "you're a shitty person. You're a shitty boss.
I've skipped out on so much for you and this fucking job: birthdays, parties, sick days - I don't even get days off because you can't ever stop blowing up my phone with literally the dumbest requests. 'Can you go down to the mall and get me a pair of shoes.' 'Go to Gluttony to that donut shop.'
I can't believe I actually have feelings for you."
Time freezes. There's no air in your lungs. Your heart drops to your ass.
It all goes flat. There isn't any noise. For the first time in his life, Mammon has been left speechless. And you certainly can't make yourself speak. Your voice is gone. It's vanished and died.
You feel outside of yourself and hyperaware of your own limbs all at once. Your skin is too tight. The air is hot. You're suffocating.
And Mammon is staring. He looks just as shocked as you probably do, eyes wide and lips parted while he tries to process what's happened.
You're mortified. You want the floor to crack open and send you plummeting to your death. That would be a mercy, but the universe seems to revel in your misery because the ground under your feet remains intact. Leaving you to stand with ice in your veins and embarrassment smarting your cheeks.
You're waiting for the boisterous string of laughter to pierce the air. For him to double over while he cruelly mocks you for your little secret.
It doesn't come.
He spares you that much, but his teeth flash in the dull florescent light in a grin that's brutal. He's beaming. Smiling from ear to ear but the delight on his face is saturated with arrogance. Amused and cocky. Like you've stroked his ego in the best way possible and didn't even know it.
Somehow, this is worse than if he would have just laughed at you.
He's watching you like you're a piece of meat.
It's terrifying and thrilling all at once. You contemplate turning around and running out of his office. He can teleport, but if you're quick enough, maybe you'll at least be able to make it to a different floor. A few moments of life and peace without him watching you like he might pounce.
But your feet aren't working. There's a disconnect between your brain and legs and it has you rooted in place. Trapped in your body while the horror of everything sinks into every facet of you.
"So." He draws the word out, long and heavy, nearly singing it. He stands taller, emphasizing the way that he already looms over you. You think he could eat you whole. "Is that what all this is about? You've got yourself an itsy-bitsy little crush-"
"Don't."
It's a warning and a plea all at once. Your voice is somehow shaken and firm. You're trying to keep yourself together. Holding onto the tearing, terrified halves of yourself with a trembling resolve. It takes all of your strength to try and hold the chaos inside from showing on your face.
All the while, Mammon's grin hasn't wanned. If anything, he only appears even more entertained than before. He'll be riding this high for weeks.
"Aw, it's nothin' to be ashamed of," he purrs. His eyebrows perk up, and his smile becomes almost pervy. "I can't say I'm surprised. It is me-"
"Exactly. It's you." You wave a hand in a sort of 'no shit' sort of gesture.
His offence is shown plainly, his smile vanishing in a split second as he rocks back on his heels like he's been slapped. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, come on, you aren't exactly the most respectable person. And that's putting lightly." You glare at him. Almost too tired and agitated to focus on your embarrassment. The absurdity of the entire situation making it easy to forget the anxiety thrumming beneath it all. "Did you already forget everything I've already said? That entire rant?"
His lips purse and his eyes squint in an exaggerated expression that you might have found funny in any other circumstance, but right now it's just annoying. He eyes flicker up to the ceiling for a moment, as though he'll find the answer that he's searching for in the texture and the water stains.
"Seriously?" you scoff.
"What? I'm a busy man, babes, I've got a lot on my mind."
You have to resist the urge to laugh. Swallowing the sound down before it could bubble free, but it still escapes in a thin, humorless chuckle. And you can't keep yourself from mumbling tiredly under your breath. "That's surprising you'd have anything going on in there."
"I fuckin' heard that, ya bitch." He snaps. The pulse of his static coursing through the air lets you know that you might be poking at him too much now. He's killed people for less, and yet you can't seem to keep your mouth shut.
"We're not getting anywhere doing this." You release a heavy sigh, trying to ground yourself. To soothe your nerves which are still going haywire. "It's just two days. And they'll go by so quick that it'll be like I wasn't even gone."
"If they'll go by quick, why do you even need to take 'em off?"
This is one of those moments where you could seriously bash your head into a wall. It's a tempting thought, to just turn around and swing your head into the plaster. If you were lucky enough, maybe it would knock you out and you'd finally get that break you want.
"You are such a frustrating dick. Why does it matter? You don't have any meetings scheduled in that time frame, no commercials to shoot, no venues to attend - Juno will probably end up taking on the paperwork that you do have. So you'll probably just be sitting on your ass at home, or out at some nightclub."
His anger is back. His eyes are narrow, burning in that toxic shade of green that feels like it burrowing beneath your skin. The hint of his power is charging in the air, thrumming and coiling, causing goose bumps to raise on your skin.
"Cause I fuckin' said so," he snarls. "I'm the boss here, yeah? What I say goes."
You want to argue. You want to throw something, to shout, to leave. But you don't do any of those things. You can't. You're worn out. Frustrated. All of the fight in you has fizzled out; water thrown over a fire, leaving it a damp, smoldering pile of dead embers.
This how he does it. He doesn't win arguments because he's in the right or because he's tactful in the statements he makes, it's because he knows how to ramble arrogant nonsense until you just grow too tired and fed up to continue.
"I think I know what all this fuss is about. You feelin' all out of sorts 'cause of your little crush?" He's smiling again. Teasing. Intentionally prodding at that chip in your armor.
You're typically indifferent to his vulgarity and taunting. The most emotion that he garners from you is usually irritation or anger, and despite him being a Sin that could easily cut your life short, you've never been shy about insulting him back. It's easily one of the most frustrating aspects about the way you interact with each other. You both drive each other up a wall. It's a surprise that he hasn't killed you already or that you haven't emptied out your life savings to pay an assassin stupid and willing enough to try and murder him.
But his taunting is enough to have another wave of embarrassment crashing over you. You want to curl up on the floor and pass away on the spot.
He's like a shark that's smelt blood. Sinking his teeth into wounded flesh and latching on. Now that he's found a weakness to exploit, a thing to dangle over your head, he's going to be relentless. Cruelly twisting your arm with it to satisfy his own ego.
This is awful. You had to go and run your mouth. Had to let your feelings slip out. This might be worst case scenario for you. He's the last person in Hell that you'd ever want to have this information.
There's a relief alongside the pain though, but it isn't pleasant or cathartic. It's like releasing a muscle that's been flexed for too long. Pain rippling alongside the alleviation, the stress of it too much to bask in the repose.
"Forget I said that." You don't bother hiding your glare. Mostly for your own sake. In some last effort scramble to at least trick yourself into feeling braver than you truly are. But that twisted, self-satisfied grin on his face snuffs every bit of wavering confidence that you clung to.
"Are you kidding? I'm gonna be thinkin' about this moment for years." The bells on his costume jingle as his body shimmies, like he's trying to contain his excitement and failing. "You're always walking around here like you're all high and fuckin' mighty, meanwhile you've been creamin' in your panties every time you see me."
You wince, rolling your eyes. "Ugh, don't be gross."
"It's understandable. I have that effect on most people." He continues, unaffected by the angry glower you've pinned him with. "I was after all, named the most desired bachelor in Hell."
"First of all, you threatened them into posting you that high in the ranking, and the internet blew up for months afterwards because hardly anyone agreed with it."
"Whatever," he huffs. Petulant and childish. But just as quickly he's rocking back into that jeering, jovial disposition. He's shifts closer to you, eating up what little bit of space you had created between your bodies while you were panicking. "But it does make me wonder just how long you've been sittin' on your secret."
He creeps up with a fluidity that he shouldn't possess. A rhythmic insectile hiss trills through the air, juxtaposed by the cheerful jingle of his bells, and it makes him seem almost sinister.
It has your heart thumping wildly in your chest, and the luminous glint of his eyes pinning you down does nothing to help. It makes you feel like prey. Caught under his focus with nowhere to run. Feet stuck to the floor.
You hate how heat floods you, simmering under your skin, making your breath catch in your throat. You're trapped. Your attention stuck entirely on him as his body presses close to yours, and you can only hope that you've successfully forced an unbothered look on your face. That you seem unaffected from the chill and weight of him on your heated flesh while your mind stirs into a whirlwind.
You have to tilt your head back just to keep your vision locked with his as he looms over you, and it's only then that your brain fully registers his previous musing.
"Just let it go." You try to move away from him, rocking back on your feet, but a pair of his hands lash out in a blur to grip your shoulders. He's got you locked in place.
"Aw, don' be like that." He grabs ahold of your chin when you attempt to look away from him, turning your head back over to keep your focus on him. "So what's it been? A coupla months? One year? Two? I bet the entire time you've been acting all huffy, you were really just all pent up."
You'd rather die than admit to him that you've been sitting on these feelings for more than half of the time you've known him. How you had practically gone through the five stages of grief after realizing that fluttering that he inspired in your stomach wasn't from repulsion but from affection. How you've spent countless nights staring up the ceiling above your bed, hating yourself and wondering why him.
Your friends have all listened to your confused, defeated rambling when you've had one too many drinks. They do their best to be supportive and offer comfort, but you never miss the disappointed glances they pass each other when they think that you aren't aware. Looks that say, "Really? Why him? " As though you don't already know.
You've fought yourself over it a thousand times. Berating yourself and trying to talk sense into your own brain, doing your best to smother feelings that shouldn't exist at all, but they're always there, lurking just beneath the surface. Hungry and persistent, a lonely, longing dog scratching at the door to escape the cold.
"Poor thing. Must've been torture." He pinches your cheeks. The tone he uses, all low and laced with a gauche type of sympathy is all with the aim to ridicule you, and like the traitor it is your body flushes with heat.
Your thighs squeeze on their own, seeking out a friction that isn't really there, and the lack of relief nearly makes you moan in frustration. Thankfully you have half the mind to swallow the sound down before it could leave you, but you must give something away because the smile on his face grows even wider.
"I'd be happy to help you with your little problem. "
If you didn't know any better, you'd say that you were dead. Passed on and gone off . . . somewhere. Another hell maybe, or a different dimension entirely where nothing makes any sense.
You blink dumbly, lips parting while you struggle to process his what he's said. For a moment, you think that you've misheard him, but the words haven't stopped echoing in your head.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Your voice is slow. Careful to make sure that your tongue doesn't snag it in your mouth.
"Let's just cut the bullshit." He says it all matter-of-factly, like he's about to deliver some longwinded sales pitch. "It's not like I haven't noticed. You've been all strung out lately like you've got a broom shoved far up your ass. It's made you even more of a fuckin' drag to be around than usual -" and then, as though it adds less insult to the injury "- and you aren't bad on the eyes."
You lurch back from him, ripping yourself from his grip for the second time tonight. You can't tell if you want to laugh or cry or shout. The sting of how casual he's acting, the lack of tact lashes through you like a whip.
"Is this your idea of seducing me?" Now you're fully looking at the man that you've always regretted liking. The one that made things impossible. Or maybe this is just the reality. This is him as he truly is. The truth that you've struggled to grapple with. That no matter how much you've always wanted to believe otherwise, you'd never be special or appreciated.
"Is it working?" For a moment he almost sounds uncertain. At least that's what you'd like to believe, but the stare he's giving you is sleazy. Dripping with perversion and dumb hubris.
He must see your disappointment because you don't even get a chance to turn around to leave before he's reaching out. "Alright, alright, damn, just listen." He grumbles under his breath. " No sense of humor."
You have to roll your eyes.
"There isn't any reason to runnin' away all pissed off."
"You literally just insulted me. Not to mention, you're my boss. I'm pretty sure propositioning me for sex is breaking some sort of HR violation."
"Since when do we have fucking HR?"
"We don't," you admit with a sigh.
He seems to relax a little bit. Shoulders sagging once he realizes that you aren't making an attempt to leave again. He's wearing that pleased expression again. The one that makes you want to kiss and slap him. "Be honest with yourself; can you actually say that you've never thought of me before? When you're all alone at night with your hand shoved down between your-"
"Does it matter if I have?" Your mouth snaps shut swiftly. It wasn't an admission outright, but it might as well be, boarding close to something that you're determined to keep unsaid. But the damage is already done. He's somehow even more smug; bright eyes burning like he wants to consume you.
"Would it matter if I told you that I've had my hand wrapped around my dick while I thought about fucking you?"
You could combust on the spot. All of the breath has been forcefully snatched from your lungs, like fire eating up all of the air in a room, leaving you empty and burning. You try to center yourself, focusing on the texture of the clothes draped on your skin, trying to listen to the steady stream of audio pouring from the flatscreen, but it sounds miles away; glancing past the height of Mammon's shoulder and through the commercial window to focus on the toxic city skyline.
None of it does you any good.
You feel like you're floating away and stuck all at once, cemented in your own body.
It's a reflex to try and give him some sort of quip in return. Some scratching, humorous remark to try and level the playing field, but you've been reduced speechless.
The thought of him like that flickers across your mind in terrible, tantalizing visions. You hate how your mouth floods with saliva while you picture him fisting his cock. Squeezing it in feverous strokes, the tip leaking for him to collect in his palm, using it to smear over his girth to aid him in fucking his fist.
He'd be big. He'd have to be with how massive he is, scaling over most demons easily.
He'd sound so pretty panting. That graveled edge to his voice turning thin and rumbling while he works himself closer to release.
What would he sound like moaning your name? How many times has he done just that, fucking his own hand with the fantasy of you on his tongue?
It snaps you out from your daze like you've been struck. You can hardly remember how you've gotten here in this moment. The events of the day, the stress, your jealousy, it all seems so murky and distorted, a kaleidoscopic blur.
"I've done it right here in this office." He's slithering around you again, circling you like a serpent coiling its prey.
The confinement of the room is no longer just disorienting and tight, but it feels dirty. The revelation of his perverted fantasies scorching you from the inside out. You can feel his static again, humming and twisting along your limbs, thrashing up your spine in a way that makes you shiver, that has a heavy ache throbbing between your legs.
You've been in this office more times than you can count. Stood at the front of his desk to berate him for ignoring mountains of paperwork and the scandals that he's always determined to get into. Never has it crossed your mind that he's been in here fucking his fist to the thought of you.
It's pathetic how easily it soothes the jealousy that's been haunting you, ebbing the pain away like cream on a burn scar. Ice freezing over something acidic and smoldering.
"You're always wearin' those tight little skirts. Wearing those tops that squeeze your tits just right. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, babe."
You think of all the leering looks he's given you in the past, the quick once overs that you had chalked up to him just being obnoxious. You never gave them any merit. He's known for his perverted tendencies that never really have any true desire behind them, often flirting with people, seemingly just with the goal of being a sleaze. Picking out the wealthiest demon at an even or party in the hopes of hustling some free drinks or meals out of them, but that's typically as far as the flirtation goes.
The individual that had ever truly seemed to capture his attention is Leviathan, with him always seeking her out whenever the Sins are summoned together. Gravitating towards her like a moth to fire. Crawling to her side like a dog begging for scraps.
The reminder is bitter. Sharp and acrid in your mouth. And in an unwelcome rush, you're brought back to reality. Jealousy seeping back into your bones like a poisonous ooze.
"Don't you have Leviathan to go try to flirt with?" you snap.
He blinks like you've struck him, but the chuckle that leaves him is delighted. "Are you jealous?"
You don't answer. You can't. But your silence is confirmation enough.
If the revelation of your crush was going to make him a walking nightmare, then the unveiling that you're strung out enough to actually see Leviathan as some sort of rival is going to have his ego hurtling past the sky.
You can already see the effect of it, how he stands a little straighter, puffing out his chest with a smile that's dopey and complacent. He's eating this up like the attention whore that he is.
"You are." His eyes are ablaze with his delight before darkening. Turning into fervid, luminous pools that has your body thrumming. "I can make you forget about all of that. What do ya say, huh?"
No. It's right there balanced on the tip of your tongue, and yet you're hesitating. It's a simple response. One that would have this conversation ending. You could sweep it under the rug as best as you could, go back to your clear-cut employee and boss relationship - even though you're sure that Mammon would always make sure to remind you of this entire mess. But you could keep your head up and push through it. You know that you could.
And yet . . . You're not sure you want to. Maybe it's wrong - pitiful even, that for the first time in days the anger and bitterness that's been trailing you like a shadow has finally shrunk back. Warded off by his admittance that he's fantasized about you just as much as you have about him.
You should try to remain professional, but it's difficult to ignore that this is bordering close to plenty of the perverted daydreams you've had about him. You've spent countless times bored at meetings or alone at home envisioning him bending you over his desk, rucking up your skirt and fucking you stupid. Taking you while all the other lackies and grunts work just outside the door to his office.
They'd all be able to hear. It would a public declaration. It appeased the sick part of you that you've been trying to ignore, and in your jealousy's absence all that remains is want.
You almost feel like another person when you step towards him, parting through all of your stubborn uncertainty and insecurity. You reach up to grip his cowl, seizing the fabric in a firm grip despite the slight tremor in your fingers.
He looks shocked when your tug him down by the material, the bells on his costume singing sharply in that metallic shudder. Something about his surprise is empowering. The thrill of having knocked him off kilter - as fleeting as it might be - shoots through you like a rush of adrenaline.
You can't keep the smile off of your face as you tug him down to your level; the scent of him clouding all around you with his proximity. An intoxicating surge of musk and ozone.
"I don't think you can make me forget."
His expression almost seems offended, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting until he registers that you're only teasing him. Intentionally goading him on in the aim to get a rise out of him.
His grin is almost mean, all teeth. Like he can't wait to rip into you. "Cheeky fucking bitch."
He snatches you up in blink. Fingers gripping your hips and shoulders like a vice as plumes of rushing, emerald smoke blinds your vision, stuffing your lungs, all bitter and acrid; small charges of lighting licking up your skin and bolting deliciously through your nerves.
It's a quick, dazing blur that has your head spinning and stomach flipping. In a split second your body is being forced over. A hand gripping the back of your head to shove it onto the chilled counter of what must be his desk. A cursory scan of the space confirms that you are still indeed in his office, with the audio from the flatscreen playing steadily while he keeps your face pressed against a folder of files that he's probably never evaluated.
"Should make you do all the work for that bloody snark." You can see his eyes glowing out of your peripheral vision, wide and crazed as a pair of his hands slip down the length of your body in a greedy path. Groping and stroking as they drift, settling only once he reaches the shape of your ass. "But I'll fuck you good this time. You're gonna owe me though."
This time?
You don't have time to contemplate or celebrate the insinuation because he's suddenly ripping your skirt free from your hips with a harsh jerk. Shredding the fabric in single motion.
A complaint is right there in your throat, but it's forced into a gasp when one of his palms strikes down onto your ass with a sharp smack, smarting skin underneath the strength of it.
He groans when it jiggles, smoothing his hand down the stinging skin like he's trying to soothe it but the way he scratches the points of his gloved talons down the bruising flesh is pitiless. It makes you hiss out, spine arching like your body can't decide if it wants to twist away or lean closer to the fire he leaves behind his claws.
"Mammon." You try to admonish him, but it lacks bite, wavering into a weak moan.
It goes ignored, two of his fingers prodding against your clothed pussy, grinding his knuckles against the fabric. It has the texture of your underwear brushing over your clit, too light to be truly fulfilling, but it still has your hips rocking to chase after the sensation.
He's barely touched you and it's already enough to have your eyes fluttering. And then he's removing his hand away, making the pleasure fade into a dull throb that has you mourning the press of his knuckles.
"Damn, you're fuckin' soaked." There's awe and lust in his voice, thick and heavy, blending with the rough nature of his voice and turning it ragged. "How long have you been sittin' like this, all wet and squirming?"
His words are muffled and slurred. It takes the sound of slurping for your sluggish brain to connect the dots. He's sucking on his fingers.
You strain your neck to look back at him, ignoring the ache in your neck to watch him as he shoves then deeper into his mouth. It's vulgar and shameless how he groans around their intrusion, drinking down the taste of you on his gloves, slipping and coiling the length of his striped tongue around his fingers.
You can feel your pussy clench around nothing, a low whimper leaving your lips.
"Feelin' desperate?" he snickers.
"Oh, shut u-" you yelp abruptly, hips jolting from the table making your pelvis lurch painfully against the lip of the desk as Mammon sadistically snatches ahold of your underwear and twists it up. Pulling the fabric taut and tugging until it's wedged between the lips of your cunt, nudging on your clit.
The sound that leaves you is tortured and rapturous all at once. A gutted noise that would leave you embarrassed if you were clear headed enough. You can hardly care about being humiliated while he's keeping that pressure on your pussy, keeping you spread open on the snug cotton.
Your thighs clench, rubbing in a reflective attempt to seek out more tension, but all it does is make you brutally aware of the slick already smearing down your skin.
"Should have known you'd be a slut." There's creaking behind you, the sound of bells jingling as he settles into his chair. It's only then that he lets up on the hold he has on your underwear, a reprieve and loss all at once. "What about it, sweet thing, gonna let me have a taste?"
Chilled breath brushes over your ass, soothing the burn that still throbs from the impact of his hand. It's enough to have your body relaxing with a sigh before you realize what he's said. His offer has your brain scrambling for a moment. Never would you have imagined that he'd ask to go down on you. You figured that he'd already be wrestling to your knees right now, demanding that you swallow down his cock and get him off - not the other way around. But there's no way you're going to turn him down.
