#I refuse to be two people I refuse to cut myself in half I refuse to kill the part of me you're uncomfortable with. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iydiamartinx · 2 months ago

Text

THE ART OF RESTRAINT II

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 2.3k synopsis: At Gotham’s most exclusive gala, your calendar shoot with Bruce Wayne has made you the center of attention. But when admiration turns inappropriate, Bruce intervenes… and stakes a claim that ignites everything you’ve tried to bury. a/n: Due to popular demand here is part 2! Also I think I might make this a series, what do you all think?

A month later, Gotham’s elite gathered beneath chandeliers and champagne towers, draped in couture and cloaked in vanity. The Gotham Foundation Gala had always been an affair of power, legacy, and whispered deals between glasses of merlot.

You and Bruce were always considered the most powerful and wealthiest donors in attendance but this year, thanks to the calendar shoot, the two of you were the main attraction.

You in black silk, the fabric hugging just the right places and cut high all the way to the thigh. You in heels sharp enough to draw blood. You standing beneath towering canvases of the now-infamous calendar shoot—each photo blown up and framed like art, lit from below in gold.

There you were, pinning Bruce Wayne to a bed with a mouthful of fire and a stare that had made half of Gotham’s boardrooms sweat.

And beside it?

Another photo: Bruce above you, hand at your throat, the whisper of his lips nearly brushing yours, both of you suspended in a moment so thick with tension, it still made you hot under the collar.

Compliments followed you all night.

“You looked incredible in those shots—was it really staged?”

“Don’t you two have insane chemistry?”

“I’m shocked the sheets didn’t catch fire.”

You smiled politely. Nodded. Deflected.

You were swirling your drink near one of the gallery displays—your own photo looming behind you in all its controversial glory—when a man stepped into your periphery.

Tall. Well-dressed. Mid-forties, maybe. Clean-cut and confident in that way men get when they think their money makes them interesting.

“You know,” he began conversationally, his tone easy, “I don’t usually like these calendar stunts.”

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

“But this year?” His gaze flicked to the framed shot of you straddling Bruce, lips nearly touching. “I might frame that one for my office.”

You offered a tight smile, the kind that conveyed your disinterest with causing such a scandal you would be plastered over the front page of the news.

“You’ve got half the room talking,” he continued, holding out a hand. “Daniel. I run acquisitions over at Monarch Holdings.”

You took his hand briefly. “Pleasure.”

“Is he here?” Daniel asked, nodding toward the photo. “Wayne.”

“He was as much a part of this as I was, so yes—he’s here.” Unfortunately. But you didn’t tack that part on. Instead, you simply nodded toward where he stood, surrounded by a cluster of socialites, all of them fawning as he gifted them one of his signature, devastatingly charming grins.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, the stem of your champagne flute pressing tighter between your fingers—just enough to betray the irritation you refused to show on your face.

“So,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly, “are you two…?”

You gave a bland smile. “Are we two what?”

He laughed like he hadn’t been fishing. “You know what I mean. That shoot didn’t look staged.”

“That’s the job,” you replied coolly. “To make it look real.”

“Right,” he said, eyes still on you. “Well, it worked. Hell of a performance. Intense. Sexy.” He took a sip of his drink, then leaned in just a little. “He’s a lucky man to have had this opportunity with a woman like you.” His eyes raked down your figure, slow and deliberate. “You belong on camera. Honestly, if you ever wanted to do something a little more… private, I know a few people who’d pay a fortune to see it and wouldn’t mind seeing you in something even racier. Hell, I’d fund the shoot myself. Bet you’ve got a few poses he couldn’t pull out of you.

You blinked once. Your eyes narrowing into slits.

The chill in your stare should’ve been enough.

The audacity of this man, propositioning you like you were some whore.

You were one of the richest, most powerful women in the city—your name carried more weight than some entire empires. You had more money than you knew what to do with—the only reason you agreed to the shoot and didn’t tear your assistant a new one was because the proceeds were being donated to the less fortunate. And yet, here he was. Looking at you like you were a toy he could buy. Like some bored little trophy to pose next to him at the next shareholders’ gala.

Your jaw tightened. The words burned behind your teeth, sharp and exact, already forming—

But before you could let them fly, you felt it.

A presence at your back.

Broad. Warm. Unmistakable.

A hand rested at the small of your back—large, steady, and maddeningly familiar. His palm pressed gently against the silk of your gown, anchoring you. Possessive in the subtlest way. Protective in the most public one.

You didn’t have to look.

You already knew who it was.

“I’ve always admired ambition,” Bruce said, stepping into view with a glass of champagne in hand and the kind of effortless grin that made people underestimate him.

His eyes met Daniel’s. Calm. Almost friendly.

“But approaching another man’s date in front of a twelve-foot photo of them practically making out?” Bruce tilted his head, faux-impressed. “That’s bold.”

Daniel blinked. “I didn’t realize—”

He stepped in a little closer, casual and unbothered. The warmth of his hand still lingered at your back.

“Oh, it’s alright,” he said with an airy wave of his glass. “You couldn’t have known. We’ve been keeping things quiet.”

You fought the urge to bristle.

The words we’ve been keeping things quiet scraped against every instinct you had. You wanted to cut in, to correct him, to remind everyone in earshot that there was no we.

But you didn’t.

Because as much as it made your blood simmer, Bruce was helping you—even if you hadn’t asked for it. Even if you didn’t need it. And calling him out now, in front of half the gala, would only turn eyes and whispering mouths on both of you and not in a good way.

“You know how it is—mixing business and pleasure,” he went on, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. He leaned in slightly, as if confiding something scandalous, though every word was meant to be overheard. “Gets messy. Especially when other people try to insert themselves where they don’t belong.”

“I do applaud the attempt, though,” Bruce said lightly. “but the truth is… most men wouldn’t know what to do with someone like her.”

Daniel opened his mouth, perhaps to disagree but Bruce didn’t give him a chance.

“Just friendly advice,” Bruce added, with a wink and a sip of his drink. “I’d hate to see you step into something you can’t afford.”

Dan’s smile froze.

For a moment, he just stood there, caught in the pause between realization and retreat. The veneer of confidence he wore so easily began to splinter, cracking beneath the weight of Bruce’s words—a quiet reminder of exactly who you were, and more importantly, who he wasn’t.

He shifted his drink, fingers tightening slightly around the glass. Cleared his throat. Laughed—too light, too forced.

His eyes flicked between you and Bruce, searching for a foothold, for some hint that he hadn’t just been publicly dressed down by Gotham’s most powerful man for daring to proposition a woman so clearly out of his reach.

Bruce didn’t blink.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t give him an inch.

Eventually, Dan let out an awkward chuckle and took a careful step back. “Didn’t mean to step on toes.”

“You didn’t,” Bruce said, smooth as silk. “But it’s best to watch your footing anyway.”

Dan took the out and disappeared into the crowd, ego limping behind him.

The moment he was gone, you turned to him, jaw clenched.

“What the hell was that?”

He took a sip of his drink, looking far too pleased with himself. ““Just offering an innocent man a word of warning,” he said, his expression was all practiced innocence. “He seemed a little too eager to bring the devil into his bed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to slap the glass out of his hand. “You were marking your territory like a dog in a tux.”

He smiled. “A charming dog in a very expensive tux.”

You grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the crowd, weaving between silken gowns and murmured gossip until you found a quiet corridor near the ballroom’s edge. You shoved him through the first unlocked door you found—an unused sitting room glittering with old portraits and low lighting.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, muffled by velvet walls and the hum of distant music.

You turned on Bruce before he could say a word.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He stood there, cool and collected, the very image of effortless wealth and unbothered masculinity. The undone bow tie at his collar made him look almost disheveled. Almost. Just enough to make your jaw clench.

He set his glass down calmly, unbothered. “He was a jackass.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you snapped, voice rising, heat flooding your cheeks. “We’re not together. You don’t get to claim me like that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t see you stopping me.”

You glared. “I was about to.”

You both knew that was a lie.

His smirk said it all.

He stepped closer, closing the space like it didn’t exist��until you could feel the heat of him again.

“So do it now,” he said softly, voice like smoke. “Tell me to stop.”

You stared up at him, fury and something else flickering behind your eyes.

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, fists clenched. “You can—”

But the rest never came.

Because the next second, his mouth was on yours—hot, demanding, claiming.

It was months—no, years—of tension, weeks of silence, and one steamy photoshoot slamming into you like gravity. He kissed you like he’d been waiting—like he’d been starving—and you answered without hesitation, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket as your back hit the wall.

He tasted like champagne and fury. His mouth crashed against yours with months of tension behind it. His hands found your hips, your thigh, your waist—hoisting you up with barely a grunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed you harder into the wall.

Your dress hitched up as one of his hands trailed dangerously high. His jacket slipped off his shoulders. The kiss deepened. Frantic.

It was messy and heated.

All the unspoken tension that had stretched between you for years—every boardroom standoff, every argument, every glare that lingered with too much heat—snapped in an instant, and now you were pouring it into each other like gasoline on a lit match.

If only the photographer could see you now.

“You’re impossible,” you gasped against his mouth, barely able to catch your breath between kisses.

“So are you,” he muttered, voice rough with want, dragging his mouth down the curve of your throat. “So damn impossible.”

Then he found it—your sweet spot—and latched on, sucking hard.

Your head tipped back against the wall with a quiet, broken whimper as pleasure bloomed hot and dizzy beneath your skin. Your nails scraped down his chest, dragging across fine fabric and hard muscle, just to ground yourself.

You were lost in it—In him, his mouth at your throat, your legs locked around his waist—when the door creaked open.

Laughter spilled in.

“Oh—oh my God.”

Both of you froze.

And there they were: three socialites standing in the doorway with wide, sparkling eyes and champagne flutes frozen mid-air. One covered her mouth in dramatic glee. Another whipped out her phone. Behind them, of course, stood Dan, red-faced and horrified, looking like he wished the marble floor would swallow him whole.

Your legs were still locked around Bruce’s waist.

His hands were still on you—one gripping your thigh, the other splayed possessively against your lower back, as if even now, he had no intention of letting go.

Your lipstick was halfway to nonexistent, the rest smeared across his mouth.

And then there was the mark.

The very visible, unmistakable claim he’d left on your neck—dark, blooming, and already turning heads.

There was no hiding what you two were doing.

The girls giggled like it was the juiciest scandal they’d ever seen and pulled the door shut behind them, their laughter echoing off marble.

You exhaled sharply, head thudding back against the wall.

Bruce’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard—still tangled in the heat of what almost happened, and the reality of what did.

You shoved lightly at his chest.

He let you.

Then his hands slid to your waist, steadying you as he helped you down. His hands didn’t linger.

He fixed your hem without being asked, then straightened his jacket.

Then Bruce cleared his throat and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone. “So… dinner?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Just turned, reaching down to grab your fallen clutch. You swiped your thumb across your smeared lipstick, and headed for the door.

At the threshold, you paused.

“Pick me up at eight,” you said, trying—and failing—to hide the twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Saturday.”

Then you turned and walked out, heels clicking like a gavel against the marble floor.

Behind you, The Bruce Wayne stood grinning like he’d just closed the biggest deal of his life.

And maybe… he had.

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

Tag List: @jeudieohvjdjtg

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #batman #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #Bruce is a model #Bruce needs to be on too hot to handle cause goddamn #dc comics #batman comics

731 notes · View notes

cumironi · 11 months ago

Text

OH, I'M DESTROYED : GOJO SATORU

he's your best friend— gojo satoru, he's getting married soon with kids on the way even though your heart is craving for each other, you sarcastically, jokingly tell him, “pleased? oh, I'm destroyed,” after hearing the news, he laughed, almost crying as he looks at you.

w/c. 3,4k

warning : non-sorcerer! gojo satoru. little bit angst. (idk)

p.s. when i said the reader didn't believe in god it's just for writing purposes, i, myself too believe in god. this fiction is inspired by one day series episodes 8? I forget.

“y/n, can we talk?”

there he is, satoru gojo— your bestfriend, your other half, your oasis in the desert, your everything. standing with two of his warm, delicate hands stuffed into his pocket. a warm smile makes themselves home on his handsome face. his blue eyes— satoru gojo’s blue eyes, shimmered like the clearest ocean on a sunlit day, mesmerizing depths promising thousand, endless even, unspoken emotions.

each glance felt like being wrapped in the gentle embrace of a summer breeze, full of warmth and tender affection. his eyes held a universe of mystery and allure, making it impossible to look away, as if they whispered secrets of love and devotion only meant for you— hah, you wish’ you thought.

“sure,” you smile.

your hands gripping the bouquet tightly, so tight the spine cuts through your finger without you realizing. you two walk side by side into the maze behind the chapel where suguru geto and shoko ieiri weddings are held, yours and gojo’s other friends. you refuse to look at him, sparing the man a glance that feels strange after all those two years living your life with no contact from him, neither do you try to reach him, at least not after the fight you have that night.

“how are you doing, y/n?”

the simple question lingers through the air for quite a time when the two enter the maze. your silken hair is pretty, falling gently, enchanting, on your back, touching the soft material of your bridesmaid dress, a blue one, the same color as his eyes— oh, his eyes.

you look to your left to fulfill the starving of your heart, take a glimpse by a glimpse of his frame. two years was too long without seeing those pretty eyes, those warm smiles, those pretty long white lashes, those . . . no, just him.

“it was fine,” lied, of course.

you couldn’t find the courage to pour your heart out, you wouldn’t dare. you wouldn’t dare to tell your best friend how much the longing, how thousand days and nights, and each time you closed your eyes there he was before you, standing in the void inside your dream, how he all of the other people the one who you falling into the abyss to.

“turn right?”

you only nodded, his palm barely touched your lower back and your breath was already prepared to leave your body only for it to come back the second gojo pulled his hand away. the two of you sat on the concrete bench, nailed in the middle of the maze. under the moonlight, the soft glow casting a magical aura around you. the silvery light made gojo’s eyes come alive, no longer hidden behind the black glasses he once wore so often.

his striking blue eyes shone with an ethereal brilliance, reflecting the moon’s gentle radiance. his white locks shimmered like strands of stardust, adding to his otherworldly beauty. in that moment, with the moonlight dancing on his features, he looked more breathtaking than ever, a living embodiment of celestial grace and charm. the night seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself paused to admire the sheer beauty of the scene, leaving you both enveloped in a cocoon of serene enchantment.

he is as beautiful as ever, as breathtaking as you can remember— that’s how you always saw him.

oh, but how gojo wishes you could see the way he sees you. sitting before him, his oh-so-called-bestfriend, his unwavering rock, his compass, and how sometimes— no, every time, it’s just ‘his’.

under the moonlight, with its silvery beams casting a soft glow around you, in the heart of the maze where the world feels like a distant dream, it’s just the two of you. the stillness of the night amplifies the beauty of the moment, every shadow and glint of light painting a picture of serene intimacy. here, in this secluded sanctuary, surrounded by the whispering leaves and the cool night air, the universe narrows to the space between you.

gojo looks at you, his eyes filled with a tender intensity, wishing you could see yourself as he does—captivating, radiant, and indispensable. in this moment, under the tranquil moonlit sky, you are his everything, the silent heartbeat of his existence, the unspoken song of his soul.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence, “i never thought we’d end up here again. thought you’d be too busy saving the world or something,” you throwing the man side glance, a little smirk playing on your lips.

gojo chuckles, the sound light and familiar. he brings the glass of almost-finished wine to his lips, takes a sip before answering, “and i thought you’d be too busy being mad at me forever,” he jokingly smiled at you.

you roll your eyes, the smirk turns into a smile, tugging at your lips. “well, you did deserve it. you were being insufferable,” you laugh a little. and without you notice, it caught gojo by surprise, a little. two years long he survived with hearing your little giggle— giggle for me, again’ he thought. eyes fixed to you as he takes another sip, smiling.

he smirks, leaning back on his hands. “insufferable? that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” your head slightly shook, “nope, just accurate,” you retort, popping the ‘p’ as you nudging his shoulder playfully. “you have a way of getting under people’s skin, you know.”

“oh, come on,” he protests, a teasing glint in his eyes. “you know you missed me. admit it.”

“missed you?” you asked, giving the man a glimpse of ‘knowing look’ before smiling, “more like missed having someone to argue with,” you reply, though there’s a softness to your words. you glance at him again, the moonlight making his blue eyes shimmer like twin stars. “it’s been quiet without you around.”

he laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “same old you. always ready with a comeback.”

“and same old you, always thinking you’re the center of the universe,” you quip, though your tone is softer now, the old familiarity seeping back. “well, i am pretty important,” he says with a wink, but then his expression turns more serious. “i’m sorry, you know,” his eyes moving slowly, looking for your expression, “for what happened. i never wanted to hurt you.”

for the second time, you nodded your head, eyes focusing on your laps. you finish the rest of the wine on your glass before putting the glass down on the bench and look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “i know, satoru. i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have walked away like that.”

he reaches out, taking your hand in his. the hands he always wants to hold, straving even. the hands that always perfectly fits with his like a puzzle, the warm, your pulse hitting your soft skin a little harder every time he holds it— oh, how he loves the feeling. “we both made mistakes. but we’re here now. can we start over?” you squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch. “yeah, i’d like that.”

he grins, the mischievous spark back in his eyes. “good. because i’ve got two years of teasing to make up for.” you laugh, shaking your head as your brain begging you to let go of his hands, so you did.

shaking your head slightly, you scoff, “bring it on, gojo. i’m ready.”

he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “you know, i really did miss you. it wasn’t the same without my best friend around.”

best-friend, fucking hate that word’ you thought.

you look at him, the honesty in his words melting away the last remnants of your anger and blossoming the garden of regret and sadness you used to grow, still. “i missed you too,” you smile so little, just like how your feelings made you feel right now. “more than i wanted to admit,” you added, jokingly.

gojo chuckles softly. “well, lucky for you, i’m back now. and i’m not going anywhere.”

please don’t— you want to beg him, wishing he wouldn’t make any promises, you hope he would go anywhere. at least until these feelings start to leave your body, faded, disappearing like whispers on the wind.

but you smile because feeling a sense of peace settles over you. “good,” you lie to yourself. “because i don't think i could handle losing you again,” it was a pleasure to be burn for gojo satoru, it was always a pleasure.

he looks at you, his eyes filled with tender intensity and something unfamiliar— you think, only to not realize he looks at you just like how the way you look at him. his love for you breaking all his bones and soul, but all he can do is just laugh; you were his best friend, after all. beautiful, crushingly so even, you look like the rest of my life— no, that’s not how a best friend thinks of his best friend. gojo satoru wouldn’t dare.

“you won’t. not if i can help it.”

the two of you just look at each other after that, with soft smiles on your faces, letting the weight of the past dissolve in the quiet night. under the moonlight, in the heart of the maze, it feels as if the world has been righted, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels as it should be.

or maybe it shouldn’t.

gojo shifted slightly and reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “hey, i have something for you,” he said, his voice tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. curious, you watched as he pulled out an envelope. the paper was thick and elegant— the kind used for important occasions, a soft lavender color that stood out against the dark fabric of his suit. he handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours, sending a familiar warmth through you.

you took the envelope, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread. opening it carefully, you find a beautifully crafted wedding invitation inside. the names on it made your breath catch in your throat: satoru gojo and his fiancée.

your heart sank, but you managed to keep your expression neutral. “satoru..” your voice came out as a whisper, blending with the soft hustle of the leaves. “this is lovely,” you said, forcing a smile as you looked up at him.

gojo’s eyes searched yours as if trying to read your thoughts. the grief— it’s all over your eyes, the grief that is more honest to him than you ever could. but gojo does not know the reason, why are you grieving? it is because of your sorrow and he can’t give you the shoulder? or is it because you, once again, are letting yourself burn for loving him? the saddest is, he doesn’t know that, not that he has to.

is it still a pleasure to burn for him now?

“i wanted you to have it first,” he said quietly. “you’ve always been important to me, more than anyone else.” the weight of his words hung in the air, making it harder to maintain your composure. “thank you,” you replied, your voice barely steady. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you smile at each other as if trying to comfort each other. “are you pleased?” he asked softly— too afraid if his voice came out louder, he would break you. please, don’t say yes’ he begged his heart. just say the word, y/n’ he continued. he begged, once, twice, three time, for the past twelve years of his life knowing you, under the moonlight, to the moon that you say the words, begging him to stop the wedding. just say the word and he’ll come running to you.

you groan a little, “pleased? oh, i’m destroyed.”

no, he was destroyed.

so he leaned closer, faster enough to fill his eyes with a mixture of affection and again, something you couldn't quite identify. “you know, you’ve always been my closest friend. my confidant. my anchor.” you nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “and you’ve been mine,” you said softly, the unspoken words lingering between you.

the silence between you grew heavier as you stared at the lavender envelope in your hands. with a deep breath, you carefully opened the lavender envelope, your fingers trembling. the wedding invitation was exquisitely crafted, each detail speaking of the elegance and care that had gone into its creation. the elegant script revealing the date. seven weeks from now. your heart sank further, the realization hitting you like a wave.

you looked up at gojo, the question evident in your eyes. “seven weeks?” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. “that’s. . . soon.” he nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “yeah, it’s a ‘shotgun’ wedding,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “things have been moving quickly when you are not around,” your heart ached at his words, the reality of his imminent marriage sinking in. “why so soon?" you asked, struggling to keep the tears at bay. “you are going to be a father? is that allowed?”

he chuckled at your attempt to joke, trying to hide the sadness that was so clearly there behind his eyes. the smile on his lips didn’t quite reach them, but he tried his best to keep up a brave face for you.

he scoffs, “apparently, they did,” he nodded.

he shrugged nonchalantly, trying to act as though it didn’t bother him in the slightest. he didn’t want you to know just how much turmoil he was facing with this entire situation. “yeah, not like we had much of a choice in the whole matter . . .” the fact that he was getting married had been eating at him for weeks. all of that time he had spent with you, all the memories. in just seven short, short weeks it would come to an end. he wanted to tell you. tell you just how much you meant to him, but . . .

but what? would it do any good?

your hand is gripping tightly around the bouquet, so tight, suffocating, until— for the second time that night the spine digs itself through your skin, straight to your heart— the pain, it’s unbearable, you feel like dying.

there was a long pause, the maze around you silent except for the faint rustling of leaves. you wanted to tell him everything, to confess how much he meant to you, but fear held you back. instead, you tried to focus on the moment, on the bittersweet reality of his impending marriage. “oh, my god—” you choke on your own. one hand covering your mouth before you face him.

gojo reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “promise me we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” he said, his voice almost pleading. you squeezed his hand, fighting back tears. “always,” you promised, even as your heart shattered a little more. your hands, the one he wants to carry his heart by.

your eyes are shaking, matching his heart, it’s hurting. “i’m so happy for you,” your smile didn’t reach your eyes. someone once said that people’s hearts appear in their eyes, gojo can see yours now; it’s broken, shattered before him.

please don’t be happy for me, be miserable, so i don’t have the heart to leave you, so i can be with you,’ he wants to scream at you.

