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skzdarlings · 11 months ago

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vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness. Everything feels romantic. Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix, Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium. He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance.

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate. A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in. Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad. He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek.

You poke that cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.

“Do not,” he says.

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.”

You obey his demand for silence. For about six seconds.

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably.

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says. “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed. You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him. Felix sighs but slows his pace. To your surprise, he answers your question. “A month,” he says. “I’ve been working there a month.”

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say. “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop. Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together. He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.

“I already told you,” he says. “My job is checking tickets. Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.

He smiles. It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow. He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart? You can’t hold one down. You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they? Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring. And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it. Except by acting out. It’s fun, right? Looking for trouble. Makes you feel something for a minute. Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside. You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped. Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth.

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues. “You told me I was a good boy, yeah? Your words. And you think you’re bad. A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?”

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature.

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says. “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you? You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay. But you don’t make it easy. And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.”

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface. To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background.

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask.

He is still smiling.

He laughs, a low chuckle. He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “I’m just the same as you. Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time. Just so good, you know?” He is almost theatrical in tone. “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you. Isn’t it?”

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips. It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes.

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper.

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good. If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours. He abruptly steps back.

Oh. You blink quickly. Yes. Of course. It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it? He does not need to flaunt it. He can just smile at you.

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his. He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street. So seemingly innocent. Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat.

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples.

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs. He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life. It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are. “I’m not sick. See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run. Twisted, on the other hand… well…”

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate. You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you.

You smile back at him.

You still intend to win.

It is a twenty minute walk. Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations. Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires. He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed. Very, very detailed.

“Um, right,” he says. “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.”

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario. He looks a little wan.

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished.

“I dunno, get creative. My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh? Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out. Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end.

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says. “I am standing right beside you. You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.” You do not bother hiding your texts.

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies. “It sounds like my business.”

“Well, it’s not. We’ve already established the world revolves around me. You’re the supporting character, pal.”

“Right,” he says. He blinks at the screen. In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?”

It never hurts to be thorough. You type the address and send it to the boys.

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes.

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat. “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over. “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt. “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow. “Is this what you call winning?” he asks.

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows. “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say. “And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown. Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips. He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him. “Come on,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse. You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house. Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway. It is an ostentatious design to say the least. You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties. “This place belongs to my parents. They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.”

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach. “About your background, I mean. You and me really are alike.”

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings. Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite. It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door.

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks. He stands silent for a long moment. When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say. “You know.”

“Uhh.” He blinks quickly. “I have feelings all the time. Every day.”

“Wow,” you say. “That sounds exhausting. Explains a lot about you.”

“All right.” He shakes his head. He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look. You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door. The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing. It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping. Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire. You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips.

Felix is none-the-wiser. He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code. It beeps and goes quiet. You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight. He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans. Unassuming, gentle, sweet. Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass. But he can. He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you.

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space. You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack. The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care. The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name.

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away. You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing. Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft. It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky. And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you.

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says. “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him. The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality. Mutual objectification is more your style. Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings.

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door. “It’s freaky.”

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking. Ugh. You shake it off and push open his bedroom door.

He shakes his head and leads you in. He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison. His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets. Yes. That is more your thing. Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core. You want him to lose control. You want to drive him crazy. You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer. A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top. He takes it out and immediately unlocks you.

The cuffs fall to the floor. He scoops them up and jingles them in your face.

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say. “You evil son of a bitch.”

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings. But he knew you wanted to play him. He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer. Now there is no reason to linger. Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again.

He is going to make you ask for it.

That is not your style. You hate being out-smarted. And you really, really, really hate losing.

“Right,” you say. “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom. It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights. You are swimming in blue, breathing it in. His hair, the room, and moonlight.

You will never see this colour the same way again. Of that much you are certain.

“Blue,” you say.

His brow crinkles. “Blue?” he repeats.

“Mm.” You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze. “Red. Yellow. Green. Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath. The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you. He is dazzling. This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room. “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…”

“Uh-huh,” he says. He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely. Now he knows what you are capable of doing. Now you understand each other.

He follows you, assessing every step you take. There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more.

“And what does blue mean?” he asks. “To you?”

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins. So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting. The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces.

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth. His confidence is easy. He needs no grand display of machoism. He just smiles that pretty pink mouth. The glitter on his cheek sparkles.

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says. Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.”

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand. You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table. You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well. Because it is not as though he loves the clock. It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents. You can read him that easily too. He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks. He likes neon and blue and you.

“Put what back?” you ask. You have reached the front door. Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says.

You push the door open.

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say. With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?”

Red to stop. Yellow to pause. Green to give in.

“Blue,” he says. To play.

You smile. You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.”

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came. He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Don’t make me do this.”

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice. There is nothing soft about him. He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body. You feel each glance. A shiver races down your spine. Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze.

It also gets you so, so hot.

All that tension snaps.

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate. You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe. You show him no mercy this time. Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again.

You glance over your shoulder. He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused.

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again. Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you.

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth. You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block. There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes.

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you. You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone. A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you.

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes. Your heart leaps. The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend. You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light. You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds. But running on the road will expose you too quickly.

You will not surrender that easily. He knows that.

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea. You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow. He is not behind you so you race back to his house.

There is no way he will circle back here. He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates. He would never guess you ran back into his house. Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait.

You run back up the driveway. The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked. Nope. He locked it. Maybe that is why he was delayed.

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in. But no, you are still winning. He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows. You do not think he had time to set the alarm. Did he? Maybe that is why he was so far behind.

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard. You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape. The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around. There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit. In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight. Of course.

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath. You strategize your next move. Should you pose on one of the pool chairs? Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum. Someone is making their way down the side of the house.

You panic. You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide. You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it.

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard. He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered. He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open.

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence. You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.

“I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You should have known better. Of course he had the same idea as you. Now what? How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move?

You peek around the storage trunk. Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight. Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut. He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock. He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him.

So that is why he took so long. He unlocked the gate before giving chase. He laid a trap and you ran right into it.

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper.

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly. It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches.

Your heart tempers itself when he stops. He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard. “You don’t need to hide. I promise I’m not mad.” He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees. He hums thoughtfully to himself. “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…” He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning. “Hmm, hmm, hmm…”

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin. You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him. You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you. So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him. You almost want to scream. He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him.

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone. He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble. Even though you are far away, it makes you jump. You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping.

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it. He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing. Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile.

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says. “I thought we were turning into friends. Don’t you want to be my friend?”

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table. He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you.

He is giving you time, you realize. He wants you worked up. He wants your heart racing. He wants you quivering and soft and afraid.

You look around frantically, searching for an escape.

Your hope rises then plummets. The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap. It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you.

You jump at another slam. It was the shed door. He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside.

“Come on,” he says into the shed. “Don’t be scared.”

You take a deep breath. You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned. You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can.

He is just as quiet. You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena. Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth.

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him.

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth. He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says. “Fight me. Brat.”

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before. There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front. You kick your legs as he straddles your backside. He brings your hands together on the base of your spine.

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration. Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back.

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up. He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it. You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm.

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth. It hovers like he expects you to start screaming. You just exhale heavily, glaring. “All right,” he says. “Very good. Come on.”

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground. He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him. He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way.

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs. He catches you quickly. You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again.

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between. With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together.

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly.

“Not quite,” he says, laughing. “I’ve been picturing something else.”

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open. The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier.

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough. You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard. But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand. It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand.

“This is what I was picturing,” he says. It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper. His lips graze your ear and you shiver.

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth. A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart. His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons.

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you. “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more. “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?” You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips. He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly. “God, that’s hot,” he says. “You might be a brat but your pussy... It’s begging for it, isn’t it? Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm? Hmm?”

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns. You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.”

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “Come on. Show me how much you want it. You can’t lie to me, sweetheart. I can feel it, hmm? Gonna feel it when you come. Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that? What’s it want?”