"Please," you blurt. Your nails rake across the cherrywood counter, clawing in anticipation to feel the damp of his tongue over your heated flesh.
"Are you sure?" he teases with mock hesitation. "You don't sound like you want it all that bad."
"Yes, yes, please, Mammon," you crumble easily. Giving like sugar melting on heat. "I want it - I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me."
"Well then, since you asked me so nicely." The condescension in his tone should insult you but it only makes you burn hotter. Nerves singing and smoldering like you've been doused in gasoline.
He tears your panties from you too. They pinch your skin before they give, but it's hard to focus on that while he shreds them from your hips, ripping them as though they're made from paper.
A surprised cry leaves you from the chilled lashing of his tongue laving over your cunt, crudely spreading your apart on the long appendaged. His mouth his cold, shocking on your hot cunt, zapping up your spine like ice.
A pair of his hands slip back down on your hips, turning ridged, fixing you in place when you squirm while he eats you from the back. Smothering himself in you with a passion that you wouldn't ever anticipated.
He groans heavily. A guttural, deep noise that has tremors dipping through your pussy. It has your brain nearly fogging over when the length of his prehensile tongue sweeps down to circle around your clit in teasing glides before it dips inside of you. Stroking down to work deep inside like he's trying to drink you.
Each curl and tug pulls a moan from you, pitchy and loud, growing higher. You aren't even fully aware of the increasing volume. How your cries are echoing off of the walls, no doubt slipping past the door where everyone else will be able to hear and easily piece together what's happening.
You know you're going to get looks when you leave the office. Employees lifting themselves up from their chairs, peeking over their worn cubicles to try and get a peek of you, staring in judgement and awe.
How you're going to leave his office is another thing entirely. The bastard ripped your skirt and underwear, but honestly that's a problem for the future. It's difficult to be bothered with troubles like that, to worry about the gossip that's probably already spreading around the building like a wildfire while your boss has his tongue inside of you.
They'll all be talking about you for weeks, but you'll wear it with pride.
His tongue is so deep, reaching a point that you didn't know was possible. Brushing over places like he's searching for something, and when the tick point of it strokes over that patch that makes your toes curl, he centers all of his focus on it. Lapping at that point like he means to take you apart piece by piece and leave you in pool of liquid muscle and bliss.
He's mean about it. Mouthing at your pussy like he's tempted to take a bite of you. Scraping a hint of his lethal teeth over your lips and clit, sending sparks and smoke flicker through your nerves.
The way he does it is sloppy. Almost amateur. Like he's not entirely sure what he's doing, but the enthusiasm he has, moaning and breathing into you, lapping and sucking like he's starved makes up for where he lacks.
You can hear how wet you are. You're dripping, spit and cum dripping down your inner thighs. The stiff hold he has on your hips has your spine stuck in a firm arch, but apparently it's not enough, because he's lifting you ass up high in the air. A sting darts down your back at he holds you up, positioning you until only your chest is held up by the desk.
Even with him hunched over on his chair, there's still a decent height imbalance. Your legs fling out on instinct, kicking out to try and balance yourself, but the sharp smack that he delivers to your ass has you going limp in his hands. He mumbles a complaint into your cunt, too enraptured to pull himself from you, but you think that you can make out something over the cloud stuffing your skull and the slurred nature of his words.
Something that sounds close to "quit fuckin' squirming."
He at least has the decency to snatch both of your legs and swing them to rest the front them on his shoulders, offering you a little bit more stability. It does little to ground you though. You feel like you're floating, even while your back stings and the clutch of his fingers on your hips is bruising.
He's relentless. Fucking his tongue into you like he wants to make a place for himself there. Like he's trying to leave his mark and stain you from the inside out.
You're panting. Strangled puffs of air wrangling from your lungs with every drag of his soaked tongue.
"This cunt's fuckin' filthy," he groans, just as ragged and desperate as you sound. "Such a slutty thing. Wan' you to soak me. Cum all over my face."
His drunken rambling has your every muscle in you drawing up tight. Pleasures licking up your spine, boiling in the base of your stomach, blurring behind your eyes. It rushes up on you in a blink. In a split second, it all goes white.
Your claws lash across the counter, slicing permanent divots through the wood as you try to keep yourself present through the ripples making your muscles writhe and jerk.
You suck in a skipping breath, straining to gulp down enough air to orient yourself through the heat. It keeps rolling through you. Making your limbs twitch and spine arch as he coasts you through the stretch of your orgasm with his tongue.
It doesn't take long for the bliss to melt into something bright and a little too keen. A whimper punches from your chest, a hand mindlessly slapping against the chilled counter as you try to wiggle out from underneath his mouth.
"Mammon, what-"
"Keep fucking still," he chides, stroking his finger over your clit in way that makes your nerves feel as though they've been dipped in lightning. "You're ruinin' my meal."
You swear sharply, mouth opening in a silent cry as he continues to lick at you and gulp you down. It's agony. Clear that he's not doing it for your pleasure, but his own. Getting some sort of sadistic enjoyment out of having you spread out and bent beneath him, tortured on his tongue. Swallowing you down in greedy gulps.
The weight of his static threatening to charge the air makes the overstimulation even more intense. It's fuzzy and shocking; your perception muting down into blurred edges. You're almost uncomfortably aware of your own being, the ache in your bones, the spit and cum staining your skin, the tender throb that pulses through your spasming pussy.
He's relentless and you can't manage to hardly breathe. Your panting leaves you in hiccupping, pitchy sounds that are no doubt bleeding past the door and echoing over the occupied cubicles in muffled cries. Everyone can hear you like this. It should be embarrassing, but all you feel is relief. There's pride swelling in your chest, because you're the one in here with him. Not Leviathan, not anyone else - you.
The alleviation of it pours down your spine like melted wax; embers biting at your fingertips and toes, smoldering thickly in the base of your abdomen.
He chuckles deeply, the smothered noise rippling through your cunt, wringing another set of tremors from you. It's a mindless movement when your hips rock back to fuck yourself on his tongue, eyes rolling as he dips it in deeper.
"Squeezin' on me tight," he slurs, slipping his tongue from your just long enough to mumble. "Want another one? Think you can handle it? Yeah, you're all fucked out already, needy lil' slut."
He pats your ass, all condescending rather than praising but it has you flushing with warmth. Turning hot and boneless as you chase after your high. You will yourself to nod your head, your cheek rubbing along the wood in agreement. That's not enough, apparently, because delivers a row of harsh smacks on the swell of your rump, making you squeal in surprise.
"Don't tell me I've fucked that dumb little head of yours empty already. Where are your manners, huh?" He slips two of his fingers in then, thrusting and crooking them to make you choke. He breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of your pussy. It's crude and perverted. Your face prickles as the chill of his breath brushes over you, a stark contrast to your heated skin and it has you squirming. "Use your words and speak up. Don't be rude now."
"Yes. Yes, I want another one," you blurt in a near delirious surge. " I need it. " His name leaves you in a chant, like a broken record. Each utterance somehow more desperate than the last.
"Alright, damn, there's no need to beg." Everything is glazed over and hazy, and yet a flicker of irritation still manages to glint through the smoke at his snark. You can't dwell on it. And you definitely can't act on it with how he's working each thought from your head with every curl of his fingers.
When you cum again time distorts. Everything seems like it's been doused in syrup, turned sluggish and sweet. It's all been punched out of you until all you can do is sit and take it; struggling to hang on through the wet of his mouth, but he's got you stuck.
His hands are heavy, weighted things that keep you in place while your body tries to contort under his palms. At some point you've started babbling, but you can hardly hear through the roaring of your own ears to understand what you're even saying.
It's all a blur. A kaleidoscopic rush of electricity and pleasure, a weight that feels like liquid and warmth; injected into your veins to make your limbs fall heavy and useless.
He's kept you here for so long - or maybe it's only been minutes - fucked on his tongue and fingers while he takes you apart with a skill that you never expected to be possible for someone like him.
He doesn't stop either.
You aren't sure how many times he tips you over that bright edge, keeping you submerged and drowned beneath in a timeless flow. All you can tell is that you're gasping, keening through empty lungs while you seize up as his tongue forces out another violent high. It shudders through you in heavy tremors. Your cunt clenches tightly around his tongue, flexing and gushing, while the pleasure blends in with all the rest. Stretching out like something infinite. The effect of the endorphins filling your veins making you almost drunk, drooling while you moan out pathetic gasps.
All you can do is whine. Squirming under his hold when it becomes too much, ecstasy twining into something sharp and frayed. You've probably gone all stary-eyed.
He's so smug about it too. You can feel the shape of his wide smile pressing against your skin.
"Mammon, wait . . . give me a minute," you slur.
"What? Tappin' out already?"
You hum lowly, too worn to get yourself to properly speak again. Despite his chiding he eases off, slipping his tongue from you to finally let you breathe. You can't stop the pained groan that leaves you when he shifts your body, maneuvering you down from where he had you tightly suspended on his mouth, letting you sag back down on the desk like a broken, limp doll.
His hands are still firm. Stroking and squeezing at your sweat dampened skin like he can't get enough.
A part of you is still far off and drifted high in plumes of smoke. It's all fuzzy around the corners of your mind, sugar and static humming through your muscles. It makes you all lax and dopey, easily the most relaxed you've probably been in years. All of the stress and anger having been thoroughly wrung from you like water twisted from a cloth.
On some subconscious level you recognize him creeping closer, the electricity thrumming around him like a live wire prickling up your spine as he crouches over you. Hunching the shape of his body over yours like he's trying to cage you in.
"Don't quit on me now," he encourages in a mean coo. It's then you feel it. Something tepid and big pressing against the wet entrance of your pussy, cruelly nudging to smear it in the cum soaking your skin.
You can't help the way you whine. Gasping as you squirm underneath the press of it. It's not even inside of you yet and he feels massive. The thick head of his cock splitting your lips wide open to grind heavy circles on your clit.
Even with how many times he's made you cum there's still no way that you're going to be able to take him all in one go. It's a sobering thought, but the debauched ache that throbs through you at the thought of successfully taking him is undeniable. But you already feel so spread thin, worked out and left boneless; he's going to ruin you.
"Mammon, I - I don't know if I ca-"
"Of course you can," he assures in a rich baritone purr that coils in the pit of your stomach. His talons dig in deeper, like a beast with prey in its claws. "You can do it."
His voice is nearly sing-song. So light and relaxed for someone who's planning to tear you apart. He's already crushing you under his weight, dragging is cock over your clit in a delicious rhythm that already has your jaw dropping open. Hitching the head of it at your entrance, pressing forward enough to tease. It's not even in - not even close - and it already has you choking on air.
He was nice enough to give you what you wanted in the beginning. To prove a point that he could. This is all about him now, and he isn't going to leave anything left.
"Again, and again, and again."
You just don't know if you're going to make it out alive.
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lesbian-for-arthur-morgan · 2 years ago
Note
Request : first time holding hands
I’d love to see their reactions 😭
First Time Holding Hands
Short Headcanons || Gender Neutral Language!
Genre: Fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Sean MacGuire, and Sadie Adler Warnings: None
AN: A shorter post today! Thank you so much for requesting these were so fun to write I literally love doing cute little moments with these characters ~ I hope I answered the way you meant !! lol I feel like I got a little off track in some ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions :)
<><><><>
Arthur Morgan:
This man is a nervous wreck around you. Especially when you first start showing feelings for each other.
It took a million years for him to even admit that he was a little sweet on you, he is definitely not initiating anything past that point.
He can barely believe that you like him back.
The first time you grab his hand is not during anything special.
You’re sitting in the front of a wagon with him while on the way into town. The sun is casting a golden sheen across the earth, the air is warm but not hot, and the birds are swooping and playing in the sky overhead.
Without much thought you reach down to where he’s resting his arm on his thigh and envelope his hand with your own.
He tenses up at the contact, scared to make any sudden moves in case he might scare you away.
He doesn’t look at you directly, instead just glancing at you from the side of his eye. He wonders if you meant to do that or if you just did it by accident.
How your hand would end up on his on his thigh he doesn’t know.
When your thumb starts stroking the skin around his knuckle, tough and calloused from a few too many brawls, he starts to melt and relax a little bit.
He flips his hand around, which makes you pull away slightly, and fits his fingers in between yours. That way he’s holding your hand back and it’s a mutual.
There’s a blush on his cheeks and a grin on his lips. Not a word is spoken, but Arthur relishes the comfortable silence as he tries to think of what on earth he could have done to deserve something so perfect - to deserve you.
John Marston:
John is not a touchy-feely kind of guy. Not at first anyways. He doesn’t get what you see in him. He doesn’t understand why of all the men in the world - Hell, all the men in camp - you chose to waste your time with him.
He’s angsty like that.
He knows of your feelings for him and he gave a strong inclination that he might like you back but never confessed anything really. He figured you understood him enough to know.
You did, but he’s hard to read sometimes.
The first time you hold hands, he actually initiates it. You try not to overstep any boundaries with him, so he always has to make the first moves.
While playing a few practice rounds of poker (John is trying to teach you to play/play better), jokes are being thrown back and forth and rocks are being used as chips for show.
When John’s focus is pulled to the cards in his hands, you take the opportunity to try and grab a few rocks from his pile to add to your own as a little joke.
John catches you and places his large hand on top of your own making you freeze. A smug grin is plastered on his face and he doesn’t even look at you before placing his cards down, showing off a winning hand.
“Read ‘em and weep, Darlin’,” He laughs but never removes his hand from yours.
A small blush rises to your cheeks and his gaze falls to your combined hands. He curls his fingers under your own so that he’s fully holding your hand in his.
You try to catch his eye, but he’s so focused on his large, scarred hand covering your softer skin. It eats at him a little; a guilty feeling settles into his chest.
You place your other hand on his cheek and press on it lightly to direct his head to look at you. You smile one of your so-sweet smiles that makes his stomach ache a little with admiration, and he grins.
The two of you sit there for a while and continue trying to play poker each with one hand.
Dutch Van Der Linde:
Dutch has always been really hands-on with you. (Wink Wink)
He’s flamboyant, a show-off, cocky, and passionate. He loves to show you off and show off to everyone that you are his.
The first time he holds your hand, it’s to explicitly show that you are his and he is yours.
Most times after that, when Dutch holds your hand it means that the two of you are connected, not two people but one. Not just a couple but a unit.
He’s dramatic that way.
The very first time he holds your hand is during an argument with Hosea. A few things about camp affairs come up, plans are being thrown around, and Hosea makes a comment suggesting that you don’t need to be there for their conversation.
Dutch glares at the older man and reaches down to grasp your hand in his.
“But Daddy I love him!” Vibes I’m not going to lie.
He stands a little taller now that he’s touching you, it makes him feel stronger and more sure of what he’s saying. He puffs out his chest and looks down his nose at Hosea.
Hosea rolls his eyes a little and puts his hands up in surrender, telling Dutch that he can do what he wants.
When Hosea leaves, Dutch uses your entwined hands to pull you towards his side a little bit and hold you in an embrace.
He calls you his partner in crime, his other half, and a million other sultry things he can think of that causes a heat to rise in your chest.
He doesn’t let you go for the rest of the night after that, choosing to show off to the rest of the gang members that you two belong together and will always be.
Javier Escuella:
Javier values romance in a relationship.
Maybe nothing incredibly grand - but sweet notes, acts of service, small gifts here and there - he likes to show you how much he loves you through actions more than anything else.
All that and more is shown later on in your relationship. At first, though, Javier is more protective than romantic when it comes to you. It keeps him from showing his emotions at times, and makes him oblivious to your feelings other times.
He just doesn’t know what’s too much because he feels a lot of things, but he wonders if showing all that too soon will scare you away. His feelings are so intense that he gets scared away from you sometimes.
The first time he holds your hand is when you knick yourself while trying to do tricks with one of his knives.
You envy the way he’s able to just do the flips and graceful switches with the blades, and even how he can effortlessly play that five-finger-fillet game.
So, naturally, you try to replicate a trick you’ve seen him do a million times and it ends with a little gash on the heel of your palm.
It’s barely bleeding and looks more like a scrape, but as you hiss in pain Javier has forgotten his chore as he rushes to see what you’ve done to yourself.
He tsks at you and gently wraps his fingers around your wrist to get a better look at the wound.
You’ve forgotten the scrape at this point as his touch is sending jolts of adrenaline through your arm and his face is so close to yours you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.
He doesn’t notice, too busy looking to see if you’ve mortally wounded yourself. When he’s satisfied that you won’t die, he looks up at your face (Which is dark with a blush and you’re trying to avert your gaze from him, but you just can’t).
He doesn’t understand what’s gotten into you until he sees your joined hands and a knowing grin cracks into his face.
“I’ll kiss it, make it better,” He murmurs and presses a slow, tender kiss to the palm of your hand while gazing up into your eyes the entire time.
He knows what he’s doing.
Charles Smith:
I genuinely feel like Charles is the most well rounded of the group when it comes to his emotions and how he conveys what he’s feeling to you.
Communication king for sure.
The first time Charles holds your hand it’s like he’s always done it.
It’s so natural to him that there really is no concrete first time that changed the meaning of your relationship or created some big deal.
Charles isn’t really someone who likes to show off and isn’t into public displays of affection. Brief hugs and hand holding are the only things he can bring himself to do with you if there are other people present.
He likes to hold your hand a lot despite that. Kissing, groping, or anything even a little heated is a big no for him (in private it is another story), so he likes to have your hands intertwined more often than not.
At first he would come up to you and hold his hand out, palm up, with a quirked brow as if asking you to place your hand in his. You oblige, of course, and he would follow you around camp or vice versa.
Now, Charles doesn’t even bother asking before he comes up to you and just grabs your hand whenever he sees you.
There’s no question about it, the two of you are always connected.
If he can see you he is by your side holding on to you.
It’s not possessive (unlike Dutch cough cough), but it’s more for his own comfort. He likes being near you and he likes that you seem to enjoy being near him.
Charles finds his twin flame in you, his other half. Much more than a soulmate, but his person.
Sean MacGuire:
Sean never really knows where the two of you stand in terms of a relationship.
He flirts with you over and over and over again. You laugh and blush occasionally, but end up telling him to shut up and wandering off.
He knows that he can come off as a sarcastic ass, but he didn’t realize that it’s so intense that you can’t even tell that he’s genuinely trying to get you to notice him as more than a friend/fellow gang member.
The thing is, it is hard for you to tell. Sean isn’t known for being the most serious guy in the world and you’ll be damned if you let him make fun of you by flirting with you and making you swoon or something.
The first time you hold hands with Sean is also consequently the first time you see Sean’s feelings for you are genuine, not some trick.
You turn away from Sean after he’s thrown yet another flirty remark at you, but before you even have the chance to mutter “Shut up, MacGuire” He’s shot out and wrapped his fingers around your own in a strong grip. It doesn’t hurt, but you can’t just pull away and tell him to stop messing around.
You turn back and look down at your conjoined hands.
“Please,” He begs and pulls you an inch closer. “Listen to me.”
You can hardly focus on anything but the warmth of his hand in yours and the way it makes your heart swell and tingle.
He explains his feelings for you, every last one of them. Some were a little more explicit and detailed than you expected, but you appreciated the straight forward honesty.
Let’s just say after that conversation the two of you hold hands and more pretty often in the future.
Sadie Adler:
Sadie and you hold hands all the time. She literally cannot tell how you feel about her.
Is this a friendship? Is it more? She has no idea because you’re so comfortable with her that the line between friends and partners is so blurred Sadie isn’t even sure if there was a line to begin with.
One night, you and Sadie are lying outside the tent that you share stargazing. Sadie is telling you what she knows about the stars and you chime in every now and then with your own little details. She loves the excitement in your voice when you remember the story to a constellation or find one that you hadn’t notice last time.
Your bodies are close, but your hands are closer. Lying in the grass, Sadie can feel the heat from your fingers and hers twitch and beg to touch yours.
She’s nervous, though, to take the relationship further. She doesn’t know if she’s ready to admit what she wants.
While she’s debating if it’s worth it, your pinky finger stretches and curls around her own. She audibly gasps at the action and her head whips over to see if you realize what you’re doing.
You’re already gazing at her with soft eyes and a small smile. It makes her bones turn to jelly at the sight and she tries to speak, but the only thing that escapes her mouth are sharp exhales as her words get tangled in her throat.
She tightens her pinky finger around yours, and you understand the meaning behind it.
It was all still confusing, but Sadie knew one thing: Friends don’t look at each other like that.
<><><><>
I love Sadie so much y'all don't even know
Hope you enjoyed!!
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blitziwitchwrites · 2 months ago
Text
pairing: online boyfriend!satoru gojo x reader
content tags/warnings: fluff, imagines, teenagers dating online, discord and gamers, mentions of potential grooming (satoru’s friends tease him that you might secretly be some old man), lowk teenagers having a general disregard for online safety 
author’s note: we all knew at least one person like this in middle school/high school, let’s be fr. anyways, always be safe when online, people! i just fuckin love dorky lovesick satoru, lmfao, he’s the absolute best. please let me know if i should make a part two!