“oh, god, i’m so happy for you. . .”

look at you, a girl who doesn’t believe in god now crying, begging, pleading while calling his name because the pain was unbearable. how is cruel love can be?

the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, the lavender invitation between you acting as both a bridge and a barrier. you took a deep breath, feeling the tears welling up, and without thinking, you pulled gojo into a hug. he stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, wrapping his arms around you in a familiar embrace.

your tears flowed freely, once, twice, thrice, the moonlight catching them and making your eyes sparkle like crystals. “i’m happy for you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of joy and sorrow. satoru held you tighter, his breath warm against your ear. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “it means everything to me to have your support.”

the maze around you seemed to close in, the hedges whispering secrets and memories of times past. you clung to him, your heartbreaking and mending all at once, the scent of the night flowers mingling with the salt of your tears. “i wish you every happiness,” you continued, your words barely more than a breath. “you deserve it, ‘toru. you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. his own were glistening, the usual sparkle tempered by the weight of the moment. “and you deserve happiness too,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “promise me you’ll find it.”

your foreheads met, and the gentle press of his skin against yours felt like the most natural thing in the world. your breaths mingled, soft and warm, creating a delicate rhythm that only the two of you shared, a silent conversation of souls.

his eyes, filled with a depth of emotion you had always known but never fully understood, locked with yours. the moonlight bathed you both in a soft, ethereal glow, casting a spell that held the night in a timeless embrace. every unspoken word, every hidden feeling, shimmered in the air between you, a tapestry of love and longing woven through years of friendship.

gojo’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he were afraid you might disappear. slowly, almost reverently, he began to close the gap between you. his movements were unhurried, each inch a testament to the gravity of the moment, the culmination of everything that had been left unsaid.

your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, erratic beat that seemed to echo through the silence. the anticipation was electric, every second stretched into an eternity. as his lips drew nearer, you felt the world around you blur into insignificance, the maze and the moonlight fading into the background. then, with a tenderness that took your breath away, his lips brushed against yours. the touch was soft, almost tentative, like the whisper of a dream.

oh, how empty he is to be full by you.

the contact sent a shiver through you, a spark that ignited every fiber of your being. you responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to his face, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

the kiss was everything—a confession, a promise, a revelation. it spoke of years of hidden desires, of nights spent wondering, of the unbreakable bond that had always connected you. the taste of him, the feel of his lips moving against yours, was like coming home after a long, arduous journey.

when you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, you opened your eyes to find him gazing at you with an expression that mirrored your own—wonder, longing, and a profound sense of rightness. ‘longing’, such a tender name for such a miserable state of being.

you nodded, the ache in your chest making it hard to speak. “i’ll try,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “but right now, i just need to be here for you.” gojo’s gaze held yours, the moonlight illuminating the silent understanding passing between you. “you’ve always been there for me,” he said, his voice a soft caress. “and i hope you always will be.”

the world around you seemed to fade, the only sounds the rustling of the leaves and the steady beating of your hearts. you felt a bittersweet calm wash over you, knowing that despite everything, your bond with satoru was unbreakable, saddest.

“i will be,” you promised, your voice firm despite the tears. “no matter what.”

he smiled then, a small, tender smile that spoke of shared sorrow, of the disaster from loving you, but oh how he promised, i will always be this tender for you. “good,” he whispered, pulling you back into his arms. “because i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

his arm tightly around you as your cheeks rest against his chest— he gathers you up, folds you to his heart, and looks at each other a little too long to be just friends.

1K notes · View notes

kyuujo · 8 months ago

Text

↳ thinkin of u <3

↳ sae itoshi, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro x fem!reader (separate) ↳ nsfw(ish) ↳ established relationships, nudes, descriptions of masturbation (fem), “sending them nudes/spicy vids while they’re in public”, slight sexting?, contains crack (sorry i can’t help myself), no explicit sex but lots of allusions to it, language, aged up characters, not proof read :x, my writing

↳ 1k words

↳ tbh i’ve thought about this trope for a long time and finally got the creativity and inspiration to write it! i’m not entirely sure of the quality of this as i’ve never written anything like this before, but i hope it’s still enjoyable! thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy!! <3

“… now that you’ve played alongside japan’s u-20, would you ever reconsider your decision not to join? the people want to know.”

sae sent an icy glare to the reporter across from him; he’d thought he’d made his stance on this vividly clear, but obviously not.

“no.” sae said simply, reveling in the spark of indignation his refusal brought to the man’s eyes.

“well, why not—?”

sae lifted a hand to silence the man when his phone pinged twice — maybe that was rude, but sae had the feeling that whatever had just come through his phone would be a thousand times more entertaining and engaging than the sleaze across from him.

and boy, was sae right.

my wife: seeing you on tv has me all worked up. maybe hurry it along? 😘

my wife: [video attachment]

despite his current surroundings and the many cameras pointed at him, sae opened the attachment — it was a video, one without sound, but the muteness didn’t take away from the sheer tempting nature of it.

you looked so good, back resting against the armrest of the couch and legs spread lazily and slit glistening in the flash of the camera. your fingers teased at your clit lightly, and desire shot through sae’s body as he itched to replace them with his own.

sae didn’t even get halfway through the video before his phone pinged with another message — and then another.

my wife: SAE YOU ARENT SUPPOSED TO LOOK YET

my wife: YOURE ON LIVE TV PUT IT DOWN

sae smirked and gave the reporter a lazy wave before standing.

“my deepest apologies, but i’m cutting this short. i have some other business to attend to.”

sae couldn’t give two shits about the way both the reporter and his pr manager sputtered and desperately attempted to flag him back — his woman was waiting on him at home, and that was far more important.

shidou rarely ever felt bored during matches — but so far, this one had simply been a drag. the opposing team didn’t really offer much of a challenge, and shidou had scored more points off of them than he could justly remember.

by the time half-time rolled around, shidou was seething and sweating, feeling incredibly tense and antsy as he whipped into the locker room.

his teammates knew not to bother him when he was in a dip like this, so they cleared a path for him and avoided eye contact at all costs. if shidou weren’t so frustrated he would have found it amusing.

there was only one thing that may make shidou feel the least bit better — messages from you, something he was guaranteed to find at half-time. a trickle of excitement slithered down his body when he pulled his phone from his locker and plopped down on the nearest bench. his phone read ‘3 unread messages’ when he clicked the screen on.

shidou didn’t think twice about tapping open the chat log between the two of you, a smile instantly gracing his lips at your first message.

babygirl💕: hope your match is going well baby!! i know you’re gonna rock it

babygirl💕: but on the slim to none chance that it may not be, i want to give you some motivation ;)

babygirl💕: [video attachment]

shidou probably should have ensured his sound was off before opening it — but your legs were spread open so deliciously and your fingers were working your cunt at a desperate speed, what was shidou supposed to do? think rationally? tough chance.

lewd moans and whines of “shidouuuuu” filled the locker room and ten pairs of shocked eyes met his. shidou’s cheeks warmed and anger sparked in his chest at the knowledge that now his teammates knew how absolutely angelic you sounded in the throes of pleasure.

all it took was a heavy glare and they were clearing out of the room to give him and your video some privacy.

every single tiny box on the shelf looked exactly the same.

what was he even supposed to get again? he’d read over the front of every box at least three times. pearl, radiant, braided… none of those words rung any bells in his head. what was it you had told him before he left?

“maybe it was the pearl…?” nagi murmured to himself, eyes narrowed as if that would somehow help the answer become more clearer to him. he gingerly grabbed a box and examined it before promptly putting it back on the shelf.

nagi didn’t like to admit defeat, but he’d been perusing this shelf for nearly thirty minutes and still didn’t know shit from shat — he’d have to phone a friend, unfortunately.

nagi slipped his phone from his pocket and was just about to tap open his contacts when his phone pinged with a message; ironically, it was from you.

babycake <3: hurry home love. i’m waiting for you 💕

babycake <3: [image attachment]

nagi’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull when he caught sight of the picture you’d sent him — you, sprawled across the lush queen bed, donning nothing but his freshly washed jersey. if he looked close enough, he could see the faintest tease of your nipples perked up beneath the fabric, and the hem of it fell to your mid thighs, hiding the sweet spot between your legs.

nagi sucked in a breath and clicked off his phone screen, willing his half-hard dick to calm down — at least while he was in the store. with furtive glances down each side of the isle nagi powered his screen on and, while avoiding letting his gaze fall to the tempting picture, typed a quick response.

me: omw. don’t move.

your period wasn’t due for another week, anyway. nagi always had time to figure out the pearl-versus-radiant-versus-braided debacle before then.

i genuinely had so much fun cooking these up! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments and reblogs are not at all required but are much appreciated!! <33

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #sae itoshi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #shidou ryusei x reader

837 notes · View notes

onesentencemusings · 3 months ago

Text

How to (possibly) write Jafar

A few people have complimented how I write Jafar and even Iago and while I never thought myself an exceptional writer, I do try to do right by my favorite Disney Villain. This is going to be a list of things I keep in mind when writing Jafar, which, of course, is based on my interpretation of his original movie version.

Jafar cannot comprehend other people's perspectives.

This is first because I think it's the fundamental reason Jafar is the way he is in every other regard. To him, you either agree with him completely or you are objectively/factually wrong. Even if you only half-agree, you are wrong in his eyes.

This is one of the reasons he holds such disdain for The Sultan: they held vastly different perspectives in life. For example; Say a neighboring nation was in turmoil. Jafar would advise the Sultan to either take advantage and seize the city, or stay out of the matter completely. Instead the Sultan sends aid and helps stabilize the nation. The Sultan can understand Jafar wanting to grow Agrabah's power or not wanting to spend resources on a neutral neighbor but Jafar cannot understand the Sultan wanting to see conflict end peacefully. So Jafar walks away believing the Sultan is incompetent and wholly unworthy of his station as ruler.

This also applies to personal values. He's willing to bribe for what he wants but if someone isn't interested in money or common valuables, Jafar can't understand what to do next. He can only think to offer more money or cut his losses and leave. Jafar wouldn't even bother trying to figure out what said person would want because, by virtue of not valuing money, he already assumes they're incompetent or just straight up crazy.

2. Jafar seeks power because he knows he's nothing without it.

While it can be debated on if the version of Jafar in the original film was poor growing up, (personally I believe he did) I can imagine him being physically weak too. And growing up weak (and rather effeminate) in a strongly male-dominated culture is rough at the best of times.

Jafar's youth is defined by other's putting him down or taking from him because they could, leaving Jafar to be blamed for not "sticking up for himself". But it was never about Jafar being cowardly per say; it was always other kids being rougher and crueler. Eventually Jafar learned that any fight would end with him losing. So he learned to avoid fights, using practiced flattery and manipulation to keep others fighting each other and not him.

He wants to be Sultan not to lead or even command people but because the 'Divine Right To Rule' is taken as fact in his time period. One cannot question a Sultan. One cannot refuse a Sultan. Jafar depends on that unquestioned system of privilege because he still believes he couldn't win a fight without it. When Jasmine did question it, Jafar immediately demanded more power ('to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world') because if she dared question him, others may question him too. That would lead to a fight... which, as he learned as a child, would lead to him losing.

Even with power, he still fears losing deeply. Even when he was winning and about to kill Aladdin, Al's mere suggestion that someone could over-power him eventually was enough to break Jafar's ego enough to doubt himself and wish to be a genie. Which I'll go on about later.

3. Jafar's eloquence is only skin-deep. He wants to be a brute.

This isn't to say Jafar isn't cultured, intelligent, what have you. But Jafar's off-hands, two-faced, double talking, manipulative manner is specifically intended to keep him out of conflict because, say it with me kids, he thinks he'll always lose. When Jafar's bid for political power fails, he goes straight for physical power. He doesn't demand the guards' loyalty or the people's blind favor. He wants to brute-force his will on others, which he does during the Prince Ali reprise.

Once he takes over with brute force, yes he still speaks fancy but when he's rejected by Jasmine, his first instinct is to hit her, the first act of physical aggression he has the whole film (unless you count him throttling Iago before sending him to get Aladdin's lamp). When Genie 'talks back' Jafar also acts much more physically aggressive than he was throughout most of the movie. He feels secured, in control, powerful.

As much as he hates those that hurt him before, he never thinks to be different, better. He just saw them winning and him losing and that's all he cares about.

4. When you write Genie Jafar, remember that it's his worst nightmare.

Everything stated above, the selfishness, the power-grabbing, the aggression, are all more or less forbidden under the rules of a genie. There's evidence in the movie that there are rules genies follow beyond the three Genie mention (can't help Aladdin get the lamp from Jafar, for example). I do have a mental list of rules I feel are never contradicted in any of the movies: Cannot harm their master, must stay close, can only use their magic in the service of their master's desires, ect, but that's not the point I wanna make.

The point is that Jafar not only has to follow those rules, but that those rules are absolute. There's no one for him to trick or manipulate to get favor. No one he can force to his will onto unless they basically choose to not fight him. He is wholly at the mercy of his master and that is EVERYTHING Jafar spent his whole life fighting to prevent.

And it's painful for him. A lot of times in my writings, Jafar is grabbing and clawing at the gold genie cuffs because he knows he can't fight past them. He runs into a metaphorical (sometimes literal) wall and he's helpless. He IS dependent on his master to listen. He IS dependent on getting express permission to use the magic he sold himself into slavery to get. He's lost his agency completely and having to again put on the mask of a humble helpful servant like he did for the Sultan is salt in the wound. Everything, absolutely everything he went through, is meaningless now because he's still a servant under the thumb of another.

The reason the original Return of Jafar has Jafar meet such a stupid cowardly bandit as a master was because anyone with any willpower or fortitude woulda shut Jafar's plan down instantly. And there's nothing Jafar could do but beg and bribe. He'd have to scrounge for any ounce of empathy just to get back to Agrabah, much less take him to the Palace.

-----

That's about all I can think to mention. Again all of this is my interpretation of Jafar from the 1992 version of Aladdin. I don't know who I expect to read/care for this but I wanna just put this out there.

I just really like Jafar.

#Aladdin #Jafar #Disney #Writing #Aladdin 1992

153 notes · View notes

infiniteglitterfall · 4 months ago

Text

this is my most autistic half-birthday ever!

I gave myself the day to pursue a special interest and fulfill an offer I'd made last year.

The Jewish Virtual Library has a page listing all the rocket and mortar attacks on Israel since 2001 (which was when they first started). But it's incomplete. Last fall, I noticed it stopped in August, so I wrote to them offering to help update it. They thanked me and gave me some places I could look.

Today, I finally did it. I ended up cross-referencing with the lists on Wikipedia, digging through multiple Twitter accounts and outside news sources and NGOs, and sending them an email with my updates... plus an html file where I'd updated the code on the page so they could just check it and upload it instead of typing in all the data themselves.

I am such a huge nerd.

There's definitely more research to do. But I think I found a strong stopping place that let me actually send what I found and post about it. Which is always the hardest part. As my drafts folder could tell you.

I have more than two thousand drafts on here.

Anyway, I'm going to put my findings under a cut tag. Before you read on, I want you to try to guess.

Because one of the things I've been told most often by people who wanna Argue About Palestine Without Having To Learn Anything About Palestine (Or Israel Or History Or Imperialism Or Fact-Checking Or ?????) is that the reason for October 7, the reason for literally anything in fact, is that "Israel bombs Palestine constantly."

I want to put together a list of Israeli airstrikes next. I would love to reblog this with that information. But first, I want you to guess:

Note that this DOES NOT include terrorist car rammings, mass shootings, mass stabbings, bus bombings, suicide bombings, etc. It therefore excludes almost the entire Second Intifada.

After correcting the most recent four years and sending in my corrections, I made a list of the totals using the most complete collection I could find for each year. (Sometimes it was Jewish Virtual Library, sometimes it was Wikipedia, and sometimes they matched.)

2024: 12,629 (an average of 35 per day)

2023: 12,295 (34 per day)

2022: 1,180 (only 3 per day)

2021: 4,425 (12 per day)

2020: about 203

2019: 798+

2018: 348+, 0.95 per day

2017: Only 47!!! Why, it's almost like living in Canada!! 0.1 per day.

2016: Wow, only 20. See, if you go through the years backwards, it looks like progress is being made. Very exciting. Until I get to the Second Intifada, probably. 0.05 per day.

2015: 58.

2014: oh right, that war. 4,778. (Wikipedia's 2015 list claims " In August 2014, Operation Protective Edge was ended after 4,594 rockets and mortars launched toward Israel. From the end of the operation came into force an unofficial cease-fire between Israel and Hamas." but there were three more after that, and 181 before it, listed on wikipedia alone. so like. 4,778 actually, for 13 a day.)

2013: 70 total. Wikipedia notes this was the lowest number since 2001.

2012: 2,442, or 6.7 per day.

2011: 680, for 1.9 a day.

2010: 365, for exactly one a day.

2009: 858, or 2.4 per day.

2008: 3,107! that's 8.5 a day.

2007: 2,807: 7.7 a day.

2006: 1,275, or 3.5 a day.

2005: 858. An average of 2.4 per day.

2004: 1,158.

2003: 637.

2002: 472.]

2001: "These attacks commenced in April 2001, although the first rocket to hit an Israeli city was on 5 March 2002, and the first Israeli fatality was 28 June 2004." I count 173 mortar attacks in 2001, however. Which makes the first fatality a critically-injured baby in 2001. And as soon as I make 250+ more edits and have the power to edit Wikipedia articles on "controversial" topics, I'll make it say so.

Grand Total: 51,685.

An average of SIX PER DAY.

FOR 24 YEARS.

I've been saying four.

But there were actually thousands that weren't listed on the Virtual Library site yet. It really cranked up that average.

Now consider this: between 10%-30% misfire and either crash into the sea, or hit Gaza.

A surprising number of Gazan casualties in every "conflict" have been from Hamas & Co's own missiles.

And they know this. And not only do they not care, but they keep using everything from mosques to humanitarian zones as rocket launch sites.

And why shouldn't they? You have to really dig to find information on how many Gazans die that way. Almost everyone just attributes the deaths to Israel. Hamas is never going to get any actual flak for accidentally killing its own civilians. It barely gets any flak for intentionally killing Israeli civilians, for pete's sake.

#actuallyautistic #jumblr #fuck hamas #and all the other groups that form its coalition #i love data

176 notes · View notes

simplysinning · 6 months ago

Text

ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅʟʏ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ

A night of pleasure where Astarion is the only focus for once.

Astarion X Reader

cw: Astarion with afab anatomy, Cazador mentions, sexual content MDNI, oral (astar!receiving), use of 'cunt', fingering, hungry yearning even though you’re already together, and slight religious imagery? (I want to worship him, respectfully.) No other description other than you being taller and a drow.

Don’t steal, please!

7.2k words

Drows aren't particularly known for being the nicest of races, especially those sworn to the spider goddess with an odd sense of humor, yet the vampire spawn can use himself to prove that people can change, if not for the better. Of course, that's to insinuate this drow in particular was never anything but agreeable since the moment they met each other, even after the rogue pointed a knife at you for some answers fresh from the naultaloid.

That's not to say astarion liked you from the start, no there was an underlying bitterness on the spawn's part from your weirdly infuriating need to play savior wherever you went. The needy didn't stay the needy for long, and something so simple as retrieving a stolen pouch turned into a full-on family rescue mission. The whole heroic, spring-into-action type was someone that tended to get on Astarion's nerves, though he used to see himself the type to once marry someone like that.

Well, when he was about…13.

Regardless, you can only imagine how stupid Astarion felt when he realized that he liked your inherently nice nature, a major contradictory personality to his, and eventually came to terms that those feelings were a given.

Naturally, there were some chaotic times courtesy of Astarion's occasional goading to make a decision for the group's entertainment betterment, but you always took the change of plans in stride. Never angry, perhaps disappointed (expectedly), but forever the friendly hunk of underdark you were.

So, Astarion had to catch his neck from whipping off its swivel the moment your voice dipped off into a low growl at the woman in front of them, your eyes narrowed in irritation.