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuck you. You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need. You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right? Go on. Show me you want it. Show me.”

Your chest is heaving. Your eyes close. You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately. It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking.

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you. He knows you are about to come. This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand. You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you. The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue. He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch.

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth. You catch your breath, slumping against his chest.

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head. You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth. You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers. You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself. Strands of blue fall across his forehead. He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel.

He grins around his fingers. Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his. He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths. His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his. You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses.

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly. “Because for what we do next…” He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is. “Yeah, sweetheart. For that, I need all of you.”

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you. You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright. You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath.

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone. You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch. You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant.

You follow him to the open door. One step, two steps.

Then you say, “Blue.”

You take off running into the house.

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you.

He slams the door shut behind him. You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside. It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape.

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide. There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances. Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard. And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about.

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice. His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual. “Stop hiding. I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…”

You peer at him between some boxes. He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too. The glittering amusement has left his eyes. They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air.

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it. He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place. He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables.

You shuffle with him, moving when he does. He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses.

“Come on now,” he says, turning around. He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple. “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says. “I know you, sweetheart. You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah? Hmm. You’re fast. I bet you’re flexible too. I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions. Get you making all sorts of noises for me…”

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move. Your limbs are still shaky. Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses. Did he hear that? Maybe not. He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs. It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs. In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.” Then he smiles again. He turns in your direction slowly. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you. Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house.

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good. You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.”

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet. It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says. He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you. “Don’t make me come get you,” he says. “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

You shuffle to the side. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs.

“Right,” he says. “Fine. We’ll do it that way.”

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away. You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on. It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide.

You can hear Felix stomping after you. You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide.

You yelp when he bursts in behind you. This time, he does not give. He grabs you roughly when you try to run again. With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder. He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back.

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom. “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?” He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him. He smiles. “Worth a shot, no?”

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says.

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you. He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans.

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him. “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.”

You were right. You will never see the colour blue the same way again. You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again.

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open. He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough. He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick. He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water. You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face. He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars. Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, baby,” he says. He reaches down to wipe a tear. “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle.

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach. He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress. Then he swoops up. He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything.

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips. He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.”

“Oh god,” is your rough reply.

“It’s Felix,” he says. “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He has a condom in his bedside drawer. Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?” He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips. You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy. “No, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m gonna have all of you. And you – are gonna – take it.”

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you. You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more. When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before. You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you. You let them melt into the physical sensations. When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you. You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says. Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His face is in your neck when he laughs. It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you. He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes. It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs.

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle. He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it. Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes.

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says.

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck. You get uncharacteristically bashful. Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much. Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed. Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile.

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks.

You nod. He smiles.

“Me too,” he says.

“That’s nice. Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh.

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes.

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while. You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light. You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress.

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head. “What! Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning. “I better be prepared.”

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you. I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says. “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back. “I still won this round.”

He lifts your face so he can look at you. Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you. You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore. Vexatious vixen, indeed.

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you say. You kiss again, long and sweet. Then you bop him on the nose. “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head. Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #skz x you #stray kids x you

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year ago

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Hiya love! My request is for Steve Rogers. Reader and Steve a fairly new relationship. They are having a fight about something and Steve gets loud and gesticulates, Reader flinches (physical abuse in a past relationship, Steve doesnt know about it yet). He notices... How would He react to that?

hello, I decided to turn this into a headcanon, and I hope you enjoy what I wrote.

warning - slight mention of a past abusive relationship.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

HEADCANON OF STEVE REACTING TO YOU FLINCHING DURING A FIGHT

You and Steve had only been dating for a little while, about five months now. You had met during one of Tony Stark’s parties. Steve had seen you in the corner, staying away from everyone as your nerves caught up.

Everything had been okay for a while, you got along so well, and it felt like a fairytale. You two hadn’t fought yet, which made you think it was too good to be true.

Maybe you should’ve thought otherwise because now you were fighting big time over something so small.

You knew he had specific rules for certain things. Like how you weren’t supposed to come to the compound when he was working, the public wasn’t supposed to know of your relationship because he had enemies, and Steve didn’t want you to get hurt.

But he had forgotten his phone and wallet, and you thought he might need them. Being the kind girlfriend you were, you also decided to get him some lunch seeing as you had to go there anyway to drop his things off. What could be so harmful?

Apparently, you were wrong. Steve was furious when you showed up. His ears and face turned red from anger, and he walked around you, slamming the door shut, causing you to jump slightly.

“What did I tell you about coming here?! How can you be so stupid?!” He raised his voice, and you watched him raise his hand. You didn’t think Steve would actually hit you, but you flinched anyway. Your eyes immediately closed, and you began to close in on yourself.

You never told Steve about your previous relationship, one because he never asked, and two, it was too early in the relationship to disclose. You didn’t want to be seen as weak in front of THE Captain America.

Steve caught it straight away. His anger immediately disappears and is replaced with pains in his chest. He quickly steps back, making himself smaller than you because he can see you shivering from his height. “Doll, It’s okay…” It felt like he had been shot, watching you curl into yourself. “I’m here… I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.” Steve whispers, keeping his hands to himself, waiting for you to come to him instead.

You shiver, slowly opening your eyes and noticing Steve staring at you worriedly. “I–I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Doll. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the jerk. It’s okay.” He reassures you, smiling softly when you slowly approach him and immediately sink into his arms. “Now, do you want to tell me why you reacted that way, Doll?”

“J–just an ex…” You swallow, not wanting to relive those memories, and Steve doesn’t expect you to. He squeezes you tightly against him, his face growing red with anger again, but not toward you.

For once, Steve was happy with the privileges that come with being an Avenger because once you fall asleep. He’ll have Tony find this man so he can pay him a little visit.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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a-boca-do-inferno · 8 months ago

Text

blueberry (caesar x human!reader)

summary: Man is insecure and, perhaps not so surprisingly, so are apes.

warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

words: 3.6k

notes: can be read as a standalone or a continuation to alone. this is set somewhere between the events of wftpota but he is alive in my heart btw. enjoy x

gif credit

“I don’t care”, you sign and huff, glaring at him. You needed to hurt him; like he had hurt you just now. You point to the cave entrance. “Leave.”

Caesar shoots you a desolated look, standing in the middle of the rain, completely soaked. He can’t speak. Not this time. He’d done it so many times before, repeating the same thing over and over again. I will change. I will stop worrying. I love you. And now you could see the truth: no matter how much he claimed to love you, his sorrows would always be stronger than his feelings and you just had enough. You were a tired woman. And he knew that, too.

“Okay”, he mumbles at last with a brief sign as he watches his step and backs away.

He leaves with his head down and disappears into the dark of the night. You’re only left with the sound of heavy drops smashing onto the floor. The ground now felt like opening up under your feet, but it wasn’t always like this.

Caesar stared at you with widened eyes, not noticing your presence until you spoke up. A smile spread on his face and he shrugged off his worries, his frown fading gradually. “You… lifesaver.” He gesticulated toward the food you carried with a grateful look. It smelled so good and he didn’t hesitate to grab the bowl of soup, sipping on it and letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank you... for everything”, he signed with his free hand after a moment.

“You’re welcome, now what do you want?” You teased and ruffled his head lightly. Caesar had become a good friend over the past few months. It felt like you’ve known each other for a long time, even before the flu. “Or were you just that hungry?”

Caesar snorted, still drinking the soup. “Both… I think.” He swallowed before adding hoarsely, “sometimes I just need… to see you.” It sounded like a lighthearted comment, but he wasn’t smiling because deep down he knew it was true. You made him feel like he never did with anyone, ape or otherwise. He recoiled in his spot, watching you with attentive eyes.

And you, to your credit, chuckled quietly with pink cheeks, “well, here I am.” You sat in front of him and leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “You know, Caesar, I’ve been thinking… Maybe you should come stay with me for a while.”