—————
imagining online boyfriend!satoru gojo facetiming with you for the first time.
online boyfriend!satoru who met you through a big discord server for a ton of people who all play the same game. after dealing with a troll in the group chat, satoru told them off and then privately messaged you to make sure you were okay. after comforting you and talking to you after a while, you two decided to go and play your mutual game together, and you’ve been close online friends ever since.
online boyfriend!satoru who knew he was in love with you before he ever even saw your face for the first time. by the third month of you two talking, he would always insist he didn’t even consider you an online friend anymore. you were just his friend. he’d sit at the lunch table at school, ignoring his friends shenanigans at the table, too enveloped in his phone, texting you while you snuck your phone out to respond after you finished whatever exam you were taking that day.
online boyfriend!satoru who randomly dropped a picture of himself to you on one random day and felt like he was going to throw up from nerves when he saw you’d been online for a good few minutes and had left him on read, terrified that he overstepped or, even worse, the one girl who he wanted to be impressed by him would be the first person to tell him he was ugly.
online boyfriend!satoru who felt his heart leap out of his chest and run across his bedroom in circles a million times when you responded to his photos, telling him you were sorry for leaving him on read but you’d quite literally been staring at him and debating with your friend on whether or not his eyes were real because they were so beautiful, resulting in satoru sending you more photos of himself and a video of him literally poking his eyeballs to try and prove to you that they were, in fact, his real eyes and not contacts or photo editing.
online boyfriend!satoru who was so used to receiving compliments all the time on his appearance, but the only time he ever really felt butterflies or anything meaningful about the compliments was when he would receive them from you.
online boyfriend!satoru who would constantly talk about you to his friends because they started to call him out on how red his face would get when he was texting you. people would always tell him that he was getting catfished, or that you had to be ugly or not real if you hadn’t shown him a photo. online boyfriend!satoru who knew he’d be absolutely devastated if you turned out to be some forty year old man just grooming him, and maybe it was foolish of him, but trusted in the depths of his gut that you were who you said you were.
online boyfriend!satoru who noticed that, not long after he first sent you a photo of him, you would slowly not respond as quickly to him. you seemed a little more busy. online boyfriend!satoru who slowly stopped sending you as many pictures, fearful he was making you uncomfortable, but still couldn’t help but randomly drop you them sometimes because you’d always call him pretty or make a funny comment on whatever he was doing in the photo, and it was the only thing that made him feel better when absolutely nothing else could.
online boyfriend!satoru who finally decided to ask you one day if he was overstepping your boundaries and getting too personal, noticing you’d pull away from him a bit more whenever he would send photos of himself. online boyfriend!satoru who almost poured his entire heart out to you, telling you all of his feelings, and how much he adored and loved you and genuinely didn’t care how you looked when you told him that he wasn’t making you uncomfortable, just insecure because you felt like you did not deserve such a good looking and gorgeous guy to be texting you and giving you so much attention when you absolutely did not compare.
online boyfriend!satoru who had to just stare at his screen and be careful how he worded himself when he asked you to send him a picture of yourself, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, only to be surprised when you called him, insisting you didn’t have any good pictures of yourself that you wanted to send him.
online boyfriend!satoru who actually passed out when he picked up the phone and saw your face over video and heard your gentle voice, causing you to panic because of the loud bang from his phone and how his face had been on the screen for all of one second, before it was suddenly just on the ceiling spinning fan in his teenage bedroom.
online boyfriend!satoru who needed a full two minutes to collect himself when he realized he fainted, staring at your face while making sure his could not be seen, not wanting you to see how bright red his face was when he saw you for the first time. despite what you thought, online!boyfriend satoru thought you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen.
online boyfriend!satoru who sat on the phone with you for hours that night, despite the fact it was a school day the next day, falling asleep on videochat with you because he absolutely refused to hang up the phone and have to stop looking away from your face or hearing your voice for even a moment, now that he finally got to hear it and see how real you were and how you were even better over videochat than you were online.
online boyfriend!satoru who woke up the next morning to see you’d also fallen asleep on video chat and watched how your hair fell in your face and you were snuggled into your pillow, and stayed on video chat as he got ready for school, and sat on video chat on the bus until you finally woke up for your own school day, before finally hanging up so he could go to class and you could get ready for your day.
online boyfriend!satoru who jumped in his desk in the middle of class later that day when he decided to spill his feelings out to you and ask you to be his girlfriend later that day, after thinking about you all day and hearing how much you enjoyed videochatting him, and seeing that you said yes and that you also really liked him, too.
online boyfriend!satoru who is already looking up part time jobs for the first time in his life, just to save up enough money that he can travel out to you during his spring break after begging and begging his parents to let him go, who agreed as long as they could talk to your parents and he paid for his own plane ticket, to which you agreed and talked to your own parents. online boyfriend!satoru who, now that he’s seen your face and heard your voice, wants to see you in person and actually get to feel your squishable cheeks and kiss you until he can’t breathe.
————— 
not proofread. do not copy, steal, repost, and/or translate. copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.
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biolumien · 11 months ago
Note
Saw some of your Hoshina Fics and it was stellar! Absolutely fucking amazing. You don’t know how damn happy I am to see Kaiju No.8 on my page. Your writing is phenomenal.
With that in mind, would it be possible to get another Hoshina request in? Preferably a Hurt/Comfort scenario. Maybe they’d have argued or something and they’re forced to actually confront each other’s insecurities. Because we like flawed adults going through their issues ✨together✨
If you’d like a more solidified vibe, try listening to Unsweetened Lemonade by Amélie Farren. It might give you some ideas!
I hope you have a wonderful day ahead of you!! :DD
notes: thank you so much for ur kind words ;-;; wahh... i love angst,... and functional relationships.... which is why i always write relationships on the verge of collapse... also thank you for the song rec!
hemming and hawing
soshiro hoshina x gn!reader theres a bit of drinking, but nothing extreme. word count: 1834
hoshina isn’t really good at communicating. for being the vice captain of a squadron of elite soldiers, where communication was often the difference between life and death–he’s really fucking bad at communication–or at least, the kind that requires you to be personal with other people.
he’s been ignoring you for days.
you’re not even sure why, at this point. you’d thought whatever relationship you were kindling was going fine, right? you weren’t exactly sure where the two of you stood, but you liked each other plenty, right? right? 
right?
so why was hoshina ignoring you? why did he sit so far away, make constant excuses to get up and leave? what the fuck was wrong with him? every time you’d grabbed him to talk–oftentimes having to physically hold him by the arm, because he’d often keep trying to walk away from you–he’d respond with one-word answers, not quite looking at you. you’d sit at your desk, so restless that your leg would bang against the underside of the table just wondering what the fuck was wrong with him. 
were his feelings a fluke?
hell, were yours?
what the fuck had you done wrong?
had you done something wrong? had you overstepped a boundary somewhere? but then again, how could you have? how could you have overstepped a boundary if he never made clear what his boundaries were? were you insane? what the fuck were you doing? or maybe the better question to ask is was soshiro hoshina worth this amount of hemming and hawing? was it worth it to lose your mind over his stupid face, when you saw him laugh at something okonogi said, or exchange quips with ashiro? was it worth it, when you knew he used to make the same faces towards you, used to look at you with something like measured affection behind his eyes–
you slam your head so hard against your desk that you can feel it starting to bruise.
no. no matter what, you were losing your mind over soshiro hoshina, damn him! damn him!
it keeps going on like this for a couple days–you try to talk to hoshina, he shrugs you off faster than any competent sentence you could possibly string together can form, and he leaves. the rest of the third division seems to notice, too–you’ve noticed twice in a row okonogi giving you a worried look. it wasn’t a hidden secret or anything that you and hoshina got along quite well, so if even okonogi was giving you a weird look…
you’d shrug, simply, give her a smile, and ignore the raging tire fire burning under your skin.
the next time you get a moment with hoshina is during a celebration party following a successful mission. you pour yourself a healthy glass of the strongest alcohol you can manage, and chug down the entire thing in one gulp, wiping your mouth inelegantly with your sleeve. and then out of the corner of your eye–
hoshina’s watching you with a half-interested look–a look more interested and engaged with you than any other time in the past few weeks–and you think the sight of that makes you angrier–so unbelievably angry, paired with new fire from alcohol underneath. 
you turn to grab hoshina by the collar, glaring up at him–
“hey, now,” hoshina says with a light laugh. “had a little too much to drink, darling?”
darling.
oh, this fucking jackass–you think you almost see red, your teeth grinding together, and you can almost feel your lips peeling back in the facsimile of a snarl. 
“you don’t get to call me that,” you whisper, voice shaking with anger, “not after you’ve fucking blown me off for weeks, soshiro.”
hoshina’s crimson eyes open a little more, staring down at you, right where your hand tightens against his shirt. you’re lucky that the hubbub of the party is keeping everyone from staring at you, which you’re furtively grateful for. you think, that maybe you see hurt reflected in his eyes, but that’s fucking ridiculous. why does he deserve to hurt? he’s the one who fucking blew you off, who didn’t talk to you for weeks despite the two of you clearly reciprocating feelings. what did he have to hurt over? 
“i’m sorry,” hoshina mutters, and he leans forward–
“don’t fucking TOUCH me!”
your voice is louder than you’d like, and that gets a couple eyes on you.
your face feels red, and you drop hoshina’s shirt. hoshina’s eyes are still watching you, his gaze unreadable for a moment before he turns to the eyes watching you, a warm smile–a clear facade, loud and clear to you, but imperceptible to most others. you know hoshina, now–you’d watched him, studied him with intensity. he couldn’t hide from you, even if he wanted to. which made the fact he’d spent weeks ignoring you more infuriating–which made this current facade, a pretending thing–so much more infuriating.
“sorry, everyone,” hoshina says. “seems like our lovely engineer here might’ve had a little too much to drink. come on, i’ll walk you back.” he looks back down at you.
his eyes have that same strange hurt still reflected in his eyes.
something about it tears your heart across unevenly. 
“okay,” you say stupidly, and you let hoshina handle your body, swing your arm over his shoulder as he pulls you up. 
the walk back sobers you up just enough–enough to realize that you’re absolutely fucking mortified–did you seriously grab him? but the better question was why didn’t he stop you? why had he just let you yell at him? why had he looked at you like that, with hurt and something like pity in his eyes? and you couldn’t even figure out what you were more mad at–
could he have done it because he thought he deserved it? 
hoshina opens up the door to your dormitory, letting you make your way to your bed. you slumped down, pressing your back against where your bed met the wall. 
“i’ll leave you alone,” hoshina murmurs. “get some rest.”
you’re angry again, upon hearing him say that. how could a guy like him push your buttons so easily? 
“so you’re just going to leave again?” you snap. “how the fuck is that fair? that’s all you’ve been fucking doing, leaving me even though all i want is to talk.  i thought you liked me!”
you hate how your voice cracks at the end, and you raise up your legs to hug them to your chest. “i thought you fucking liked me,” you whisper. “and you won’t let me talk to you, won’t let me get close–what the fuck was the point of saying you loved me if this is what you’re going to do? it’d be so much less cruel to break my heat, just say no…”
hoshina’s silent.
way too silent.
“i’m sorry,” hoshina says, and he leans down, drops on the bed next to you–the bed sags beneath his weight, and he raises a hand to touch where your hand hugs your knees to your chest–but you move away. you hate the way you almost relish in the way he seems hurt, but he places his hand between the two of you, a mediating bridge. “you can hit me, if you want.”
“what?”
you stare at him, your gaze incredulous. 
hoshina’s gaze is painfully soft, mixed with that strange pity. as if he deserves this.
“i’d deserve it,” hoshina murmurs. “i’m sorry.”
“i’m not going to hit you!” you say. “what would the point of that be? to prove yourself that you don’t deserve love? to prove to yourself you weren’t good enough? even though this is all your fault–”
hoshina’s gaze flickers at your words.
“that’s it, isn’t it? all part of your weird complex where you deny yourself things that you want!” you lean forward, reaching out to grasp him by the shirt. “so i was just fucking collateral damage to you?” you tumble for a moment, pushing him flat onto his back. he looks up at you, his lips parted for a moment. you feel your grip shaking for a moment, and your vision grows blurry– your eyes burn with tears as you shake. “i told you i knew what i wanted, you fucking idiot! i wanted you! i still want you!”
through blurred vision, you can see your tears dripping onto hoshina’s face–and hoshina just watches.
“i don’t care if you don’t think you’re not good enough,” you say through a choked sob. “you’ve always been more than good enough to me. do you get that? no, actually. you didn’t–because if you did you would have just talked to me like a normal fucking person!” you laugh desperately, crazily, almost–you feel fucking crazed. “and i’ve been driving myself mad! because of you!”
hoshina raises a hand to touch your cheek.
“take some fucking responsibility,” you rasp, tugging at his shirt. “take some responsibility for this! for what you’ve done to me!”
what a horrible thing love was.
your heart feels like it’s on fire, burned and scorched earth.
“i’m sorry,” hoshina repeats, simply. “you’re right.”
he leans up to press his forehead against yours, and you tremble.
“i was scared,” hoshina whispers. “that the things i’d said to kafka and the others–that you’d never know when you’d lose the people you love–that it’d come true. i was determined to shut myself out–make myself unknown again. i couldn’t–cross the boundary. to let myself have love. or anything like it. not from you.”
he sighs, gently nudging you to let him up. he leans close to you, presses his head against the wall to watch you. his gaze–this exact gaze, you’ve missed it. missed the way he watched you, with brimming fondness–and yet here you can see so clearly that there’s desperate pain in his eyes–bubbling and brimming just underneath the surface.
“i was struck by how much i wanted it. love. you. all of this. and i was scared because it could all just disappear so quickly,” hoshina continues. his hand touches your face, and you let that calloused touch, the familiar touch against your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose, your upper lip. “i didn’t–want to lose it. so i figured i could’ve just been happy with a little.��
“you fucking idiot,” you whisper in venomous response.
“yeah.” hoshina doesn’t deny it.
“i’ll give it to you,” you respond. “love. no matter how much you think you don’t deserve it. you don’t even have to ask.”
when hoshina looks at you again, he seems almost fractured at the possibility of it.
“i know,” he murmurs. 
“i love you,” you say, and your voice trembles for a moment. “you fucking awful piece of shit.”
hoshina laughs weakly.
“i deserve that,” he murmurs. “but i love you. i promise i do.”
you shake your head. 
“i know that,” you say. you reach out a hand to touch his face, and you can feel the smile forming on his face.
“okay,” he murmurs. “okay.”
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luveline · 1 year ago
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Hi friend! I just have a small request for zombie au Steve if you’re feeling up for it. I miss him lol. It’s snowing where I live currently and it got me thinking. I would love to see just about anything with zombie au steve and some snow. I’m a little partial to pre-college times but it definitely doesn’t have to be. Fluff or angst bc tbh it could so go either way. Just if it strikes your fancy. And thank you as always for your lovely and warm writing you share!
thank you for reading and requesting, you angel!! some pre-college zombie!au for you <3 —steve acts like a boyfriend even when he isn’t one (officially) on a cold day alone together. fem, 1.1k
It can feel weird waking up next to you. Steve’s so used to taking shifts and sleeping half on top of one another that waking up face to face scares him at first —he flinches and his body fills with inertia as he throws his leg back to stop from falling out of bed. 
You doze peacefully through his panic. Your face is soft with sleep. You have deeply etched lines under your eyes that show how badly you need it, but beside them, Steve can’t find a thing wrong with you. You’re really pretty this close. He finds you beautiful. 
He lifts his hand to your neck in apology though you weren’t awake to notice his fear. “Morning,” he mouths, rubbing the side of your neck gently. 
Your skin is chapped, but his hands are calloused, so it’s not like he minds. He steals another minute watching you sleep, and then he leans forward to kiss your jaw just by his hand. You make a sound he chooses to believe is a knowing pleasure, a happy sigh at being with him. He’d kiss your lips if he thought he could, but he’s been asking first each time for the last few weeks, cautious of overstepping a boundary you haven’t laid. 
The thing is that Steve knew you liked him before he liked you back. Well. He guessed you were attracted to him, then argued with himself that he was being delusional. But one day you were asking if he’d hold your hand, and you wouldn’t admit it but you were scared, and he realised you depended on him for more than just your survival. He realised you were his friend, and now more than that, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t falling for you, but that he just didn’t know how to do that. You were already there waiting for him when he kissed you the first time. 
You’d been so nervous. It was enough to finish him off, compel him forward into whatever this is. (Whatever, but not whatever. He loves it. He’s not sure how to handle it.) 
When he peels away from you, his arms immediately prickle with goosebumps. The room is cold and it has to have been your proximity that was keeping him warm, his breath rising like fog as he stands. “Shit,” he mumbles, mouth glued together with fatigue. “Fucking hell.” 
He stretches until the sore spot at the low of his back clicks and turns to look at you again, checking you’re alright while he scratches the last eight hours out of his hair. You’ve curled a touch into his warm spot but otherwise remain asleep. 
Why is it suddenly cold? 
A white light is emanating from behind the curtains. Steve hopes to god it’s just a bright day today, that the sun is high and reflecting off of a lake nearby, but he pulls the drapes open and startles into silence. 
Powdery snow stretches thick and fast from either side of the landscape. Wind carries it around in drifting sheets, but it seems to have stopped for now. 
He grabs another blanket from the linen closet, a third, and stands with his head cocked by the door listening for sounds. Steve’s more often than not thinking about who or what might be near. 
He closes you both in again, shuts the curtains, and climbs into bed with you, draping the blankets heavily over your body where it makes half a heart. You pull a knee higher and disrupt the image, eyes squeezing tightly closed at his return, and opening sluggishly. 
“Hey,” he says, resting his head on the pillow. Eye to eye like this, he can see the sleep in your lashes. He probably has his own. “You feeling okay?” 
“Are you trying to cook me?” you ask. Now you’ve seen him, you’re relaxing, closing your eyes again. 
“Don’t go back to sleep.” 
“Why not?” 
“‘Cause I’m bored and you’re my only friend,” he says. 
“Ooh, wouldn’t say that. Not sure we’re there yet.” 
Steve cups your cheek. You smile into the pillow. 
He draws a line back and forth. It’s nice to give you something nice, a soft sensation. He thinks maybe that’s what falling in love is; wanting to make someone else happy, wanting them to make you happy. You’re a sweetheart when he’s not antagonising you; you’re nice, and gentle, and you hold his hand like you’ve loved him for years. He’s not stupid enough to miss how awesome that is. Nor can he ignore the way his heart has started to patter when you’re changing, or the contented, near bliss of your face pressed under his chin. This isn’t just about you wanting him or vice versa, it’s love. 
“Maybe you should sleep more. You still look tired.” 
You wrinkle your nose and he leans in, thinking about kissing you again, but you’re not on the same page yet. “I can’t sleep anymore. It’s midday, right?” You squint at the bright square of the window before hiding your face, your forehead slipping against his chin to his shoulder. “We should get going soon.” 
“That’s not happening.” 
He wraps his arm around you. You practically preen, happiness sewn into your words as you ask, “Why not?” 
“It snowed last night. All night, I’d say.” 
You look up at him sceptically. “Really?” 
“You think I’m lying?” 
“I thought it was too cold to snow.” 
“Tell that to the penguins in Antarctica.” 
You laugh into his shoulder. Slowly, your hand is climbing his stomach. After a half second of deliberation, you curl it behind his back and settle in. “You’re not nice.” 
“I’m nice,” he says into your forehead, pulling you closer in turn. “Not making you walk in the blizzard.” 
“Generous.” 
He hugs you tighter and decides fuck it, pressing a generous smattering of kisses into the skin between your brows. “You love that about me. I’m oh so forgiving.” He encourages your head back carefully to kiss the tip of your nose. “Are you warm enough?” 
You’d think he’s told you you’re beautiful, or that he wants your babies, the way you melt. “I’m fine. Thank you,” you mumble shyly. 
He presses his forehead to yours. The snow might stay for days, and eventually you’ll have to brave it, but for now he wants to stay here kissing you and exacerbating the ache that brews in his stomach every time your breath catches. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “There’s more linens if you need them.” 
“I won’t need them. You’re going to keep me warm.” 
“I am.” Steve presses a gentle kiss to your lips, endorphins like a rush of heat through every inch of skin as you kiss back. 
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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 9 months ago
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hello! i just saw your post about Tokyo debunker ! 🫶 and I wanted to request something :
can you do haku, romeo, sho and Rui with an easily flustered reader ?
thank you ! hope it’s not a bother 🙌
Hi Anon! Thank you for your request! I hope you like the headcanons!
Fandom: Tokyo Debunker
Characters: Haku Kusanagi, Romeo Lucci, Sho Haizono, Rui Mizuki x gn! Reader (separate)
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How do the characters react when you get super easily flustered?
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Ooh, Haku’s going to have so much fun with you. He’s a naturally flirty person and that’s only going to increase when he finds out how easy you are to fluster.
Whether it’s a compliment or a teasing comment, he just loves being able to openly express his feelings and seeing you flustered is an added bonus.
I feel like Haku would never take it too far though. If you ever express discomfort, he’ll stop straight away and apologise for his actions.
He’ll also check in with you a few days later just to make sure he hasn’t made you truly uncomfortable. He does care about you after all.
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Romeo swears he’s not even trying. It must just be his natural good looks and suave attitude.