It would have been easy for Astarion, with the woman's (slightly creepy) persistence even after his third refusal, to simply allow you to give the alright to bite her should you ask. After all, what was one little bite in comparison to a rare, powerful potion? It would have been fine.

…Right?

'Just a small moment of disgust to get myself through,' but, surprisingly, you just stopped the spawn's half step forward and snapped, "he said no."

The tick in your jaw, the way your voice held no room for the usual patience and kindness, and lastly, the way your eyes darted to Astarion's in a flash of concern. You spoke with the authority of someone seasoned, as if your little group of lost souls have always been together, every one of your words carrying a stern weight and finality.

"Where are you?" You murmur, your words gentle and cutting through his mind like a knife through butter. There’s a small, nearly chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, and it nearly startles him.

The hands which were once gripping the spawn's supple backside above the fabric of his pants are now resting against the small of his back, gentle and not pressing, just below his ritual scars.

Astarion, coming back to his mind with you in your shared inn room, relishes in how the arms encircling him hold kindly, unburdened by the tension of restraint should he not want to continue, and he eases a quiet sigh.

'You'll never be like the others…'

"I'm right here, my love," he responds, his voice light and airy, bare from the false seduction dripping from the tips of his fangs.

You plant a kiss to the other's neck, careful to avoid the jagged skin that had healed two centuries ago, and Astarion closes his eyes when he notices that too.

"Are you sure? Because we can stop. I'm fine with just talking, or something."

The spawn slides his hand up your back and it comes to a stop on the back of your head, his slender fingers toying with the shorter hairs. You pull your head back in response to look at the vampire, and Astarion uses the leverage to pull you down toward him. If the awkward angle for your taller frame is uncomfortable, you don't say and only allow Astarion to do as he pleases.

"Or," Astarion exhales, his red eyes darting to your lips, "something," and then he's pulling them to his. Your lips slot together, moving a little out of sync only because of the temporarily different level of desire.

Astarion has always been hungry and hasty when kissing, all tongue and teeth and starving of the safety and affection he so desperately craved for the last two hundred years, like it would be snatched away from him. And, with Cazador around the corner, it could all very well be. The mere idea of it, never being able to see you again, seeing your smile as you walk the familiar path to his tent in the morning to ask him how slept, is detrimental to Astarion's psyche that had only just begun to snap its scattered pieces back into place.

You like to take your time, give slow and tender pecks that gradually press firmer and open wider when you pick up on the vampire's need for more, but there's always a subtle hesitation; a looming question you're unable to truly verbalize.

'Is this really what you want?'

Astarion is aware of this, of your innate sense of overprotection for him, of his trauma from being an alluring plaything for Cazador. He would never forget the look on your face the moment he told you a fraction of the hell he had to endure, all flared nostrils and pupils constricted in anger, and he would never forget the way he felt a subtle throb in between his legs. That called a different problem into question, however.

There was a conversation you had before about Astarion's reluctance for sexual intimacy, and you made sure he knew that you understood and was indeed obeying Astarion's request of going as slow as he needed you to.

The spawn remembers how nervous he was when he told you that he didn't think he was ready to be intimate yet, bated breath between his teeth though the vampire had no need to breathe. Being used for his body for so many centuries essentially defiled Astarion's views on sex, and he severely hoped you would understand his hesitance.

He couldn't deny that everything stirred at certain things you did, the ways in which you looked at him, how quick you moved to protect him whether physically or other, but he (with your steady guidance) grew self-aware. Realizing that, after discovering his decimated self-respect and self-worth, he wasn't ready, and he had the option to say...no.

And he wanted you to know that he came to that conclusion, deciding it would only be fair since you bestowed him the grace for self-discovery.

"Even though I know things between us are different," Astarion provided a forced giggle, his lips wobbling in the corners, the facade beginning to melt away into something unfamiliarly vulnerable, "being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don't know how else to be with someone. No matter how I'd like to." You hadn't said anything for a minute or so, and Astarion still mildly adherent to his ways of self-deprecation had assumed you began to doubt whether or not to continue pursuing...whatever you were moving towards, especially being so soon after your previous conversation of Astarion's 'affection' being self-serving and under a completely false pretense at first, but before he could voice, 'It's fine if you think twice about us', you spoke.

"Astarion," your cadence was deliberate and measured, choosing your words carefully, "I'm not going after you for sex, and if I gave you that impression, I'm sorry. I'm ready when you're ready, I mean it. We can be together without having sex at all, if that would make you happy."

Astarion breathed a laugh, astonished yet still a bit half-hearted. "Now, now," he chided playfully, his voice smooth, effortlessly persuasive, "that almost sounds like a challenge."

But he wanted to believe that. He did.

He does.

But, even Astarion has a breaking point.

It took a while, fuck, there was no doubt about it. Several nights of seduction falling away to mentally drifting off at the beginning and apologizing profusely afterwards when Astarion began to feel uncomfortable and backtracked, but those moments of retraction didn't matter. You never showed signs of annoyance or frustration, as if you knew that was his way of pacing himself-his starting and stopping-and it would ease the tension weighing the vampire's shoulders when he saw you were only ever concerned. Your face would always be calm, sometimes peaceful, but your hands would hover in the space between your bodies, indecisive and unsure if the man wanted your touch in those moments or not. At times he welcomed it, releasing a little sigh when your warm palms caressed his undead skin, and other times, he needed a bit of space. You never showed disapproval, if you harbored some, whenever he would push away and leave a gap between you. You only waited for him. You always moved to the rhythm he set; stopping when he told you to stop, going when he told you to go, and Astarion was sure if he asked you to give him your heart, you would carve it out with your bare hands and hold it out to him with a smile on your face. It would surely keep beating in his hands, the love you so clearly shelter for him taking root within your arteries and replacing your frivolous need for blood.

It was an odd thing, foreign, being in control of a situation after centuries of enslavement.

However, Astarion feels a shiver travel up his spine as he drinks in the groan you release into his mouth, not unwelcome.

Without breaking your kiss, the vampire walks forward, pushing you back with a hand on your chest, and you simply follow, allowing Astarion to push and push until your back collides with the cushions of the room's bed. The plain brown blankets ruffle softly, a pillow falls to the ground with a gentle thud, the mattress sinks underneath your weight as your elbows move behind you to prop your upper body, and then there's a moment of pause. Astarion's lips leave yours with a wet smack, a thin string of saliva curving in the very, very small space created by the separation, but Astarion watches you take one, two, two-and-a-half breaths before he reconnects them with a muffled moan. It's not necessary for him to breathe and he hasn't for the past two centuries, but he tries to be considerate of you.

You, content, take whatever the vampire gives you, filling and all-consuming and your lungs burning in your chest from the lack of oxygen, but you easily conclude that you would happily die here before moving away from him.

Your mind momentarily calls to the revive scroll resting in your pack, and there's a fleeting thought it might certainly come in handy tonight. Hands fumble for clothing, and when it all comes off, Astarion isn't sure where his body heat ends and where yours begin.

Everything is burning, throbbing, aching, and there's a steady pulse between the vampire's legs he can no longer ignore.

His head almost fights the motion to pull away, as if the mere notion is blasphemous, but nevertheless, Astarion pulls back and slowly opens his eyes. Your face beneath him is mildly obscured by a stray, silver curl, illuminated a pale yellow from the candlelight, but Astarion's vision clears the moment your hand delicately pins it behind his ear. Your fingers barely brush the elongated skin, but the vampire figures if his heart was still working, the action would have sent a considerable amount of blood to his cheeks.

"…You're so beautiful," your lips twitch upwards in the corners.

Astarion can't fight the urge to smile back, fangs and all, and his eyes, reminiscent of polished rubies and piercing, sparkle in adoration unbeknownst to him, darting back and forth from one of your eyes to the other. Though there's evident lust present, it becomes overshadowed by an unsure tenderness, your desires restrained in the taut of your neck, and the tips of your splayed fingers flex along the back of Astarion's knees. It's clear you're holding back, anxious to go any further despite Astarion's clear want, and the man knows that if he wanted to stop here even after going so far to be completely bare, you would let him and do so without complaint.

The vampire's thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly, and your hands are on his chest, tenderly caressing the small indentations as if second nature.

"…So are you, darling,” the vampire kisses the tip of your nose.

The air is soft, your touches kind, and your breaths fan across the other's mouth acting as a heated, wine-scented aphrodisiac. But, as much as you soothe and woo him with cordial romanticism, you seriously need to get on with it.

So, leaning into the shell of your ear, Astarion gives you a nudge to do so. The pulsating is beginning to hurt at this point.

"Touch me," he sighs, and is able to feel the surprisingly violent shudder that racks through your body beneath him. "Please, my love," he adds. You hum. "…I am," you respond before pressing a wet, open-mouth kiss to the vampire's shoulder. "I will, fuck," you exhale, "I will."

The kisses start to travel the expanse of his skin, hot and occasionally pausing to suck and bite, up and down and wherever they can touch, trying to gauge his egregious zones, trying to see what's a yes or a no for him.

Pleasure blooms just below his stomach even though you had barely touched him yet, your fingers lightly tracing along the milky skin of his thighs spread across your lap. The pressure of your fingers gradually presses further but never restricting, never painful, only using Astarion's body as a grounding measure against your own raging urge to simply ravish the man on top of you.

'Not too fast,' you remind yourself, tilting your head backwards to reattach your lips to your lover's in a sloppy kiss Astarion happily accepts. 'Not too fast. Slow down, slow...'

You know Astarion can feel your arousal against the back of his thighs, but you stop yourself from grinding up into him, because this is all about him.

Astarion was sure he had never been this wet in his life, the nearly foreign sensation of tackiness between his thighs a bit of a sensational nightmare, and the need for release is essentially screeching in his brain, bouncing around his skull with unrestrained vigor, "touch me, touch me, fucking touch me!"

It's bordering on overwhelming and somehow feels under-stimulating at the same time. Foreplay was never a grace bestowed to Astarion while he entertained Cazador's newest sacrificial rat, them usually opting to put their own pleasure first above all else, so he wasn't entirely sure if the new experience is something he likes or hates. It feels like teasing, in a way, he supposes. Touching everywhere but where he so desperately needs, the pure torture of it all, yet it somehow makes everything better, more.

The buildup isn't bad, it's the waiting after that messes with his head.

You pull back, your half-lidded eyes staring up at Astarion, intense and almost predatory, and tug the spawn's hips forward an inch in a way that causes Astarion's heat to graze the warm skin of your lower stomach. The slight friction calls for a small gasp, a bout of pleasure flashing down the base of his spine, but things still.

"Can I...?" The question hangs off in the air, your hand, palm facing the ceiling, rests below Astarion's belly button and stops.

"Please," the spawn's eyebrows come together, now unafraid to display his frustration, and he begs, his voice tilting into a feral grumble. "Do something."

Astarion, even in the state he's in, doesn't miss the look that settles over your face the longer you stare up at him, your eyes narrow. It's shadowed, dark and hungry and wanting and in over two hundred years of being him, he finds himself unafraid to be at the receiving end of that familiar gaze. So many others sneered at him, licked their lips at the thought of mounting him as if he were nothing but this curly-haired elven beauty to be conquered, and he would let them, for Cazador. Some he would sleep with to possibly gain a sense of satisfaction, a small act of defiance to show that he could still enjoy sex on his own, but it usually ended up with this crushing ton of self-loathing on his sore back.

But, this time, it's different.

The look you're giving him sets him on fire, more scorching than the blistering flare of the goddamn sun, and his bottom lip slots between the front of his teeth in a last dash attempt to smother this pitiful thing of a choke gurgling atop the base of his tongue. He needs you; your touch, your fingers, your mouth, anything and everything he's been deprived of throughout all of this time. He's ready. Gods, he's ready.

And he commends you for your self-control, because Astarion is sure that he can't stop himself from having you now, not when you look at him like that-like you just want to fucking devour him down to the last strand of silver curl.

So, when your hand finally slips between his thighs and presses against his sweltering mound, your fingers gliding along his cunt with careful but firm precision, Astarion’s eyes nearly live up to his namesake. His back arches, his torso pressing into you so much your hand is almost squashed between the both of you, but you manage to keep the pace. There’s a silent determination ruminating from you, your motions; a promise to let him experience every gratification you have to offer and it’s clear that you’re not disappointing him. Your lover’s face falls slack, his mouth parting into a sharp ‘o’, and you resist the urge to lick at the tip of his fangs that peak under the edge of his kiss-bruised lips.

You concede, your eyes fervently follow a bead of sweat floating down the line of Astarion’s pallid neck, that no painting, nor sculpture, nor Gods can compare to your lover’s beauty. It could be a harrowing notion to others, some devout worshipers would probably sputter in indignation if you were to say that outloud, (Gale certainly would be up in arms to defend Mystra) but it remains an undeniable fact to you. His moans, uninhibited by rehearsed parade and uncomfortable deceit, spread across your face reminiscent of a sweetened vineyard swaying in the breeze that you can taste on your back molars.

You decide, right here and now, that you worship only one man, and his name is brighter than any cosmic piece of heaven.

“I,” Astarion suddenly stutters, cutting through your glorifying thoughts, and you only now notice he’s begun to roll his hips against your hand, creating a quicker friction. “Oh, plea...” His plea dies.

“Tell me,” your head lolls to the side to catch Astarion’s eyes, but he’s too lost in chasing whatever he needs to feel, “tell me what you need so I can give it to you.”

Unintentionally, your tone dips off as you get dragged further into the growing rigidity of your lover’s spine, the last part of your sentence dripping with desperate authority, and Astarion whines at the command in your voice that’s always so recognizable, but has him clenching around nothing in this context. This is better than he could have ever imagined, and his past sexual encounters, he gathers, don’t hold a fireball to you. There’s a volcanic simmer beneath his skin, a faint buzzing behind his eyes and the tips of his toes that leaves him both wanting to pull away and longing for more, and it's delicious.

“What do you want, my love? You want me to go faster?”

You gauge his face, searching for any signs of discomfort or dissociation since you both hadn’t truly gotten this far without some form of regression, but you realize, with a swell of pride warming your chest, Astarion is completely enjoying himself.

The vampire’s hips stall for a beat, the candlelight catching the jut of his hip, before he’s nodding, frantically, a few curls falling into his face from their usual sweep. They’re too pretty and frame his angular cheeks too well to brush away, so you leave them be, and instead choose to absorb this rare picture; an unpoised Astarion.

Your wrist pangs, a cramp begins to form along your flexing tendons, but you’ll be damned if you don’t listen to his request and you speed up your fingers, the sound of sloshing wetness ringing beautifully in the middle of your ear like church bells.

You noticed when first getting to know the spawn that he carried this innate air of grace, from his years as an elven magistrate, you assumed, and even when he found himself flustered, there was always something graceful about it. So seeing him like this, keening for your touch and working himself along your fingers to clumsily chase a high he rarely got acquainted to, uncaring about how disheveled he looks…

“Yes,” he whines, “yes, I can,” he moans, “I can feel it..”

You let him do what he wants, what he needs, only keeping the pace of your fingers in their same, quick succession, lest Astarion say otherwise. The buildup is evident in the slow tremble of his thighs, in the hand he uses to instinctively reach out for you as he feels his orgasm steadily approaching, seeking a sense of ground amongst the unfamiliarity, and you promptly lean forward to allow it to snake around the line of your shoulders. Astarion’s head falls to your collarbone and his straight nose is tucking into the junction of skin beneath your earlobe, his other hand settling by his thigh and curling into a fist around the blanket.

Your eyes almost roll into your skull when his pants of ecstasy float into your ear; they’re so much closer, much more clear, and now you can hear a faint crackle, his voice rasping the longer he moans out into the dim room.

“Gods, yes,” your lover whimpers, the sound going straight to your own arousal, “yes, yes!”

Astarion stills and it takes no magic tower mage to know the vampire’s orgasm crashed down unto him, if the sudden creamy texture pearling the tips of your fingers wasn’t indicative enough. His head tosses back, his back curving into a perfect concave ‘c’, and you lean forward to pepper the expanse of his neck with light pecks, your fingers slowing down to a lazy roll as an aid in helping the spawn on the come down. The sides of your thighs pick up the motion of curling toes and twitching kneecaps that are forced to keep themselves open on your naked hips, and a small smile stretches across your face.

Astarion’s chest is still, his vampiric attributes unable to provide him the need to take deep breaths, but his eyes are hazed, trained onto a piece of random ceiling tile. You sit against each other silently, holding him by the waist when his hips eventually stop twitching, and slowly pull your hand back, your wrist screaming in relief from being released of its awkward position. Your lover’s arm spasms, a false release of air hitching when you graze his sensitive clit.

“You okay?” You murmur, keeping your voice low to help Astarion pleasantly adjust.

It seems to help, and your smile widens a bit when the man’s head lowers and his eyes meet yours, red irises little by little clearing from their orgasmic fog to focus on your face. It takes a minute, perhaps two-it could have been an hour for all he knows-but he eventually gets there, and his tongue darts from his mouth to salivate his lips before he simpers, knowing he probably looks extremely satisfied. You certainly notice it.

It’s an expression you’ve seldom seen on Astarion’s face save for when he finishes feeding from a particularly big bear, or you when you eventually gave him permission for your blood.

“I’m,” he pauses, “I’m wonderful, my love. That was…”

Your gaze falls to your hand, Astarion’s juices coating your fingers in a shine bordering hypnotic, and you nod.

Astarion, now able to think in coherent lines of consciousness, is able to get a good look at you. He watches you, notices how your eyelids droop, your facial expression mirroring what he can only describe as melted adoration when your gaze languidly trails over his body before they flick up to his face. He’s seen that look so many times; admiration, but it’s never felt genuine before. There’s a warmth he receives from yours, one that washes over him and melts into his bones, forming his skin and shaping the very flutter of his lashes when you call him beautiful. The gentle touch on his waist pulls him back.

Your lips brush his, “my love,” and then they’re slotting back together.

The kisses start lazy, relaxed and unhurried to simply have his mouth on yours, tongues dancing along each other in an easy rhythm even without music, but then Astarion feels your legs shift beneath him. He’s hiked further in your lap, but he simply lets it happen, assuming you need to adjust to get comfortable. Though, he comes to find that he’s sorely mistaken when you suddenly lean back, subsequently taking him with you. You both fall onto the bed, Astarion letting out an adorable, “umph.”

Neither one of you says anything, but you do lean forward to place a kiss to Astarion’s cheek, just below his faint beauty mark before you pepper his entire face. Your lips touch the bridge of his nose, his chin, above his smoothing eyebrows, essentially anywhere you could reach, and the domesticity of it leaves him speechless for once.

“My sweet,” you whisper, pausing in between every few pecks to speak, “can you do something for me?”

Astarion hums, his eyes closing when your lips find his neck, and you take that as a sign to continue.

"Can you get on top?"

"I already am, my dear-"

"-I mean," you lick your lips, "on top…of my face."

"…Oh."

There's a high-pitched giggle that bubbles in the base Astarion’s throat, involuntary but fleeting.

'Well,' Astarion thinks, his eyes widening, 'this is…also new.'

You, seeing how he pauses at the suggestion, move your finger in small circles on his hip in reassurance, and your eyes soften. "You don't have to, I just thought you might enjoy it."

"I," Astarion clicks his tongue, "I've just…never done that before."

A beat. "…No one has asked you to sit on their face before?" It's your turn to appear so incredulous, finding something like that so…so disrespectful. "Never?"

Astarion shakes his head, now beginning to shrink a little under your sudden bemused stare. He knows you aren’t mad at him, you’re never mad at him (which is why he tends to get away with minimal consequence), but he sees that your upset is genuine. And you are upset, because how can anyone deny this epitome of stunning, masculine monarchy, his ivory throne, adorned with anything less than the most lustrous jewels? What absolute madman, blind and deaf, surely, would give Astarion anything but which he truly deserves? Gold, silver, should fall between his slender fingers, molten and only his, the rarest silks and velvets hanging from his pallid limbs not unlike the knots lining a hangman tree; gorgeously morbid as he.

It makes you mad all over again, picturing those rabid animals all over Astarion, taking and mindlessly ravaging with no incentive to offer a modicum of benevolence. Hounds, the lot of them, soulless and only living to harshly breed the unwilling. How, your chest tightens as your anger makes way for a pang of sorrow, how much Astarion has suffered. You don’t want his torment to loom over him any longer, so you’ll just have to remind him; you are his, in his control. His to love, to break, to leave if he wishes it so. If he is to love you for the remainder of your long lifespans together, or if he is to simply use you to remember that he is more than the body that’s grown so foreign to him, so be it.

Your very soul clutches his, fist trembling, taut, and knuckles deathly white like a frightened babe clinging to their mother’s skirt; craving, clenching to prevent the scattered pieces of Astarion from slipping through your fingers. You’ll hold him forever, if he’ll have you.

You will provide all you can, and accept all he’s willing to give in return, if anything. You can only hope that he receives you well and chooses you like you chose him.

Pushing those feelings down, you kiss your teeth before pulling the vampire's hips forward even more until he is basically sitting on your chest, the unexpected drag shooting a shudder of pleasure up his spine, and you smirk. Your strength often comes in handy at times. "We need to fix that. Now."

Astarion tries to hover at first, a bit too hesitant to allow his full weight to rest on your face even if his fear was a bit irrational; he’s seen you fight for Gods’ sake. And you aren’t having it. The grip on his hips grows unyielding as if they leave no room for further argument, and his puffy, flushed cunt is slowly lowering, taking its rightful place, against your open mouth. A stolen heir reunited with his true birthright, you surmise.