You were well aware of his problem with loneliness ever since he lost Cornelia and couldn’t help but want to take care of him. Being a leader had its perks and many included a deep sense of isolation, especially when the very lives of a whole species depended on him to make it in this world. Humans were still a constant threat, even amidst the downfall of civilization, but you reckoned Caesar felt lonely long before the apocalypse from the few stories he’d tell you about Will. If anything, being surrounded by his own kind only alienated him more overtime due to the burden of the “crown”.

Caesar tensed up, his eyebrows raising at the unexpected offer. He stayed unmoving for a few seconds, however his demeanor eventually changed into one of contemplation. Perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible idea at all. He’d been greatly feeling the change in environment since they moved and doing things alone had always proven to be harder for him, if more familiar. Taking another sip of his soup, his thoughtful gaze traveled the ceiling.

“Sure… you wanna live… with my drama?” He finally asked, with an almost amused expression.

“We can be dramatic together”, came the quick reply, as you carried a playful tone of your own. “But really, I think it’ll do you some good. It’s not permanent, I just wanna help you get a little more time to adjust while you sort things out with the council.” You grinned softly, “change is always overwhelming and some company might broaden your horizons, maybe even help with your decision.”

Caesar pondered your words, still with a humorous smile. “I could stay… for a while.” He added with some emphasis.

“It’s settled then, you can move in anytime you want”, you stood up and patted his shoulder. As you noticed there was a hint of uneasiness lingering in his eyes, you hummed, “consider it my formal thanks to you for taking me in. Now we’re even.”

“Then I move in… tonight.”, he tried to play it off with humor, signing with a smirk. “Don’t like my place… anyways.”

In fact, deep down Caesar was glad to get away from there; especially because he was about to face the most challenging phase of leadership: letting go. By the end of the day, he was all settled into your home. He took your bed under your indignant protests that the floor was a “back killer”, in your own words. You had a way of making him sustain a smile for far longer than he was used to—which wasn’t often—and that was the sole reason for his compliance.

As you were fluffing the makeshift pillows made out of animal skin, he organized his stuff in the small cabinet you made yourself. You were a handy carpenter. A quiet chuckle reached his ears and he shot you a glance.

“I didn’t take you for the messy type, I thought all leaders were neat.”

Caesar rolled his eyes, closing the cabinet door. “I only clean… other people’s messes”, he signed with a wry smile. He turned around and leaned against the wall to face you properly, his grin fading into a sterner look. “I’m glad… you’re here.”

“And I’m glad you’re here with me, that way I don’t have to worry about your insomniac ass wandering in the cold”, you threw a stick at him, sitting on the bed with a small beam. “I really do worry and care for you, Caesar. I hope you know that.”

Caesar caught the stick with ease and met your gaze with warm eyes once again. He was clearly touched by your words and his shy grin turned into a real one, despite the tiredness on his features. He came over to sit beside you, much closer than before.

“I know”, he replied huskily, gently caressing the nape of your neck with his thumb. “And I hope you know… I care about you.” You shivered under his touch and your lips reached for his rough palm as you kissed it. His breath hitched at the sensation of your smooth skin and he touched your foreheads, shutting his eyes.

It was now but a distant, bittersweet memory haunting you while you gathered your things and left your tent-like home with him, preparing to move in with Maurice. You had a close bond with the ginger ape due to his calmer nature; sometimes you even assisted in his classes, too, and he knew better than anyone about the shortcomings of your relationship with Caesar. This time was no different and he offered you shelter right away. He had always been supportive of you two, but never judging when you had a falling out with the boss.

Maurice knew better than anyone as Caesar got older, his stubbornness and overprotective nature only got bigger. You left out a humourless laugh, walking into your new home. Man is insecure and perhaps not so surprisingly, so are apes. And with insecurity comes obsession, along with an unhealthy need for control. Yet you always had too much understanding in your heart. Caesar just needed help, you thought, as you would peck his head whilst he slept soundly on your lap. It was so rare to see him that serene, and you cherished every second of it.

He still had trouble sleeping; nightmares and such. Your heart ached with the ever present reminder that you just couldn’t make all his pain go away forever, no matter how hard you tried. And God, did you try. Rocking a grown chimpanzee’s body to make him go to sleep wasn’t exactly in your plans when he brought you into the colony, but you gladly took the task. You loved the guy, after all.

And wouldn’t it be stupid to even doubt that? Still, that’s what Caesar did on occasion. He wasn’t easily upset, but when he was... It often got ugly. You were never a fearful girl, but seeing his angry fits deeply affected you. Soon talking to him became a constant walk on eggshells and if he noticed your change in behavior, he never really spoke on it, which was perhaps his biggest flaw; not communicating. But he was a leader, and a perceptive one at that. Even though he never said it out loud, it must have been clear that you couldn’t take it anymore. There was something telling about the way he simply let you go a few hours before, with no fight.

“Comfortable?” Maurice eyes you carefully, bringing some blueberries with him to cheer you up.

You can’t help but grin at the sight. “I am. Thank you.” You sign back and nod, taking a deep breath as you gaze around. “Caesar?” You hum, curious of where he might be. You hadn’t seen him since last night’s argument.

The orangutan shakes his head slowly, pointing at the forest, “he hunts… when angry.”

You snort. “Sounds about right.”

Maurice grunts in agreement, signing softly, “you two… end?”

You take a moment to consider his question. It looked like a break up, didn’t it? Although you weren’t sure if apes even used the concept of “breaking up” with their mates. Every couple you knew in the colony seemed happy together. No trouble in paradise. You shrug and look down. “Maybe.”

“Caesar is… difficult”, he rasps, causing you to smile despite yourself. That’s the understatement of the year. The ape adds, “you like blueberries… for a reason. They’re not… always sweet.”

You scoff at the comparison. No wonder Maurice was a great teacher. You sign with amusement, “except I can smash a blueberry if I don’t like it, but with Caesar, I can’t.”

Maurice laughs deeply. “Fair enough.”

As the night fell again, you watched the apes gather around the fire to hang out after another tranquil day from a distance. Since the war, things were slowly returning to normal and you felt a mixture of relief and anxiety every time the thought crossed your mind; growing accustomed to peace those days was dangerous. Hope could be a friend, but also a great enemy in the apocalypse. Caesar had taught you that through your many late night talks after you made love. A light blush came across your cheeks as you sighed and tried to shake off those memories.

Dating another species was already a challenge on its own, now add being the leader of a colony on top of that, you were surprised you two had made it that far. When Caesar found you all alone hiding in a cave, struggling to survive on your own, never in a million years did you think that creature would become your closest friend and even lover. He didn’t like or didn’t see the point of those nomenclatures, sure, as he only ever referred to you as his family. If other apes outside Maurice and Blue Eyes knew about the implications of it, though, no one dared speak on it. Yet it didn’t make it any easier to digest whenever you stopped to think about it, even more so amidst his angry fits.

You finished preparing for bed and lay down in silence, staring at the stars. Another summer had begun with the difference of Caesar’s absence by your side as you tried to sleep. You took a deep breath and wiped away some stubborn tears, turning to face the wall. You closed your eyes for a brief second and when you opened them again, a large silhouette appeared on the stone surface and you slowly shifted back to find Caesar standing tall, eyeing you silently.

“Talk?” He signs hesitantly, his expression difficult to read in the dark. You only nod and he approaches you, and as he steps in an angle under the moonlight, you see he’s got a deep cut across his abdomen. You immediately sit up, looking alert. He smiles weakly and waves a dismissive hand, taking a seat beside you. “It’s… fine. Not… serious.”

You frown nevertheless, tracing his bruise and inspecting it. “What happened?”

“Bear.” He murmurs hoarsely, with an amused gleam in his green eyes. You grunt in displeasure and he asks with an almost mocking tone, “worry?”

“Of course I do, Caesar.” You huff indignantly and it only makes him smirk, but you keep glaring at him. “You think it’s funny?”