He thinks you’re kind of cute when you get flustered. Not as cute as him of course but certainly cuter than anyone else.
He likes seeing you get like that but probably won’t go out fo his way to fluster you. He’s got a lot of things to do and as much as he’d love to, he doesn’t have time.
On the other hand, if anyone else makes you flustered, he’s going to make time to chew them out. He’s the only one who can make you flustered, got that?
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I think Sho would be middle of the road with this. Sure, he likes seeing you flustered, but I don’t think he would go overboard to fluster you.
I think he’d do things a lot more subtly than the others. Whether it’s making your favourite food or complimenting your outfit, he likes making you flustered through little actions.
I feel like Sho can be pretty easily flustered as well so if you retaliate in any way, you’ll both end up flustered messes.
Sho’s also not someone who would ever take things too far. Since he’s a lot more lowkey, he’s at less risk of overstepping boundaries than the others.
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Rui’s a lot like Haku in the sense that he’s very flirty and likes seeing you flustered. I think he might be a bit more over the top with his comments.
I think he would actually be quite surprised to see how easily you get flustered by his words and actions.
But as soon as he realises how much he likes seeing you flustered, Rui’s going to somehow up the ante. He’s already flirting non stop but you’ll never get a break now.
Of course, if it gets too much, Rui will notice and back down. He’s pretty observant and he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable and drive you away.
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neoraso · 1 year ago
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survive the night | ksw
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summary: you've had a crush on sunwoo for years, but what happens when he blurs the lines of your friendship? content: ftl, slightest angst but it's over in 4 seconds, happy ending, female reader. nonidol!sunwoo nonidol! reader wc: 5.3k an: this took me a bit to finish and it’s my first full length, i hope you enjoy!! let’s talk about it too~ do not repost or rework/copy any of my posts here or on other sites
The wind bit your cheeks as you hurried your steps towards the apartment complex ahead of you. It was nearing 9 p.m. but Sunwoo had called you an hour earlier asking if you could come through for some drinks and games with a few of the guys. In that very short time you had retouched your makeup and gone through four outfits before deciding on a hoodie and sweatpants Sunwoo had given to you because they were “too small” for him. Maybe it was poor taste to wear his old clothes to his house but honestly, they were comfortable and- you might have been completely head over heels for your friend, no big deal.
Lost in thought, you were almost surprised when you looked up and realized you had already reached the sleek, silver door and raised your hand to knock. Sunwoo had given you the passcode months ago when he was too busy gaming to get up and let you in, but you hadn’t used it since because it felt like you were overstepping some kind of boundary. Of course, that never stopped him from breaking and entering your home on various occasions, always scaring the hell out of you but you could never stay mad at him long.
Before long, Younghoon opened the door for you with a bright smile.
“Oh hey, we thought you were the food delivery”
“No,” you replied, matching his smile. “Sorry to be a disappointment. Who all ended up coming? Sunwoo said he invited everyone.”
“Chanhee and Changmin are home, Juyeon and Jacob and Kevin came. No one is really drinking yet. Maybe they’re waiting for you.” He said with a laugh.
You left your shoes at the door and walked down the hall with Younghoon trailing behind you into a very raucous living room. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own conversations and you were such a familiar face, your presence almost went unnoticed. Of course, Sunwoo was the first face you saw (well actually the first back-of-a-head), but before you could greet him you tripped on Kevin’s outstretched foot.
“Oops, sorry Y/N, is the food here?”
“No Kev, that was me at the door.” You said with a playful roll of your eyes.
At the sound of your voice, Sunwoo perked up and walked over to you with his arms wide open.
“Oh look everyone, it’s my mini me!!”
The sudden attention on you made your cheeks burn and it only got worse when Sunwoo’s taller, lithe frame wrapped around yours. You lagged a bit but snapped to and gently patted his back. He pulled away but stopped when his face was near your ear.
“Are you wearing perfume? It smells nice. Come sit with me, we’re gonna play a game soon.”
Suddenly feeling faint, you were glad to follow him to the couch and sit down. This was going to be a long night.
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Later into the night after your bellies were full of food and too much alcohol, you thought you might have entered into some hellish realm. Sunwoo had been glued to you all night, keeping his arm on the couch behind you and hitting your shoulder or your leg when he laughed a little too hard. To make things exponentially worse, he kept leaning down to whisper side comments to you, his hot breath hitting your cheek a detriment to your sanity. While physical affection between you and any of your friends wasn’t uncommon, something seemed different tonight that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
The only natural course of action was to keep drinking.
After another hour you were definitely more than tipsy thanks to two rounds of ‘Never Have I Ever’ and an even a special game of ‘Truth or Truth’ (thank you Kevin!). There was some respite when Changmin asked you to get him some water from the kitchen. You enjoyed being with your friends of course but Sunwoo’s proximity tonight was becoming unbearable. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it other than friendly affection, and yet, you could help fantasizing about a day where he made an actual move on you.
The cup of water you were filling spilled over your hand just as Changmin and Chanhee called your name-sounding a bit more like geese than tipsy boys. Taking a deep breath, you decided you couldn’t hide in the kitchen forever. You dragged your feet back to the living room and carefully handed Changmin his water.
“Did I look extra thirsty or something? Why the hell is it so full?”
“Be grateful.” You grumbled.
He ignored your attitude and sipped it anyways.
You plopped onto the couch and instantly an unnaturally warm pair of arms were around you.
It was Sunwoo, hugging you for no good reason that you could come up with. He squeezed you once then pulled away and grinned at you, making your face heat up more than the KGBs he had provided for the occasion. It was almost enraging that no one seemed to notice that you were about to become undone, this was practically abuse. Finding your voice, and sounding more coherent than you felt, you asked him,
 “What was that for??”
“You were just so cute! I couldn’t help it.” He let go of you, putting his arm back behind you leaving your mind in shambles.
He couldn’t help it?  What the hell was that supposed to mean? He had bragged earlier that his alcohol tolerance had gone up, but that seemed to be a lie because why else would he have been so careless?
You spent the next couple of hours trying not to fall asleep which was relatively easy considering how loud the boys still were at such a time of night. Eventually Sunwoo took note of your state and patted your leg.
“Are you tired?”
You nodded and rubbed your eyes. “Yeah, I better start walking home.”
Horrified was the only way to describe the look on his face. “Walk home?! It’s way too late and I can’t come with you, too cold. Just go sleep in my room I’ll come soon, I doubt the guys will stay much longer.”
You debated this. It would not be the first time you had spent the night together, but usually he slept on the floor or the couch. Now he was implying joining you and that was just ridiculous.
“Oh, it’s ok, I don’t have any of my products with me…”
Chanhee, who had apparently been eavesdropping, chimed in from the floor with his eyes closed. “You can borrow my makeup remover and skincare.”
Sunwoo beamed at this. “See? You already have a toothbrush here, just go lay down please, you look pitiful.”
You hesitated. This would most likely create 1000 more problems for you and your feelings for Sunwoo. The worst part of it was, you couldn’t tell where he was coming from. Was he being a kind friend or did he have some sort of hidden agenda? You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t a player, so it didn’t make sense for him to be doing anything unkind to you, and yet…Whatever. It was too late to care anymore.
After bidding everyone a good night (with many whines in return), you stumbled down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for bed. You examined your drunken reflection, sighing as you swiped away your smudged mascara. What did you get yourself into?
After cleansing and moisturizing, you found your way to Sunwoo’s room. There was practically only room for a bed- a small one at that- and you found yourself wondering if you even wanted him to sleep with you or not. While it would be everything you imagined before sleeping pretty much every night, it would haunt you forever if he meant nothing by it.
You were tired, but as you laid there in his bed with his scent permeating everything, anticipating him coming in to do… whatever it was he planned to do, you found yourself tossing and turning. Honestly, you wanted to cry. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you were suddenly overwhelmed by your emotions and anxiety that had built up over the night. Going home wasn’t an option, so you sighed, accepting your fate and tried to sleep.
After what seemed like ten hours, Sunwoo finally cracked open the door, probably thinking you were asleep. He shuffled his way to his dresser and you peeked your eyes open then tried to avert them away from him taking his hoodie off. Before he turned around, you quickly shut your eyes and turned over. You heard him sigh behind you and felt the bed slowly dip with his weight. He adjusted the blanket over you and dragged his hand across your side before bringing his arm back to his chest. The distance between you (or lack thereof) was killing you. Regardless, you tried to control your breathing so as not to give away that you were still very much awake. The spot he had touched felt as though he had electrocuted you. It was heartache.
After a bit, you heard his breath even out and could tell he was asleep. You gathered the courage to turn around and face him.
You’d always thought he looked a little goofy when he slept, mouth slightly open, bangs messy. But tonight, you felt the weight of your heart.
His hair’s grown out you thought absentmindedly, reaching up to move a strand out of his eyes. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed and his full lips were pursed against the pillow. Before you could help it, tears sprang to your eyes. There was not much longer you could go without confessing, or distancing yourself. This was just too much to bear. However, the thought of confessing brought on another wave of anxiety thinking about your friendship ending if he didn’t feel the same.
 He had been with you since high school, had stuck by you in all your hard times as well as the good ones, consoled you after breakups; you were intertwined. You had always heard men and women can’t be friends and thought you two were the sole exception. That was, until your freshman year of college.
You remembered that time not too fondly. Keeping up with classes and assignments was stressful, but you had Sunwoo who thankfully got accepted to your same university. He was busy on the school’s soccer team but had always made time for you, bringing you coffee on your study dates, cheering you up on your rough days, it meant everything to you. Around winter break, while you two studied for finals (which usually meant him watching YouTube while you studied alone), he confessed he had a crush on a girl in one of his classes and asked you for advice on how to ask for her number. You both had had crushes in high school and it never bothered you when he would talk to other girls, but this time had been different. What had changed in you?
 You thought it would be a small fling but they ended up dating for a year. It was agonizing watching him put his everything into someone else. She never liked you, complaining you and Sunwoo were too close. He tried to keep in touch with you but you saw much less of him than you had in the four years of knowing him.
Eventually she cheated on him. You remembered the dark circles under his eyes when he had knocked on your door the day they broke up. He didn’t say anything, just hugged you and sobbed into your shoulder. In all the time you had known him he had never cried in front of you, it infuriated you to think he had given his heart to someone so careless and vile. You never forgot the way he looked at you when he retold his last conversation with his ex.
“She told me it didn’t matter that she cheated, because my heart was with someone else the whole time. I think she meant you.”
You knew it wasn’t his intention to blame you, but you carried the guilt for months. Not guilty of her parting words and their implication, but guilt in the satisfaction you had for being so important to him. So much so that you were a threat to other women interested in him. It was a sick “If I can’t have him, no one can” mentality and you knew it wasn’t fair to him so for the next few years you resigned yourself to the loyal best friend role.
When you tried to branch out and pursue other guys, Sunwoo was always supportive. When things didn’t work out with other prospects- often because you wouldn’t cut off Sunwoo when they asked- he always ruffled your hair and sighed.
“At least we have each other, right?”
Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you rolled to stare at the ceiling.
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You didn’t remember falling asleep but you woke up abruptly and in an odd position.
Then you realized you were being held tightly against Sunwoo. Somehow in the night he had moved his arm under your pillow and had his other arm tucked against your waist, his forehead pressed against the back of your neck.
What the absolute hell?
This was too far for you, still it felt so nice- and natural, as if you were meant to fit together like this forever. This was everything you had dreamed of for years (albeit under different circumstances). Clearly, he did this in his sleep, so you decided to get up before he woke up too and got embarrassed.
You carefully lifted his arm off you and crawled to the end of the bed. He looked so adorable like this, you almost wanted to take a picture before realizing you never wanted to remember this day again.
Tiptoeing your way down the hall, you hoped everyone was still asleep like Kevin who was snoring on the couch. Just as you were about to walk past Chanhee’s room, he opened the door, making you jump
“You scared me Chanhee!” you sharply whispered. “You scared ME. Why are you up so early?”
You checked the time on your phone: 8:12 a.m.
“I’m starting to get a headache. I need some hangover soup. And coffee. ASAP.” You groggily replied, voice still hoarse from just waking up.
“I thought we could order it and eat together? Why are you in such a rush?” He questioned you. “Um, I have some errands to run. Sorry, I’ll text you!” To be fair, you did have errands and the first one was to get away from this house.
“Did something happen?” Chanhee was always good at reading you, but now it was starting to feel like an interrogation.
“Nope!” you lied, “I’ll text you!”
Before he could say anything else, you brushed past him and quickly put your shoes on, feeling like you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
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The following days were not fun to say the least. The afternoon after you left, Sunwoo and Chanhee texted you multiple times throughout the day to ask if you were alright (Chanhee was a bit excessive). You insisted to them that you were just busy – which was true, you were busy avoiding Sunwoo, rotting in bed, suffering from mental anguish, etc. etc.
The next day, Sunwoo asked if you wanted to go to lunch with him and Hyunjae. While any other day you would’ve gone without hesitation, just the thought of Sunwoo was torturous, and so you politely declined with another excuse. Maybe it would’ve been better if he stopped trying, and you might’ve wished for it. But you knew that if he did, you would be the first person to cry themselves to death. It was a pretty wretched situation that you had put yourself in. This could easily be resolved if you just talked to him, but the idea was simply too terrifying. You had never been good at expressing your emotions out of fear of causing conflict, but this was different.
You realized you were in love with him. There was no going back and you were terrified.
After a week you were invited out with the group- and you decided you’d had enough crying and worrying. Sunwoo’s texts had dwindled to radio silence once he got sick of your dry replies. You didn’t know how you could show your face, but either way you just had to suck it up, meet your friends and put your feelings aside for Sunwoo’s sake.
This was easier said than done as you contemplated cancelling at least six times in the hour it took you to get ready. It was just barbecue and drinks, it was supposed to be fun. Maybe it would be but you didn’t know what to expect from Sunwoo. Would he be mad? Or act like nothing was wrong when it clearly was?  You supposed there was only one way to find out.
When you got to the restaurant you spotted Chanhee first with an empty seat beside him.
“Is anyone sitting here?” You asked timidly.
“Oh hi, no I saved the seat for you.”
Something about his tone seemed off and made the sinking feeling in your gut feel ten times heavier. You looked around the table, greeting everyone and it didn’t take long for you to notice the absence in the group.
“Is Sunwoo in the bathroom or something?” you whispered to Chanhee.
“No, I don’t think he’s coming, he thinks you hate him.” His response was rather curt and made you feel like the walls were closing in around you.
“Oh…” was all you could muster.
“Do you? Hate him I mean. It seemed like whatever happened when you stayed the night completely made you stay away from him- and all of us.”
Awesome. So not only had you burnt the bridge between you and the only man you’ve ever loved, but you had also pushed away all of your closest friends too.
Hyunjae abruptly interrupted your thoughts.  “Where’s Sunwoo? I thought he’d be anywhere you would be.” He looked at you so innocently, which relieved you. At least no one else knew something was up.
“Oh I … I’m not sure… I-“
“Hey what did I miss?” the familiar voice startled you at first, then sent an instinctual calmness through you.
You turned and looked at Sunwoo, trying to express your pain, your guilt. He didn’t even glance at you.
It stung and it took everything in you not to get up and walk out. But you stayed in your seat so you didn’t make a scene.
You spent the evening in silence, only speaking when spoken to and, to your dismay, Sunwoo seemed to be doing the same. After a while, you finally made eye contact for a split second and felt your eyes prick with tears. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you could barely make it there without breaking down. This was not the time or the place to be having a meltdown. Seeing him in front of you brought all the feelings you had tried to repress to the surface and it was too much.
After calming down a bit and erasing your tear tracks as best as you could, you returned to the table. Leaning down, you whispered in Chanhee’s ear that you weren’t feeling well and were going home. Younghoon had lost rock paper scissors and was paying, so there was no reason you couldn’t leave.
You hurried out of the building and paused outside, breathing in the crisp air. Hailing a taxi, you finally let everything spill over, probably making the driver extremely uncomfortable but you couldn’t really be bothered to care.
What were you going to do?
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You reached home exhausted beyond belief. At least you’d gotten a meal, you thought dejectedly. Unfortunately, there was no plan for what you’d do when you got home. Any more crying seemed like a one-way ticket to Drowningville, but your mind still ran rampant. You could call one of your girlfriends, Mia knew about your crush and had consoled you through the last couple of years. But just as you picked up your phone, someone knocked on your door.
This was unusual. But then, it could be someone from your building management.
You weren’t stupid, you stood on the balls of your feet to look through the peephole and the sight in front of you made your breath catch.
It was him.
He reached up to knock again so you quickly unlocked and opened the door without thinking any further.
Both of you were breathing heavily, your eyes rimmed red and his stare intense.
He spoke first.
“Can I come in?”
You opened the door wordlessly, not really by choice, you were completely caught off guard.
Feeling the tears pooling again, you cursed yourself for being so weak and looked down at your feet. Suddenly, he cupped your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him.
“What is wrong? What did I do? Everything was fine and then it wasn’t. I want my Y/N back.”
His whole expression was pleading and you felt so selfish for running away from your problems again.
“Do you want the whole truth, or the nice version?” You knew he wouldn’t, but you hoped he’d choose the latter option so you could white lie your way out of this situation. He let go of your face to tug your hair lightly and rested his hands on your shoulders.
“What do you think?”
“Ok fine.” You huffed. “I got freaked out the other night when I slept in your room. It just felt… like we were crossing lines and I know I’m being dramatic because it was just cuddling but it’s different for me. I shouldn’t have run away and I feel really bad about blowing off the rest of the guys, but you especially. You know you’re my closest …friend and I didn’t want to lose you but I didn’t know what to do because like I said-“
You suddenly stopped because he dropped his hands from your shoulders and looked away. Honestly, he looked pissed.
Nice, you thought I’ve ruined everything and I haven’t even told him I liked him yet. How much worse could this night get?
“Y/N.”
“Y-yes?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you.” “I know, we’re friends”
“We’re friends… but when you say it’s different for you, what exactly do you mean?”
Now you were starting to sweat, noticing the way he held back a smile. Was he going to make you spell it out like some kind of sadist?
“I mean…It means more to me than just that kind of skinship. Especially when I…”
“When you what?” Now he was smirking and it was starting to anger you.
“Sunwoo…”
“We’ll leave it for tonight. As long as I know you’re not mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you I just-“
He pulled you into his arms, his hoodie had faint remnants of his cologne and you wrapped your arms around his waist as he rested his chin on top of your head. His chest rose with a deep inhale and then just as quickly as he grabbed you, he let you go. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed him clenching his fist, he turned to you with a lopsided smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” “What if I was busy?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Y/N.”
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Waking up feeling more rested than you had in a while, your mind wandered to last night. After Sunwoo’s unceremonious appearance (and exit), you had showered in a daze and immediately knocked out into a dreamless sleep.
Now all you had to fear was his threat of seeing you today.
There was no warning or even a text to let you know when this man was ever deciding on showing up. It was only 10 a.m., Sunwoo usually got up after 11 so it could be any time really. Thankfully, you had some time off work for the holidays, so you relished in your leisurely time putting your face and clothes on. You went about your day as normal: eating, watching YouTube, online shopping. All lame distractions from what you were anticipating. It wasn’t until 5:30 when he texted you.
.sunwoo🦝 : if you’re not already ready - get to it, I’ll be over in 30
So pushy, you could only laugh to yourself. It was odd, you thought, how the trauma of the last week was erased by a simple conversation and a hug from Sunwoo. You supposed it had always been like this, pain followed by a soothing only he could provide. He was your confidant, your rock, your safety. Whatever happened tonight was ok with you as long as you could keep him in your life.
Soon enough you heard your door open from your bedroom so you went to greet him. He met you with a rather awkward smile and hands politely behind his back which threw you off- you had never been uncomfortable around each other. Your smile quickly dropped,
“What’s wrong?” you prodded.
“Nothing!” he tried to assuage you with a laugh that sounded a little shaky.
You narrowed your eyes before looking back at his arms hiding something behind his back.
“What are you holding? You’re starting to freak me out…” You might have to forward your medical bill to him the way he constantly had your blood pressure rising. You needed him to get on with whatever he made you wait all day for.
“Well, it’s… well.” He stopped talking and brought his hands forward holding out a bouquet of sunflowers, chamomile and dahlias. You stood there for a couple seconds not understanding what was going on. “These are for you. As an apology for upsetting you, and, well I had something to say…” He trailed off, “Are you just going to stand there like a statue all night? Don’t you have a vase or something to put these in? I don’t want them to die, you know I can’t take care of plants.”
Reaching forward, your fingers brushed his as you took the flowers and felt like you were buzzing. The sweet gesture completely left you dazed, still convinced something was up.
“These are… for me?” you asked a bit dumbly. Before he could reply, you turned to walk to the kitchen.
“Yes, I thought it would be- well I didn’t want to show up empty handed.” His eyes followed your figure to you opening a cabinet to grab a vase that was just out of your reach. Quickly making his way over to you, he stood behind you to grasp it from the shelf. Your breath caught and your heart thumped a little too loudly when you felt his hand lightly rest on your waist as he took the vase and set it on the counter. Thankfully, he moved out of the way for you to fill it with water and put in the flowers trying to regain control of your breathing. The arrangement brightened up the space and reminded you of him- bright and sweet and lovely. You couldn’t imagine him going into a flower shop and picking these out, much less picking them out for you. The thought was a little funny but not funny enough…
Bringing you out of your reverie he softly made his way to you again and leaned against the counter. “You’re so silent I don’t like it.”