The pleasure that consumes you is almost too powerful, his taste flooding your senses and clouding your mind in an impenetrable smog of bliss, and you instinctively curse, your lips curling around the letters into his slick folds. Astarion releases a low whine, his head already falling towards the ceiling as if the fictional crown upon his head is too substantial, and he bucks his hips, relishing how your nose drags along his swelling bud. Your tongue explores at first, adagio to measure just where he might need you to be, but you find yourself indulging your thirst too quickly. It’s necessary, requisite, to feel his juices bead the tip of your tongue, his orgasm pooling down your throat essential for you to feel any sense of satisfaction for yourself, slurping and drinking and gulping like a man deprived for too long. Astarion’s body responds in kind; his hands reaching for you in the fray and tangling within your roots unceremoniously. It produces a moan from beneath him, the vibration against him causing a sound so ruined, it reminds you of a wounded sprite, but Astarion has never felt so safe. Even if your jaw practically aches as you attempt to inhale him (you’ll unhinge the damn thing if you have to), the man’s growing sounds spur you further, and Astarion briefly wonders if you’re truly trying to fucking eat him.

“Fuck,” he gasps, one of his hands releasing your hair to hold your forearm as it loops behind him to grip his waist.

Your hold is grounding, scalding, keeping him from getting too lost in himself, and he’s all the more thankful for it the moment your tongue slips further down his wetness to breach his hole, your nose nudging and grinding against his clit. He almost flinches away from the unexpectedness of it, but he gathers, that is what your arm around him is for.

“Fuck!”

Perhaps, Astarion’s eyes roll into his skull, this is the profound ascension Cazador is looking for; this feeling of your tongue splitting him open, lapping him along your tastebuds akin to a thirsting sinner kneeling in front of heaven’s locked gates. To him, this certainly feels no different than ascending to a higher power, and he swears he’s died-again-the moment your hand shifts to use the pad of your thumb to encircle his clit. His hips move on their own, burning from the strain but it feels so good, and rock back and forth, grinding.

You weren’t sure if you'd taken a single breath since he sat down, his thighs tightening on the sides of your face in a vice-like grip, non-verbally screeching at you to move ‘not a goddamn muscle’, not that it matters. Your view from between your lover’s legs, where you conclude your life was always meant to lead you, makes it easy to ignore the still of your chest, a dull scorch fixing around your stuttering heart as it struggles to handle the lack of oxygen. Astarion’s body glistens delectably, shiny from his sweat and arousal, and your eyes study the muscles in his stomach as they tense and twist and jump along with his keens and hisses of pleasure. Your lover’s movements titter the edge of desperate and feral, his hips rocketing along your face as if you were nothing more than an object to bring him to orgasm at this point. ‘I’m not complaining,’ your eyes flutter closed. ‘Gods, I’m not.’

Astarion chases, following the catalytic pressure building in his stomach, tears forming behind his closed eyelids, and it goes up and up and up and-

His eyes fly open at a finger slipping past his entrance, nimble and thrusting and loudly coated in the slick of him. It’s deafening, how wet he is; it’s rich, nasty, and utterly debauched, but neither of you care. The air around you smells like sex and love and animalistic necessity, and the bed frame meets the wall in response to all of the movement. “My darling,” Astarion cries, his voice wholly spent, raspy and sobbing. “My love, my sweet,” and he’s babbling. “Don’t stop, don’t-”

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

“Don’t-”

Astarion, with his vast vocabulary and overall knowledge from both his time as a spawn and original profession as a magistrate, finds himself unable to describe the sensations running through him. Everything is burning, his hips sting from their motions, his stomach feels tight, but there’s also something else; something deeper. It’s ardent, starting from the bottom of his feet and ending in his chest, and it makes him feel like something is going to happen, something powerful. It buzzes, pulsates, makes his body feel heavy, the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach like a spring ready to snap. It’s new and a bit scary, but he knows you’ll be here, knows you’ll protect him, so he lets himself fall.

Your lover goes rigid, silent, a moment passing where every muscle and flex of his limbs comes to a complete halt, before he’s moaning, drawn out and in higher pitch. Your eyebrows draw together in concentration, eyes crossing behind your lids as your own pleasure rains down on you, and the lower half of your face is drenched in your lover’s gushing climax. He’s squirting, and by the grace of the Gods is it succulent. It comes in waves, Astarion’s hips thrusting in time with each flood of his orgasm, and your mouth remains wide open to catch it all, guzzling, taking to him like a kitten to milk.

Astarion convulses atop of your face while you work him through, globs of tears sliding down his cheek, glowing under the slowly dying candlelight, and there’s a ringing in his elongated ears. He can feel his mouth moving, words rolling his tongue and testing syllables on his teeth, but his brain can’t quite register what he’s saying.

You certainly don’t understand him.

It takes a while for him to settle, the swirls and drags of your tongue now pulling the spawn into painful territory, and when Astarion full-on dry sobs at the feeling of your mouth, you pull away from him.

Your inhales are hefty, gasping and panting beneath him to regulate the breathing you so kindly cut off for him, your heart working overtime to accommodate, and your eyes open. Astarion’s body rises and falls with your deep lungfuls of air, his head angled down toward you in the perfect picture of ecstasy; a transcendental creature of delight and satisfaction. His eyes are misty, his waterline flushed a pretty pink beneath a new surge of unshed tears, but there’s a watery smile hanging from his lips; dopey and pointed. For a while, you don’t move, only massaging Astarion’s waist to ease his occasional spasm, and he’s thankful for it. Astarion has never felt anything so intense, so vigorous and…good.

He didn’t understand you at first, couldn't deduce why on earth you wanted to get to know him beyond the scope of bodily exploration, but at least then you could grant him the protection he needed, however confusing on his part. His mind, still deep within Cazador’s deeply inflicted hell of torture and transactional sex, had made him approach you in the first place, recognizing you as the impromptu leader of your ragtag group of weirdos, with all of his true weaknesses hidden behind a steel wall of falsehoods perfected after two centuries.

“It was natural. Instinctive.”

But, in this moment with you, as you sit up to carefully lay his body down beside you like he’ll splinter and burst, his arousal gleaming on the lower portion of your face, he infers that he, perhaps, wasn’t meant to understand you. He was only meant to feel, let you chip through his walls with your patience, let you blanket him with your understanding serenity, to separate him from Cazador’s self flagellating sack of exhausted bones, and merely be.

Be with you.

“Are you alright, Astarion?” You hum, observing his face, watching him for any signs of being off in any way.

Finally, the heavy weight on his tongue lifts, and he releases a low scoff, free of malice, “Simply amazing.”

His voice is on par with stone gravel, scratchy and sore, and it makes you reach across him, heedful of jostling him too much, to grab a cup of water off the nightstand. It’s lukewarm when you tilt it against Astarion’s lips, but it helps soothe him immensely, and he clears his throat.

“Do you,” he begins, but there’s something nervous, timidly resigned, about his tone that you instantly pick up on, “do you…want me to-”

Your lips find his, and his question trails off into the roof of your mouth, Astarion moaning softly at the taste of himself on your tongue. His shoulders ease, unaware they drew forward in rigidity to begin with. The air around you starts to clear, calm affection radiating from your heated skin and seeping into Astarion’s dead heart, and he swears upon every God he had no luxury to believe that your love may have the power to revive it.

“No,” your lips part with a wet, muted smack. “No, I don’t want you to.”

“But,” Astarion’s words stumble, finding it hard to gather himself when your lips find his jawline, “you didn’t get to-”

“I did,” you cut him off again, smooching the side of his neck and tucking a damp curl behind his ear, “because you did.” And it’s true, “You feeling good makes me feel good, my love. Don’t worry about me.”

The vampire makes a face.

How can Astarion not when you always put him first?

His safety, his hunger, and now his pleasure, you always make sure he’s attended to first, placing yourself on the backburner more often than not, and while it’s beyond sweet, he’s starting to feel a bit guilty; guilty that he’s not giving you more than you deserve. Admittedly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to have a real relationship far beyond sexual exchange, and it shows.

But, he’s learning, and you never rush him.

Astarion holds one of your hands in his, fingers intertwining around the other’s like straw woven through a basket, a perfect interlace of devotion and comfort; destined.

“I want,” the man’s eyes find yours, his words catching the base of his throat at the warm sentiment on your face whenever you look at him, “you to be happy…with me, with us.”

Your palm raises to cup his cheek, the vampire nuzzling into it almost instantly with a quiet sigh, and brings your forehead to press against his, the smile on your lips wobbling in affection. The man in front of you, scarlet eyes exhausted and abused but so in love and willing to trust you, allowing you to douse the flames of his own personal hell and pull him up and out means more to you than Astarion will ever understand.

Or, Astarion’s lips curl into a sheepish grin, his eyes wrinkling in the corners, maybe he does understand you. In his own way.

He’ll never forget the moment he first felt the sun after escaping the naultaloid, the feeling forgotten after having spent so many decades in the dark, traversing the shadows and hugging close to walls like diseased vermin, and how warm it was, almost as if the beams burned brighter just for him to ease the undead chill rooted within his bones; a reunion gift.

He supposes that being with you feels the same way; the sun embracing his skin to drive away the cold, constant and unfaltering. Just…you, your love that leaves him comfortable and unsuspecting, and Astarion half expects to wake up; to find himself still stuck in Cazador’s dungeon so broken he resorted to hallucinations for some semblance of comfort. But the pair of eyes in front of him, twinkling in passion as they surveyed him, are too expressive to be an illusion. Everything feels too real, too raw, to be a dream.

“You have no idea how happy you make me, Astarion,” and your declaration is conclusive, spoken as if the only truth you know.

For once, he completely believes you.

His psych doesn’t wrestle with his irrational belief that you’re being untrue, that he isn’t enough for you, because you choose him. Even after he deceived you, even after all of the emotional back and forth because he is so fearful, so damaged, you still choose him despite his faults and imperfections. He sees you when he closes his eyes, you worry his days when you’re away from him, and sometimes he just wants to crack open his ribcage to make space for you. There’s no need for his heart; it doesn't fucking work, blood no longer flows through his veins yet it’s the very thing he depends on to satiate this damned bestial hunger, so it has no place inside of him where you should be.

But, you’re here. Holding him, loving him and offering your devotion as it thrums between your fingers, sculpting the shape of your lungs around the phonetics of his name like you need him to live, and it makes Astarion want to cry.

So, he does.

Your face doesn’t show panic, but you do bring him closer, cradling the back of his head as he snuggles into your neck and allows his tears to fall. His back is being rubbed in soothing circles, your touch gentle but solid, and Astarion thinks that right here and right now…

Everything will be okay.

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #one shot #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #smut #bg3 smut #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #writing #afab character #gn reader #astarion x reader

194 notes · View notes

love-belle · 2 years ago

Text

you're the best in my life and i lost you !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they truly are the best in each other's lives but they lost them.

for when you finally get to know that maybe it is unrequited. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

prequel - i'd never walk cornelia street sign ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - finally here!!!!! i REALLLLLLY hope u like it !!! i have so much planned for this week and i hope i can show u all of it soon !!! thank u so much for reading i love you <3

tagged - @willowpains @lexxlouuu @topaz125 @leclercloml @sophiaasf @slut4peterparker @crlsummer @ananyasr1bughead @official-chicken-little @jspitwall @lovely-blackinnon

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 3,927,588 others

yourusername my sophomore album "good riddance" is finally here and i'm soooo excited for u all to hear little pieces of my heart sewn together. every single syllable is what i feel and what i have been feeling. we all have that one person that we absolutely refuse to talk about so just like that, i ended up writing a whole album instead. thank you sooo much for supporting me, i love you all forever. and to the inspiration behind this, thank you. you were good to me. you're the best i've ever had.

19,628 comments

username SCREECHING WHAT THE FUCK

username oh my god

username now im half of myself here without you?????? you're the best in my life and i lost you????? and we had no control when it fell through???? it was one sided hate how i hurt you?????

-> username WHERE DO WE GO NOW

username i 😭 know 😭 i 😭 know 😭 better 😭 you're 😭 no 😭 guarantee 😭

username I ALMOST LOST IT I'LL HEAL EVENTUALLY BUT FASTER WHEN UR NEXT TO ME NEXT TO ME

-> username IM CODEPENDENT BUT TRYING HARD NOT TO BE IM BETTER WHEN UR NEXT TO ME

username why the FUCK aren't people talking about the blue and how it's literally her and charles???

-> username "you came out of the blue like that i never could've seen you coming i think you're everything i wanted" NAHHH FRRRRR

username there was absolutely NO NEED to break my heart like this

username charles is probably tearing up rn likeeee

-> username bro's hiding in a corner bc i KNOW lily is out for blood today

danielricciardo cool album

-> yourusername thank u i wrote it myself!!!!!!

-> username as if daniel's stories aren't js him crying and singing along the whole album 😭😭😭

username "i know it won't work" had NO business ruining me like that when i know damn well i haven't even held hands with someone

username THE VOICE MESSAGE IN THE INTERLUDE OMGKMGKMGKGSJJAJS

-> username i bet you my first born that it's CHARLES

-> username lost it when it was cut from charles' message (yes it was charles and yes it broke my heart) to y/n's like THERE WAS NO NEED TO HURT ME LIKE THAT

username i wish for pain and im glad we only live once bc this woman WILL find more creative ways to hurt us with her amazing songwriting and vocal skills

lilymhe LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEE

-> yourusername I LOVE YOUUUUU

lilymhe SO SO SO GOOD AHHHSJSJSJS

-> yourusername STOP TYSM IM GONNA CRY

lilymhe the only album to ever exist btw

-> yourusername ur the 1 for me ❤️

username still not over two people like what do u MEAN "hate how we touched just to push things aside. when u take me for granted i make it alright"

username she's never attaining peace for releasing this and ruining my nights

username OH I KNOW SPIRALLING IS MISERABLE I SHOULD PROBABLY GO BACK HOME WHY DOES THAT FEEL DIFFICULT DIFFICULT

carmenmmundt still crying

-> yourusername same 😭😭😭

carmenmmundt george wants to comment but he can't see through his tears

-> yourusername PLEASE OMG

username "and to the inspiration behind this, thank you. you were good to me. you're the best i've ever had." DO U WANT ME TO CRY

username charles i am in ur walls

username i will never understand how she wrote "it's nice to have a friend" for charles and now she wrote "two people" like how did THAT transition happen

-> username the worst transition ever btw

landonorris thid is si good anf im cryjng so harf whay thr fucj

-> yourusername lando deep breaths

-> landonorris DINT TELL MR TI TAKR DEEP BRESTGS I SWRAR

-> yourusername wow

-> username i identify so much with lando it's INSANE

username somewhere in monaco pascale leclerc is listening to this album and it's a good day ❤️

-> username bet u literally my bank account the entire leclerc household is BLASTING this

carla.brocker words cannot explain how proud i am 🩷🩷🩷 i love you so much big sis

-> yourusername carlaaaaa 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 u own my heart i LOVEEEE you

-> username this made me tear up whatcthebfuck

username no bc i KNOW charles heard "will u cry" and CRIED like that man is not strong enough to bear that

-> username no bc "u don't move me???? i see through u????? i don't follow???? i don't want to?????"

-> username that man is in SHAMBLES about this rn

username GOOD RIDDANCE TOUR WHEN

username this will be my personality for years to come

lorenzotl proud of you y/n/n 🤍

-> yourusername i love u charlotte's bf thank u

username cannot breathe bc "it's almost like you like to let me down" and "i hate the fact that i miss u around"

≡;- ꒰ °twitter꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, landonorris, danielricciardo and 2,672,882 others

charles_leclerc so proud of you. seeing you live your dream is the best feeling ever and i hope you get to see the world just like we talked about. things aren't the same but my support for you will always be unwavering. this is what you were made for and i couldn't be more happy 🤍

tagged yourusername

16,628 comments

username what the actual fuck

username WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

username stfu this isn't DONE like u CAN'T do this

username "things aren't the same but my support for you will always be unwavering" WHAT IF I CRY

username so u mean to tell me that he went to her show after MONTHS even when they're not together just to support her???? bc he wants her to see the world even if things aren't the same????? what the fuck

username i did NOT need this at 7am in the morning come back later

username babe wake up new y/ncharles lore js dropped

danielricciardo amazing show!! aren't you glad i dragged you there?

-> charles_leclerc i literally booked the tickets myself what are you on about?

-> danielricciardo let me have this one mate

username last night was UNREAL bc wdym y/n's ex fiancé was there and wdym she sang full machine and the blue for him and wdym he came on stage and spoke so fondly about her and WDYM MAX VERSTAPPEN AND LANDO NORRIS THREW WATER AT THE AUDIENCE JS FOR THE HELL OF IT

username this is my roman empire

username i know he was dying inside like

username imagine fumbling a bad bitch like y/n couldn't be me LMFAOOOO

username y'all brutal in the comments let my man grovel in peace

landonorris nice caption. now say i love you.

-> charles_leclerc i love you lando

-> landonorris not to ME to HER (i love you too 😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍)

-> charles_leclerc oh (no)

username SCREAMING DANIEL SNATCHING Y/N'S MIC FROM HER AND SINGING HIS FAV SONG FROM THE ALBUM

-> username THEY'RE SO UNSERIOUS 😭😭😭

username this caption will haunt me in my dreams

username is it js me or did her voice crack when she said "now i know it's unrequited"

-> username NO BC I FR THOUGHT THAT IT WAS JS ME

-> username she genuinely looked on the verge of tears throughout "405" like

-> username imagine being y/n and singing the most heartbreaking song ever about ur ex IN FRONT OF UR EX

username no bc this feels like a confirmation that they'll never be together guys why does this feel so final i want my parents back.

username SCREAMING WHATHEBRCUKXKSKA

carlossainz55 surreal night. loved seeing you lose your cool every time she was nearing your side of the stage

-> charles_leclerc just because we can speak doesn't mean we should

username the camera switching from y/n to charles when she sang "i know it won't work" was so me like the camera person is messy js like me fr

username genuinely in ruins on my bedroom floor rn y/ncharles nation we LOST

username no bc i CANNOT enter their friendship era ever again after seeing what i have seen for the past few years

-> username fr like people don't GET IT!!!! they were supposed to get MARRIED

username forever crying bc of them 💔💔💔

yourusername forever grateful for u!!!! thank u so much 🫶🏼

*liked by charles_leclerc*

yourusername u deserve the world

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username charles replying to everyone but y/n on the post HE made for HER makes me so idk like it's weird

username no bc why do i have the feeling that y/n and charles are NOT good and this is js something done for "damage control" or wtv

username im.

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc instagram au

1K notes · View notes

sencrose · 6 months ago

Text

— ARE YOU LISTENING?

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

wc: 2.3k

tags: dubcon, noncon elements, vomit/emeto, power imbalance, cockwarming

summary: The name of the game is cruel and unusual punishment, and you just happen to be the unlucky winner.

notes: yeah idk. read the tags and read them again before you click the read more. sex is dubcon at best, the vomit is def noncon. you've been warned. dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

After the months you’ve spent at the monastery, you have no idea how Geto-sama feels about you. Now and then you see him, but he’s distant at best, unreadable at worst.

Rumors float around and they always find their way to you. Sometimes innocent ones, other times things you have no stake in. But there’s one that seeps through the halls of the monastery, one that makes your stomach tighten, your breathing needle sharp.

Geto-sama isn’t very fond of you.

It’s childish, you know you shouldn’t let it bother you. But it does. Especially when it’s followed by baseless accusations that you know aren’t true.

You’re irresponsible. A burden to the family. As you walk down the corridors, you swear you can hear the echoes of your peers' voices–what is your contribution?

Though you know this isn’t true, it still weighs on your conscience. Just enough for you to get desperate to prove everyone wrong, shut them up for once.

But you weren’t able to.

You’ll admit, it was a poor decision made in the heat of the moment. Sick of hearing whispers of your incompetence, you would do anything to prove it, including bringing back a curse for your beloved master. Though you’re out of practice, a grade two should be well within your capabilities.

Unfortunately, some things are a lot easier said than done.

It’s a miracle he noticed something was amiss. If it weren’t for him coming to your rescue, you would be nothing but a pile of broken bones by now. And while you’re grateful for him saving you, it does not spare you from the embarrassment and shame of the now reinforced idea that you’re irresponsible.

The trip back to the monastery was held together by an eerie silence. Suguru wore no emotion on his face while you wore yours on your sleeve, all wandering eyes and nervous tics. By the time the two of you make it back to a private room, nothing has changed. You’re still a nervous wreck, and Suguru does nothing to acknowledge it.

He simply sits down on the armchair, letting out a heavy sigh as he bends. Slowly, he places his chin on his hand and tuts. “Why did you do it?”

You’re barely able to look him in the eye. “I felt like I needed to prove myself.”

“Why?” he asks again, his voice low and dangerous.

You inhale sharply as an attempt to get the words out easier. It doesn’t help.

“I’ve heard some people say that you don’t like me,” you state, and the words choke on the way out, a ball forming in your throat as you attempt to push them out, “because I’m irresponsible.”

“The first half isn’t true. I’m actually quite fond of you…” he pauses, and you get your hopes up in the brief silence, “but you did prove the latter.”

As quickly as you got your hopes up, they crash to the floor. It stings, hearing him say that.

”There’s a reason why things are the way they are…” he trails off, eyes analyzing your form from top to bottom. It feels like he’s dissecting you with a scalpel in hand, cutting into the skin to see what’s hidden underneath.