“Yes”, he says, reaching out to take your hand over his furry stomach. He comes closer, bringing his forehead to yours, “I’m… sorry.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’re not sure what to say, but he fills in the silence with a low sound, “miss… you.”

“You’re a stubborn old man”, you pull away to look him in the eye, albeit your voice stays tender. He looks humoured by your choice of words. “But I missed you too.”

Caesar’s expression softens significatively. He produces another coo, “forgive?”

You smile and bring his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “Maybe.”

“Brought… present.” He rumbles after a moment and you watch him leave in silence, coming back shortly with a bowl full of blueberries. You grin and Caesar hoots quietly, feeding one to you. You blush and accept the gesture, causing him to nuzzle your face gently, “Maurice… advice.”

You roll your eyes. “That turncoat.”

Caesar only snickers and shrugs, making a face as he tries a blueberry. He signs and pushes the bowl towards you, shaking his head in comic disapproval, “sour.”

It’s your turn to laugh.

#planet of the apes #war for the planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #war for the planet of the apes x reader #caesar #caesar x reader #pota #pota x reader #rise of the planet of the apes x reader #rise of the planet of the apes #dawn of the planet of the apes #dawn of the planet of the apes x reader

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bendycxmet · 7 months ago

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You can run with this idea however you’d like I just needed to get this thought out there and share it… Yknow how Vash’s earring connects to his pen and he can hear through it. What if he hears more than he bargained for with the reader.

thank you so much for this omg i had so many thoughts for the rest of the day when i read this. anyway, enjoy!

tw: nsfw 18+ MDNI, masturbation, accidental voyeurism

Do You Copy?

Vash sits quietly at the inn desk, the dingy metal lamp on the corner the only thing providing him warm light as his nimble, quick fingers quickly clean his gun. He sits with his leg crossed over on his other knee, his eyes flitting between you and the silver piece in his hands. You’ve been pacing around the room, gesticulating and voicing your dismay to the plan he had just told you. About five minutes ago.

Vash finally swipes his gun clean with a piece of cloth, popping the barrel out to load his gun with bullets he may or may not even use in the first place. You stop your verbal train of thought, tapping your foot until he looks back up at you. “May I say something?” he inquiries gently. You huff, tilting your head, waiting for whatever response that you will undoubtedly disagree with.

“I will be in and out before you can even say my full name.” That forces a laugh out of you. Valentinez Alkalinella Xifax Sicidabohertz Gombigobilla Blue Stradivari Talentrent Pierre Andri Charton-Haymoss Ivanovici Baldeus George Doitzel Kaiser III. Say that five times.

“Ok, I see that you have made your decision, but because that decision is incredibly dumb, I am choosing to ignore it.” you cross your arms, turning your nose up at him and hoping that will change his mind. Not a chance, of course. Vash will always place your safety above his own.

He slowly approaches you, uncrossing your arms and holding your hands in each of his own, warm and cold to the touch. “I promise you I will be back in time to share those donuts with you in the morning. I’ll even bring the paper so we can read those silly comics you like.” Your heart warms. He really remembers all the little details about you. “I will be safe, just for you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to protest the oncoming smile. “Fine. You better keep this promise Vash the Stampede. Pinky promise me?” Your smile slips through at his teasing groan.

His pinky intertwines with yours. “I promise. But you know I hate when you call me by my full name!”

—

You sit cross-legged on the dusty bed, worrying your lip between your teeth. It’s bloody at this point. The clock in the corner of the room reads close to 1am. He’s been gone for four hours. Too long in your book.

You begin to feel the anxiety eat away at your nerves, fraying the ends. Throwing yourself back on the bed, you growl into your hands. You need a distraction. A sudden thought strikes you. A rather…unpure one.

It’s been a while since the last time you were able to touch yourself. Traveling with Vash, the man who has your heart constantly in his hands, although oblivious to that fact, prevents you from relieving any sexual tension you feel. Especially when everything he does gets you hot beneath the collar. His figure not quite so hidden beneath his coat, his thighs that jut out when you two are running from imminent danger, the natural smell of him when you two cozy up on cold desert nights, the quickness in how he handled his gun earlier…

With enough fantasies now running through your mind, you shuck off the clothes that are now beginning to warm you up too quickly, sneaking a hand downward. You imagine how those gloved hands would touch you, guide you, slowing you down when you would hasten your movements as you near your climax, Vash’s face near your ear whispering sweet nothings. You begin to move your hand, rubbing yourself slowly, wanting to enjoy your alone time.

That’s right angel, just like that. Always so perfect for me. You keen as your imagination takes the fantasy in full swing now. As your fingers increase the pressure right up against your most sensitive spots, you swear the warmth of your hand turns into a metallic cold, your slick making the glide much easier as your pace picks up. You remember it is late, and that the other patrons in the hotel must be fast asleep. Searching for something to bite into to muffle your noises, you spot the pen Vash lent you. You clamp your teeth around the metal shaft, your fingers picking their pace back up as you have a fleeting thought that the pen trapped between your lips is instead one of Vash’s prosthetic fingers, prodding your mouth open so he can hear you.

—

The hallways are shrouded in darkness, two guards standing off to the side of a solo door down at the hall. Vash peers from around the corner, mapping his route. He feels bad for leaving you alone for so long on such a beautiful night. The outlaw he thwarted earlier in the week had more help than he imagined. Plus a network of tunnels connected to his hideout.

He takes a silent, deep inhale, steel-toed boot shifting slightly, ready to round the corner until a breathy sound makes its way into his ear.

“Vash-!” he stills, not quite believing what he’s hearing. No one else is behind him. He made sure to knock them out until morning. No, this voice was familiar. One he held close to his heart, away from the world, if only slightly muffled. Panting moans filter into his ear, interrupted by whimpers. His blood roars in his ears. Are you hurt? Did someone close to the outlaw find you?

“Yes, please right there my angel~”

All his worries are extinguished once he hears the nickname you give him. His blood now rushes down south, wetness pooling in his boxers. He fidgets, peaking back around the corner to ensure the guards weren’t alerted to the predicament he was now in. He really couldn’t go on like this, not when he’s finally hearing how you sound when you’re in the throes of pleasure.

He spots a doorway behind him with no light coming through the bottom. He steps up to the wood, ear to the door to ensure no one is truly inside, anxious to step inside to pleasure himself along with you as your moans begin to hitch. He slips in, back to the door now, lock in place as his hand twitches at his belt. He should be a gentleman, take off his earring, and respect your privacy. He feels dirty, perverted. You two are just friends. He has told this lie to himself several times a day, not believing someone as smart and loving as you to fall in love with the catastrophe that is his entire being. As if hearing his inner monologue from miles away, your praises spew into his ear.

“Oh, Vash, you’re too good for me. So handsome, so pretty, all for me-”

He teeths off his right glove, shooting his warm hand into his pants. God, he hopes you can forgive him once he has to confess this moment to you, but he cannot deny himself any longer. Not when you’re talking to him as if he’s there with you, delivering you the pleasure you deserve for being so good for him. He bites his lip to stifle his withering whimpers.

“Hah- god keep going I’m almost there please please please,” you hiccup. Have you had these fantasies running through your mind when you two cuddle in the cold nights? During your long walks under the scorching desert suns? He didn’t take you to have such a filthy mind, especially one that constantly had him as a recurring actor in your fantasies. He grips himself harder at the thought, teeth digging harshly into his bottom lip.

Your hitched whimpers turn suddenly into sharper cries, then a satisfied moan of his name. That sound is the death of him. He turns sharply to bite at his coat collar, hoping it can quiet him as his release hits him, cum shooting inside his boxers, a sticky mess he now has to deal with for the rest of his mission. His eyes open up, hazy and glossed over as he slides down the door, catching his breath.

You had calmed your breathing and thundering heart rate just a few moments prior, now frozen in your place on the bed. Did you hear…whimpering…coming from the pen in your mouth? You spit the writing tool out of your mouth, now wet with your saliva. You recall the conversation you had with Vash earlier that day.