“Sorry I just don’t understand…” “I know,” he cut you off, “I just – I don’t know what I was thinking the other night. I’d blame it on the alcohol but really I was just being selfish. Things changed for me a while ago but I didn’t know to approach you. I always loved you but at some point, I started to realize just how much you mean to me. You’ve always taken care of me, cheered me on, been there for me. And then…when you went ghost on me, I panicked, I knew then I couldn’t live without you. I needed you to be mine, not as a best friend but as something more- I mean I feel so much more for you. I hoped you felt the same but I just couldn’t tell with the way you ran away from me. But then last night I felt like I was pressuring you to confess so I wanted to say it first. I like you, please give me a chance to take care of you. I want to be with you as long as you’ll let me.”
Throughout his monologue, you could barely hear him over your blood pumping in your ears and you felt a bit faint. This was everything you’ve wanted for over four years and it was finally coming true- you couldn’t believe this was real life. Your mind kept replaying him saying I’ve always loved you…
“Can you please say something.” He looked a little stern, but moved his hand gently to cup your cheek, stroking the skin there.
“Sunwoo…” He dropped his hand, looking at you with pleading eyes like he was anticipating your rejection. Grabbing his hand, you continued, “You must know how I feel, I’ve wanted you for so long. Please don’t tell me this is a joke.”
“I would never joke about this, you know I treasure your heart. I’ve always protected you. Even when you dated all those losers-“
“You dated losers too.”
“I know that. I couldn’t figure out why I was never satisfied, but I would always compare them to you and I chose our friendship every time.”
You could feel his sincerity and grabbed the fabric of his shirt at his thin waist.
“So… you really want to be with me?”
“More than anything.” He grabbed your face in his hands, just to look at you. It was so tender you wanted to cry. Again. Maybe there was something wrong with your tear ducts… Softly, he spoke up again.
“Can I kiss you? I’ve wanted to for so long.” All you could do was slowly nod and he stepped towards you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then your temple, your cheek and finally pressed his lips against yours. You moved your hands to his shoulders, sliding them up to grab the hair at his nape, pressing him tighter against you. He kissed you twice more then moved to kiss your cheek again, squishing your face to purse your lips and kiss you again. You felt like you could black out as he ran his lips across your jawline, kissing just under your ear as he whispered an apology, finally pulling away.
Breathless, you replied “No need to apologize.” You moved your hands back to his shoulders, and tried not to look at his mouth, glossy from your lip balm and plump from his affections. As he ran his tongue over his lips and slightly smirked you thought,
He will be the death of me.
“Well…” trying to disperse the intense energy in the air you turned to look at the flowers again. “These are really pretty, thank you.”
“Well the lady at the shop helped a lot. Honestly I wanted to get you more gifts but I thought if you rejected me I would have to jump out of your window to escape the humiliation.”
Sighing, you faced him again.
“Honestly Sunwoo, how could you think I would ever reject you??”
“I don’t know!! Damn, I don’t know why it took me so long to admit my feelings. I always hated your boyfriends-“
“All two of them.” You reminded him with an eye roll.
“Ok well still. I hated all two of them.” “How do you think I felt watching you dote on other girls? Being so affectionate, writing songs for them…”
“You were always my inspiration. It was easier to write about someone I had a deeper connection with and that was always you.” “Well now I’m angry.” You pulled away and crossed your arms.
A look of panic washed over his face. “Angry with me already? We can’t start like this. Y/N, even though I didn’t see it quickly enough, we have so much time ahead of us.”
Looking at love itself, you pulled him in for another kiss.
You could never stay mad at him long.
476 notes · View notes
cowboygenesis · 7 months ago
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2: a sweet brew | din djarin x reader
part 2 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist. | buy me a coffee?
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pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 6.4k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: welcome to part 2! i've been having so much fun with this fic, and i hope that you stay with me for this ride... thank you so much for the love on part 1! edit: chapter 1 and 2 have been revised. enjoy!
The walk home is comfortably silent.
Your boots tap rhythmically against the stone pathway when you exit town. Momentarily, you cringe as the sound seems noisier than you'd like in the calm of the afternoon; especially when compared to the near-silent steps of the man trailing inches behind you.
He trots a few paces back, his presence palpable yet inconspicuous, and though you’re painfully curious, you don’t once muster the confidence to glance over your shoulder.
And now, you can picture him surveying the area, ever-vigilant within the safety of his armor as you lead the way in nothing but commoner clothes. When you make the mental comparison, you’re urged to turn to him and say: ‘You can relax, it’s safe here. When we arrive, I’ll cook you a hearty meal, and you’ll feel at home for a while’ — but you know it’s out of line, so instead, your eyebrows furrow.
It’s not an appropriate trail of thought to have about a stranger, yet you recognize it’s been years since you got to care for someone the way you’re afforded to now. Picturing it feels more foreign than reality suggests, and so you bite down on your lip to shake the memories away. Another time, you think.
The soft hum of the floating orb is the only thing to break your inner monologue. For that, you thank it silently. You managed to take a single good glance at it when you were handing him his purchase back at the market, and you’ve been wondering about the contents ever since.
You catch its sleek, metal exterior from the corner of your eye with a slim line running horizontally along its length, and yet again think it has to be some kind of storage unit. On the contrary, you haven’t seen him open it once, even now as five paper parcels crowd his arms.
Briefly, you imagine it to be a weapon. Maybe multiple. You wouldn't put those options beyond a bounty hunter, especially one of his stoic, careful mein.
Weapons. The kind that can hurt or kill you if placed in the right— or wrong— hands.
With that, you realize it’s a tricky game you’re playing, perhaps even dangerous— yet you’re unafraid. It’s a small town you live in and if the man were truly out to get you, word would spread fast. In fact, it’s not a scenario you’ve been bothered by at any point of your leisurely, albeit unusual, walk. You exhale sharply.
"That… floating orb you carry," you begin, but your head doesn’t turn to him. You’d need a load more confidence for that, something you can’t be afforded just yet. "What’s inside?”
The question hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, you regret asking whatsoever. Perhaps you had overstepped a boundary or poked your uncouth nose into some seriously perilous business, but before you can retract your words, his response comes.
"Something precious," he says, and the modulated voice offers no further detail to your searching mind.
You nod, yet the wonder threatens you to push on it further and ask more, ask more, ask— you don’t let it. Instead, you breathe in gradually to soothe the savage beast that is your curiosity.
You offer a small, earnest smile, hoping that even though he’s unable to see it, he might just hear it in the way you speak to him. "Must be important to carry it everywhere."
“It is,” he counters without a beat, and that’s the end of it; no further explanation, no jokes, nothing. With just two words he has deemed the conversation over, and you heed it.
You sneak a quick glance at the orb floating beside him, and the answer echoes in your mind—something precious. But what could a man like him consider precious, anyway?
But you know better than to ask. Over the course of your life, you’ve learned that some mysteries are meant to stay unsolved, and some questions are better left unanswered.
Finally, your house comes into view in the distance, just beyond a thicket: the quaint little cottage you know and adore, standing between two apple trees and greeting you silently with its familiar picket fence. Your pace quickens gradually, legs eager to reach the friendly comforts of home.
The quiet presence behind you feels heavier now, a fact you notice with the man’s footsteps becoming sparse as you approach.
You push open the gate and pause at the threshold, turning to him for the first time since leaving town. His visor turns to you, briefly reflecting the golden sunlight that seeps into your eyes. You squint and quickly glance away, blinking the sunlight from your vision. His helmet remains fixed on you, unreadable as ever, and the silence stretches just a little longer than feels comfortable to you.
“Here we are,” you finally say, your voice soft as you gesture toward the cottage behind you. The words feel a little weak, but you mean them— it’s not much, but it’s yours.
You stand at the brink of the curb, waiting for any sign of what he might be pondering. Instead, he merely steps closer, the buzz of the metal orb following him.
He halts just before the gate, his visor tilting slightly toward the house before coming back to you. For a heartbeat, you think you see something shift in his stance, some subtle change in his posture, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.
Your heart skips a quiet beat and you inhale deeply.
Are you… are you feeling insecure? It’s not the first time you’re having guests over, yet something about this specific encounter makes you double-check your whole presence. In the heat of the moment, you choke it up to a fear of the unknown, and leave it at that.
“Come on in, then,” you continue, pushing open the fence gate. It creaks softly, reminding you that its goal has always been a bit more decorative than practical.
At some point during a hot summer’s day, you decided to adorn the wood with an assortment of painted flowers. The job was hasty and improvised, yet the final product looked good enough to snag you a few compliments from your neighbors. Of course, you doubt your new buddy even notices.
He hesitates, and you realize he’s probably waiting for you to enter first. You want to chuckle— it’s not like you’re exactly a threat to him in your current state, but he’s definitely not one to risk such a thing one way or another.
You give him a tight-lipped smile, nod, then step in. As usual, you hear his quiet footsteps trailing behind you, down the stone path and up the porch stairs. The wind chimes rustle with the wind, and you notice it’s picked up since the morning. It’d be good to get some rain today, you think, you’ve missed the way the air smells then.
“I hope you don’t mind the mess, I wasn’t expecting… guests,” you explain with a polite chuckle, tugging on the door handle and letting it swing open with your weight.
You drop the customs this time around and walk in first, breathing in the familiar scent of caf leftover from your breakfast. As you’re about to offer him some, you remember that a meal is probably in order first and foremost. Besides, considering how long you’ve had the box in your pantry, it’s probably better he avoids drinking it at all.
You give him a short glance, then point to the living room area. It’s quaint, with a soft couch, large loveseat, and a coffee table— naturally, on it sits your small audio system, transmitting a rowdy, laughter-filled conversation between two talk hosts.
“Do you know how to use a HoloWave? It’s not that fancy of a model, but the signal is good enough to reach most of the Outer Rim,” you shrug, untying your cloak and hanging it by the doorway. “Feel free to switch the channel to something you like; my Huttese is pretty rusty, anyway.”
He looks at you, and you offer him a soft smile in return before pivoting towards your stove. If you’ve learned anything about your guest, is that he’s a man of very, very few words. You trust him to occupy himself while you do your thing in the kitchen.
You roll up your sleeves and rinse your hands in the sink. The cool water feels refreshing, and you opt to splash some on your face.
In the background, you hear the sudden flicker of the Holo signal. It buzzes, breaks, and you suddenly realise the man must’ve taken you upon your offer.
You hear him skim through the channels, letting most run a few seconds before moving ahead.
A small, satisfied smile creeps onto your lips, and you take a few pots and pans from the cupboards. He hasn’t requested anything specific for the meal, and… as a matter of fact, he hasn’t requested anything at all. The lunch offer ultimately came from you, and the stranger was nice enough to go along with it.
You sigh, then open your cooler. Inside, you spot an open jar of your preserves, some paper-wrapped meat, vegetables, and a large variety of homemade sauces lining the shelves. You’ve always enjoyed cooking, but your meals tend to be simple and homely, which you deem unworthy of a brand-new guest.
You start unloading the contents of your cooler onto the counter when a steady stream of conversation from the HoloWave catches your attention. Two men chat in Basic, discussing something that momentarily piques your curiosity.
“Nevarro?” you repeat aloud, echoing the talk-show hosts’ words. You keep your back to the man behind you, who now seems engrossed in the broadcast. “That’s light-years away.”
You try to recall the rudimentary information you have on the desolate planet. It’s a hell-hole, for one. Two, it doesn’t take too kindly to regular folk. Finally, the Empire dabbles in a ton of secrecy and has long ago claimed it as its special ops base.
He remains silent as the conversation on the HoloWave continues, mentioning recent disruptions on the planet caused by a bounty hunter linked to some infamous syndicate. The details are murky and mostly alien, making you assume the channel might be covering something more specialized or regional. You wonder if your guest was seeking out this channel on purpose.
Could he be connected to this, somehow? No, no. You shake the thought away and deem it unfound paranoia. After all, there was no reason for people of his kind to visit planets like Lazure— safe-havens for peaceful folk like you to live out their lives in harmony.
Unless he had an active hit.
You never knew much about bounty-hunting guilds, as they were more a figment of folklore where you grew up. Regardless, you didn’t need a formal education on this topic to understand that people in his profession made it a point to keep quiet and subtle while on the job. But, you knew nothing of him— matter of factly, you weren’t even certain he was a bounty hunter in the first place.
“What’s your name?” you speak out, eyes widening at how stern your voice sounds after your inner musings.
You turn around, hands on the counter as you press your spine against the edge. The man looks at you with a curious tilt of his helmet and seems to study you for a moment before making any haste decisions.
You give him time— to study you, to think, to answer at his own pace. The air between you is lax, and although he’s silent, you wait patiently for a chance to listen.
“Din,” he finally sounds out, and hearing his modulated voice after such a long period of your own monologuing makes electricity shoot down your back. Is it a real name, or a clever alias to shield his real identity from a stranger? You decide to indulge the fantasy that he trusts you for now.
Din. You want to test the name on your lips, know how it sounds with your accent, your lilt, yet you abstain for now. Once he’s gone, you’ll have all the time in the world to muse over it.
You give him a curt nod before slowly turning back to your cutting board. Once you do, your lips widen into a pleased smile. Din.
Then, you give him your name. It’s quiet when it leaves your lips, yet you’re certain it reaches him even through the thrum of the talk show. Just like you, he doesn’t question it or ask for more; yet you imagine he mutters it under his breath from within the privacy of his helmet. The image, albeit fabricated, makes you warm.
You go back to focusing on your task, unwrapping the meat from its delicate parcel and chopping it at a leisurely but practiced pace. As you work, you let the talk show hosts’ voices serve as a quiet backdrop to your jumbled thoughts. Most of the terminology drifts past you as you tune in, but you listen regardless.
Once you’ve finished preparing the ingredients, you hear the channel flicker again, its signal briefly interrupted before fading back into a soft, nostalgic melody.
The instrumental starts with a quiet guitar solo that slowly transitions into a fiery soul piece. The hearty voice of your favourite singer erupts from the Holo, and the lyrics spring to your mind like a mantra. As the robust tune fills the room, you’re instantly swept up in its acquaintance.
As your fingers move deftly across the skillet, you begin to hum along with it, stirring the vegetables as they soften and caramelize.
The chorus begins, and for a moment you shift somewhere far away. The recollection is hazy at first, but soon, you remember it vividly.
Then, it all comes pouring down on you without a warning: your body stiffens as a memory dug deep in your brain begins to claw its way out of the crevices.
You see your old quarters.
Your ex-bunkmate is there, her familiar figure draped in nothing but a fluffy towel, damp strands of hair clinging to her neck as she sits cross-legged at your shared desk.
The air smells of fresh soap. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, chewing absentmindedly on the eraser end of a pencil as she puzzles over a half-finished crossword. Starlight filters through the narrow viewport, casting her in a soft, silvery glow, and in the background, that same tune plays quietly through your old HoloWave. It’s a different model, yet the music is unmistakably and painfully paralleled.
She hums, her voice breathy compared to your honeyed one now, matching the melody as it drifts through the cramped room. It’s ordinary—peaceful, even—but now, as you stand idly over your stove, it feels heavier than ever.
For a fleeting moment, you can almost hear her voice again. If you concentrate enough you know you’ll recall the way her lips would quirk up when she solved a puzzle, and the way she’d look at you afterward with a satisfied grin that made the rest of the universe disappear— if only for a second.
Your chest tightens, and the hum dies in your throat.
You’re about to excuse yourself to your bedroom when a voice sounds out from behind you.
“Hey,”
When you spin around with wide eyes, you see Din sitting at your two-seat dining table, visor pointed at you, and his body surprisingly relaxed.
“Hey,” you greet back with a nervous smile, hands shaking as they return to stirring the pan absent-mindedly. Despite your body going through a sort of shock, you feel your mind slowly withdrawing from the dark as he seems to look at you. You thank the Maker for his timing.
“How far is it to the capital from here?” he questions, voice pleasantly husky as his gloved palm smooths the surface of the table mindlessly.
You drop the chopped produce into the hot skillet with a satisfying hiss and puff your cheeks in thought. The moisture hits the surface and crackles, the sizzle filling your ears alongside the melody from the Holo. It’s a different one now, a mellow orchestral you’re unfamiliar with.
“Mon Kilim is a three-day walk from Terrine,” you explain, tilting your head to look at him once in a while. “We’re a bit unfortunate to be cut-off from the main roads, though, so you’d have to make a trek through the forest. There’s a river that takes you there if you follow it down-stream, but because the treeline is so thick, it gets real dark at night.”
As the vegetables begin to soften, you open a jar of your preserves. The lid pops off with a soft click, releasing the rich, fruity fragrance into the air. You spoon a generous portion into the skillet, the thick jam coating the ingredients and melding into the sizzling mixture. The scent is mouthwatering—sweet, savory, and just the right amount of spice.
You catch Din’s helmet tilt downwards as he seems to ponder your words. You sigh sympathetically.
“…But our head merchant, Poiko, has an old speeder at his disposal,” you elaborate, and watch Din’s visor meet you again. “He makes a trip to Mon Kilim once every moon cycle, so if you’re patient and good enough at bribery, you might be able to catch a ride with him.”
“When will he travel again?”
“Well… he’s away as we speak. Left this morning. I think he’s planning to stay overnight this time, too, so you’re out of luck. Sorry, Din.”
He stays silent for a beat. For a moment you worry you might have said something wrong.
“So it’ll be another month until he travels again?” Din asks, and you hum in acknowledgment.
You take a deep breath, savoring the rich scents. Quietly, you wonder if the stranger, still in his helmet, can smell the decadence you’re cooking up for him. Could he smell the flowers in your garden when you stood on the porch? The worn corduroy of your couch?
“And before you ask, I doubt he’ll let you borrow it. I’ve heard it cost him a small fortune, so he’s understandably a little protective,” you chuckle softly, “Plus, it’s an old Imperial model. The fuel is expensive and the spare parts are virtually unattainable, so most mechanics refuse to take care of the thing.”
You hear Din begin his retort when suddenly, you feel a tug at your skirt. You dismiss it as your imagination playing tricks on you at first, but almost on cue, the pull comes again.
You look down, and your eyes widen.
There, on your wooden parquet floor, sits a creature—light green with large, black eyes and comically big ears. It blinks up at you, cooing softly as its three-fingered hands tug at the hem of your skirt.
For a moment, it seems like both you and Din are rendered speechless at the sight. You drop the wooden spatula into the pan and instinctively crouch down to take a closer look at the strange critter.
“Hey, there,” you grin, extending a finger towards it. It looks like a youngling, but not one you’re familiar with. For a moment, you deduct it must be one of the neighborhood children, one you’ve perhaps omitted.
The child coos at you again, moving one of his grabby hands to your extended digit. His skin is velvet-like to the touch.
“Kid—” Din hisses, seemingly awoken from his shock. You catch him in your peripheral, shooting up from his chair and crouching down next to you. …Kid?
His gloved hands work quickly, grabbing the creature and placing it in his arms. Somehow, you don’t feel alarmed. The man’s hold is benevolent from what you can tell, cradling the little one’s body with an apt softness you wouldn’t expect from someone like him.
“Is he…” you begin, suddenly noting the proximity between you and the armored man. The green creature squirms in his hold, looking up at him with what you can only describe as mischief. “Is he yours?”
Din’s visor levels with you, and you can’t help but squint. You’ve never been closer, and somehow you hope to catch a glimpse of whatever is underneath that Maker-forsaken helmet.
There’s a moment where everything around you goes silent. Something in the air around you becomes apparent, and you can’t quite place it, but it hums underneath the surface, electric and taut.
“Yes,” he replies quietly, “he’s mine.”
You can’t help but connect the dots. Big eyes, green skin… is that what Din looks like underneath all that metal? Where would his ears even go in that helmet?
A chuckle rips from your throat at the image, and you aimlessly try to mask it with your palm over your lips.
His helmet tilts in question, and you shake your head dismissively.
“I’m sorry, I just thought of something,” you explain through your giggling fit, inhaling deeply to recall your calm mein. “He’s adorable. Snuck up on me without any noise, but I guess he learned from the best, so it’s no surprise.”
Din ponders your comment for a moment, looking down at his child. The little one is glancing at the counter now, reaching his hands towards what you assume he wants— the dinner you’ve been preparing. You mentally browse your cupboards, thinking whether you still have those child-friendly plastic utensils your friend left over years back.
You glance over at the little baby again, giving him a warm smile. So kriffin’ cute. “What’s his name?”
As usual, Din fills the air between you with silence before he speaks. You imagine that every time he does that, it’s because of caution. You know what it’s like, yet it still fascinates you.
“Grogu,” the man finally speaks, placing the kid on the floor again. He looks at his father in question. “He was orphaned before I took him in.”
Ah, an adoptive son. Your theory was wrong, after all.
“Grogu,” you repeat with a smile, and the child turns to you with a squeak. You can’t help but laugh at the reaction, and that seems to urge him to waddle towards you.