“You don’t need to prove anything,” he hums with–if you’re not mistaken–the slightest hint of amusement, “but you do need to be punished.”

Even though this is supposed to be a punishment, his words send heat rushing to your face. It only worsens when he beckons you to come closer, your breath hitching when he’s close enough to touch.

”Don’t be shy,” Suguru coos, patting his lap, gesturing for you to come take your seat. It feels like a trap, but you know you can’t refuse him.

Awkwardly, you raise one leg over the other, gently sitting down, doing your best to avoid touching chests together because that would be too much for your poor heart. Seeing him this up close is a sight to behold. Soft skin that can only be achieved with a meticulous multi-step care routine. Silky tresses of obsidian that makes you wonder how he takes care of it, if he has someone brush it for him in the mornings. You feel a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

“Is this something you do with the others?” you ask, hushed and quiet because you’re unsure if this question will spur on another punishment.

He tilts his head quizzically before smiling gently. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.”

It shouldn’t excite you, but it does. Something hot and honeyed makes its way down your core when his large hands wrap around your upper thighs and straddle you closer to him until you feel something hard pressed against your clothed cunt.

The sensation is enough to make your heart race, and intensifies even more when you realize you don’t even know what your punishment is yet.

His hands pull and adjust your skirt until he exposes your underwear. From there his hands are agonizingly slow, his finger tracing up your thigh until he reaches the gusset. With a swift movement he pulls it off to the side, the sudden exposure to the cold air making you wince.

”Geto-sama?”

Your question goes unanswered.

It feels far from a punishment when his fingers make their way to your clit, gently tracing circles until you can’t hold your voice back. As soon as he hears you moan for him, it’s as if he’s trying to rip it out of you, motions becoming tighter and faster as your breath quickens.

And as quickly as he gets you on the precipice, he takes his fingers away, making you whine at the loss of his touch.

“This is a punishment,” he reminds you, a teasing lilt woven into his voice, “turn around.”

So you do as he says, waiting in anxious anticipation for what comes next.

You hear the sounds of fabric shuffling and shifting before something hot and hard presses against your ass. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he rubs against you. Geto’s patience knows no bounds, while you’re desperate for him to get it over with, grinding against his cock to entice him to put it in already. He finally heeds your call, but only after pressing against your hole teasingly before pulling away a few times, just to hear that high pitched whine when he doesn’t give you the satisfaction.

When he finally gives you what you want, you nearly regret asking for it. Geto takes his sweet time putting himself into you. It’s painfully slow, as if you can feel every part of your pussy stretch itself out for him inch by inch. All you can do is steady your breathing until he bottoms out, and let out a shaky moan when he does.

Geto doesn’t let you catch your breath before asking, “You know about my curse technique, don’t you?”

This hardly feels like the time to have a talk about sorcery and the like, but it’s not like you have many options.

”I’m aware, yes,” you do your best to sound composed, though your voice is breathy, your head somewhere else entirely as you look down where you’re connected to him. That aching need grows at the sight of it, your hips moving before you realize what you’re doing.

“How much are you aware of?” Geto continues, and the contrast between your composures is laughable. His hands grip tightly onto your hips, holding them in place.

“You can absorb cursed spirits, and you have a lot of them stored up.” You hope this is the right answer, as if this is a test you have a chance of passing.

(You don’t.)

“Do you know how I absorb them?” he coos, as if he’s amused by your answer. It’s difficult to tell if his interest is genuine or not, but realistically you guess it’s somewhere in the middle. Getting tested about his cursed technique isn’t exactly what you had in mind as a punishment, but Geto can be a bit of an eccentric character when he wants to be. Cult leader things, you suppose.

”No.” you reply, ashamed because it’s the truth. You’re not exactly trusted with much in regards to cursed spirits, working more with administrative tasks that are deemed too tedious for the stronger curse users.

His thumb brushes against your lips before he gets closer, so close the warmth of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “I swallow them.”

It’s a strange mental image to conjure, and not one you particularly want to imagine at the moment. If you were to be honest, you think it's beneath him, but you'd never voice that opinion out loud.

“Have I ever told you about the taste of a curse?” His timbre changes to something dark and low, a threat lurking beneath the surface of his words. Suddenly, despite yourself, you feel exposed. Like a deer in headlights, frozen and staring down the car that’s going to run it over. Nothing good can come from this.

You do not know. You do not want to know. But one thing is certain: he’ll tell you anyway.

“It tastes horrible,” he states simply. He presses his lips against your neck, gently nibbling against the supple skin. The way he kisses you is soft, something too intimate for a subordinate and superior. It’s almost enough to distract you from the words that leave his mouth next, “like a rag soaked in vomit.”

And though his words strike fear in your heart, it’s not enough to pull yourself off of him. You shouldn’t be enjoying yourself, but Geto has a way with his fingers. With the way he has you melting in his hands when he touches your puffy clit, desperate for any kind of simulation.

“It makes you want to retch and gag, yet nothing comes out.” His words don’t match his actions–the former filling you with unease, the latter keeping you on the edge of pleasure. Either way, your heart beats faster, along with an unsettling tincture of cortisol and adrenaline coursing through your body.

His thumb gently swipes over your lips before pushing into the seam, a demand for an opening. You give it to him before you can stop to think about it and the way his fingers touch your tongue makes your stomach twist in fear. It’s cold, analytical, like a researcher examining a specimen with gloved hands, pressing and prodding with the goal of invoking some kind of reaction.

“Since you want to know so badly, why don’t you have a taste?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond, shifting gears to stuff his fingers down your throat as deep as possible. The sounds that leave your lips are unfamiliar and unwelcome to your ears, forced retches and coughs filling the empty room as you receive your punishment.

Geto doesn’t blink when you vomit, nor does he move his fingers away. He simply watches with a cold eye as you empty the contents of your stomach onto his arm and the floor.

There’s nowhere to run, his free arm wrapped firmly around your waist to bring you further into him. Every muscle in your body tightens in all the wrong ways as he attempts to get another out of you. It comes out too easily, as if your body is willing to give him whatever he wants.

If this is what his affection is like, you don’t want to experience his contempt. Or maybe it’d be better. Gracious. A quick cut to the throat. A gunshot to the chest. Not whatever this is, this drawn out torture, rendering you into a pathetic state where you can’t even beg for mercy.

The muscles in your stomach ache from twisting and constricting when there’s nothing left to purge, but Geto doesn’t stop. Even when your throat burns with bile in places it shouldn’t be, when you claw and scratch into his arms enough to draw blood. Not until he gets a few shallow strokes in, grunting at the way your body tightens up for him with his fingers down your throat.

Geto can’t stop himself from cumming inside you, not when every part of you seems to be gripping around him for all his worth. Drool spills from your mouth as he empties himself inside you, each hot spurt of his seed making you groan.

“Maybe, I was a bit rough,” Geto removes his hand from your mouth and returns to the soft tone he carries when talking with his family, though it does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it puts you on edge, in fear that he wants to take more from you.

“But you did good for me. Surely, that warrants a reward.”

You don’t want whatever reward he’s offering but you’re too scared, too worn out to fight. You don’t give him a nod, you simply watch as his fingers find your clit. Despite his cruelty, his fingers are generous, and it’s jarring enough to give you whiplash.

Like his punishments, Geto’s swift with his rewards, drawing tighter and tighter circles around your clit until you cum with his softening cock inside you. Your orgasm is tainted even though pleasure courses through your body, your muscles too worn out to truly indulge. Even still, your cunt convulses around him as you cry and cough when you finally recieve that release you’ve (regrettably) been begging for.

Geto slowly pulls his fingers away from you as you come down from your high, his arms wrapping you in a gentle embrace. Every hair on your body stands, every nerve on high alert.

“I hope you learned your lesson. I won’t be so nice next time.”

#sen writes #s.jjk #sen fics #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #suguru geto x reader #cw.dubcon #cw.noncon #posting this a bit sooner bc why not ig lmfao

148 notes · View notes

buryhny · 8 months ago

Text

One Night Stand ; 10

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n → contains smut, fluff and angst → Chapter ten ; wc | 3k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook's pov

It's quiet during the drive, but my mind is racing with thoughts. The impulsive part of me questions, 'What are you doing, Jungkook? Who is she to you? Why are you helping her? Stop wasting your time.' Meanwhile, my moral guide, reassures me that I'm doing the right thing by helping, supporting, and taking responsibility like a gentleman.

Unsure which voice to follow, I decide to go with my mind since I never trust my heart. As I enter my house, silence greets me, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. Bam doesn't greet me, so I assume he's asleep. As I walk to the kitchen for a glass of water, I reflect on the satisfaction of helping but remind myself to be aware of the consequences.

I'm involved in a situation that could be shameful if discovered. I can avoid being implicated, but I'm not sure if Y/n can handle it. I could be selfish if I listened to my impulses, but my rational side steps in, guiding me to follow my mind without involving emotions. 'Do your part, Jeon Jungkook, and good things will come,' I tell myself.

After placing the half-empty glass on the counter, I head upstairs for a shower and bed. My mind refuses to shut down, replaying thoughts about work, investments, Bam's appointments, my checkups, and Y/n. She's probably asleep, overthinking, or relieved, while I stare at the ceiling until exhaustion finally takes over after a couple of hours.

;

The morning sun hasn't risen yet, but I'm awake before my alarm, likely due to Bam's squeaks and whines. "Bammie," I call softly to my Doberman, who looks at me with his puppy eyes. It's yoga time. I believe in shaping my life purposefully. Waking up at 5 a.m., I don't reach for my phone first thing, and I advise others against it.

It's a waste of time. Statistics show 62% of people reach for their phones first thing in the morning, and 44% do so after snoozing their alarms. I'm proud not to be one of them. I put on my yoga pants, roll out the mat, and sit down with Bam on his own mat. He may not do yoga perfectly, but he enjoys mimicking my stretches and trying new positions. It's our routine, and he loves weekends because I'm around more. Our 5 a.m. yoga sessions are calming, especially with the quiet streets waiting for the sunrise.

I start with basic positions, taking deep breaths as I stretch. Bam follows with his dog stretches, making me chuckle at his antics. We continue until the morning sunlight fully brightens the day. "Good start, I'll prepare your breakfast, come Bam." After rolling up the mats and placing them against the yoga room wall, I head to the kitchen. I prepare Bam's meal of fully cooked chicken and beef, adhering to the saying 'breakfast should be eaten like a king.'

Bam's breakfast is a high-protein meal with his favorite meats; he absolutely hates fish and won't eat it, even if I offer it. I respect his preferences and avoid getting fish for him, as his likes and tastes are very important to me.

For myself, I prepare a full English breakfast: two fried eggs, caramelized bacon, toasted bread, and a slice of avocado toast with a cup of tea. This is my Saturday morning ritual, and I never skip it. I usually eat lightly during the week, but weekends start with a hearty meal to fuel the days ahead. As I toss the bacon onto the plate and wait for Bam's beef to boil, I put two slices of multigrain bread into the toaster and grill a slice of baguette for my avocado toast.

Once Bam's protein is fully cooked, I let it cool before cutting it into pieces. I wrap the remaining meat in foil for his dinner, place his food in his bowl, and add a well-done egg on the side. "Bam, sit!" He obediently sits in his spot, and I place the bowl in front of him. He waits for my command, "Come on, eat!" I pat his head and return to the kitchen as my toast is ready. I don't usually sit at the dining table; the emptiness bothers me, so I lean against the counter, watching Bam enjoy his meal while I eat mine.

Living in a mansion has its pros and cons. In hindsight, building such a large house seems wasteful since I barely use most of the rooms. There are about ten large rooms that have never been used. After finishing my toast, I clean the kitchen and take a shower. Weekends aren't free for me.

Running a business that's the second-best advertising agency in Seoul requires constant attention. Every decision and detail must be managed and organized by me, so weekends are never a day off, even though my employees are capable of handling things in my absence.

I look at the suit and shoes in my closet, ironed with no creases. It amuses me that people see me only as a CEO. I'm much more than that; I'm still a 28-year-old man who wears sweatshirts and pants when alone at home. But this side of me is not widely accepted. I put on the suit, button up, and apply my black vanilla-scented perfume, a gift from my ex-girlfriend. Despite disliking everything about her, this perfume is too good to discard.

Bam's caretaker arrives just in time before I leave for work at 8 a.m. as usual. Although workdays are Monday to Friday, my dedicated employees often work on Saturdays to avoid a Monday backlog. They don't ask for extra pay and work for about two hours. To my surprise, Y/n arrives at the same time as I do. She usually doesn't work weekends. Her style has changed; today, she's wearing an oversized sweater and skirt layered with a coat, her style is understandable even though the dress code is required, she's an exception due to her pregnancy.

She gives me a soft smile and a bow as our eyes meet. We take the same elevator, maintaining a polite distance. She looks refreshed this morning. We part ways when she reaches her floor, and the day progresses as usual.

Park Jimin has been quiet for weeks, a welcome change with no complaints or requests from him. It's a positive development. Mr. Jung and Y/n have lunch together, bonding well—a healthy sign. I didn't interact with Y/n today, and she left earlier than I did. As an employee, her work is outstanding. Her design skills have significantly improved, making her stand out among our graphic designers. She has a bright future, and I'm glad she chose to work at Jeon Industries.

Sundays always pass slower. Maybe it's the workaholic in me that can't bear spending a day doing anything besides work, but it is what it is. Everyone must admit that Sundays should be taken off the week. It's nothing but a waste of good 24 hours that could be used better. If I had the choice, I would have open working hours for Sunday too but my employees wouldn't like that and I respect their choices too. Hence, I sit on my couch, staring at the tv playing a rubbish movie that I don't understand one bit.

Bam rests his head on my lap as I run my hand over his short fur, giving him the comfort I neither have nor desire. Touch disgusts me. Cuddles and random kisses are nauseating, like a stain on a brand new white shirt—that's what a hug or kiss feels like.

Sex is different. Sex is just sex. Kissing during sex is merely a way to turn someone on, and touching is part of the act. But kissing and touching out of love? That's horrifying. People need to stop. Watching it gives me anxiety. A cuddle feels like a python wrapping around you, tightening until you can't breathe. I've never cuddled, and I never will.

Bam lifts his head from my lap, his loving eyes meeting mine. "Want something, Bam?" He lets out a soft whine, nudging his nose against my waist and making me laugh. "Bammie, walk time? Alright, stop—s-stop, Bam!" He finally stops when I mention the walk, sitting on the couch and waiting patiently for me to get up.

;

Author's pov

Monday unfolds like any other Monday. Jungkook remains in his office, immersed in the latest deal. You're feeling more at ease today, noting that the spotting has remained minimal, just a few red dots. You're hopeful that it's a sign of things finally slowing down and eventually stopping altogether. "Ms. Lee, I think you left this on my desk on Saturday,"

Beomgyu says, handing you a file you thought you'd misplaced at home. You thank him and quickly check to see if everything is in order. Fortunately, all the papers are intact, and you let out a deep breath of relief. Just then, Rosé rushes towards you, carrying a pile of multi-colored paper files. "Y/n, Hoseok's waiting for you at the cafeteria," she says hastily. "Thanks," you reply, smiling as she hurries off to avoid losing her balance.

Hoseok had plans to visit you this weekend, but you didn't want him to come over since you were still feeling down, making the usually cheerful Hoseok a bit gloomy. You take the elevator and meet him at the cafe. There he is, pouting and playing with his sugar cookie decorated with a little duck. You walk over to him, trying to suppress a smile. "Hi, Hoba—" "You canceled our plans? That's not fair. You didn't even dance with me at the business party last week."

Hoseok is teasing you, and you can't help but play along because he's so endearing. "I'm sorry, Hoba, how can I make it up to you?" you ask, sitting beside him. He sighs dramatically before pulling out a beautifully decorated cookie with cheesecake sugar icing. "Nothing, just have this. I made it." Your eyes widen in surprise. You knew Hoseok could bake, but seeing this adorable creation amazes you. "You made this for me? You drew this?!!"

you exclaim, examining the detailed icing. "Of course, it's my secret talent," he whispers, giggling and flashing his lovely smile. "Try it, tell me how it tastes," he urges, eyes sparkling with anticipation. You don't want to ruin the little masterpiece, but you can't resist his pleading.

"Let me take a picture first." You pull out your phone, snap a photo, and then take a bite. The cookie is soft, decadent, and filled with delicious strawberry jam. You close your eyes, savoring the taste, a smile spreading across your face. "How is it?" Hoseok whispers, anxious to know if his efforts have paid off. "Tell me!!!" "Hobi, this is the best thing I've eaten in months!" you declare, and Hoseok claps his hands in delight. Seeing your happiness fills him with satisfaction. "Give me that bag—I'm taking it home!!!!"

Packing up your things, you realize the office is once again empty, leaving only you and your CEO behind. After a dull weekend, today had gone surprisingly well. Work and lunch were great, and you felt a sense of contentment. Jungkook stands in your doorway, watching you pack up with a gentle smile. This time feels different; he's not just waiting for you to leave but seems to be genuinely enjoying the moment. "I'm done, Mr. Je—" you start,

but then pause as a strange sensation between your legs makes you frown. Jungkook notices your change in expression and mirrors your concern. "Y/n? Is everything fine?" he asks. "Yeah, I think so," you reply, but as you take another step, the sensation grows more alarming. "I think I need to use the washroom," you mumble, your words barely coherent. Jungkook, confused, watches as you drop your bag and rush towards the corridor.

He sets his bag down and follows you, stopping just outside the restroom door. You lean against the cabinet, not bothering to enter a stall. There's no one else around, and you know Jungkook won't intrude without permission. Taking a deep breath, you try to push away the negative thoughts flooding your mind.

You remove your coat, untuck your shirt, and pull your skirt down just enough to see. With closed eyes, you whisper to yourself, "Whatever it is, just not the same color. Anything but that." When you open your eyes, you see a darker splash of blood. Your chest tightens, and you struggle to breathe.

Your mind goes blank, filled only with anxiety. You grip the cabinet so tightly your knuckles turn white. "I'm bleeding, shit," you finally mutter. Everything seems to turn black, the walls closing in on you. You sink to your knees, curling up against the wall, tears streaming down your face. Jungkook hears your cries and rushes in. Seeing you on the floor, weeping and holding your visibly showing stomach, he understands the gravity of the situation. "Y/n—"

"I'm bleeding, Jungkook, please," you whisper. Though your voice is faint, he catches the urgency in it. He kneels beside you, noticing your struggle to breathe and realizing you're having an anxiety attack. He places his hands on your shoulders, feeling the tension. "Hey, look at me, Y/n! I want you to close your eyes and try to breathe," he urges.

You push him away, feeling suffocated and unable to catch your breath. "Y/n, look at me!" he yells, his eyes filled with concern. "You're alright, the baby is alright. Take a deep breath—"

"I can't—" you gasp. "Yes, you can. If you want the baby to be fine, you need to take a breath. Come on!" he insists. Crying, you follow his instructions, trying to calm down for the sake of the little one inside you. Slowly, you manage to steady your breathing. "We need to get you to the doctor. I'll take you," Jungkook says, his voice firm but gentle.

The drive to the hospital was a blur of sniffles, sobs, and tears. Jungkook didn't ask any questions; he knew you couldn't answer. You could barely breathe, let alone speak. He drove as fast as he could, hoping Dr. So Hee would still be available despite it being 7 PM. "Dr. So Hee? It's an emergency—" Jungkook began as soon as you entered the building, but the receptionist cut him off. "Sorry, sir, she's not accepting any appointments now."

"Inform her that Ms. Lee Y/n is the patient—" "Sir, it's not possible—" "God damn—" "Y/n?" Dr. So Hee appeared behind the two of you, bag in hand, ready to leave. The moment you met her eyes, you broke down. She saw the distress and immediately understood. "I'll take them. Ms. Lee, come with me." You followed Dr. So Hee, leaving Jungkook to handle the payment. Once inside her office, you took a seat, your body trembling. "What's the matter, Y/n?"

"Dr., I'm bleeding—I have no idea what happened. I was fine over the weekend, but now I'm bleeding," you said, voice shaky. "Is it spotting?" "No, it's more than that," you replied, just as Jungkook knocked and poked his head in. "May I come in?" he asked. Dr. So Hee nodded, allowing him to enter and sit beside you. "Is it more like a puddle or like a period?"

Dr. So Hee asked. "A puddle," you said, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. Your crying had stopped, but you kept sniffing and fidgeting.

Dr. So Hee sighed. "I can't do an examination right now, but I have a few questions. May I ask them?" You nodded. "do you have hormonal imbalance? have you dealt with it during your teens? or maybe you've smoked or are a heavy drinker?" You met her eyes, hesitant to respond with Jungkook beside you. "I was a heavy drinker and smoker for about three years. I stopped smoking, but I occasionally drink. and yes, i've dealt with hormonal imbalance, still do."

"since you were unaware of your pregnancy, did you consume alcohol?" You closed your eyes, feeling ashamed. "I did drink a few times before I knew I was pregnant." Dr. So Hee nodded while Jungkook maintained a poker face, though clearly surprised.

"I need you to visit me tomorrow at 10:30 AM. I will do a full examination. For now, don't take any pills, drink plenty of water, and stay with a parent or friend. You shouldn't be alone tonight considering your panicking state."