“Have you always had one pen on you? Why does this one look so elegant too? It’s the nicest pen I’ve ever seen.” He hums, chuckling as your fingers smooth over the metal, wishing you could touch his arm like that- he’s getting sidetracked.

“Lost tech, actually. Wanna see a neat trick? Press the button on the side.” Once you press your finger against the button, he greets you from across the room, only for the pen in your hand to echo him. “My earring is connected to it. For easy communication when we aren’t near each other. Consider it a gift!”

Your hand flies to your mouth. So he definitely just heard everything. You shut your eyes in embarrassment, but the pleasure that now simmers in your veins begs for you to take action–to say to hell with it. If he seemingly rubbed one out to you pleasuring yourself, he has to like you in some way. You take a deep inhale, pressing the button again.

“You done there? You better hurry on back. I’m sure you could tell how…desperate I am to have you back now.” A loud yelp rings back, distant shouting ensuing right after.

“Um- I. Well got to go! See you soon!” comes Vash’s rushed reply before shots ring out.

You smirk to yourself. What a conversation this will be when he’s back.

A/N: >:) :D >:) me when i get silly in the middle of smut. spot the lil marvel reference? anyway that hoop earring is *versatile* it will now be used for several things in future missions. thanks for reading!

masterlist

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#vash the stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader smut #vash the stampede smut #vash x reader smut #vash smut #trigun smut #trigun stampede smut #trigun x reader smut #trigun stampede x reader smut #trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #bendycxmet writes

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trustmypoison · 2 months ago

Text

Orbit - Act One

Y/N has a little problem and it’s that she’s literally never alone. She hasn’t known what a little peace and quiet is for nearly a decade. When her therapist suggests a wellness retreat, she expects to be bored to death and just maybe learn to like meditation a little bit. She does not expect to meet someone that she has an insane connection with. Too bad it might be too good to be true.

You can find the masterlist here.

Genre: medium au, a hint of soulmate au, heavy on the angst

Pairing: Minghao x reader (featuring therapist!Jeonghan, best friend!Junhui, and ghost!Vernon, with a tiny bit of coworker!Seungkwan)

TW/CW: *deep breath* a lot of discussion of death and moving on (or not) afterwards, grief, trauma (specifically regarding a car accident), therapy, meditation, hypnosis, sleep disturbances, psychic abilities, discussion of mental illness and treatments, and explicit smut. MDNI.

There are some difficult topics in this story and they are handled as delicately as possible, but proceed with caution if anything here might be upsetting.

Word count: 13k

The headphones aren’t working today.

They’re charged. You made sure of it before you left your apartment today. They’re also connected. You can hear the music just fine. However, you can hear everything else. So much for noise canceling, you think, huffing as you crank the volume.

The subway is busy this morning. It was your mistake, really. You usually catch the earlier pickup on this line, but you’re running late and so is everyone else it seems. Some passengers sleepily doze off. The man across from you has his face hiding behind a newspaper but you can tell his head keeps dipping and then sharply snapping back up.

Next to you, there’s a chatty group of teenagers, seemingly on the way to school from the looks of their uniforms. You’re only in your late 20s, but you can’t fathom having the energy they have at 7:30 in the morning without a single drop of caffeine. They chat animatedly. One slides a skateboard back and forth under his feet while he’s seated, and it bumps into your boot on occasion, not that he notices. The one standing to face them is probably only doing that because he’s gesticulating wildly as he tells a story. The punchline must be good because it brings the others to riotous laughter that earns glares from sleepy passengers, including the old guy eyeing them disapprovingly over his newspaper. You aren’t even annoyed by them, honestly.

It’s actually the Joseon era soldier next to you that’s annoying you. You swallow another sigh when he pokes you for the dozenth time since sitting down. Noise cancelling headphones can’t do much about a ghost trying to speak directly into your mind. Apple, Bose, Sony, Raycon, Beats, as well as a ton of lesser known brands - not a single one of them could truly help you with that and you’d tried them all.

You do your best to not show any reaction to the next jab of his boney finger in your arm. You’ve found it’s better this way. Most of them eventually go away. If you give any indication that you can hear or see them, they may never leave. That’s how you’ve acquired a few stragglers over the years.

This guy is persistent, though. Some of them have a good sense that you can see them, no matter how good your poker face is. “I know you can hear me,” he prods again. You don’t so much as blink, years of practice having prepared you for this painfully long ride to work.

Blessedly, the tin can you’re zooming in squeaks to a stop and you’re the first one to stand and get to the door. You don’t know if the soldier follows you, and you don’t look back lest you give away that you could see him. Life is much easier when you don’t give such a secret away.

The walk to your office building is short, only a few blocks and you make it just in time. Seungkwan raises an eyebrow from his desk. “You were almost late,” he says, like you don’t know. You have a love-hate relationship with him. He’s been your teammate for years now and neither of you sugar coat your conversations anymore.

“Almost. Cut me some slack,” you huff, tossing off your coat and grabbing your laptop from your bag. Seungkwan stands to meet you, since you both are starting the day with a meeting.

“I don’t cut anyone slack,” Seungkwan snorts. Though you can tell he’s just giving you a hard time, you give a look that must be a little sobering. “Rough morning?” He asks with a tiny bit of sympathy.

“Something like that,” you mumble, stepping into the elevator. “Let’s get this over with so I can have some coffee.”

You weren’t always like this. Until the age of 19, you were perfectly normal. You weren’t super outgoing, but you had a number of friends despite your spells of shyness. You had hobbies and played sports and were a good student. ‘Well adjusted’, is what your therapist called it when you had described all of this.

Then, there was the accident. You can’t think about it much. When you told your therapist, Jeonghan, that, he had just raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s hard to think about?”

His question wasn’t unkind, but you’d not grown used to his somewhat blunt technique in therapy yet, so it made you feel defensive. “No, because I literally don’t remember it. There’s a blank space of time from when I was driving and everything was fine to when I woke up in the hospital. Everything was normal, and then suddenly it wasn’t.”

Jeonghan had pursed his lips thoughtfully, drumming his pen on his notebook every now and then. “Do you lose spaces of time like that often?”

You’d sucked in a breath, trying to stifle the panic crawling up your throat. You didn’t want to be here anyway, didn’t truly believe in the power of therapy at the time and felt like this was a waste of time and money. You didn’t want him to scribble down a bunch of notes like a death sentence, or tell you you’re crazy and prescribe mind-numbing medication for you, or, if you were really honest about the things you had been experiencing, send you to a psych ward for an involuntary hold. You know you’d sound crazy and you didn’t know how quickly and severely Jeonghan would react to it. He was relatively new to practicing as a therapist at the time, but he was sharp.

So you’d shrugged, swallowing the panic and said, “Occasionally, but nothing like the accident.”

Jeonghan had, thankfully, just nodded and not clicked his pen to write anything. He changed the subject and you’d been thankful to hang onto your secret for a while longer.

The accident itself was straightforward, though you can’t remember it. At least, that’s what everyone told you. Your parents, the police, the nurses and doctors. All of them said it was just a tragic accident. You were driving home from college for winter break, your sedan packed to the brim with luggage for the month you’d be home, as well as presents, already wrapped with bows neatly tied around them. It was late at night and the road was coated in a full sheet of snow and maybe even a little bit of ice. Ultimately, it was the other car that slid first, according to police, but it doesn’t matter because it could have just as easily been you. Both cars ended up in a ditch and there were injuries on both sides. You heard there was also a death associated with the accident, but no information was ever released about the specifics.

But, devastating as all of that was, it was really the least of your worries. One minute you were driving with music blasting and another minute you were waking up, blinking up at the speckled tile ceiling of your hospital room. Your parents were frantic, asking you how you felt and what you needed. You remember feeling dazed as you try to make your eyes focus because nothing makes sense. Not the light because it was dark the last time you remember, not your parents’ panicked eyes, not the multiple IVs in your arm and the ache in your body, and not the old woman in a hospital gown standing just inside your open door.