His movements are confident, yet the sack wrapping his body seems to restrict his movements enough to make it a hassle. Your hands reach out, and you’re ready to crouch down and embrace him when Din’s hands wrap around him again, pulling him back into his arms much to Grogu’s dismay.
Your grin drops to a lingering smile as you watch Din stand up, his kid tucked firmly under his elbow. “Alright, that’s enough.”
You follow suit, standing up with a soft sigh before returning to the stove. You bring the meat-filled chopping board to the pan and tilt it, letting the juicy pieces fall into the vegetable medley.
As you stir again, you catch Din walking towards the mysterious orb he had left in the living room. From afar, you watch him tap something on his gauntlet, the metal whooshing open seconds later. He mutters something to Grogu, placing the boy in— what you now know to be— a cradle.
“Is he ever a handful?” you tease with a warm chuckle as Din returns to the dining table. He sits back in the same chair, letting Grogu hover beside him in the now-open cradle. You watch the child gaze curiously around the room, his wide eyes drinking in every detail.
"Sometimes," he admits, voice low and quiet.
"You seem to handle him well," you say, glancing over your shoulder. Grogu has his eyes locked on you now, and when he catches your gaze, his little hands reach toward you again, a gurgling coo escaping his mouth.
You smile. If it wasn’t for Din watching over you, you’d probably be acting on your surge of cuteness-aggression at this very moment.
Din shifts slightly, his posture stiff. "He’s… special," he says finally. "Unpredictable."
You raise an eyebrow, sensing his apprehension to answer. But again, you don’t press.
"Oh, yeah?" you murmur, eyes softening as you look at Grogu. He’s settled down now, content to sit in his cradle, his big, soulful eyes still trained on you. You can’t imagine him to be a troublemaker, but again, you’ve never taken care of children of your own. Life simply had different plans for you, and you never thought yourself a family gal, anyway.
You turn your attention back to the meal, and when you taste-test a chunk of cooked meat, you finally deem the feast ready to serve.
"All done. I’m sorry it’s a little plain, I didn’t have much to work with, unfortunately," You stir the pot again, "It’s a quick twist on Karkan ribene, if you’re familiar. This was a hit with my friends back when I—" You stop yourself, realizing you’re teetering on private memories. "Back in the day," you finish with a small, tight smile. You’re a little disappointed, letting something so private come close to slipping out.
No curiousity bubbles up from his lips, and you appreciate it silently. He’s giving you the same respect you give him.
Din nods, and you start preparing the table. You set down three glasses and two sets of cutlery— one plastic, bright blue, and adorned with yellow stars— a fact you hope Grogu is old enough to appreciate.
“How old is he?” you suddenly question, withdrawing a half-full pitcher of sweet brew from your fridge. Finally, you place two bowls down, omitting your own. The breakfast has been keeping your belly full.
He tilts his helmet to you. “I don’t know. A friend of mine speculates he could be around fifty.”
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Fifty?” You repeat, filling each glass with the golden-brown drink. “Fascinating.”
Din nods at your comment as you raise the pan from your stove. With the spatula, you fill each bowl to the brim and murmur in satisfaction when you realize you’ll even have some leftovers for yourself.
You watch as Grogu attempts the first bite, his small hand knocking the spoon against the bowl with a soft clink.
“Is he older than you?” you question with a hint of mischief, putting the pan back on the stove and taking a seat in the chair opposite from Din. Your hands wrap around the textured glass, and you take a sip.
He tilts his head slightly, the movement almost hesitant— but your smile stays steady, warm, and inviting, and after a brief pause, he finally speaks.
“Slightly,” he admits, his voice carrying a note of amusement you hadn’t expected.
You blink, letting the information settle in, and your curiosity emerges anew.
“Really?” you say, leaning forward just a little, unable to hide the intrigue in your voice. You feel comfortable enough to toy with the idea of teasing him but finally decide against it.
Instead, you let a soft chuckle slip. “Well, he’s doing pretty well for a fifty-year-old,” you joke, glancing over at Grogu as he slurps happily at his bowl of stew.
The kid looks up at you, eyes blinking. His chubby hands fumble with the spoon, barely managing to get a bite into his mouth, but you find his spirit more than makes up for his lack of coordination.
“You think so?” Din questions, and you struggle to peg the question as serious or otherwise. Still, you let yourself chuckle again.
“Of course,” you nod, eyeing the little creature, “Quite a lifespan he must have. He’s… he’s a baby, right?”
I mean, it’d be awkward to find out he’s actually a grown man after you had given him that cute, star-speckled set of cutlery.
“He’s still a child, yes,” the man nods, joining you in watching over Grogu as he eats. “His species can live up to a millenium.”
Your jaw drops. Millenium? Surely, you’ve misheard.
“Millenium? Like, a-thousand-years-millenium?” you question, looking to Din with a shocked grin.
You hear a muffled sound coming from his helmet. Now that you think about it, it does obscure his communication just a tad. You don’t mind.
“Yes, one thousand years,” he affirms, tilting his head when Grogu coos at a piece of meat. “His species is rare, so there’s little else I know about his life cycle.”
You nod, taking a sip of your sweet tea. It’s pretty incredible, you’ve met plenty of alien species in your life, yet none of them quite as mysterious as little Grogu.
“Must be a big responsibility, taking care of such a rare baby,” you joke half-heartedly, looking over to Din with a grin. He’s still looking at his child, fist rapping at the edge of the table.
He shifts in his seat, and though he remains still, you sense something stir behind the visor.
“He’s worth it,” he says, breaking the silence with his resolute tone. It sends a jolt down your spine.
You meet his gaze—or at least, the blank stare of his helmet—and something unspoken passes between you. There’s more to this, you know it, but such is the case in every story. Even your own.
For a moment, you let the air between you settle. The cool breeze sends your thin curtains flying, the scent of your meal lingering warmly in the space between you.
After a few more bites, you break the quiet again, this time with a gentler tone. “How long has it been since you took him in?”
Din nods, though you imagine there’s much more he could say if he wanted to. “A while,” he affirms.
You nod, and the weight of his words tells you he probably lost count of the days. If anything, you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t count the days at all, as you couldn’t really imagine him crossing squares off a calendar, or worse, writing down important dates for him and his son. 21st, Grogu’s birthday. 3rd, secure bounty. Your lips curve at the fantasy.
Din’s visor turns toward you, and you wonder, for just a moment, what expression might be hidden beneath. Maybe there’s a trace of a smile on his face, one that mirrors yours.
“He seems happy,” you hum earnestly.
You feel a breeze stir behind your window, picking up speed and swirling the trees nearby.
“I try,” Din says simply, and the words, yet again, hang in the air as you both watch Grogu slurp down the last of his stew.
The quiet moment lingers, and you glance over at Din’s own untouched portion. The bowl is still steaming gently, so you look back up at him with a quirked eyebrow. “Are you not hungry?”
He shifts in his chair slightly, glancing down at the hefty portion. For a split second, you hope it’s to his liking.
“I… can’t,” Din replies quietly, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Your curious eyes connect with his visor, and he takes a moment to collect himself before granting you an explanation— one he doesn’t owe you at all, you realize.
“My religion demands I keep my face hidden from any living, breathing thing,” he trails, taking a brief glance at his child. The boy plays with his utensils, clicking and clacking them together and glancing up at his dad as if looking for a hint of approval. “…Except him.”
“I understand,” you nod, giving him a reassuring smile. You’ve never heard of such a doctrine in your life, yet the universe holds many secrets, religions, and philosophies. It’d be unwise of you to denounce something you don’t understand in its full capacity.
“I appreciate the meal, but I can’t eat with you.”
“Din,” you finally speak his name out loud, and it feels so natural rolling off your tongue. His helmet seems to fix on yours again, more attentive than ever. You repeat your question, this time with a gentle insistence. ”Aren’t you hungry?”
He sighs through the modulator, a sharp, metallic wheeze. “I’ll eat on the ship.”
But the answer doesn’t satisfy you.
Without another word, you rise from your chair. The old wood creaks softly beneath you as you grab your half-finished glass of sweet brew and look at him with a warm smile. You need not look at his face to know he’s puzzled.
“I’ll wait in the garden. You can close the windows, shut the blinds… even lock the door, if you like,” you trail, approaching the doorway and sliding into your woven slippers. “And if you’re comfortable, take your helmet off. Eat your fill, have a drink— take a break, if only for a little while.”
There’s a moment of comfortable silence that befalls you after your suggestion drops. His gaze is still on you, watching, scanning, considering.
And finally, when you catch his nod, you smile.
Your eyes gleam when they catch Grogu’s, his hands extending towards you in… curiosity? Farewell?
From a distance, you glimpse his little face splotched in bits of sauce.
“Bye, baby!” you chuckle, raising a hand to wave at the child. Your gaze moves to Din, and the smile on your face softens. “Take your time. I’ll be out front.”
He nods again, watching as you open the front door with a gentle creak. Your stares linger on each other, and you’re almost compelled to stay… nope. Nothing good ever came from overeagerness.
With one last look at the pair, you step into the outside world. The air hits your face, reddening your cheeks and mussing your hair.
You take a deep breath, letting the floral fragrance settle around you as you walk down the porch steps. Turning right towards the apple tree, you spot the wooden swinging bench beneath its canopy.
A patterned, purple blanket covers its length, and you grab it unceremoniously with your free hand. With a sigh you settle onto the bench, feeling it rock gently with your weight.
You drape the blanket over your shoulders and shimmy around. The warmth of the fabric is a satisfying embrace, and you take a few sips of your cool, sweet brew to even out your body’s temperature.
Your eyes wander over the garden, taking in the verdant greenery. To your delight, the coreberries you planted last season are pushing through the soil, tiny, unripe fruits just beginning to show. The fruit is tart on its own, but perhaps sweetens through maceration— it’s something you have never tried, but make sure to take a mental note for later.
Inside, you hear the subtle rustle of Din closing the blinds, and you smile when you realize he leaves the window open; perhaps it’s just to let in the fresh, afternoon air, yet your mind likes to conjure another reality, one that makes your heart and body warm.
You sip your brew again, savoring its sweetness. The garden lights begin to cast a gentle, ambient glow as twilight slowly approaches. The soft rustling of the wind chimes mingles with the distant hum of insects, creating a soothing soundtrack that harmonizes with your mood.
You lean back on the bench, gazing up at the sky as it shifts from golden to hues of pink and purple— an ordinary end to a most peculiar day.
The glass in your hand is empty now, condensation beading along its rim. You’re just starting to lose yourself to the soft sounds of the evening when the door to your house creaks open again.
From the corner of your eye, you catch the soft hum of the hovering metal sphere as it emerges. Grogu, nestled safely inside, peeks out at the world with half-lidded eyes, his tiny hands resting on the edges of the crib as though the meal had lulled him into a food-induced stupor.
Moments later, Din steps through the doorway, his armored form unmistakable. You tilt your head slightly, the bench swinging gently as a small, contented smile tugs at your lips.
Din spots you immediately, and surely enough, his helmet is right where it belongs; perched comfortably on his shoulders. Briefly, you feel a pang of dismay at the fact.
“We’re leaving,” he declares, walking down the porch steps and approaching you. He keeps a distance, but even from your position, you can tell his posture seems lax compared to when he first stepped into your home.
“Okay,” you reply, your voice steady though your heart tightens a little at the words.
There’s a beat of silence as Din nods. His visor remains fixed on you, lingering for longer than usual, and you realize your eyes are locked on it as well. Embarrassed, you clear your throat, glancing away briefly to collect yourself. The last thing you want is for this moment to end so soon.
“I’ll make sure to prepare this little guy’s favorite next time around,” you chuckle lightly, your gaze drifting to Grogu, his eyes drooping.
“I don’t think he’s got a favorite,” Din says, his voice carrying an unusual softness. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was at ease. “He’s like a womp rat—eats anything that moves.”
You gasp in mock horror, looking at Grogu with raised eyebrows. “A womp rat? The audacity!”
And then, you hear it. Laughter.
It’s brief, and could probably be written off as a trick of the mind, but you swear by your intuition. Soft, rolling laughter, rich and dark like caf, but oh, so sweet.
“Thanks for the meal,” he nods, breaking you out of your haze. You look up at him hurriedly, yelping when the glass in your hand almost slips away.
You’re stupefied. The sound rings throughout your hazed mind, the soft baritone making you exhale sharply— a reaction you’re terrified to overanalyze.
He offers one final nod, and despite your heart’s silent prayer, this time he doesn’t linger.
His steps are purposeful as he turns toward the picket fence, long shadow stretching across the yard as the brightest hours of day ebb into the evening. The familiar creak of the gate reaches your ears as he leaves, the sound echoing through the now-quiet pocket of the planet.
As the soft breeze beckons a melody of the wind chimes, you exhale.
The last thing you catch before he disappears behind the thicket is the wide-open, curious gaze of the little green child staring right into your very soul.
Dusk slips over the sky, painting it in fading hues of gold and violet, and with a quiet sigh, you finally muster the energy to return inside.
As you step out of your slippers, your eyes fall on the dining table, dimly illuminated by the soft glow of the fading day. Two bowls rest upon it—one messier than the other, but both empty.
The quiet of the night surrounds you as you sit at the table alone, and with every bite you take of your own meal, a gentle smile finds its way onto your lips.
For tonight, this is enough.
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hwanchaesong · 11 months ago
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☞🍹Seventh Drink: Beyond the journey of espresso to dry martini, the only thing that he manages to remember is his baby. 🍸
🎧: The Weeknd - Blinding Lights
wc: 651
genre & warnings: angst, fluff, comfort, singer!jisung, bar setting, drinking, implied friends to lovers, etc etc
a/n: this is a part of The After Hours Bar series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.
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"Don't you think you're overstaying your visit?"
Jisung tilted his head to look for the source of the voice, spotting you beside him, sitting in the bar while you motioned the barista to give you a drink as well.
"I work here." he chuckles, answering your question and relaxing in his seat more, "What brings you here?"
Interrogation is necessary for you, considering that you are not one to go to bars. You usually stay at your house, enjoying ramyeon and rewatching your favorite movie.
You hummed, sipping on the alcoholic drink that the barista concocted before cringing at the bitter taste, "I am here for you."
He points at himself, "Me? Why is that? And why are you being weird?"
You gave your friend a side eye, slightly offended by his words, "First, I am not weird. I am completely normal. Second, you are the one being weird because see, your gig just finished but here you are..."
Your sentence trailed off, not wanting to continue it but he understands.
He'd usually go back to his own flat after a performance at the bar, but this time, he stayed for a drink. Which for you, his neighbor slash friend, is unusual.
So you went on a journey, despite clubs not being your thing, to check up on him.
It was safe to say that you were worried about him. You are well aware that you might have overstepped his boundaries but you really couldn't care, his welfare comes first.
"Can't I loosen up a bit?" he smirks at you, then his mood suddenly turns gloomy, "It's blurry."
He admits and you listen intently as he attempts to open up to you.
"I don't understand what is happening, actually." his eyes are downcast, slowly swirling the glass of tequila on the wooden table, "You know how much I love performing, right?"
"Yes, why?"
He laughs without any humor, and your concern rises when he blurts out his next words.
"I feel like I can't do it anymore. Like.. I am slowly losing my passion for it and I don't know what to do."
Your eyes widened, not expecting his confession because this man loves singing. Maybe he's confused? Or what he said a few minutes ago, he's tired and he needs to rest?
Surely, he must be mistaken because this, this city that he chose is his lifeline.
The way he talked about it made you realize that achieving your dreams in life is possible if you worked hard for it, just like he did.
He basically fought his parents for this, going against their wishes for him to become a doctor— and if you're going to be honest, his zeal for singing made you love him the way he is.
"Jisung I-" you stopped yourself, is it really worth it?
You urged yourself to do it, if no one else will push him, then you will take it upon yourself to do it.
You left your seat in lieu of extending your hand in front of him to take, and you gulped your nervousness.
"Listen, Jisung. I am not well versed when it comes to things like this but," you bit your lower lip, bashfully meeting his curious gaze, "let's go back to my apartment and think of ways on how to motivate you."
He raised an eyebrow, not moving an inch until you groaned in exasperation, grasping his hand in yours.
"Come on! If you lose interest in this then.. I'd miss those moments where you sing to me the new songs that you're composing."
It is now Jisung's turn to be surprised.
Amidst the neon lighting of the bar, illuminating the place and promptly blinding the eyes of people who dare to look straight into it, Jisung thinks that he's already seen the brightest glow of all.
But strangely enough, he can clearly see how gorgeous she is.
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taglist:
@sunghoonsgfreal @yeosayang @mystverse @shakalakaboomboo
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succake · 3 months ago
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Fist kiss - One shot
❦ ℭ𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔟 x reader ❦
Synopsis : You have been waiting patiently the entire summer for news about your enrollment in the hunter's academy, but there's so many days left, Thankfully Caleb is here to cheer you up.
As the sun kissed your skin on this summer’s afternoon you bite your nail and check your emails. A few days were left until you could know if you joined the hunter’s academy. You were still expecting the notification. 
You were sitting on the bench Caleb installed in the garden. Grass was surrounding your feet your knee holding your head as you refreshed the page.
                    “What if i have to wait another year?” you admit. Caleb, sitting down on a mat, meditating, looks at you.
                    “You did great at the exams and you have an awesome coach, Pipsqueak you’ll get in i promise.” He expressed.
                     “Don’t say that!” You shout. “Don’t promise… You don’t know…” 
Caleb joins you on the bench. He sighs. His hand rests on your leg and you put your phone down. You bring your body closer to his. You settle your head on his shoulder. Biting the inside of your cheek you look up to him.
                     “If i fail it would be like failing everyone … i wanna protect people. I wanna help like you do.” Caleb looks away. 
Your compliments sends his blood rushing to his face, he refuses to look at you. He wants to kiss you but he fears it might scare you, so he abstains and nods.
You keep looking at him and he senses it, trying to find an imaginary spot to look at away from your beautiful eyes, staring at him, waiting for him.
He would usually find a reason to call you pipsqueak and set the boundaries between you two. You are friends, you know each other. You use each other to wander off unwanted suiters but you are not lovers…
You look at your phone again a weather report notification flashes. you sigh and whine.
                      “I believe in you pipsqueak.” He finally says still not looking at you.
You smile after finally hearing his voice again, then sit up straight facing him, both your feet touching the wet grass. Your hands slap the wood of the bench and it startles him. Your face so close you can feel each other’s breath.
He opens his mouth and you stop him immediately.
                      “Don’t call me that.” you order. he nods, his gaze shifting between your lips and your eyes. 
You both breathe heavily, waiting for the other to make a move. None of you feels ready to overstep. 
Your phone vibrates, you decide to grab his cheek and make the move. Your lips finally unite in a kiss. You part yours and wait for him to imitate you. After gaining access, you lick his lips and straddle him, your tongues twisting passionately, you can taste cherry cola on him, and his silent moan reaches your ear. you shy away and witness Caleb’s skin blushing, going from his cheeks to his ears nothing was spared, he maintains you in your position and you can’t look away from each other.
you bite your lip and take your phone. You scream. “they sent something please read it for me.” you give him your phone and cover your face, red, both from excitement and embarrassment.
He looks at your phone with his right hand while the left grips your hip. You wish to stay in this moment forever.
                     “It seems, you are welcomed in the hunter’s academy. Well done pipsqueak.” There it goes, this barrier he puts. You smile, your heart heavy at the realization that this kiss wouldn’t be mentioned ever again.
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justevelynnnn · 5 months ago
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I want to be more
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Summary: You work in a brothel in the early 1900s after WW1. You had few clients but just started having one regular. He was solider. You fall for him only after a few times of meeting. You soon wanted to be more than…whatever this is.
Warnings: Cussing, Reader is a woman, prostitution, smut mentioning throughout, alcohol consumption, signs of limerence, angsty ending
(this is barely proofread too)
A/N: This idea came to me out of nowhere..i’m so happy with it though. I had fun incorporating 1920s slang into this too. I think i have an idea for a part 2 but that might come later..
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It was a cold winter day. Clients came in less when it was cold, not wanting to travel through the snow. Only the really, truly libidinous would come during these times. You enjoyed it. A break. But with breaks came no money being made.
The owner was generous enough to let you and a few others stay in your private rooms and live there. You’ve been here for 5 years now. A job is a job. It paid enough for you to scrape by. Not that you really enjoyed it.
You got used to it quick. At least, as used to it as you could. As one could. At first, you were a nervous, naiive olive, but now you’re a stronger, almost street smart woman. You knew how to handle yourself, how you should be treated. Men knew now to respect you. To not try and get out of paying or overstep boundaries.
You drank often to hide any pain. Forget any and all traumas. You always were tipsy if it could be helped when it was time to work. It made it…easier. Lighter.
The brothel itself was nice. Spacious. Luxurious. A blind tiger as most described it. Disguised as just a fancy bar for any authority figures who passed by.
You got paid well because of this by each client but really only ever made just enough for rent some food and maybe a dress or something else. You weren’t too popular to get many clients. Most men you had were Soldiers from the war. Occasionally, if you looked nice enough, an egg or wealthy man. Most of them were married. Older. Drunks, whether it was a secret or not.
You didn’t care for them. They didn’t care for you more. It was just business.
But there was one man who was different. One man who stood out to you. Who made you feel something other than a deep disgust.
His name was Logan Howlett.