You nodded, and Jungkook did too. "Meet me tomorrow, Y/n, and please take care." Walking back to Jungkook's car, you stood in front of it, breathing in the open air. Jungkook hesitated but finally asked, "Are you okay?" Looking down, you felt the tears welling up again. "You think I'll be okay?" He licked his lips, unsure of what to say. "You've got someone at home, right?" When you didn't respond, he frowned. "Wait, you live alone?"

Avoiding his gaze, you felt your temper rising. "I'll do what I want." He gasped, realizing the implications. "Does your mom know about this?" Closing your eyes, you bit your inner cheek. Jungkook stepped closer, his concern turning to frustration. "What do you think you're doing with your mom knowing nothing? Do you have any idea about the consequen—"

"I'm a big girl, Jungkook. I know exactly what I'm doing, and none of it matters to you!" you snapped, meeting his eyes with a furious glare. "Does anyone know about this? Or is it just me?" "Jungkook, stop getting into my business. You helped me, thank you. That's it. I didn't ask for help, so don't involve yourself in this mess," you said, stepping closer,

the safe distance between you almost gone. "I've been in this mess since day one. Y/n, you're not doing the right thing by keeping things to yourself. You need to be with someone tonight—" "I can manage on my own!" you shouted, furious at his condescending tone. The distance between you vanished, your faces inches apart.

"You can't!" "Yes, I can!"

"That's it. You're coming with me!"

"Drink up," he muttered, holding a glass of water in front of you to help prevent further choking. Jungkook had anticipated this reaction and regretted not telling you at a more suitable time, instead of during dinner when you were devouring pizza as if you hadn't eaten in days. Once you calmed down, you glared at him, and he gulped, leaving you even more confused.

"Is this a prank?" you asked, and he rolled his eyes. "When have I ever pranked you?" "So, you're telling me I'm going with you on a business trip to France?" Your voice rose sharply in pitch and volume. Jungkook wasn't entirely confident about this decision. He had planned for you to stay home, believing nothing could go wrong.

But everything could go wrong, especially when you least expect it. You raised an eyebrow, seeking an explanation, and he nodded, prompting you to sigh. "But why?" The speed of your speech irked him, though he didn't want to show it and risk another argument. He was exhausted and needed sleep. Jungkook slurped his noodles, trying to ease the tension, but his actions only fueled your anger.

"Jungkook, I asked you, why?" "Because I can't leave you alone." "Why not?" Your rapid-fire questions left him struggling to think clearly. He needed time to form his sentences to avoid mistakes, but you weren't giving him any.

"I don't think it's safe to leave you here alone. No one around knows about your condition, and you have strict meal times. I know you'd skip meals." He spoke in one breath, and you scowled at him. "I'm trying to consider your concerns. It's hard for me to process this."

"that's up to me and It's hard for me too, alright?" Your words came out faster, laced with sarcasm, making communication even more difficult since neither of you managed your anger well. "Then take me home. It won't be hard for you anymore."

You almost stood up, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and shook his head, signaling you not to do this because he knew how hungry you were. "What?" you asked in frustration.

"Eat up." His tone was firm and authoritative. After a moment, you sat back down. His persistence in caring for you was pretty impressive, and even though it was hard to accept, you appreciated that he took responsibility for his actions. Not many men do, especially regarding pregnancy.

You sat back and stared at the now-cold pizza. He looked at it too, then at you from the corner of his eye. "Think it over. I'm not forcing you. Just let me know before Thursday." You nodded, took a bite of the pizza, and chewed thoughtfully. Jungkook felt guilty for disrupting your meal and wished he had waited until morning. 'I'm so stupid,' he thought, picking at his food before finishing it, having starved himself all day.

When he was done, he threw away the trash and drank a glass of water. He saw you crushing the pizza box after licking your fingers. 'This is unhealthy,' he thought, knowing you should have more nutritious meals. But he couldn't help but notice how much weight you had lost in the past two months.

He remembered how vibrant and cheerful you looked when he first met you—damn stress. After washing your hands, you wiped your lips and headed upstairs. "Hey, don't sleep yet. You need to take your medicines."

You nodded, climbing the stairs with Bam following, bringing a smile to your face. Jungkook felt everything was happening too fast, from learning about the pregnancy to you staying at his place. He wasn't comfortable with the sudden changes, and both of you needed time to adjust—a long time.

You felt awkward walking around, always aware that this was Jungkook's place—your boss's place. He wasn't used to having a woman in his home, so he suggested this idea, though he hadn't thought it through. On the bright side, you weren't difficult to handle. Despite frequent arguments, you were content in your own quiet world.

He went to his bedroom, checked the time, and set a reminder to give you your medicine in an hour. He took his laptop from his bag and began replying to pending emails.

"Bam, funny how we got along so well. It hasn't even been 4 days and we're friends!" you cupped his face, his eyes flapping as you held them and talked to him while he looked at your eyes with his extremely adorable pair. "Should I go with him? I don't know, isn't it weird?" you asked the dog who tilted his head, like he understands. He does this action whenever Jungkook talks to him too.

"I may be scared to stay home alone too, I won't disagree." trailing your words with a pout on your face, your eyes turned to the sound of your notifications as the phone blinked. Grabbing it you look at who texted you only to see Kayla's 56th message. You're not texting her because it's getting tougher to be in contact with her. She asks you out for parties, dinners and other events that you're not interested in and you can't really engage in that sort of activity.

It's unsafe. You don't have the courage to explain everything to her, the whole damn story. Kayla is a good friend but she's not a very close friend, you are doubtful of her reactions. Bam leaves you alone in your thought bubble, zoned out and thinking about the other people in your life. Another text popped out and you noticed that this time it was from Hoseok, the smile on your face creeped up.

[ from Hoseok ] What's up? :0

[ Y/ n ] Missing me?

[ From Hoseok ] Yes :(

[ y/n ] Oh no, bake a sugar cookie!!

Oh those sugar cookies were heaven, you think and almost salivate at the thought of them. and remembering the cutest drawings Hobi drew for you, he's the sweetest person you've ever met.

[ From Hoseok ] Who's gonna eat them? you're not here :(

[ y/n ] eat them for me you're a baby Mr Jung, I must show these texts to Mr Jeon.

[ From Hoseok ] Hey, I'm not!

[ y/n ] sure thing

[ From Hoseok ] but really, work was so dull without you

[ y/n ] I'll be back soon, okay?

[ From Hoseok ] How soon?

How soon? How am I gonna answer that question? you ask yourself, the smile on your face dropping as you leave him on seen for a few minutes to think about how you should respond to his question.

Hoseok lays on his couch, waiting in your chat until you reply to him, the pout on his face getting heavy with the minutes that pass by.

He sits upright on his sofa, staring at the screen while the television screen plays the random show of grey's anatomy that Hoseok hasn't watched ever in his life.

[ Y/n ] idkkk, soon?

your reply does not satisfy Hoseok enough, laying back on his couch he heaves a sigh as he replies to you with a :) and turns off his phone, he misses his friend a little too much. Hoseok looks at the telly and chuckles, he doesn't realise that his friend does mean a lot to him.

You place your phone on the coffee table beside you, getting on your feet and walking towards the glass door that opens to the balcony. The cold wind pulls you out, placing your hands on the railing as you look out at the clear dark blue sky, the moon having its usual soft glow but never fails to amaze you.

you're not a moon person, you're more of a sun girl, especially the sun at the beach and it's funny how you haven't been to a shore in a long time, the last time you remember was.. with your ex. you haven't been able to meet the coast the same way, it's where your ex broke up with you claiming that he's suddenly got commitment issues, so abruptly after dating you for 7 months then officially being in a relationship with you for over 3 months.

He could have at least come up with a better excuse to break up with you—maybe explain what triggered his so-called "commitment issues." But no, he chose your favorite spot in the world to drop such heartbreaking news. What a coward. You looked up at the moon, its soft glow surrounded by twinkling stars,

and all you could think about was how much you missed your mom. Her face appeared in your mind—round, pink, and full of warmth, with those dimples at the corners of her mouth that you always loved to poke with your finger. The moon reminded you so much of her face that it brought a small giggle to your lips.

There were two outdoor couches set up perfectly for stargazing, so you decided to take a seat. Stargazing wasn't something you did often, but tonight, the setting felt serene. The gentle breeze, the stillness, the way the sky glittered with golden stars blinking occasionally—it all felt so peaceful, you couldn't resist taking it in. You placed your hands on your stomach, and for the first time, you truly felt the bump beneath your palms.

It's getting more prominent now and that excites you a bit, thinking about the future. Rubbing over your shirt, you continue to stare longer as you curl up, enjoying the softness of the sofa and the coldness of the surrounding. Your apartment had no view, no balcony and no comfy chairs like the ones Jungkook owns. The longer you look at the sky, the heavier your eyelids become. It's so peaceful out here, you think.

Peace was something you hadn't felt in a long time. Since finding out about the pregnancy, everything seemed to crumble around you, so this moment felt so good, so soothing. Just as your eyes began to drift shut, a few knocks on the glass door startled you, making you flinch. You turned to see where the sound came from and spotted Jungkook standing there, curiosity etched on his face as he took in your surprised expression.

"Your pills?" he asked, his voice soft but clear. You nodded, still rubbing your eyes to wake yourself up fully, you walk inside the bedroom, locking the door. Facing him, he picks up the glass and meds that he left on the bedside table. You sit on the edge of the bed and he hands you each pills so you gulp it down with room temperature water.

It feels weird to have him babysit you like this, you want to tell him that he doesn't have to do all this but you refrain from saying so because you know that it's gonna bring up another argument, which you're not ready for. "Thank you."

you say softly once you've swallowed the 5 whole capsules, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, handing over the glass back to him. Jungkook tears his eyes from yours and brings them to your collarbones, he won't admit it but when you gulped down every sip of the water, his mind only reminded him of the way you gave head.

He's unsure why he thinks of that night, it's the horniness in him. 'Maybe I should visit the club someday,' he tells himself as he nods his head and walks out of your bedroom. You do your skincare and then slip inside the sheets, the softness of the covers brings a warm smile on your face, letting you into slumber after a few minutes

Morning arrives quicker than you expected. Jungkook is already up, buttoning his inner waistcoat as he heads downstairs. The aroma of breakfast fills the air, prepared by Maya. He spots you sitting on the lobby couch, looking refreshed in a sweatshirt and checkered pants, focused on your laptop with Bam curled up beside you.

He directly walks into the kitchen, taking out the morning pills that you've got taken as prescribed. Placing them on the coffee table, you look up at him and meet his eyes, looking grumpy as always in the mornings. "Take them after you have your breakfast." He turns to leave but you immediately stop him. "Jungkook-"

you see him facing you with a blank look on his face, you walk closer to him, looking around as you check on his staff, not wanting them to hear you when you ask him the next few words. He raises his eyebrow, wanting to know why exactly you stopped him from leaving the house. Licking your lips, not very sure how to say it without sounding stupid, but you've given it a thought and it's a valid contemplation.

"Wouldn't your workers find it weird if you book two tickets?" This question makes him tilt his head, not exactly understanding what you're asking him, you heave a sigh and look at the ground then around checking for the staff. "The business trip?" you whisper, he then realises what you meant and pushes his head back with a chuckle.

Slipping his hands inside his pockets, he speaks. "Don't worry about that, I have my ways." he lets you know, walking out of the house, leaving you confused. you had more questions to ask him, he just left, not giving you a few seconds to ask him more. Rolling your eyes, you sat back down and began to start working from home, online. It's no different from working in the office, just the change of place and there's no people around here. So it's rather dull and boring, especially without Hoseok and Rosè around.

Maybe even Park Jimin, his taunts and conceited words were maddening yet it was some quality drama, now here you are alone just the way it always was. Except it's Jungkook's place and it just feels more peaceful and somehow a new place to be in, so it keeps you going. Occasionally taking a break to rub and pet Bam, it helps you to be focused.

While you work on your project, Bam either sleeps beside you or has his head on your lap. You both have bonded well, it feels nice and you don't feel very lonely too, you've not only got your baby but the pup too so you're happy. More than happy.

Jungkook officially announced that you're working from home due to personal reasons, and that you won't be back to office for months, he didn't specify how many months because he didn't think it was important for anyone to know, besides he himself isn't aware of it, it's pregnancy so..

he's a bit clueless with the months. Hoseok, Rosè and Jimin were of course left speechless. Firstly, Hoseok was aware of this, you told him but he assumed it could be some silly joke as you like to pull his leg a bit but he didn't expect it to be official, coming from Mr Jeon's mouth.

Jimin was disappointed, he isn't gonna have anyone for the next few months to tease and taunt, he enjoyed doing it all especially with your reactions, it made him want to continue more. "Did she inform you, like the reason?" Rosè questioned Hoseok as the two of them walked back to their work space. He shaked his head, letting her know that he wasn't told about it all, not even the period of online working.

"She didn't say much, just that she wouldn't be back anytime soon. It seemed like she wasn't sure herself," he muttered to the woman beside him, who nodded in understanding. Rosé wasn't particularly close to you—you were more colleagues than friends—so she didn't mind too much. But she could clearly see the impact of the news on Hoseok's face.

It drained his bright, happy aura more than it did yesterday. Looks like she's got some very important business to handle, anyway wanna have lunch with me later?" Rosè invited him, looking for any approval on his face but he declined her offer. "Thanks Rosè, I'm skipping lunch today." She hummed as a response to his words and walked away with a pat on his shoulder, her black heels clicking on the floor which got Jimin's attention. "I could join you for lunch."

The man spoke, placing his hands inside his linen black work pants as he cocks his eyebrow, waiting for her reply. Rosè looked at his eyes, those eyes that had a haughty gaze a few days back were slightly soft, even though his straight posture and smug smile hasn't altered one bit. Rosè noticed the change in his tone even so, it wasn't patronising as it was before, he had a sense of genuineness. She heaved a breath and rolled her eyes, walking past him while saying the words, "Sure thing, Park."

This left him, licking his bottom lip, seconds later biting into it to stop himself from smiling his honest grin, he's got to put up his guard, can't possibly break down his smug character for a woman. That too, an intimidating woman like Rosè. He walked back to his workspace, to get done with his work. Pushing away the interaction he just had from his mind so he can concentrate and get this done fast.

"Mr Jeon, you asked for me?" Baekhyun, the executive assistant walks inside the cabin after Jeon phoned him to be up at his office. Jungkook paused his typing and looked up at the man who stood in front of him with his hands tied to the back, bowing in respect. "I need you to confirm my attendance for Mr Lim's business trip." "May I begin with the process, Mr Jeon?"

"Sure, two business seat tickets for both departure and arrival, with full board services and arrangements for the best hotel for two executive suites."Baekhyun looked uncertain, his forehead creased and he was waiting for his boss to say that he's mistaken and that he just wants one. Jungkook noticed that the man hadn't moved still so he looked up to see his face,

raising his eyebrow in gesture to ask why he's still here. "Mr Jeon, are you sure about two flight tickets and two suites?" "Of course, is there a problem, Mr Byung?" "N-no Mr Jeon. I will make the arrangements." He bowed and left the next instance, leaving Jungkook to think a bit about it. He's never travelled with a plus one, he travels alone and a few of his important staff individuals. This time he chooses to not take them except his personal assistant, Min Sana who was replaced by his previous secretary Mina.

His staff usually comes by economy class to manage travel member expenses and it's been this process for years now. But it leaves him questioning how effortlessly he spoke about booking for two, obviously making his staff to assume.

Yet he chooses to push it away, claiming that they don't have any right to question him or doubt his decisions. While checking on his investments, he receives a text message from whom he least expected.

[ From unknown ] kook, yoongi here. changed my phone number. Where do you stay now?

Jungkook immediately grabbed his phone and stared at the name that the text mentioned. "Yoongi?" whispering to himself, he was about to click on the notification so it opens up to the chat but he stops himself. Placing back the phone on his office desk and taking the time to think.

"Why would he text me now? After almost 2 years?" he asks himself but has no answer to any of his questions unless the man himself answers. Jungkook refrained from replying to his text, and decided to let the man wait just the way he made Jungkook wait for months. He then looked back at his papers,

even though his mind was a bit fuzzy after that unforeseen text message he still continues to work with his mental gears not fully in the right pace.

Just when he's signing for the agreements, his screen flickers again. He can feel himself getting huffy as he tries to ignore the notification he received, assuming it's the 30 year old man again, until he takes a glance at the name. his heart hopes it's a message from unknown but his mind says to be it from someone else and it was another person. It was you.

[ From Ms Lee ] Jungkook? I need your help Is this salt or sugar? <picture attached*>

Jungkook looks at the picture you've sent him and widens his eyes in disbelief. The longer he looks, the more baffled his face looks as he can't stop thinking how stupid you are.

[ From Jungkook ] Just taste it. Are you stupid?

[ y/n ] I'm not stupid! None of the spices are named and they look the same. It's much more stupid

Jungkook sniggers at your texts, he can't believe that you're thinking so hard about salt and sugar. He doesn't want you to ask him about these simple items, he wants you to consider the place as your home too for the moment and the next few months. You're being considerate and he's thankful that you are but he can't stop smiling at how stupid it still seems to be.

[ From Jungkook ] Why do you want it?

[ y/n ] uh... well can I use the stuff from the kitchen

[ From Jungkook ] sure

You looked at his text, 'Sure.' Appears and then you pull out the rest of the items you needed. You were in desperate need of trying caramelised bananas. The youtube short that you watched a few minutes ago, triggered your craving system and so you soon hopped off your couch to get downstairs to make the easy dessert.

However, when you walked inside his jet black kitchen that welcomed you with the hint of gold. Looking around for a while, the bananas were kept right outside in the fruit basket along with other fruits like guava, passion fruits and melon. You grabbed a bunch of yellow, ripe bananas and laid them on the counter. "Where's the sugar?" you asked yourself and opened a few doors of the cabinet, finding for the sweeteners.

The top door opened to a few of the same ceramic containers that had two seasonings, the both of them were white and it wasn't named as sugar or salt. Being a little dumb, instead of taking a bite to taste it you asked Jungkook about it. You're unsure why you were being clumsy and couldn't add more pressure to your dying brain. His replies made you roll your eyes a thousand times that you're sure, by the time you leave his place, your eyes would be stuck up in the sockets.

The process of cooking the dessert began then as you took out a small sized pan that you found inside a drawer, heating it you then melted some butter over medium heat and then added sugar. A sprinkle of cinnamon while the sugar melts with the warm butter, you slice the banana and add them into the pan, frying each side until it turns golden brown.

"You get that smell, Bam? mmm." you moaned as the aroma of the burned sugar tingles under your nose, making you more excited to try it out. Your cravings are building up, slowly, gradually and it makes you so happy that you're eating and finally acting pregnant, in a joyful way rather than sobbing about it. Placing them into a small bowl, you poke a fork into it and dump the just caramelised slices into your mouth. They were warm but you couldn't wait any longer.

Besides, it tastes the best when it's just cooked. Once done devouring it, you cleaned the pan and dishes then plopped yourself into the couch. The time showed 7;45 which means Jungkook is probably on his way home. You decided to clear the rest of your stuff in his room and arrange it all into the closet and make that room more of you, it's lovely that he gave you the most feminine room of all and let you make any changes to make you feel belonged and comfortable.

Since you arrived a few days back, you didn't feel like arranging the stuff, unsure of the whole plan but now that you've settled enough, you were super excited to add your touch in that room. Bam followed you into the room and sat on the couch while you pulled out your suitcases, you tied your shirt above your bump like it was a crop top before you began with the organising. you've been choosing your clothings from the duffel bag these few days so you took them all out and placed them inside the cream closet.

Shirts on one side, pants on one, sleepwear on another and lingerie in the drawers. "Perfect!" you whisper to yourself in happiness that it looks so organised and beautiful in the empty shelves. You also brought along a few novels and plushies that you placed on the little floating shelves while the plushies remained on the bed. The makeup pouches sat on the vanity along with the few perfumes that you own and that was all about it. You took a little twirl and admired how pleasant and adorable the room looks now.

How much you loved the colours chosen for it, the blush pink, cream and grey just combined so well, painted gorgeously and now that you've added your belongings and changed the layout of the furniture, the room looks so much like you now and even better than it ever was. Wiping off the sweat beads of your forehead you exhaled and straightened your posture. "Bam, have I done a good job?" "Of course."

you frowned as you looked at Bam seated on the couch, tilting his head. 'Bam?' you said inside your mind and then you turned around and flinched at the sight of Jungkook. "Oh shit-" placing your hand on your chest, you moved a few steps back at his sudden appearance at your doorstep.

Chuckling, you took a few breaths and looked around the room to admire it for the 20th time. Jungkook looked at you, more specifically the little bump that's on display that you totally forgot was naked with your shirt being a crop top. He frowned as he continued to stare at it, gulping at the sight of it.

Did he really do that? he thinks but his thoughts were shuffled when you looked at him, you looked down to see what he's looking at and when you realised you immediately pulled out your shirt from under your breasts.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry." whispering under your breath, Jungkook rapidly scanned the area, embarrassed at where his eyes were at. "No shit- I'm sorry." "yeah you should be, creep-" his eyebrows furrowed at word creep yet he didn't say an extra word, knowing that he was indeed being a creep so he stepped out of your room completely. "I'll be making dinner, care to join?"

"No." he rolled his eyes, his tongue clicking as he nodded his head. "Why did I even ask?" he tells himself and removes his coat, entering his bedroom to get a shower. you covered your face with your hands and groaned. "That was so awkward, Bam!"

The dog barked and ran away to his owner, leaving you all by yourself. "It's new to him too I guess." you murmured to yourself and waited until you heard his footsteps so you could help him with the cooking, you obviously joked about not joining him a while ago.