You remember she looked sad, which is perhaps not an unusual thing for a hospital, but you remember tilting your sore head while you looked at her, ignoring the prodding and soothing that your parents were doing. She wasn’t asking for help. She didn’t look lost, exactly. Your eyes widen when a nurse walks in and totally ignores her, even though it seemed to you that she practically bumped into her as she breezed in. The nurse approaches you with a sweet smile, asking you how you are.

You remember narrowing your eyes at the nurse, anger simmering because the woman obviously needed something and it was rude to ignore her. “You should help her first,” you say, pointing to the old woman. The old woman shakes her head at you, and you start to understand why when your parents and the nurse turn and glance around the room, before looking back at you, confused.

“Who, sweetie?” Your father asks gently.

“The woman, right there,” you say, pointing to the figure.

Your parents look between each other, concerned, but the nurse shakes her head gently with a smile. “It’s probably the morphine. This happens all the time.” The nurse starts peppering you with questions. How do you feel? What hurts and how much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten? You answer all of these questions with a dry mouth because the old woman is still standing in the edge of the room, watching. She’s still there when the nurse gives you another dose of morphine and you eventually doze off again.

And it wasn’t just that one old woman. There were no less than ten mysterious visitors in just a few days in the hospital. You tried to talk to some of them, and some talked back, but most moved through the hospital aimlessly. You saw them in your room, much like the old woman. You saw them when you went for a walk around the floor. You saw them when you were wheeled down to the basement for an X-ray. You saw them on your way out to the car after you were discharged. Your parents would regularly ask you what you were looking at, like they didn’t see them too. And of course they didn’t. You just hadn’t come to terms with that so soon, head still cloudy from all of it.

After that, you were never really alone. Not really, anyway. Not even in your dreams could you be by yourself. You had to take a couple semesters off of school just to get a grasp on this new reality - to be able to sort out who was alive around you and what wasn’t. Or what emotions were yours and what wasn’t. Or what physical pain was yours and what wasn’t. There was often no rhyme or reason to it and you coped by yourself for the most part. You stopped mentioning things to your parents out of fear of worrying them, because you knew somewhere deep down in your soul that no doctor they took you to could really help. You kind of thought that not even a psych ward could save you. When you went back to school, you were antisocial, if only because you could never quite be sure that the person that was talking to you was alive.

That antisocial behavior carried into every other part of your life too, which is why, last year, your parents encouraged you to try therapy. They said it was okay to have a tight knit group of friends, but that a single friend wasn’t quite what they had in mind when they said that. Not that they didn’t love Junhui, but even they were aware that Junhui was only around still because he had the patience of a saint, despite your apparent 180 in personality. They thought you’d been flirting with depression or perhaps some other disorder that was causing this antisocial behavior.

You couldn’t tell them that you had a couple other friends too throughout the years, mostly because they were dead. So you took their suggestion and made an appointment, if only to be able to say you’d given it a shot.

You drag into Jeonghan’s office, plopping down on his couch, grabbing a pillow to hug to your body. He calls this your defensive position, and maybe it is, but you tell him that he should decorate his office so it doesn’t feel so cold. Then maybe you wouldn’t be so defensive.

Jeonghan gives you a wry smile over his computer monitor. “One minute,” he says. Jeonghan is not your typical therapist by a long shot, which is the only reason you still keep your weekly appointment. He doesn’t do the stuffy button down shirts, or the glasses he can peer over at you, or the ‘how does that make you feel’ bullshit. He wears jeans and a baggy t-shirt or hoodie every day, only wears glasses as a fashion statement, and just straight up tells you how he thinks you feel, encouraging you to correct him. You never thought you’d threaten to throw hands at a therapist, but you also never thought that a therapist would laugh when you said such a thing.

Jeonghan grabs his notebook and pen, plopping down into the couch opposite you. “So, how’s it going?” He says casually.

You shrug. “Okay, business as usual really.”

He nods but you can tell by the way his eyes sharpen that he doesn’t believe you and wants to be convinced. You see that look regularly from him. “Tell me about it. How was work? What’d you do this weekend? All that stuff.”

You sigh, because this is the part of therapy that you especially hate - the chit chat. “Fine. Just meetings and working on some projects. Nothing exciting. And this weekend, I ended up hanging out with Junhui.”

Jeonghan nods. “Good,” he says, mostly because he’s probably glad you didn’t self-isolate the moment you got off work on Friday. “What did you and Junhui do?”

“Just ordered dinner, watched some movies.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “What happened to going out this weekend? I thought we agreed.”

You raise a hand in defense. “That was all Jun’s idea! Not mine!” You had agreed to make an attempt to go out somewhere this weekend, just to get out of the house. But Jun had just shown up and made himself comfortable on your couch, and the night seemed to be decided. Could you have mentioned that you should go out? Yes, and Jun would have done it in a heartbeat. But you didn’t because you just didn’t want to.

Jeonghan adopts a smirk. “You’re feisty today. Tell me why.” You groan because you hate when he says that, but he’s waving you off. “Have you been eating like normal?” You nod. “Have you had any stressors, more than normal?” You shake your head. “Have you been sleeping?” You stall out before you can think of a good lie and your silence is deafening. Jeonghan’s smirk deepens. “Gotcha!” His smirk clears though and he’s serious. “What’s been going on there?”

You shrug, defeated. “The usual? Can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep.”

“Thoughts are too loud,” he muses, because he’s heard the excuse before from you. “What were you toiling over?” You don’t know what to say, so you purse your lips, blinking at him. Jeonghan lets a few beats pass and then sighs, putting his pen down and looking at his watch. “This is an early shut down, even for you.” Jeonghan stares at you for a second and this might be the first time that you’ve ever seen him hesitate to say something. Finally he says, “You know, you get out of therapy what you put in. If you don’t give me anything to work with, I can’t help you untangle anything. So what makes you constantly bite your tongue here?”

You snort humorlessly, because you can’t help it really. “I don’t know. You calling me crazy. You giving me medication. You sending me to the psych ward.”

Jeonghan blinks a few times and then puts his notepad and pen aside - a sign that this part of the conversation is sort of ‘off the record’. “I would not call you crazy, ever. It’s an unprofessional term in my career path. I can’t prescribe medications since I’m not a psychiatrist, so all I can do is refer you. And the only thing that warrants a visit to the psych ward is if you might be a danger to yourself or others, in which case I’d encourage you to ask for help.”

You blink at him, looking for any signs of deception but there are none. He looks incredibly patient and serious. He doesn’t even have a snarky reminder that the clock (and your bill) is ticking.

You think about how your parents worry about you. How Jun tries to ease you into social situations every chance he gets. How you don’t spend as much time speaking to living people as you should because you’re too busy trying to ignore non-living people. How you can tell that you come off as rude all the time, and it stings when someone says something about it because you truly don’t know how else to be. You wet your lips even though it doesn’t really help because your mouth has gone dry. You want a fix and Jeonghan is offering to help.

You squeeze your eyes closed as your mouth moves before you really know what you’re going to say. “Not to quote a movie from the 90s, but I see dead people.”

There are a few long beats of silence. You open your eyes to see Jeonghan’s widen slightly as he nods. A slow smile comes across his face. “Now, that’s something I haven’t heard before here.”

You raise a finger at him, pointing angrily. “I swear to god, Yoon Jeonghan, if you have me committed, I’ll be so mad.”

He nods with a smile at your threat, settling deeper into his chair. “No need for any of that. I can’t ask for a seance in the psych ward.” You screech and pelt the pillow at him. He deflects it, letting it roll into the floor, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine, sorry! Start from the beginning.”

And you do, or you try to anyway. He lets the timer run over and cancels his next appointment, saying that a breakthrough like this is worth it.