He was young seeming, never telling his age. He just got back from the war. Obviously worn down by the trauma he possibly witnessed. Eyes told it all as well like many other soldiers. He always drank. Sometimes smoked a cigar. But always went right up to you.
At first, you almost refused him. He was dirty, and swaying around. He gave you a damp crumpled up $50 and mumbled about your hips and eyes. He smelled a bit too-
But then he pulled out another $50. You were convinced now. $100! was alot. You’d choke this encounter down too.
But he was surprisingly good. He didn’t just fuck you. No. He made love to you. He was soft. Gentle. You were almost taken aback. He treated you like glass. He actually even licked your core, something 90% of your clients ignored. Until you came 3 times you didn’t see his manhood.
He fell asleep next you, exhausted and sad. He was a sad drunk. He told you how he wanted to marry you, how he wanted to run away from everything with someone. Most men would confess things to you either before or after. But you ignored a lot because they were often drunk, like Logan.
Logan logan logan.
His first encounter with you left an impression.
A week passed and you still couldn’t get him off your mind. It was almost depressing. And just when you felt like he’d never return, he did.
He walked in, head down. Sat at the bar for an hour just drinking. And then he looked for you. You didn’t go up to him, just to see how long he’d look before he settled for another. But he never did. He keep looking. Looking and looking and walking and walking.
Then he saw you and walked up to you quickly. A hug. A drunken, messy hug and kiss.
“I never got your name, dear..” He whispered. He could barely stand.
Did you want him to have your real or work name?
“It’s y/n.” You said softly.
“y/n……… y/n…” Logan repeated slowly. “Beautiful li’you. Pretty girl…”
You could barely hear him. He had his hand in your lower back that horribly distracted you. A soft, “your mine” hold. Possessive. Different from other men.
You started to love the taste of whiskey just because you always tasted it on his lips. You started to love the faint scent on cigar on his hairy chest. Dog tags hitting you in the face has he thrusted into you. The way he held you like you’d get away. Treated you like you weren’t just a couple of wet holes but a human. A woman. Even drunk he was somewhat of a gentleman.
You wonder why he chose you. Why did ever go to you. Did he go to other brothels too? He seemed infatuated with you and you him.
You told the other women about him after the fifth time. They barely believed you. A bit of jealousy filled the air as they were rarely, if at all, treated so lovely. No, everyone was just holes. Just holes. Eye candy and holes.
The next time Logan came some women tried to climb on him. They offered him discounts. You almost wanted to fucking spit. He wasn’t yours though so why did you feel like this?
It made you damn near giddy as you watched him shoo them away like flies. Almost disgusted. Like he was some virgin waiting for marriage. Like it was almost rude for women to act like that despite where he was. The women huffed and walked away, some back to their rooms and others to other men. A couple have you a glance or so but said nothing.
You just waited for Logan to come back to you and touch you and treat you like you were more.
You felt spoiled.
He really acted like you two were going together. You began to wonder if he was courting you in some odd way.
Rumors started amongst the women who cared that you two were dating and you almost got put out. The number one rule was to never date your clients. Ever.
You assured he was just stuck on you or something and it wasn’t your fault. That he paid you the best. Out loud you say money, in your head you say attention.
He certainly becomes all you think about. Oh yes. Ohhh yes. You started noticing little details. His beard that was sometimes shaven. His hair. How it smelled. How it was the only soft thing on him. His nose. He once confessed he hated it but you loved it. He let you ride it once. Amazing experience.
And was such a sex magician. That’s how’d you describe him anyways. He was awfully skilled. You really wondered if he got practice before you. And how much?
You learned bits and pieces about him after sex. He’d lay there and talk about the war. Why he drank sometimes. How me missed his family. How he wished he was “normal”. Normal huh.
You never spoke much. You didn’t have anything but this. Your home life and childhood was rough, obviously leading you here. You had no special talents or dreams really. You recently has some interest with becoming one of those flapper women. But he was the first bit of true excitement you had in a while.
Logan stopped coming for a while. This time you were sure he wouldn’t return. The first week was horrible. You laid in bed like a rag doll as men used you, thinking about how Logan would at least butter you up before anything started. You mindlessly counted money as you wondered where Logan could be. You drank and drank to try and forget but he left such an impression on you it didn’t work.
The other women “comforted” you, but deep down we’re happy you were back to their level, with no special clients.
“You shouldn’t get so attached to the clients!”
“It was fun while it lasted huh now, sweets? Oh, i experienced the same thing.”
“An odd cat he was…maybe it’s for the best.”
You ignored it all. You didn’t care for any of that shit. Fuck it all. You just wanted him back.
Did he even care for you the way you did him? Would he even remember you? Did he? He was so drunk sometimes….you couldn’t tell if he cared at all. He remembered your name sure but that was it. You just couldn’t deny your feelings anymore.
These deep feelings.
Limerence.
There was passion that drove you crazy. You felt like you were going crazy.
Days blurred. Holidays passed. Men came and went. Take that both ways.
But this cold winter day, he returned. You were sitting on a stool, drinking again. It was just your 3rd.
You hear the door open and the little bell rang. Heavy footsteps. Leftover snow underneath crushing under boots. You turned around as you felt the presence behind you, getting ready to say your prices and hours assuming this man wanted your services.
However, you stopped mid breath as you turned and saw… “….Logan?”
He took his hat off and nodded. He quietly sat next to you and stared into your eyes. He was sober but had dark circles.
“I been busy you see..” He starts, his breath smells of straight cigar. “Th’s why i haven’t been around.”
You’re buzzed and you think you’re dreaming. You’re sure you look a mess right now.
“I missed you, Lo..” You whispered.
Logan looks away. He sighs. He says nothing for a long while. It worried you. Did you cross a boundary? Was it too far?
“That’s the issue, doll.”
Logan turns to look you in the eyes, brows furrowed. Your heart rate picks up but you felt a heartbeat elsewhere after the nickname came out his mouth. Doll..
“Wait-” You start but he puts a finger to your lips.
“You are a prostitute baby. I’m…a mess. A drunk vet. Addicted to giggle water. You don’t want me. It don’t make sense. We’ve gotten too deep into this. I come for a quick fuck and then back to reality as it should be. You don’t want this, pretty..”
You feel your heart break. You sober up a bit too.
“It don’t feel quick to me. You treat me like i’m human. You the only one.” Your voice cracks a bit. You are also a sad drunk most days so the alcohol was not helping you process this situation properly.
Logan has an unreadable look on his face. He shakes his head soon after and licks his lips. He’s thinking. Maybe you caught him off guard? The lobby was suddenly very quiet even though it’s been like that the whole time. Just you, Logan and the bartender. There was a woman in the corner but she was preoccupied with a man herself, paying no mind to you or Logan.
You want to puke.
“Logan-”
“Close your head, woman. You stuck on me or something?” He says a bit sharp.
You just nod biting your lip. Suddenly you’re drunk again. The room is spinning a bit and you couldn’t sit straight with a constant nagging to go hysterical.
“We can’t keep doing this. We just can’t.” He says not looking you in the eye anymore. “We can’t.”
“Oh, applesauce…why not?”
“Because we can’t. You listening? You must be zozzled. Listen to me, you don’t want this. I’m telling you.”
“But, i do want you. It’s all i want now. You’re all i want now. Please, Lo. Don’t leave me here.”
“Y/n…”
“I want to be more than this.” You spit out. Logan freezes. He almost looked scared for a second. A tear falls out your eye as Logan gets up swiftly after you say it.
“Goodbye, y/n.”
You say nothing. He hands you a $100 and tells you to buy something nice. You watch, sadly, as he goes out the door.
You swivel back around.
“I need everything this can buy please.” You hold up thr $100 to the bartender. He looks at you like you have two heads but starts getting many cups out.
You’re going to be drinking for days.
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onabat11e · 1 year ago
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my kind of stress relief (lucy bronze x ona batlle)
hiya lovlies! its finally finished! i’ve added the ao3 link before the read more, i decided to just cross post fics for people who like to read on tumblr also <3
rating: E for explicit (18+)
warnings: smut, strap-ons, strap sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, probably something else i forgot
summary: ona is stressed from training, lucy is more than happy to help her relax (also known as ‘I needed an excuse to write smut’, so feel free to skip the plot)
wordcount: 4.4k
AO3 Link
Lucy could practically see the stress emanating from Ona with the way she was walking from the car back to their shared apartment, her shoulders tight and head down. 
Lucy unlocked the door, holding it open to allow Ona to enter first. Both girls slipped off their shoes before Ona made a beeline for the living room and crashed onto the sofa, Lucy following her. 
“C’mon, love,” Lucy sat next to Ona, tapping her lap for her girlfriend to come and rest on her. Ona did just that, sighing as she placed her head onto Lucy, who began playing with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck, nails gently scratching over the skin beneath.
“Tough day?” Lucy asked as she half-mindedly traced patterns across warm skin. Ona’s response was merely a grumble of something unintelligible before she planted her face into Lucy’s leg. 
“How about a bath then?” Lucy tried again for a response, a warm feeling spreading in her chest at the way Ona turned her head to look up at Lucy, brown eyes sparkling at the suggestion.
“Mmm, now that is a good idea,” she smiled through heavy eyelids before adding, “Only if you’ll join me, though.” Ona pouted as if Lucy needed any further convincing of the idea. 
“Of course, my love,” Lucy smiled at the view of her girlfriend resting her head across her lap. “Might have to let me get up first, though.” Ona rolled her eyes at the joke, planting her face back into Lucy’s thighs. 
Lucy gently nudged Ona to allow herself to get up and go to the bathroom to start the bath. Disgruntled by the loss of contact, Ona huffed and curled up on the sofa, watching Lucy wander off. 
Lucy headed towards the room’s centrepiece, a large porcelain bathtub, feeling the cool tile under her feet. She turned on the faucet, checking the temperature before putting in the plug and adding some scented bubbles under the running water. 
Lucy busied herself in rummaging through cupboards for towels and collected comfortable clothing, setting them aside for later. Lucy added a few more details: dimming the overhead lighting before striking a match and setting some tealight candles alight. Once she decided she was happy with the setting, Lucy called across the apartment to Ona, who soon plodded into the room and took in the warming embrace of the room's aura. 
“C’mere,” Lucy helped Ona undress, carefully kissing over newly exposed freckled skin after removing each piece. There was nothing Lucy enjoyed more than making Ona feel loved and beautiful. 
“My beautiful girl,” Lucy traced over Ona’s back tattoos, causing goosebumps to arise under her fingers. Ona felt the blood rush to her cheeks, blushing at the compliment from Lucy. 
“No, you,” Ona replied over her shoulder before turning back around and pulling up the bottom of Lucy’s sweatshirt, helping the older woman take it off.
After both girls were naked, Lucy climbed into the bath first, sitting and getting comfortable. Lucy held a hand up to help Ona join her, who placed herself between Lucy’s legs. Strands of loose brown hair tickled Lucy’s chest as Ona placed her head down on her. Ona released a breath and closed her eyes, relaxing a little as Lucy kissed her forehead. 
“What’s got you so stressed then?” Lucy asked, fingers intertwining with Ona’s. Unsure if Ona was ready to talk, Lucy worried that she was overstepping boundaries, but she was put at ease when Ona’s reply came quickly. 
“Mmm, just with everything happening,” Ona motioned with her hand. “Mapi’s injury, Alexia needing further surgery... what if I-“. Ona’s mind was running a million miles a minute, considering all the possibilities for herself and the club and worrying about the future of her career. 
“Shh,” Lucy kissed Ona's temple, cutting off the rambling. “Don’t overthink it. You’ll be fine; the team will be fine.” The soft tones of Lucy’s voice calmed Ona’s anxieties, allowing her to relax further into the bath. 
Lucy helped wash Ona’s hair, giving her a scalp massage as she lathered the shampoo, followed by the conditioner, and ran warm water through her hair, rinsing after each product.
Rubbing the soap into Ona’s back, Lucy could feel the stiffness of the muscles under her palms. She pressed her hands slightly harder into Ona, examining her body and the stress that her body physically held onto. 
“Your muscles feel so tight,” Lucy sighed, empathising with how tense her girlfriend must feel. Ona just sighed in agreement as a response and let Lucy continue bathing her. 
“I think you need a full-body massage, darling,” her voice lowered ever so slightly, fingertips pressing gently into the soft skin of Ona’s shoulders. A slight whine escaped Ona’s lips at the sensation of Lucy rubbing her sore tissue: her way of agreeing to a massage tonight. 
~
Ona wandered the bedroom, covered in only her towel, anticipating the massage to come. Meanwhile, Lucy had decided to slip on her sports bra and some sweatpants before quickly following Ona. 
“Get yourself comfortable,” Lucy instructed as she began lighting candles and locating the cocoa butter for Ona’s massage. Ona discarded her damp towel and lay on the bed, facing down. The scent of vanilla and lavender began to fill the room and set a calming ambience for the evening. 
The bed shifted, the weight of Lucy now kneeling next to Ona’s bare body. Lucy squeezed the bottle, cold lotion meeting warm hands, rubbing it evenly between them before starting at the base of Ona’s neck.
The cold contrast made Ona jump a little before she relaxed into Lucy’s palms, which now caressed her shoulder blades and spine. Lucy was revelling in the small whimpers that would escape Ona’s mouth. And honestly? Ona couldn’t deny that the way Lucy’s hands were working her muscles was sending small waves of pleasure low in her core. 
Lucy's hands continued, taking extra care of the tight muscles around Ona’s neck and shoulders, passing over Ona’s ‘Good Luck’ tattoo at the base of her back. Lucy’s fingers pressed and circled over Ona’s skin, using moderate pressure to relax the muscles. 
Almost inaudible noises and hums escaped Ona as Lucy continued to rub the cream into her tan skin; Lucy tried to ignore the thrumming in her lower abdomen at the noises she was evoking from Ona. Her mind wandered slightly, thinking about other ways to force Ona to make these sounds.
Lucy moved down to Ona’s legs and started pushing fingertips into muscular calves, feeling the built-up tension dissipate from the actions. She massaged the muscles, moving up and past Ona’s knees. When skilful hands reached her thighs, Ona’s legs subconsciously opened from Lucy’s touch, allowing Lucy to capture a glance at her glistening pussy. 
“Someone’s needy, huh?” Lucy teased Ona about the wetness that had gathered at her entrance. She licked her lips as she admired Ona’s form, fantasising about what she wanted to do to her. 
“I can’t help that you have that effect on me,” Ona giggled, spreading her legs wider and rolling her ass backwards, lifting herself ever so slightly off the bed. Ona would be lying if she said she couldn’t feel her pussy throbbing with need just from Lucy’s masterful hands roaming over her back.
After ensuring that she had massaged Ona thoroughly, Lucy gave Ona’s ass a playful grab before instructing Ona to turn back over. 
“Feeling better?” Lucy asked, moving up the bed to lay on her side next to Ona. Idle fingers occupied themselves with tracing swirls onto Ona’s inner forearm. 
“Mmm, mostly,” Ona’s eyes drifted down, looking at the curve of Lucy’s lips. She leant up, sneaking a quick kiss from Lucy. 
“Oh?” Lucy feigned shock, raising her eyebrows and bringing a hand to her chest. “Was it not good enough for you, my Highness?” Her fingers moved from Ona’s forearm, moving up past her tattoos, across her shoulder, before finding their resting place at the base of Ona’s neck. 
“I can think of something that would help,” the implication of Ona’s statement was heavy, hanging between them. Lucy’s eyes travelled to Ona’s lips momentarily, noticing her smirk before she pulled Ona in for a kiss. 
Ona sat up in the bed slightly, pushing into the kiss. She parted her lips against Lucy’s, begging her to deepen the kisses. Lucy straddled Ona, a knee placed between Ona’s thighs. Ona tried to subtly shuffle, bringing her core down against Lucy’s knee to try and relieve the growing pressure. The action made Lucy pull back from the kiss, taking a moment to look Ona in the eyes. 
“Naughty girl,” Lucy tutted, pushing her knee into Ona, this time with purpose, causing a slight hitch in Ona’s breath. “Trying to use my leg to get yourself off? You could have just asked nicely.” Ona tried to look away with shame, but Lucy placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head and forcing eye contact. “Do you want that? You want your pretty little pussy to get fucked?” Ona’s cheeks heated with Lucy’s crude words.
“Please,” Ona managed to breathe out, her head already dizzied with lust. Lucy's hand stroked around Ona’s neck before cupping her face and leaning back in to kiss her again. Their kisses got more frantic, tongues making small touches and asking for entry, both girls allowing the other in with ease. 
Ona was desperate to be touched, to the point she thought she would be able to cum just from grinding against Lucy. That was until Lucy pulled away again, dipping her head to kiss the sensitive skin of Ona’s neck. 
Lucy began kissing a path down her memorised map of Ona’s favourite spots, feeling the girl’s heartbeat come to life under her touch. Lucy smiled into the skin at Ona’s hitching breaths when her lip brushed over the top of a hardened nipple.
Ona’s back arched, her sensitive chest begging for more stimulation. Warm lips took the nipple in, her tongue swiping across and around it, causing Ona to writhe at the sensation. 
Lucy released the nipple with a slight tug of her teeth before leaving a wet trail of kisses across Ona’s chest to give the other equal treatment. As much as Lucy loved and wanted to drag out teasing Ona, she knew how badly the girl wanted- needed to be fucked. 
Lucy’s hand danced down soft skin and made a slow motion, dragging a single digit up Ona’s wetness. Lucy gathered the moisture on the tip of her finger, circling it around Ona’s desperate clit. 
Whispered profanity echoed in the room from the two women; Ona moaned from the teasing touches Lucy left on her. Lucy started her slow motions and stroked wide circles around Ona’s clit before building up to quickened rubbing. Lucy looked at Ona and noticed her trying to swallow her reactions, chewing on a quivering bottom lip. 
“Don’t hold back,” Lucy reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from Ona’s face before cupping her chin and looking into her eyes. “Tell me what you want.” 
“Inside,” Ona whined, barely able to form words, the now present dominance in Lucy’s voice making her feel weak. Eyebrows furrowing, she continued, “Need your fingers to fill me.” Lucy was more than happy to provide, giving teasing strokes between Ona’s folds before pushing a single finger into her. 
Ona’s groans begged Lucy for more, her hips thrusting up to meet Lucy’s movements. Lucy curved her finger gently against the soft tissue before dragging it out slowly and repeating the motions, Ona’s walls desperately fluttering, desperate for more contact. Lucy continued her movements, working at Ona’s growing wetness. 
“Need more,” Ona grabbed Lucy’s wrist, holding it and making eye contact. Lucy’s mouth twitched, a smirk forming in response to Ona’s newfound assertion. Lucy let out a slow breath before she added another finger, pushing two fingers into Ona now, feeling the warmth accommodate the increase. Ona’s grip weakened, her hand falling and letting Lucy pump strong fingers into her again. 
“You’re so good for me, baby,” Lucy cooed. “Do you know how sexy you look right now? Taking my fingers like a good girl.” Ona’s head fell back, the dirty talk sending a spark of pleasure travelling down her core.
Lucy took this as an invitation, kissing up the side of Ona’s neck, stopping when she reached underneath the younger girl's ear. Lucy took the earlobe between her teeth, using a playful force to tug on the flesh. 
The palm of Lucy’s hand hit Ona’s clit as her movements grew more intense, quickening the speed of her fingers, her bicep flexing as she thrust her arm into the movements. Lucy moved her thumb up to resume rubbing Ona’s clit. The girl's back arched further off the bed, the additional pleasure sending her reeling. 
“I-“ the word half choked, half moaned out. Ona was getting close and wasn’t sure how much longer she could last from Lucy’s fingers pleasuring her.
“I want to feel you cum on my fingers; do you think you can do that for me, baby?” The low sound of Lucy’s voice sent another jolt of pleasure coursing through her. Ona murmured a string of words in Spanish, bringing a hand to her mouth and biting down on her fingers to stifle the sounds. 
Lucy sucked the skin below Ona’s ear, sensing how close to climax the quivering girl under her was. Lucy whispered for Ona to let go, saying sweet nothings and complimenting the girl for taking her so well. 
Ona’s breathing was shallow, coming and going in short bursts. The combination of Lucy’s fingers pumping and thrusting and the roughness of the thumb on her clit was enough to push Ona over the edge.
Ona’s orgasm hit her with a crash, her walls gripping again and again onto Lucy’s slowing fingers as Lucy guided her through the waves of pleasure. All Ona could feel was her thighs shaking and clit twitching underneath Lucy’s touch.
“Oh darling, look at the mess you’ve made.” Lucy teased, making sure to maintain eye contact before licking the remnants of Ona’s cum off of her fingers and the palm of her hand. Ona’s eyes were heavy, her breathing deep as she recovered. “And to think I’d just bathed you. I guess I’ll have to clean you up.” Before Ona could come around to say anything, she felt Lucy’s tongue on her inner thigh, making long strokes against the remnants of her prior orgasm. 
“God,” Ona whined, her thigh twitching at the contact of Lucy’s tongue on her delicate skin. She opened her legs further, giving more space for Lucy to continue her work of licking and teasing Ona’s inner thighs.