Jungkook walked downstairs, first putting Bam's dinner then taking out the utensils to prepare kimchi soup. It was easy and healthy. He picked up some fresh kimchi from a restaurant so he could get on with it. He loved cooking, it was his favourite activity of his day. Ever since he moved to seoul when he was 19, he lived alone in a small dorm that he shared with a few of his so called friends at that time.

He learnt different skills from each friend, one was cooking. It grew inside him and he still doesn't plan to get rid of it by having a chef at home. Jungkook glanced at the stairs when he heard footsteps. You walked into the kitchen leaning against the cabinet with crossed arms, now freshened up and standing in front of him in pink and black checkered pyjamas.

"Need some help?" he smirked and shaked his head, gesturing no but you weren't gonna just stand there and look at him while he cooks dinner for you. You've got a slightly bigger heart. "So, what's cooking?" "Soup, kimchi soup." Aw man you are not a huge fan of kimchi, you were craving for some savory crepes.

You pout, very evidently, you want him to know that you're not happy with the choice of dinner. He takes a glimpse of you and the way your already pouty, bottom heavy lips look when they are pouted, it only makes him want to- "what? Doesn't sound good?" he questioned you which you answered with a meh. "Let me lend a hand." "I can manage, Y/n. Too many cooks ruin the soup." "Heyy?" you placed your hand on your waist, offended by what he just said.

how badly he wants to pinch your cheeks! "Take a seat at the dining table, dinner will be ready in a few minutes." "Fine, I'll wash the dishes after. you can't say no, I'm willing to do it." He faced you, looking at your eyes with a glare. Jungkook didn't want you to help him, he's fine. you squint your eyes back at him and he gives up and leaves a sigh. "Alright."

you sneaked your way back to the dining table, he didn't notice the slippers you were wearing until he looked down to hear the sound of it. Then he noticed your feet inside two teddy bears. "What the fuck are those?"

he blurted out accidentally as he began to laugh like a mad man. You've never seen him laugh so hard, so hard that his eyes almost disappeared, wrinkles surrounded the sides of his eyes and his nose scrunched with his bunny smile on display. The sound of his laughs, echoes in the empty house and rang inside your ears but leaving all that, you were very deeply insulted by his belly laugh.

"Never seen sleepwear slippers in your life before, Mr Jeon? Too bad-" "Of course, I have, but is the salary I reward you not enough? Why have you murdered two bears under your feet?" He almost dropped the soup out of the pot while he laughed at your face, this angered you so you took off the damn slipper to show him that it's an actual footwear not two plushies. Walking back to him with one foot in the sleepwear and the other in your hand, you put it up on his face.

"Look! It's a slip on! It's not a plushy." He gets a grip on himself and stops laughing, the look on your face makes it more difficult for him to stop yet he does, he can't be cackling like a mad man anymore. "It's absolutely hilarious!" "Yeah, very funny. I'll surely laugh tomorrow Mr Jeon!" you throw it back on the floor and slip your foot inside, stomping your way to sit back down. He shakes his head, biting his lips to stop himself from acting like this.

Jungkook poured the soup into a bowl and placed it on the dining table, with two soup bowls, chopsticks and a soup spoon. He poured the soup for you, making sure you get enough of the kimchi, he wants you to have full healthy meals. You didn't stop giving him those looks and he ignored them as he should, the two of you slurping and munching on the kimchi filled the air. It tasted heavenly, the crepe cravings totally washed out of your mind and you were beginning to enjoy and devour the entire bowl of warm liquid.

"What did you make earlier today? There was a toasty smell when I entered." As soon as he stepped inside he was hit with an aroma of something sweet and nutty and was curious to what you prepared, he was sure that it was something sweet since you texted him about it but you left no trail of evidence of what you cooked and the curiosity was eating him. "Just caramelised bananas."

'Oh man that sounds so good.' He thinks to himself but nods to your answer, showing no special interest but his mind surely craves for it now that he knows. "Must've been salty."

you tilted your head and looked at his blank face, your eyebrows furrowed and you bit your insides. 'What does he think I am? 5?' you think to yourself. "Of course I used salt, it tasted very much like the ocean!" Muttering those words you loudly slurped on the soup, Jungkook enjoys doing this to you, he smiles and covers it up by poking the fermented cabbage into his mouth. You both spent the rest of the time having a quiet dinner, it was peaceful until it was time to do the dishes.

"Give me your bowl." "I'll wash them on my own, clean yours." "Jungkook, give them to me, I told you I'm doing the dishes." "So I'm letting you do it, go ahead." "Give me your damn bowl." Bam looked at Jungkook then at you and vice versa, quarrelling over dishes like 10 year olds, Bam has never witnessed such scenes before, this is the most sounds he's ever heard since birth. "Why are you acting like a child, Jungkook?"

"Me? I'm the child? you're the child here!" There he stands tall in front of you, holding his empty bowl above his head while you try your best to reach it. "Jungkook!" "y/n!" your face showed signs of anger, frustration and he wasn't any less. you scowled at him and then sulked. you just wanna help. he cooked dinner twice, he lets you stay at his place and takes good care of you. you wanna show your gratitude too, you can't do it by words but you can by your actions and it starts here. helping him with the dishes.

"please." Jungkook has never seen the 'puppy eyes' before, definitely not yours. you looked at him with your big amber eyes that shows innocence, he's never seen this side of you and it honestly scares him. that pout on your face as you whispered the please, did something to him. "I'm not falling for your stupid face!" he delicately presses you to the side to make way to wash his dish. you frowned telling yourself that you're never gonna help this man again, he can do his shit by himself, you don't have to be nice to him.

waddling your way towards the stairs he stops you so you turn to face him. "What now?" He shows the pills that lay on his palm with a glass of water in his hand, you took it from him and thanked him in a whisper before making your way back to the bedroom. "Pack your stuff, we're leaving for France tomorrow night." you hear him as he spoke loudly, sighing you placed the pills on the night stand and took out the suitcases that you stored away this evening.

just for two days, that's not a lot of clothes. muttering to yourself you pulled out 2 lounge sets that were just easy to wear plus they're comfortable and along with that a floral split thigh a-line dress that looked pretty for a dinner or whatever that requires you to dress a bit girly. shirts and sweatpants and done.

Honestly, if this was to happen a few months back you'll be screaming and crying over what you've got to pick or even buy clothes for but now you've got 0 intention to dress up, just being comfortable is all that matters. pregnancy is definitely changing a lot within you, it's quite evident. taking a seat on the bed, you switched off the chandelier and turned on the bed lamp beside you, throwing the pills into your mouth and washing them down with water then you leaned on the velvet upholstered blush pink bedhead.

playing with your fingers while you give everything a final thought. accompanying Jungkook to a business trip sounds invading, he's got his things to do and manage while you're tagging around him just cause you're pregnant? he's taking his responsibilities a bit too seriously at this point, he could drop you off at your place for the two days, it's not a big deal. Is it even the right thing to do? you ask yourself,

contemplating if the man is making the right decisions. Nothing feels normal, everything happens fast without a warning that makes you question everything. and besides all that, the man is annoying as hell. it's not like you're gonna share a room with him or any sort of that yet it feels weirdly wrong. no. totally wrong.

;

spoiler.

"what the fuck, Jung kook? I can't fucking breathe!" you gasp for air, struggling to get more breath while you're trapped in your seat and your chest continues to tighten. "Hey, calm down-"

"I can't!" "you're just panicking!!" "Jung kook please-"

next chapter ⇢

#bts #bts fanfic #jungkook #one night stand #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #theagstd #btswritersclub #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader

177 notes · View notes

darylslovelywife · 3 months ago

Text

ཻུ⸙͎ s1 01- people come and they go

ཻུ⸙͎ daryl dixon x fem reader series

ཻུ⸙͎ summary: after learning that Rick and the others left Merle back in Atlanta, you, Daryl and the others go back into the infected city only to get ambushed

“Auntie [Name]! You looked over at Carl, who ran up to you; Sophia was busy braiding your hair since Carol was busy doing some chores.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Smiling at him he sat down in front of you.

“My mom told me to stay near you because she went out to the forest again.” He said as you raised a brow but nodded anyway.

“Of course, how about we play patty cake until Sophia is done braiding my hair?” Carl nods eagerly at this, smiling as you smile back at him.

“I want to play too!” Sophia says.

You laugh at this. “You'll get your turn, alright?” The little girl nods as she quickly finishes doing the braid, although it's a little messy, you keep the braid for the rest of the day.

When Lori came back, calling for Carl, who waved at you before running to his mom, you told Sophia to get some books so the two of you could read until her mother came back.

After a good hour or two, Sophia fell asleep, her head resting on your lap. That's how Daryl found you, he scoffs at the scene but doesn't say anything once he sees the tiny smile on your lips as you pat Sophia's head.

He went to go find Carol; she thanked you for watching her as she walked Sophia back to their tent, the little girl still half asleep as you sighed tiredly.

“Come on, gonna skin some squirrels I got.” He says as you stand up slowly, feeling your legs ache slightly.

Following Daryl, you two sit away from the rest of the people and begin to skin the small prey he hunted that day. Putting aside some meat, you gave the rest to the other women to cook for dinner later.

“When do you think Merle is going to come back?” You ask quietly, you two shared a tent often when you didn't want to sleep alone.

“Don't know. He better come back in one piece.” He says, laying down beside you, leaving some space in between as you lay there, staring at the roof of the tent that he made sure was warm enough for the night.

“Well, he and the others better be back soon, Glenn promised to take me next run.” You say to him, but he shakes his head.

“You crazy woman, ain't gonna let you go where those geeks are.” He says back after hearing that come from your mouth.

“Come on, Glenn knows what he's doing. Plus, I can take care of myself.” You say, frustrated, but he lets out a scoff.

“Don't ya remember how I found you?” He says reminding you as you bury your face in your blanket.

“I already told you I was coming back from a family dinner! A family dinner!” Your voice is muffled but playful as he cracks a tiny smile.

After 30 minutes of you letting out your frustrations of being the babysitter of the group, you fell to sleep pretty quickly after he promised to take you hunting tomorrow.

Sitting there in silence, he keeps watch for a bit, glancing down to look at you, your hair braided into a long braid. He's been telling you to cut it short, but you keep refusing to do so even after he explains the dangers to you, you say back that, one, you can take care of yourself, and two, he won't let anything hurt you.

“.....crazy woman…” he mutters to himself, laying down and facing the wall of the tent before going to sleep.

In the morning, he woke up to the sight of you buried in his chest, sleeping peacefully as his arms were wrapped around you protectively. Quickly sitting up, he rubs his face before putting the blanket over you and he steps out of the tent. The sun wasn't up yet, spotting Shane on top of the RV.

“[Name]’s gonna hunt with me today, find another babysitter.” He says, not bothering to hear what he had to say. Getting his things ready, and he wakes you up; he has that tiny smile as he watches you watch the sunset once away from everyone else.

The group of men surround the dead deer who had been eaten by a dead person before the sounds of sticks being stepped on made them freeze, Shane and Rick point their guns at the bushes. While the rest nervously hold a weapon in case of any more dead people.

Rick didn't expect to see a man holding a crossbow step out and a woman following closely behind who was quickly shielded by him, almost alerted by the guns pointed at them.

“Son of a bitch.” The man with the crossbow says upon seeing the deer on the floor, “That's our deer.” He says angrily, his hand gripping onto the woman's before letting go once in the clear area.

Rick only watched as she sighed quietly as Daryl kicked the dead person for eating the deer. She helps him take the arrows out of the deer, asking if he should just cut around the area where it was chewed from.

Which was quickly rejected by Shane. “Damn shame. Got a dozen squirrels, that'll have to do.” He says before the head beside his foot moves, making the two women watching, gag as they quickly walk away. Rick sees the woman kneel down and stab the head with an arrow.

Crossbowman nods slightly, approving of her actions before he walks past the others while she follows. “It's gotta be the brain, don't y'all know nothing?” He scoffs as Rick watches the two walk back to camp.

“Merle. Merle! Get your ugly ass out here!”

“He's probably asleep.” The woman says.

“Gonna wake his ass, gotta stew ‘em up.” The woman laughs a bit at this, but Shane steps up as they both turn around.

“Dary, [Y/n], stop for a minute. We gotta talk.” Shane says as the pair stops in their tracks.

[Y/n] raises a brow at this, sharing a glance with Daryl. “About what, Shane?” [Y/n] asks.

“About Merle.” He says as Daryl tenses up. “There was a problem in Atlanta.” The two froze, and [Y/n] stepped forward a bit. “What happened?” She asks.

“He dead?” Daryl says.

Shane and Rick share a look as the woman stares at them. “Well, is he or not?” She says, knowing if they don't answer quickly, Daryl would go apeshit.

“We're not sure,” Shane says as Rick speaks up, walking to them.

“Look, there's no easy way to say this so I'll just say it.” [Name] places a hand on Daryl's arm as he huffs in Rick's face.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Grimes.” The [h/c] haired woman glances at LorI before Daryl gets into Rick's face. “Okay, Rick Grimes. You got something you wanna tell me?”

“We handcuffed him to the roof and left him there,” Rick says as Daryl stares back at him for a moment, his eyes tearing up as [Name] quickly goes to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he wipes his eyes.

“You left Merle in the city? On the roof when it's 100 degrees out?” She says in disbelief. “He was a danger to us all.” Rick tried to reason but was cut off.

“Still, he has family here. Daryl, his brother.” She says before Daryl throws the squirrels he had tied to a string and throws them at Rick before he lunges at the man, but Shane intervenes; Daryl falls to the ground as he takes out his knife, but Shane quickly holds him down into a chokehold.

Rick squats down and talks to Daryl. “Look, I just want a calm discussion.”

“Woah! [Name] put the gun down!” Glenn says as the woman points a gun to the back of Rick's head, making Lori call out to her. Shane quickly points his gun at her, only for her to point a second one at him as well.

She signals to Shane to let go of Daryl with a tip of her head and the two stare at each other before Shane lets go of Daryl. Putting the guns away, she kneels down to Daryl as Rick speaks up again.

“Your brother doesn't play well with others. It had to be done or else everyone who was there would've died.” Daryl swats away [Name] hand as she checks for any injuries before looking at T-Dog who speaks up.

“I dropped the key, it's my fault. Dropped it in a drain.”

Daryl stands up, clearly angry and frustrated. “And to make you feel better, I chained the door, the geeks can't get in,” T-Dog adds.

Grabbing the [h/c] haired woman by the wrist, he walks away from them. “Hell with yall! I'm going back, just tell me where he is.” He says, his voice breaking.

After Rick says he'll go back to bring Merle back, the two go back to his tent, [Name] starts to pack a few things as Daryl cleans his arrows.

“You're staying.” He says. “Don't want ya out there with those geeks.”

The woman ignores his words, stands up, and starts to walk out to where everyone is at. “Yer hear me? You're staying.”

Glenn watches as the two argue, T-Dog beside him. “...don't think I've ever since she pulled out a gun.” T-Dog sighs. “Or…anything like that.”

“She's tough, saved my ass out in the forest.” He explains to Glenn, watching as Daryl huffs, clearly frustrated as [Name] climbs into the back of the van.

“Well, we know who won that argument,” Glenn says, the two smiling slightly. “I didn't expect her out of all the people to go help save Merle,” Glenn says quietly.

“That's her brother-in-law,” T-Dog says.

“Seriously? They're married?” Glenn says surprised. “I've been flirting with a married woman.”

“Auntie [Name] isn't married,” Carl says, suddenly showing up. “She doesn't have a ring.” He says, like it's common knowledge before walking over to the van. The two see Carl speaking to the woman before hearing Shane and Rick's voice.

Shane and Rick argue because Shane thinks it's not a good idea to go save Merle, but Rick insists before asking Glenn to come along. He hesitates but agrees when [Name] says he's good at doing this type of stuff.

“I still think you should stay,” Daryl says again to [Name] who lets out a hum, watching Carl go back to his mom.

“It's your brother, Daryl, even if he's a….interesting person, after all, you're helping me look for mine as well.” She says to him, smiling as Daryl huffs, looking away from her as his face heats up slightly.

“Of course, I'll help you.”

She smiles at this before looking back at her gun, “Guess guns are going to be a no-go.” She mumbles before Daryl hands her his knife.

“Take it.” He mumbles to her.

Before he turns around, yelling at Rick and everyone else to hurry up.

As soon as anyone who was going got into the van, they started to drive back to Atlanta to find Merle.

Sitting beside Daryl, your gaze was down on the knife he had given you. “He'd better be okay,” Daryl says, staring at T-Dog. “It's my only word on the matter.”

T-Dog sighs, “I told you the geeks can't get him; the only thing that's gonna get through that door is us.” He says confidently.

The van came to a stop, Glenn saying that they would walk from here; with Daryl's help, you jumped off the van, and all five of you guys started to jog in the direction of the city.

Carefully walking through the department store, following Rick's lead, you were standing behind T-Dog. Something shiny caught your eye, and you looked down to see a necklace with a purple cat as a piece of jewelry on it. Staring at it, you didn't notice Daryl looking back to see where you were; he followed your gaze.

“Grab it, and let's go.” He says to you quietly.

Getting to the rooftop of the building where Rick and the others left Merle, he was gone, and it clearly affected Daryl as she stood there in disbelief, tearing up once he saw the handcuffs empty.

A bloody saw was lying beside a hand, a bloody handcuff still connected to the thick pipe.

Sighing quietly as you look away from the scene, rubbing your forehead.

Daryl raises his crossbow at T-Dog, while Rick points his gun at Daryl. You could only watch from afar, knowing Daryl wouldn't pull the trigger. Getting a rag from Glenn’s backpack, you walk over to the hand as Daryl kneels down to grab it once he calmed down slightly. Carefully wrapping up Merle's hand and putting it in Glenn’s bag who just closes his eyes, trying not to think of it so hard.

Following the blood trail, all five of you going down the stairs and into an empty and messy office, finding some dead geeks along the way, Merle was well enough to kill the random geeks wandering around. Walking in the kitchen, the stove was on, blood splattered on it as Glenn gags from the smell of human meat burning.

Walking ahead of them, you look through the broken window. “He left the building.” You say as Daryl comes over to you, sighing. “Why wouldn't he?” He scoffs at you, clearly frustrated with this whole thing.

Watching as the men start to argue, you manage to sneak away, deciding to go ahead and scout the route to the bag of the guns.

When Glenn was making his plan of route to get the bag of guns, he realized that you weren't there. Once the plan was set, Daryl quickly went outside, kneeling down behind a trash can, he grabbed your shoulder, “the hell you doing out here.” He shouts quietly at you.

“scouting the place.” You answer back at him.

“Next time, stay with the group.” He scolds you and once Glenn started to run to the bag of guns, he had you next to him, pressed against the wall and his shoulder behind the trash and, the sounds of quiet footsteps is heard before Daryl gets up, holding his crossbow to the young man. Daryl had asked him if he saw his brother, the boy, obviously scared for his life, started to scream for help.

Trying to calm him down so the dead wouldn't come swarming you three in the alleyway, Daryl gives up going the peaceful way as he hits him across the face with his crossbow, covering the boy's mouth. For a moment, you thought that everything was going well until two men ran into the alleyway, looking at you and Daryl kneeling next to the boy crying for help. Clearly not expecting them, the two men run over, kicking Daryl to the ground while the other hits the side of your head with a baseball bat, making you stumble over next to Daryl on the floor.

Glenn, running back, freezes upon seeing the scene, taking a step back before trying to run off but they spot him. “That's it! That's the bag, vato!? Take it!” They lunge at Glenn, fighting for the bag before a car pulls up, dragging Glenn to it before Daryl shoots an arrow at one of the men.

“Daryl! Daryl! [Name]!” Glenn screams.

Taking this opportunity, you stumble to your feet and run to Glenn, trying to get him back only to get dragged into the car with him.

Daryl quickly gets up when he realizes that you got caught as well, “[Name]! Glenn!” He shouts desperately, running over to the gate but it's too late as the car speeds off, taking you and Glenn.

#daryl x reader #the walking dead x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x you #no more what ifs masterlist

63 notes · View notes

the-music-maniac · 1 year ago

Text

Not that I read mpreg all that often (not really my thing generally speaking) but I came across some "Sanji is pregnant" fics in the sanzo/zosan tag, and not nearly the same amount for Zoro. It got me thinking about the trope. I think the lack of Zoro fics here is a tragic oversight. I think we as a fandom are absolutely and tragically ignoring the potential comedy gold of Zoro being the one to be pregnant instead.

Because when people write Sanji, the general trend I'm seeing (upon scanning through some of the fics quickly) is that he's cautious about it. Conscientious, careful to make sure things are okay. Which - arguably I could see, Sanji is probably the more practical of the two (not by a whole lot but still)and he didn't have a good childhood. Sanji being pregnant is usually a fic about his heaps of parental issues, childhood trauma and angst - which is fun to read. It's good. It's amazing, even.

Zoro being pregnant is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT gonna be a COMEDY. We're talking about a man who once tried to fight Kuina holding like 20 bokkens. We're talking about a man who got stuck in wax and thought the reasonable solution was to cut off his legs.

The entire crew spends the next 9 months tearing their hair out, preventing Zoro from doing stupid shit (exhibit A: cutting off his own limbs). They spend the same amount of time trying to stop Luffy from gum-gum-grabbing Zoro and yeeting him anytime he needs to get them out of a sticky situation.