You’ve barely been asleep for an hour and you hear a little ‘pssst’ in your ear. Your eyes squint tightly, willing yourself not to respond. A little poke on your shoulder accompanies the next ‘pssst’. You sigh and hear the person chuckle. “I know you’re awake.”

You roll so your face is buried into the pillow, grumbling. “You are the most annoying dead person I think I’ve ever met.”

“I prefer the term ‘lost soul’. ‘Dead person’ sounds so serious,” Vernon says, plopping down to lay across the foot of your bed.

“I just got to sleep, you asshole,” you huff, curling up tighter into the blanket.

“You weren’t sleeping,” Vernon said simply. “You were working again.”

You sigh into your pillow. You’re working all the time, it seems.

You met Vernon in the hospital - surgery gone wrong, he said. But he got curious after he’d seen you getting wheeled out of the hospital to the car and tested it out himself. He found that he could leave the hospital, unlike a lot of other souls apparently, and didn’t like the term ‘dead’ very much if only because in a lot of ways, he’d kept on living life. He rode the subway often. He poked around in record shops. He liked to hang out in cafes if only to smell the coffee, though he couldn’t exactly consume it anymore.

Oh, and he’d followed you home to your parents’ house after you were discharged. You’d hobbled into your room late at night to find him lounging on your bed. He’d looked up at you from the book he’d claimed from your bookshelf and said, “nice room.” And when you’d moved into your own place, he’d let himself in there too.

He wasn’t there all the time, naturally, what with the wandering he liked to do. But he’d drop in with regularity. Sometimes Junhui would be over, none the wiser that Vernon was sitting in the arm chair in the corner watching TV with them. If anyone was going to hang out forever like this, Vernon was a good one to have because he didn’t make your life hard. He didn’t confuse you in social settings. He didn’t knock things over to alarm others around you. And he did give you privacy to be by yourself - or for you to try to be by yourself, anyway.

One night, a couple months after your accident, you’d woken up with a start in the middle of the night and Vernon was looking at you from your desk, concerned, Netflix still playing quietly in the background. “I think you were moving people on in your sleep,” he explains. He said he was in some sort of limbo and couldn’t see it exactly, but he could feel it. He said it was like a line out of the door when you dozed off, waiting to ask your open, relaxed mind for help. “You need to lock that down or they’ll bleed you dry.”

But you were helpless to do that when you were asleep, so Vernon had taken to calling it ‘working’. Over the years, he’d started to wake you up when he felt that others were taking too much from you. You weren’t getting valuable rest either way, but when you were awake you could protect yourself.

Still, you grumbled some more into the pillow. “My therapist told me to ignore you, you know?”

Vernon snorts. “You can ignore the others, but I’m special.” Vernon paused, quirking an eyebrow. “Since when did he know about your little gift?”

“Yesterday,” you sigh, rolling onto your back and propping up against the headboard. You’re resigned to not sleeping at this point, so you might as well look at Vernon while you talk.

“And he told you to ignore us?” Vernon asked curiously, looking at you from the foot of the bed.

You shrug. “For now. He’s going to do some research and see what techniques I can try. It’s not like I know anyone else that has this so-called gift that can give me advice. So, therapist it is.”

Vernon hums. “Gotta start somewhere, I guess. I’m glad you’re asking for help. I worry about you.”

You frown, because he’s said it before, and he’s not the only one. “I know. I just wish I could go back to what it was like before sometimes - when I was normal.”

Vernon seems to be thinking hard. “I don’t know. I’d like to think things happen for a reason.”

“But there’s no good reason.” Frustration bleeds into your words. “I got into an accident in the middle of a snow storm and now I’m some psychic freak that can’t determine what’s real and what’s not most of the time.”

Your foot gets tugged sharply. “Stop talking about yourself like that,” Vernon scolds. “Besides, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s not ‘real or not’. It’s ‘seen and unseen’. You just happen to see a lot more than the average person.”

Your eyes prick with tears and you throw the blanket over your head. Jeonghan calls you a professional bottler. You don’t like to react with emotion to much of anything because if you let something trickle out it will become a flood when the dam breaks. It feels like there would be no way to turn off the flow once you start to let it drip. Vernon has seen enough of your struggles so you don’t want to burden him with it tonight. Still, he pats your foot a few times in a ‘there, there’ motion, like he knows.

From underneath the blanket, you sniffle. “Are you sleeping down there tonight?”

Vernon takes the hint and you feel the bed dip next to you. He stays on his side like always, never encroaching on your space or making you uncomfortable. You wish you could be alone, but if you have to be with someone, Vernon is a good person to be with. He lets you doze off and only wakes you up one more time throughout the night when the line out of the door gets out of hand.

“This isn’t working,” you mumble sleepily.

“We’ve barely started,” Jeonghan says patiently from his chair. It’s been nearly two months since you’d finally told him your big secret, and he really had tried to hold up of his end of the bargain. He’d given you a laundry list of things to try, and urged to you to really put some effort in. His exact words for each instruction was, “Don’t half ass it, please.”

You have to admit, some of it you did half ass. The yoga and tai-chi bored you to death after only a couple sessions each. Jeonghan did refer you to a psychiatrist to discuss your sleep issues and this psychiatrist had provided some medication - which had been used a couple times and then stuffed into your medicine cabinet because you didn’t like how it made you feel. Journaling had been okay, at least in the beginning. You’d felt relieved to get the whole thing on the page at first, but the relief was short-lived and you hadn’t picked the notebook up in nearly a week.

Today’s experiment was meditation. Jeonghan had gone to a training for it and wanted to see if you’d respond at all to it. He turned the lights off, only a little sunshine peeking through the blinds, and had talked you into a ‘meditative state’. You’d snorted when he said that was the first step, but he pinned you with a look that said, ‘come on, work with me here’. So you’d laid down on the couch and closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing like he said. But, you were thinking that maybe you had only relaxed because it was dark and the couch was comfy and you were sleep deprived - aka nothing to do with his guided meditation.

“Tell me what you feel. Do a body scan.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch because his voice sounds soft and small and you don’t really know what he means by that. “What do you mean? Like physically, emotionally, mentally?”

“Any of it. What sticks out?” Jeonghan gently prompts.

You sigh. “I don’t know. It’s loud in here.” You’ve grown comfortable admitting things like that to Jeonghan because he’s really not treated you like you’re crazy a single time. When you make comments like that, he doesn’t look around or pause to see if he can hear it too.

“Sort through the noise, if you can. Get to you, not the others.” This frustrates you and you feel your body begin to tense up again. You haven’t been alone in your head since you were 19. You don’t know how to fucking sort through the noise. If you had, you would have already done it. “Y/N, breathe,” Jeonghan reminds. You follow the command, remembering that he’d asked you to trust the process. “Let’s focus on the physical for now. What do you feel? Pain, pressure, weakness, anything of the sort.”

Your eyebrows are pinched again because his voice is getting softer and you can’t figure out why. His office isn’t that big and you wonder why he’s whispering. Your mouth kind of moves before you realize it. “Neck hurts.”

“Is that you? Or is that someone else?” His voice is so quiet that you have to strain to hear it.

“Me, I think. It doesn’t feel like a… wound. Just an ache, like I slept on it wrong.”

“Okay,” he mumbles. “What about emotionally?”

“Confused,” you mumble. Jeonghan hums distantly, questioning your answer. “You sound really far away.”

There’s silence for a while and then finally, he says, “And mentally?”

Your breath catches, even in your relaxed state. It’s… quiet. Not silent because there’s still a low murmur, like there are people talking behind a closed door, but it’s so blissful that your eyes prick with tears behind your eyelids. Jeonghan calls your name again, asking for an answer. “Quiet.” You can hear your own voice for once and it sounds totally foreign to you. But you can hear it and it makes the tears pour.

You don’t realize that the light has clicked back on until Jeonghan shakes your shoulder lightly a few times. “Y/N, come back.”