“You’re such a messy girl, aren’t you?” Lucy referred to the sheen covering Ona’s inner thighs and the wet patches on the bed between her legs. Ona covered her face and tilted her head back, not wanting Lucy to see the blush of embarrassment cover her cheeks. 
Lucy licked a straight line up from Ona’s entrance up to her clit, humming at the taste of her heat. The view of Lucy, head between Ona’s thighs, lapping up the juices, her juices, was breathtaking. 
Lucy sucked Ona’s swollen clit into her mouth, humming at the taste of her girlfriend’s need. Ona’s hips jolted back into the mattress, choking on a moan, the stimulation almost being too much where she was still sensitive from her previous orgasm. 
Ona’s hands slipped into Lucy’s hair, tangling among the strands, desperately needing to find more pressure. Lucy cycled between suckling on her clit and circling it with the tip of her tongue, wanting to draw out the experience as much as she could. 
“Joder,” the Spanish rolled off her tongue, her hand tangling further in the strands. “I’m not going to last long if you - God - if you keep doing that.” Moans broke up Ona’s sentence, her eyes rolling back into her head at the pleasure.
Lucy grabbed the underside of firm thighs, bringing Ona closer to her. Ona mumbled something under her breath as Lucy continued to play with Ona’s clit in her mouth, not caring about the mess that was beginning to drip down her chin from the act. 
Ona let out a whine as Lucy continued to suckle on her clit, her fingers circling Ona’s entrance again, threatening to dip inside. 
“No teasing,” Ona complained, her walls fluttering around nothing as Lucy’s fingers danced just shy of where Ona needed her desperately. Ona continued to buck her hips, her cunt begging to be fucked by Lucy’s fingers again. She pressed the digits further in, two fingers immediately finding their target, curving and pressing at Ona’s sweet spots, causing the girl to arch her back off the bed, shuddering with pleasure. 
Lucy began slowly curling her fingers and pumping inside Ona. The wet lewd sounds of Ona’s pussy filled the room, harmonising with the small whines and moans. Lucy toyed with Ona’s clit, taking her time and swirling slowly with long licks. 
Lucy could feel Ona getting close again, the woman moving her hips unrhythmically, muscles tensing from the pleasure building in her core. Lucy doubled down on her actions, fingers thrusting quicker into wetness, her tongue picking up the pace, leaving shorter and quicker licks across her.
Lucy slowed her movement as Ona’s walls began spasming around her fingers. She wanted to drag out this high for as long as she could, increasing the pressure on Ona’s hot clit as it twitched through the orgasm. 
Ona’s body went limp, her breathing hard and jagged. She looked down, beckoning Lucy to join her. Lucy leant over the top of Ona and ducked down for a small kiss. Ona smiled into the kiss, still able to taste herself on Lucy’s lips. Ona reached to tug at Lucy’s waistband, looking up through heavy eyelids for permission to dip her hand in and touch her.
“Shh, tonight is about you,” Lucy placed a hand over Ona’s. “I would rather make you cum until you forget your name.”
“But I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel,” Ona swallowed, trying to ignore her body’s reaction to Lucy’s near-sinful words. 
“Hmm?” Lucy quirked an eyebrow, “And how good is that?” Her thumb stroked the back of Ona’s hand as she looked into her eyes with a look of intrigue and adoration.
“So. Fucking. Good.” She kissed the side of Lucy’s neck between each word before leaving a light lick and sucking over her pulse point. 
“How about,” Lucy intertwined her fingers with Ona’s. “If you’re a good girl and cum on my cock, I might just let you eat me out. Yeah?” She squeezed Ona’s hand, awaiting her response. 
Ona shuddered with pleasure at the idea, her pussy throbbing with anticipation of Lucy’s strap filling her up. She nodded up at Lucy, biting on her lower lip slightly. 
After a short search, Lucy located the toy before stripping off and stepping into the harness, the purple strap standing to attention between her thighs, giving her a confidence boost. 
The way Ona looked up at her with lustful eyes caused a coil to tighten in the bottom of Lucy’s stomach. Lucy knew Ona was likely wet enough to take the dildo but still opted to apply additional lubricant to the length for Ona’s comfort.
Lucy rejoined her partner on the bed, target fixed on the wet heat where Ona’s thighs met. Kneeling between Ona’s legs, Lucy grabbed the base of the dildo and positioned it at Ona’s entrance.
“Are you ready?” Lucy rubbed the tip of the dildo against the wetness that remained at Ona’s entrance, watching how the girl’s abs would tighten slightly each time it hit her clit. 
“Sí, cariño,” Ona affirmed before adding, “Need you in me so badly.” She begged, opening her legs wider to beg for Lucy’s cock. Lucy was eager to oblige, using her grip on the toy to guide the tip into Ona.
Ona closed her eyes, letting her body adjust to the strap slowly being pushed into her. Lucy guided the toy slowly, inch by inch, paying close attention to her girlfriend’s expressions.
“Are you okay?” Lucy’s voice softened as she momentarily took Ona’s hand for support, her thumb rubbing against her. She paused, half inside of Ona, and waited for further assurance before moving her hips any more.
“I wanna feel you deep in me,” Ona wrapped a leg around Lucy’s back, trying to pull her closer. Lucy traced Ona’s jaw and bottom lip, smiling at her with pure love and adoration in her eyes. 
Lucy slowly moved her hips back, pulling out most of the way, pausing for a beat before easing back into Ona’s heat again.
“Fóllame,” Ona begged, needing Lucy to fuck her harder. She sucked her bottom lip in, eyes wide and full of desire. Lucy obliged, picking up her pace. The lewd sounds of skin on skin and the toy ploughing into Ona filled the room. 
Lucy hooked an arm around Ona’s right leg, lifting it around her waist to fuck Ona deeper. The new angle caused the woman underneath her to moan at the sensation of being filled. Lucy upped her pace, fucking Ona with frantic passion. She admired the way Ona’s body shook, her breasts bouncing in time with Lucy plunging her cock into Ona. 
Ona’s free hand gripped her chest, eyes rolling back at the additional pleasure she was giving herself. She took a nipple between her fingers, pulling at the sensitive area and groaning.
Her hand continued down her body, reaching her clit and gently tweaking it between two fingers. Ona stilled her hand momentarily and locked eyes with Lucy, a silent request to be allowed to touch herself. 
“Fuck,” Lucy groaned at the sight of it, head tilting back slightly, “Play with that pretty little clit for me, baby.” The rasp of Lucy’s voice sent boiling pleasure down Ona’s spine. Her fingers sped up at the command, pressing tight circles into the sensitive area. Lucy’s hips kept rutting into Ona’s, the two bodies shaking together. 
“Close,” Ona whined, thighs starting to tense up, her body getting ready for release. Lucy admired the way her cock disappeared into Ona’s body, again and again, lewd wet noises coming from Ona. 
“Cum for me,” Lucy’s voice was dark as she kept up the pace, grabbing harsher at Ona’s thighs, fucking her with an unrelenting tempo. She wanted Ona to feel every inch of her thrusting and pumping in her. 
Ona threw her head back as her noises grew in volume, her body pushed over the edge; she covered Lucy’s strap in another release, fluttering around the strap. Lucy whispered praises to Ona as her hips continued to fuck her through her climax. Lucy reduced her movements to slow, long strokes to aid Ona through the aftershocks of pleasure. Lucy pulled out of Ona, who whined at the loss before Lucy fell next to her on the bed. Lucy breathed hard, chest heaving from the physical exertion of fucking Ona's third orgasm out of her. 
Ona looked at Lucy with dopey eyes, admiring her flushed complexion and the sweat beads rolling down her temples. She couldn’t help but be enamoured by Lucy’s rising and falling chest. 
She leaned down and kissed a path down Lucy’s torso, taking extra time to worship Lucy’s prominent abs, rubbing over them with her fingers. Bringing her mouth to the tip of the dildo, Ona licked her lips before taking it in her mouth. Maintaining eye contact, she used her mouth to clean her warm juices off of the strap, moaning as she did so. She hollowed her cheeks, taking the toy as far deep into her mouth as she could, tears pricking at the sides of her eyes from the sensation of the silicone hitting the back of her throat. 
After sucking the length a few times, she circled the tip with her tongue before licking down to the base and then trailed off in kisses to meet Lucy’s thigh. The new contact with sensitive skin caused Lucy to let out a fluttering breath. 
Making quick work of the harness, Ona discarded the garment and toy before bringing her face back between the muscular thighs and licking up the pooling arousal that was begging for attention. 
“Your turn,” Ona’s tone was cheeky, biting her lip. She gripped Lucy’s thighs, opening them further to position herself closer to Lucy’s pussy. 
Ona’s tongue toyed with Lucy’s entrance, teasing and dipping inside, moaning at the taste of her girlfriend's desire. Lucy sighed, the tips of her fingers digging into Ona’s scalp, beckoning her to continue. Ona hummed into Lucy’s pussy with delight at just how wet and worked up Lucy had gotten from fucking Ona into the mattress.
Ona was sloppy, her tongue lapping at Lucy’s sex, revelling in the taste and feel of her. She experimented with a range of long licks and quick movements, indulging in all of the little reactions Lucy’s body had. Ona loved feeling Lucy’s body tremble and crumble under Ona’s touch. 
The mix of saliva and Lucy’s arousal covered Ona’s lips and chin as she took Lucy’s clit into her mouth, giving a light suck on it as her tongue made quick circular strokes. 
“Oh fuck, don’t stop, baby,” the guttural groans she made in reaction to Ona’s tongue echoed through the room. Lucy’s thighs were shaking as she was already approaching her climax. 
Ona’s hands pushed down on Lucy’s hips, pinning her down and stroking up the soft skin. Roaming hands settled over abs, feeling how they would flex in response to particular tongue movements or when Ona changed the way she was sucking and lapping. 
Lucy couldn’t stop the string of profanity from leaving her mouth, her body feeling overrun with the pleasure that her girlfriend’s mouth was giving her. Ona’s tongue continued to dance circles around Lucy’s clit, not daring to falter or slow. 
“Fuck,” Lucy exclaimed as her head fell back against the pillow. “I’m close,” her hands continued tangling into Ona’s damp hair, her nails pressing against the soft skin of Ona’s scalp. Lucy’s back arched further off of the bed, her hips grinding into Ona’s mouth as she chased her high.
Lucy’s shallow panting stopped momentarily, her hips lifting off the bed as she held Ona’s head in place, trembling against the wet mouth that remained sucking on her clit. 
Lucy let out a shuddering breath as she tried to regulate her breathing after cumming hard on Ona’s tongue. 
“Alright, baby?” Ona shuffled back up the bed, curling up into Lucy’s side and draping an arm across her torso.
“Feeling relaxed yet?” Lucy asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Ona’s ear before she replied:
“Mhm, that’s my kind of stress relief.”
208 notes · View notes
junhanism · 9 months ago
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YOUR TOUCH
Pairing. Lee Heeseung X reader
Genre. Fluff - situationship - best friends to lovers
Warnings. Mention of alcohol but no one’s rlly drinking
WC. 1.6k (1661)
Note : HEAVILY inspired by this fic (go read it i swear you won’t regret it). Also i haven’t posted since december omg 😭😭 this has been rotting in my notes for sooo long and i finally decided to finish it. Enjoy x
With his face buried in the crook of your neck and your hands tangled in his hair, you couldn’t help but let your mind travel back to the previous events that took place a few hours ago.
It wasn’t unusual for Heeseung to hold you close to him in the late hours of the day nor was it odd for him to bury his face in your neck the way he currently was but what was odd was him holding you like this in front of other people.
After your six long years of friendship, Heeseung and you both came to an agreement that would benefit the both of you.
You clearly were touch starved and so was he.
So naturally Heeseung, being the good friend he was, came up with the idea of you holding one another.
It did sound kind of weird at first but after giving it a second thought you found it to be a good idea.
I mean, two friends hugging each other, where’s the hurt in that ?
You decided to keep this side of your friendship behind closed doors in order to not raise any suspicions or judgment from your other friends.
Heeseung would cling onto you while you were cooking or lay on your lap when having a movie night together.
You would run your fingers through his hair as his would run along your arms when you both cuddled. It felt nice to have someone to hold close to you despite not being in a relationship.
Nothing has changed between you two, your dynamic was still the same it has been for the past 6 years of knowing each other. The only change being ; you would cuddle daily.
You would sleep together, tightly holding one another, without overstepping any boundaries.
You made it clear that this agreement was only up until one of you found a partner that would feed your needs but this has been going on for the past 9 months now. Not that you complained at all, but during those nine months you might or might not have developed some stronger feelings for the man...
“Stronger” as in not just friendly, platonic love.
You tried to burry those feelings as you knew well that he could never return them and that it would be foolish of you to think he ever would.
It didn’t seem like he put much thought about this situation-ship you two were in.
But it felt as if the more you tried to push these feelings away, the stronger they got.
You decided to just enjoy it while it lasted because you knew this would one day come to an end as you were sure he didn’t see you as more than a best friend.
Or you were almost sure.
Because when you pushed open the door of the fancy house in which was thrown a party you were not invited to, your eyes instinctively scanned through the sea of people, looking for the one and only Lee Heeseung.
It wasn’t too hard to find him given the fact that he was taller than most people here.
You locked eyes with him and his face lit up upon seeing that you actually came to the party you said you wouldn’t attend (you gave in to his endless whining about how “it would be so boring without you there”).
You made your way through the crowd as best as you could, trying to reach your small group of friends.
Heeseung extended a hand in your direction which you strongly grasped, helping you out of the crowd and smoothly pulling you to his side.
“You came” he smiled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders swiftly.
You didn’t think much about the action, the way his arm nonchalantly hung around you just made it seem like two close friends standing next to each other. And everybody here knew the two of you have been best friends for a while now.
The evening went on smoothly, as smooth as Heeseung’s unoccupied hand was when it made it’s way to your waist, lightly caressing your exposed skin.
As smooth as his arm, that was originally slung over your shoulders, caged your front and brought your body closer to his.
You shot him a confused glare only to find him already looking down at you with a small smile on his lips. He simply shrugged at your confused face and tugged you in closer to his chest, resting his head on top of yours and leaving you even more baffled at his rather out-of-character behaviour.
A few of your friends sent you questioning looks to which you replied back with obvious confusion written in your eyes, signalling them that you also had no idea of what was currently going on.
And you weren’t lying— you really didn’t know why he was acting this way in front of so many people. This was something he would do when he came over and you were both in the comfort of your small apartment with no one watching.
When did he get this bold ?
Why was he getting so close to you when everyone could see ?
Both of his arms were now wrapped around your shoulders as he correctly rearranged his head over yours, fully back hugging you.
He started to rock your bodies from left to right slowly in a comforting way.
You looked like a literal couple and it obviously didn’t go unnoticed by your friends.
“Hold on are you guys a thing ?” One of your friends, Jake, cautiously asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Your eyes widened for a millisecond and you gulped in slight panic.
Trying your best to seem unfazed by the sudden but not unexpected question, you were about to answer when you felt Heeseung stop his motion and beat you to it.
“No we’re not”
Oh wow, why did this kinda hurt ?
A part of you somehow hoped he would have had a different answer, that he would’ve pretended you guys were a thing.
But what’s worse between denying and pretending ?
Jake was quick to catch on to the disappointment that flashed through your eyes and chuckled to himself before looking back to Heeseung.
“Then you wouldn’t mind of if i asked her out, right ?”
Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets as you looked at Jake in shock but the boy shot you a reassuring glance telling you to not worry. He was actually helping you out.
This man is truly an angel, isn’t he ?
Heeseung’s hold grew tighter around your shoulders, holding you as if you could run away at any moment.
“In your dreams Sim Jaeyun”
And when you thought your heart couldn’t beat any faster…
The obvious possessiveness lacing his voice caused your friends to shout all kind of things, all along the lines of “you two being in a secret relationship and hiding it from them this whole time” and “Heeseung being jealous”
And this only fed your delusions and your growing feelings for the boy currently holding you.
Was he really jealous ? It could be the alcohol though…
Your eyes traveled to the red cup discarded on the counter and you could clearly see that the liquid inside it didn’t down one bit ever since you arrived.
So this couldn’t be it..
Was he putting on a show for the others ?
I mean, why would he do this ?
So many questions ran through your mind and in a blink of an eye Heeseung and you found yourselves on your way (to your) home and on your sofa with his head ,as said before, buried in the crook of your neck and your hands tangled in his hair.
The questions did not stop though. Your mind kept replaying the way his arms tightened around you when Jake asked if he could take you out.
He could easily lie about not liking you but you were smart enough to not miss his body language. But then again you maybe overthought this whole thing and he could just be messing with you.
You decided that the only way to find answers to your questions was to ask him directly.
So without thinking twice you blurted out his name, breaking the comforting silence that surrounded you.
The boy simply hummed in your neck, indicating that he was listening to whatever you had to say.
“Do you like me ?”
Heeseung lifted his head from the comfortable spot between your neck and your shoulder, looking up at you with a somewhat deadpan expression on his face.
“What do you think ?”
Huh.
You furrowed your eyebrows at his answer. That was definitely not what you expected.
Heeseung lightly chuckled at your confused expression before answering. “You’re either really stupid or you’re doing it on purpose”
You stayed silent at that -rather, you’ve been silenced- which earned another laugh from the boy.
“Why do you think i proposed this whole arrangement nine months ago, hm ?”
When you didn’t answer he leaned his face closer and closer to yours until your lips were only a few inches apart, brushing against each other.
“Maybe i should show you then” he whispered before connecting your lips together in a tender kiss that you, obviously, returned.
The kiss didn’t last long but enough to speak both of your feelings without a word.
“Does it answer your question ?” He asked, bumping his nose into yours cutely.
You too decided to answer by connecting your lips once again in a longer and more passionate kiss this time, spilling the unspoken longing and hidden feelings into it.
You both pulled apart after some time due to the lack of oxygen.
Heeseung pecked your lips one last time, then your chin before locking eyes with you, smiling tenderly.
“I was not just touch starved, i was starved of your touch”
63 notes · View notes
sapphicideas · 2 months ago
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kind of a vent and you can just ignore this if you want. I’m a college age bi tgirl who’s been having a bit of a rough time of it. I’ve done my best to be picky but it feels like all the worst people just throw themselves at me. From emotionally manipulative girl, to boy who blatantly cheated on me when I didn’t want to have sex right away, another girl who after I turned her down decided to try to rape me, just to name a few. Every time I feel like it’ll be different, like I’ve sifted through and found someone who is genuine and then I just get fucked over again. Either they only want me for my body to fill their fetish, or the leave once they find out about it thinking I’m gross, or they just want to try and manipulate me and get upset when I try to stand up for myself, or maybe I’m just a novelty and they get bored and leave. It just kind of feels like at this point this is just what I deserve I guess. I don’t know where I’m going with this I think I just wanted to try and get it out of my system. It’s just exhausting feeling like no matter what I do I always get fucked over.
first of all, i want to say that i am extremely sorry you're going through that. college alone is extremely stressful and situations like this just make that even worse.
you don't deserve any of this. i know it might feel like you do because after enduring so much of this bad stuff, our mind starts to believe that no matter what we do, it won't make a difference. it's like our brain just gives up on trying to fight it and just learns to accept it, instead of realizing the situation could change. bad coping mechanisms are probably feeding this negative thinking pattern too, so it's very important for you to start working on your self esteem and the way you deal with these kinds of situations. if you don't, it will eat you alive.
each time you experience that kind of self doubt, i want you to immediately shut down that negative thought and replace it with a question instead. something like 'assuming it's not my fault, what other explanation could this have?' for example, in your case you said 'i guess it's just what i deserve' which is wrong. i want you to ask yourself that question and realize that you are not at fault. the answer should be 'this person overstepped my boundaries, made me feel bad and hurt me. but i'm not at fault, i can't control other people's actions'. remember, you can only control how you react to the attack itself. if you still don't fully believe that, think about it as if it was a friend or even a complete stranger. blaming someone for getting hurt or used doesn't sound nice, does it? i'm sure you would never do that. so why would you do that to yourself?
you need to treat yourself the way you'd treat someone else, have some self compassion. you don't deserve anything bad, and you're not stupid for not realizing someone's intentions beforehand. people can be really manipulative, and that's not your fault. it's okay to feel hurt, and it's okay to realize someone didn't have good intentions with you. none of that reflects your true worth. you're not less human for not being able to anticipate someone's deceiving behavior. believe me, it's hard for everyone, even for me. and i'd say i'm pretty good at reading people.
i like that you're being picky, i want you to keep having hope. even if that means stepping away from the dating scene for a bit. focus on healing first. keeping that hope intact is what matters the most, not giving someone a chance just because 'they're nice' or 'i think they're treating me okay'. set boundaries, step by step. and don't give up, you're so strong, pretty girl. if you have to stop talking to someone who makes you feel bad, do it. it might hurt in the moment, but in 2 years you won't ever remember their name, i can assure you that.
you don’t have to have it all figured out today or tomorrow, maybe not even next month. it takes so long to unlearn bad habits, even longer than it takes to learn new ones.
sorry it took me this long to reply, i completely missed this ask. and i'm sorry for the actual bible that this response has been, my god. but i figured that if you didn't come back with another ask, i'd just lay the whole thing out there. stay strong, you're loved and worthy of respect. that's the bare minimum, take care princess
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