The crew (mostly Sanji) is on 24/7 prevent-zoro-from-drinking-alcohol duty (impossible). Chopper is constantly stressed in the later months cause no one puts it past Zoro to get lost somewhere, give birth out in the woods and come strolling back with a baby tucked under his arm. They have to start hiding Zoro's dumbbells.

Franky and Usopp design and build a nursery and spends the entire time suspiciously teary eyed. Sanji tries to pretend he's unaffected but spends an entire night creating a 9 month meal plan of all the nutrients Zoro and the baby are gonna need. Not even a day later, one of the crew finds him up at 2 am making a mountain of food because Zoro made the mistake of offhandedly mentioning he had particular pregnancy craving within earshot of Sanji. In the end Zoro has to sit on him to stop Sanji from running himself ragged.

Robin keeps spouting morbid childbirth facts and quotes from parental advice books in equal measure. Nami keeps going on shopping sprees for cute baby clothes and adding the cost of them to Zoro's debt. Brook keeps writing lullabies and trying to sing them to Zoro's stomach. Zoro 100% uses his pregnancy belly as an excuse to walk around without a shirt 24/7 without getting nagged.

Somehow word gets out that the famous pirate hunter Zoro is pregnant, and at the next big fight with the Marines, half the soldiers refuse to fight him and instead start telling him to sit down, take it easy, shouting advice at him etc. Etc. Zoro loses his shit a little bit and cuts their boat in half.

Mihawk, upon finding out, tells Zoro in no uncertain terms that that is his grandchild and he's expecting them to visit so he can meet the baby when they're born. Zoro vehemently denies that Mihawk is his father (he is). Zeff upon finding out, is almost as bad as Sanji when it comes to being a mother hen. Perona buys even more baby clothes for the baby. She buys one singular shirt for Zoro as a joke, and it coincidentally happens to be the exact same brand of "mama" crop top he was forced to wear in that one filler episode. Zoro tries to chuck it into the ocean (he fails).

I'm essentially saying it would be absolute chaos, and it would be the funniest thing I've ever read. 9 months of Marimo wrangling. Can you imagine the look on Zoro's face if one of the opponents he was fighting were to tell him that he's "glowing"?

PLEASE, I would actually wheeze myself to death. The best part is you can still have plenty of Sanji angst. He still has parental issues except now they're flavoured with "I'm not ready to be a father" and "I'm terrified I'm gonna become my biological sperm donor" and "please don't die because of childbirth complications, that happened to my mother(sort of, I know she died after but it kinda counts), and I can't handle that happening again to you". Lots of cute/tender moments of Zoro comforting and reassuring Sanji. We can even have Zoro angst. He probably views protecting his crew as the one and only job he's good for (not true but that's probably what he thinks). Not being able to fulfill that is probably not helping his self esteem, and that sense of uselessness warring with his need to protect the baby - but the contradictory thing here is that to protect the baby he HAS to sit back and let other people do that FOR him. That plus all the other restrictions, people treating him differently, but him at the same time refusing to view his own child as a weakness. Imagine the havoc that would wreak. Oh my god.

Y'all don't understand, I don't even read mpreg that often and yet this is literally my ideal fic HAHAAAAA

#we already know Zoro would be a good parent considering how he is with kids but pregnancy? different matter entirely #i don't know much about jimbei yet so sadly i can't write much about him feel free to comment any headcanons y'all come up with though #zosan #sanzo #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #cat burglar nami #monkey d luffy #nico robin #op franky #op brook #god ussop #tony tony chopper #mpreg

697 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Unending.

Continuation of Undeterred.

Pairing: Furina x Reader (+Arlecchino) [Genshin].

Word Count: 1.1k.

TW: Mentions of Consensual Sex and Melodramatic Lesbians. Live Dove: Tender and Sweet.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

Furina had not been made to be loved.

It was an unfortunate truth she’d come to terms within the first decade of her being. As an archon, she’d received adoration. As a performer and a director, she knew appraise. She’d experienced things like love, things that came very close, but never love itself. Her creator had not loved her, no more than Focalors had loved any of the people she’d come so close to dooming, and even those she’d been close to as a goddess were no more able to love her than a member of the audience would be able to love a starring actress. And that was the way it should be, she was able to convince herself on her best days. There was no point yearning for things that could never be. What had she ever done to be worthy of love, in the first place?

“My lady?”

She didn’t stir at the sound of your footsteps, only leaning more of her weight onto the balcony guardrail and throwing the quickest, slightest glance over her shoulder. You were a sight – hair thoroughly tussled, discolored bruising in the shape of Lord Arlecchino’s teeth painted down either side of your throat, a robe of ivory silk pulled loose over your body – but she was sure that she was no better, herself. The insatiable exhaustion that seemed to drape itself over her perpetually was now paired with a distinct ache in her shoulders, a soreness at the base of her throat. It would be worse in the morning, although shame would’ve started to soften the night’s harsher edges, by them.

You didn’t ask before taking a seat next to her and thrusting a porcelain chalice into her lap. “More wine?” she asked, taking it up reflexively.

“Water,” you corrected, settling into place beside her. “I thought you might want to start chipping away at tomorrow’s burden.”

Only half-consciously, Furina found herself smiling. She’d always been fond of that side of the human mind – always so considerate, even when the slanted angle of your posture and the slight limp in your step made it clear you’d rather still be in bed. Gods, like her, were rarely so selfless.

Only, she wasn’t a god anymore. She’d never been, really – only an actress preforming the role of one.

She stopped herself before could spiral any further.

You’d rather be in bed, she retreated back to, instead. Furina was sure of it. That was where she’d left you – Arlecchino’s face still buried between your thighs, your hands balling at her silk sheets in pleasure. It was a good match – you and Arlecchino, two brilliant minds hidden behind cruel tongues and beautiful faces. She could only hope that, once you took your rightful place at the Harbinger’s side, you’d remember to write her a letter every now and then. “You really should start packing,” she muttered, absent-mindedly. “I think I remember Lord Arlecchino mentioning that her ship leaves at dawn.”

You hummed. “And where would I be sailing away to, my lady?”

“…Snezhnaya? That is, unless she has obligations elsewhere.”

Another hum, a quick shake of your head. “Snezhnaya’s far too cold at this time of year. If it were Mondstadt, maybe, but for Snezhnaya, I’m afraid I’d never be able to force myself off the boat. Fontaine’s climate is much more agreeable.”

Her lips quirked downward. “Don’t patronize me, I—” Her voice cut out, abruptly. It was a fight to summon it again, but she soldiered on. “I know her interest in you is genuine. You’d be a fool not to leave with her.” You opened your mouth, but she only raised her voice. “If you’re afraid of leaving me alone, don’t be. I—I can manage on my own, and—”

She grit her teeth, clenching her eyes shut. In an instant, your hand was on her shoulder, your side pressed into her arm, but she refused to let herself fall back into the familiar haven of your comfort. “And,” she managed, eventually, even if her voice was weak, her tone dangerously close to tipping into something suitably pathetic. “It’s not as if I’m an archon, anymore. You don’t have to keep pretending you like being around me.”

You let a moment pass by in silence, then another.

Finally, you said, “It’s true that Lord Arlecchino is very charming.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, just—”

“And her prowess on the battlefield and at the war-table can’t be overstated.”

“Well, it’s unfair to compare—”

“And I’m sure her salary as a Harbinger would make it so that I never had to lift a finger for as long as I choose to stay with her.”

“Alright, I never asked to you to do all that—”

“But,” you went on, your hand falling onto her own and squeezing, gently. “I’m afraid I’ve already sent her away. I doubt it’ll last, but for the moment, she seems assured of my total and utter inability to reciprocate her affection.”

Furina couldn’t help but blanch. “You sent her—Why? She’s so handsome, and tall, and—”

“And I’m not in love with her.” You slumped against her, your exhaustion shining through your low-brewing mirth. “It’s awful, honestly. It’s a terrible waste, honestly. I’m afraid the girl who’s truly stolen my heart is far too oblivious to ever notice me.”

Her eyes widened. It was in turn to take your hand, now, to snap towards you – her fatigue instantly replaced with curiosity. “You’re in love with someone? Who? Why haven’t you told me?”

Your only response was a slight smile, an airy laugh. Your eyes darted up to meet hers, and Furina felt her cheeks start to burn. “Oh.”

“I know,” you said, with another breathy chuckle. “Like I said, it’s terrible.”

Oh.

It felt like a stupid thing to ask. It was a stupid thing to ask, but her hand was shaking by the time it found your cheek and her throat felt dry and it was all she could do to make herself say anything at all. “Can I…?”

She couldn’t finish, but she didn’t have to. Your mouth was already crashing into hers, the kiss more tender than any other form of intimacy she’d experienced that night, any other form of affection her immortality had ever seen fit to afford her. She felt tears start to prick at the corners of her eyes, something dry and choking begin to swell at the base of her throat, but she choked it down, melting against you.

Furina, the archon, had not been meant to be loved.

And yet, there was still a chance that Furina, the human, might turn out differently.

#woman loving wednesday #on saturday #(i know i'm late i'm sorry)#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact imagines #furina #furina x reader #furina x you #genshin furina

292 notes · View notes

thenaughtynorth · 5 months ago

Text

Full Throttle

When LA Knight shows up at your garage, what starts as playful banter turns into something more intense. As tensions rise, you’re forced to confront the chemistry that’s building between you.

LA Knight x female reader

Warnings: Suggestive language and some nice age gap, because why not? (Reader in her late 20s)

Word count: Roughly 3,400

Been thinking about this since he manhandled Jacob Fatu backstage, yeah!

———

The afternoon sun was dipping low when you heard the unmistakable rumble of a truck pulling into your driveway. Wiping your greasy hands on your overalls, you glanced out of the garage to see LA Knight stepping out, sunglasses on, confidence radiating from every inch of him. You rolled your eyes, knowing full well why he was here. He’d offered to “help” with your vintage car restoration project—or, as he called it, “save you from a bad decision, kid.”

“Hey, kid,” he greeted, sauntering over like he owned the place. His voice was that signature mix of gravel and swagger that made your stomach flip, though you’d never admit it. “Still trying to turn this rust bucket into a car, huh?”

You crossed your arms. “For the hundredth time, LA, I’m not a kid. And this ‘rust bucket’ is a ’67 Mustang. It’s a classic.”

“Sure, sure,” he smirked, tossing his sunglasses onto your workbench. “A classic disaster. But lucky for you, you got me. Now, where’s the problem?”

You sighed, pointing toward the engine. “I can handle it myself, you know.”

“And miss the chance to teach you something?” He shot you a wink that made your cheeks heat. “Nah. I’m here to help.” Cocky little shit.

Despite your protests, you handed him the wrench, and he got to work, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veined forearms. You tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to notice how effortlessly he handled the tools, like he’d been born with a wrench in his hand. His cologne mixed with the scent of motor oil, and it was intoxicating in the worst fucking way.

“So,” he said after a moment, glancing at you, “what made you think you could tackle this alone? Most people would’ve just called a mechanic.”

“Maybe I like a challenge,” you shot back, leaning against the workbench. “Not everyone takes the easy way out.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “You remind me of me when I was younger. Stubborn. Full of ideas. No clue how the world actually works.”

There it was again—that condescending tone, that infuriating nickname. Kid. Like you weren’t a grown woman standing right here, doing just as much work as he was.

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your cool. “You know, LA, if you keep calling me ‘kid,’ I might just start calling you ‘old man.’”

He paused, turning to look at you with a cocky smirk. “Old man? Please. This old man could run circles around you.”

“Oh, could you?” you shot back, stepping closer without meaning to. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. His smirk faltered for half a second as his gaze dropped to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice lower now. “Could teach you a thing or two about a lotta things.”

Your breath caught, but you refused to back down. “Maybe, but you’d have to stop treating me like a kid first.”

He straightened up, the playful glint in his eyes fading into something more serious. “That bother you, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, mimicking him and taking another step forward. “It does. Because I’m not a kid. I’m a grown woman, and I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. So, either take me seriously or—”

He cut you off by closing the distance between you in two strides, his hands bracketing the workbench on either side of you, trapping you in place. “Or what?” he asked, his voice a low growl. His face was so close now, you could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the intensity in his blue eyes.

“Or you can leave,” you said, though your voice lacked the conviction you wanted. Your heart was pounding so loud, you were sure he could hear it.

But he didn’t move. Instead, his gaze softened, just a little, and he let out a low chuckle. “You really don’t like it when I call you ‘kid,’ huh?”

“Not even a little.”

His eyes searched yours for a long moment, and then he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he said, “Alright, sweetheart. Not a kid. Got it.”

When he pulled back, his smirk was back in full force, but there was something different in his expression now—something hungry. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken words and undeniable attraction.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “Good. Glad we’re clear.”

“Crystal,” he said, grabbing the wrench again and turning back to the engine like nothing had happened. But the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes flicked back to you when he thought you weren’t looking—it was clear the tension between you wasn’t going anywhere.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want it to.

You tried to focus on the workbench in front of you, but your thoughts were a tangled mess. LA had gone back to working on the engine like nothing had happened, but the air between you was electric, almost suffocating. Every movement of his arms, every shift of his shoulders, only reminded you of how close he’d been. How close he still was.

“You’re awfully quiet now, sweetheart,” he said after a moment, his tone light but teasing, his back still to you. “Cat got your tongue, or are you finally starstruck by my skills?”

You scoffed, though your voice was weaker than you intended. “Please, I’m just letting you concentrate. Wouldn’t want to distract you.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Oh, you’re a distraction, alright.” He set the wrench down, wiping his hands on a rag as he turned back toward you. “But I can multitask.”

There it was again—that cocky smirk, that spark in his eyes that set your pulse racing. You were tired of pretending it didn’t affect you, tired of pretending you didn’t want him. The tension had been building for weeks, ever since he’d first offered to “help” with your car. And after what he’d said earlier, after the way he’d cornered you—well, you weren’t going to let him walk away from it so easily.

“Actually.. You’re the distraction, not me,” you shot back, stepping toward him. His eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn’t move, watching you like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, his voice dropping an octave. “How do you figure?”

“Because you walk in here, act like you know everything. With your ginormous arms. Painted-on shirt. Making me so damn…” You trailed off, suddenly losing steam as his gaze locked onto yours. He wasn’t smirking anymore. His expression was intense, his jaw tight, like he was barely holding himself back.

“Making you what?” he asked, his voice soft but dangerous. He stepped closer, his boots scraping against the concrete floor. “Go on, sweetheart. Say it.”

You couldn’t. The words caught in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his scent wrapping around you like a vice. Every nerve in your body was screaming for you to do something, to close the last inch of space between you.

“I…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your courage faltering under the weight of his stare.

But then his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him. The sudden contact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, all you could do was stare up at him, your hands pressed against his chest.

“Say it,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above yours. His breath was warm against your skin, and the intensity in his eyes made your knees weak. “Or I’m gonna take a wild guess.”

You didn’t give him the chance. Before you could second-guess yourself, you surged up on your toes and kissed him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He froze for half a second, like he hadn’t expected you to actually go through with it, but then he was kissing you back, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

It wasn’t a soft, tentative kiss. It was raw, fiery, and filled with weeks of pent-up tension. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he wanted to consume you, and you met him with just as much intensity. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you gasped, giving him the opening he needed to deepen the kiss.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. His hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he stared down at you.

“Well,” he said, his voice rough, “guess I was right about that distraction thing.”

You laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. “Shut up.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, it was slower, softer, but no less intense. When he pulled back, his smirk was back in full force.

“For the record,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that sent shivers down your spine, “I never thought you were a kid. I just liked getting under your skin.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Mission accomplished.”

“Damn right it is.” He tilted your chin up with his fingers, his gaze serious now. “But if we’re gonna keep this up, sweetheart, you better be ready. I don’t do anything halfway.”

“Good,” you said, matching his intensity. “Neither do I.”

The Mustang could wait. For now, the only thing that mattered was him.

His eyes darkened at your words, the teasing edge melting away entirely. The playful banter you were so used to was gone, replaced by something hotter, heavier. His hands, still strong and sure on your waist, tightened their grip as if he was afraid you’d slip away. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending shivers racing down your spine.

“Yeah,” you shot back breathlessly, “and you seem to like it.”

He let out a low growl of a laugh, shaking his head slightly, but the heat in his eyes never wavered. Before you could process what was happening, his hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he spun you around and pressed you back against the Mustang. The cool metal of the car’s hood bit through your clothes, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pinning you in place.

His hands braced on either side of you, boxing you in as he leaned down, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “You think I like it, huh?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me, sweetheart.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as your hands instinctively reached out, curling into his shirt to steady yourself. The tension between you was almost unbearable, the air crackling with unspoken need. “Then stop talking and show me,” you whispered, your voice shaky but defiant.

Something in him snapped. He closed the distance in an instant, capturing your lips in a kiss so fierce it made your head spin. His hands left the car, one tangling in your hair, the other trailing down to grip your thigh, pulling you even closer. Your back arched against the Mustang as his body pressed into yours, the weight of him overwhelming in the best way.

The kiss was wild, desperate, like he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t stop now that he’d started. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you gasp, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a skill that made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the car at your back and his hands anchoring you, you were sure you’d have melted into a puddle on the garage floor.

“Damn it,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough with frustration. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, though it was breathless and shaky. “I think it’s mutual.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his lips curving into a wicked grin. He dipped his head, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw, down to your neck. His stubble scraped against your skin, and the sensation sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “How crazy, sweetheart? Tell me.”

You bit your lip, your fingers threading into his hair as he nipped at your collarbone. “Crazy enough to let you keep doing that,” you whispered, your voice trembling with want.

His laugh was low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

His lips claimed yours again, harder this time, as his hands roamed—one slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your waist, the other sliding up to cup the side of your face. When had he even undone your overalls?

The way he touched you was firm, confident, like he knew exactly what you wanted before you did.

The Mustang creaked slightly under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the fire raging between you, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, the way his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your bodies tangled together. He let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you. “Guess that settles it.”

“Settles what?” you asked, your voice still shaky.

“That you’re not a kid,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something warmer, more dangerous. “You’re all woman. And you’re mine.”

Your breath caught at his words, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, silencing any doubts you might have had. There was no going back now. The Mustang, the garage, the world outside—it all faded away. All that mattered was him.

His lips moved over yours with a hunger that made your entire body tremble. He kissed you like he’d been holding back for far too long, his need pouring into every movement, every touch. His hands roamed your body now with more confidence, one sliding up your back and the other gripping your thigh, pulling you closer against him. The heat between you was nearly unbearable, every second building into something you could no longer contain.

You let out a soft gasp when his lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, his stubble scraping against your sensitive skin in a way that left you shivering. He didn’t hold back—his teeth grazed the curve of your neck, and then he soothed the spot with his tongue, making a low sound of satisfaction when you whimpered in response.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and dripping with desire. “You like it when I take control, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t find your voice, so you nodded, your fingers clutching his shirt desperately. His laugh was dark and full of heat as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes were blazing with intensity, his chest rising and falling as if he were fighting to keep himself in check.

“Say it,” he demanded, his hand sliding up under your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your waist. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles there, and the sensation sent a wave of heat through your body. “I want to hear you say it.”

Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, your lips parting. “I… I like it,” you admitted, your voice soft and trembling but full of truth.

His smirk deepened, his grip on you tightening. “Damn right you do,” he growled, and before you could process his words, he was kissing you again, harder this time, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Your back pressed harder against the Mustang as he crowded you in, his body pinning yours against the cool metal. One of his hands moved lower, sliding along your thigh and hitching your leg up around his waist. The motion brought you impossibly closer, and you could feel every inch of him now, every ounce of his restrained strength. It made your head spin and your core ache.

Your hands moved without thinking, sliding under his shirt and over the hard planes of his chest. His skin was hot under your fingers, and the low sound he made when you touched him sent a rush of heat straight through you. You wanted more—needed more—and he seemed to know it.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep touching me like that, and I’m gonna ruin my pants like a damn teenager.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you pulled him closer, your body arching against his.

With a low growl, he lifted you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed you harder against the Mustang. His lips found yours again, and this time, there was no holding back. His kisses were deep and consuming, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Damn it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and raw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “You’re not getting off that easy,” you shot back, your voice shaking with both nerves and desire.

His laugh was low and wicked, his lips trailing down your neck again, his teeth nipping at your skin in a way that had you gasping. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, his voice a growl against your skin.

“Then show me,” you challenged, your fingers tugging at his hair. “I can handle it.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze burning with a mix of desire and something deeper, something more dangerous. “You better be sure, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and threatening, but the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips curved into that cocky smirk, told you he wanted this just as much as you did.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered, your voice steady now.

His smirk widened, and without another word, he claimed your lips again, his hands and body leaving no doubt about just how much he wanted you. The Mustang groaned slightly under the pressure, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the fire consuming you both, burning hotter and brighter with every touch, every kiss.

Your clothes went flying on the concrete floor of your garage. In another universe, where you weren’t both wanting each other so hungrily, you might’d moved the party inside—but not in this one. You were high on adrenaline, lust, endorphins, and probably motor oil, and you wanted each other here and now.

“Take me,” you moaned, voice shaken, and out of breath, “please.”

You felt him grinning against your mouth, as he obliged. And right then and there, as the sun was getting low over the horizon, you and LA Knight took things further than they had ever been, as he took you passionately and hungrily on the hood of your vintage Mustang. For what would—luckily—only be your first lap of the night.

#la knight #la knight smut #la knight fanfiction #la knight x female reader #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe masterlist #Spotify

50 notes · View notes