It feels like you’re slamming back into your body and the rush of sound and sensation is overwhelming. You pop up and cover your ears with your hands. Jeonghan eases you to sit up, leaning your head between your knees. You’re a snotty, teary-eyed mess when you sit up. “What the fuck was that?” You don’t hear your own voice anymore, but you can tell it doesn’t come out right based on the scratch in your throat. Jeonghan silently hands you a wad of tissues from where he’s squatting next to you. “Jeonghan.” You press, wiping your nose.

Jeonghan looks pensive, maybe even a little bit anxious. It’s an unsettling sight to see on your therapist of all people. “This might be above my pay grade for now. But I have an idea and I need you to hear me out.”

You watch him stand, going to his desk and picking up a folded paper, handing it to you when he comes back. You sniffle, glancing up at him suspiciously when you take it. You open it and scoff, putting your head in your hand, crinkling the paper slightly in the other fist. “Why the fuck would I do that after what just happened?”

Jeonghan is sitting back down in his seat across from you, albeit on the edge of it, arms propped up on his knees. “I didn’t expect you to respond at all to meditation. A lot of people don’t, at least not the way you just did. If anything, most people get sleepy. But you… drifted.” He doesn’t seem to like that he doesn’t know how to describe it, like it doesn’t fit cleanly into any diagnostic criteria he’s familiar with. He nods to the paper. “Give it a shot. If you can’t get anything out of it, we go back to the drawing board.”

“Say you didn’t believe me until now,” you snap through the exhaustion, avoiding committing to the flyer in your hand.

“I didn’t. Not really, anyway,” he bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He sighs like he’s hesitant to say anything more, but his exasperation is clear. “I was actually thinking about a schizophrenia diagnosis but wasn’t ready to mention it. You started presenting symptoms around the age that I’d expect - the voices, the visions, the breaks from time and reality. It was all checking out and I was starting to think the accident really didn’t have much to do with it. But that,” he points to where your head just was on the couch a few minutes ago, “was not schizophrenia. That was something they don’t teach in a psychology program. At least, not with any sort of seriousness. It’s all talk therapy for the most part.”

You hide your face in your hands - you did the moment he mentioned such a diagnosis. It’s not that you’d be ashamed per se because it would be nice to put a name to whatever this is, but you recognize the stigma around it if only because of how you responded to the suggestion. “I don’t want meds and I don’t want a psych ward,” you stress through gritted teeth. “And I’m not a danger to myself or others. But you probably think I’m crazy.”

“No, Y/N, I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re sound of mind in literally every other way,” Jeonghan insists sternly. “No meds if you don’t want them, and no psych ward unless something changes pretty dramatically. Just… humor me and let me research a few things while you’re gone, okay? I’m not giving up on you yet.”

You recognize that he’s teasing you, trying to get you to laugh, but you can’t find it in yourself to crack a smile when the timer goes off and you grab your things. “Don’t cancel on me,” he calls as you leave the office, but you think he might kind of mean it.

You land in Jeju at approximately 4pm a week and a half later. You can’t really believe you’ve agreed to do this, but the plane tickets had been purchased and the hotel had been booked, and you didn’t have a good reason not to hear Jeonghan out. You’d left his office a week and a half ago, totally shaken, tossing the wrinkled flyer onto the kitchen counter when you got home.

But Junhui had come over that night, somehow sensing that you might need some company when he called. He’d been throwing out the takeout boxes after dinner when he came across the flyer. “A wellness retreat?” He asked quizzically, peering out of the kitchen.

You’d grumbled from the couch. “Yeah, my therapist thinks I should give it a shot.”

Junhui had come back to the living room with the flyer, reading over it. Then he shrugged, tossing it onto your coffee table. “Maybe you should. Might end up being lame, but it’s worth a try, right?” You’d huffed when you talked to Vernon the next night and he’d said pretty much the same thing.

So, you’d taken off of work for the week, booked your travel and lodgings, and started packing. And you felt so stupid about it as you walked into the ocean side resort. You always felt like this kind of stuff was such woo-woo bullshit that you couldn’t take it seriously. But here you are, stuck here having paid for the retreat for the next week. It would cost an arm and a leg to change your flight back home if this turned out as badly as you thought it would. When you whined about this on the way to the airport, Jun had shrugged about that too, telling you to enjoy the beach while you were there then. It was a vacation either way.

So, you checked into your hotel and crashed for the night. There was great irony in the fact that such a spiritualist event would be hosted at a haunted hotel, because it certainly was that. You got very little sleep. Maybe it was because you were ‘working’, but Vernon wasn’t here to wake you up and tell you. He wasn’t sure how far he could ‘travel’ and you didn’t dare ask. He liked his daily habits too much anyway to follow you here.

Early the next morning, you drag out of bed, pulling on some comfortable clothes. The kickoff for this retreat was early, starting with a guided meditation on the beach at sunrise. You’d snorted at the thought back home, but the air was kind of nice when you stepped out on the beach in the dark. Others were already there, some congregating, while some claimed a spot for the meditation starting in a few minutes. You found space in the back, if only to ensure that you could sneak away if you felt like it.

The instructor was a frail woman, a total hippie with an airy, zen-like voice that made your eye twitch. She started the guided meditation with things like ‘settle in’ and ‘feel the waves wash over you’. You roll your eyes behind your eyelids, simply trying to sit still for the next twenty minutes. When the instructor releases everyone and tells them to take their time, you’re the first one up, brushing off the sand. You hear a soft laugh from beside you.

“Didn’t like this meditation?”

You blink. The man next to you is cast in low light since the sun has only started to rise and it’s entirely unfair how ethereal he looks when he smiles lightly up at you. You frown down at him where he’s still sitting. “Would it be offensive if I said no?”

He chuckles again, standing up. He��s taller than you now, and you crane your neck up rather than down to see him. He’s got a lean, muscular build, all angles that are crazy attractive. But the soft brown eyes are truly the killer. You want to laugh because how could you ever ‘clear your mind’ around a guy like this. Maybe that’s why the meditation didn’t work. “Maybe don’t say it in front of the instructor. She’s sort of an expert in the field. I’ve been to a few of her sessions before.”

“Oh,” you say lamely, glancing to the crowd that’s beginning to stand and congregate, hoping that no one overheard you.

He smiles warmly. “I’m Minghao.”

“Y/N. I take it you come to these often then?” It occurs to you how weird it is that you’re seeking out a conversation with this guy, because you haven’t done that in years. But he has this air about him that is sort of magnetic. You feel lame when that word crosses your mind, but you don’t have a better word for it and you’ll never utter any of that aloud anyway.

Minghao shrugs. “On occasion. Mostly, I practice by myself though.” He tilts his head when he gives you an amused look. “Am I wrong to guess you’re pretty new to this?”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms. You aren’t sure if the defensive pose is because of how weird you feel about this conversation or that you’d left your sweater in your room. “What gave it away?”

“Well, you squirmed the whole time, and then jumped up as soon as she said she was done. It’s kind of a sign that it didn’t work for you.” The crowd is starting to move back to the hotel, and the sleepy vibe is gone, replaced by some excited chatter. You remember that very few people here are probably quite as skeptical as you are. Minghao watches you watch the crowd for a minute, before speaking up again. “Wanna have breakfast with me? It’s nice to have someone to chat with at these sort of things, since you spend so much time at things like this in your own head.”

You want to laugh, because you are never alone and could only dream of what that feels like now, but between that stupid magnetism that he has and the fact that it would be rude to turn his offer down, you nod. “Sure.” He gestures in an ‘after you’ sort of motion and you both trail behind the crowd into the hotel.

You both find a seat in the corner of the hotel restaurant and order. He doesn’t bat an eye when you don’t order the traditionally healthy stuff at a wellness retreat of all places. You’re even a little relieved when he simply asks for the same, ignoring the judging look from the fitness guru of a woman sitting at the table next to you two.

Once you both have some coffee in front of you, he gives you an entertained look. “So, can I ask why you came to a retreat like this if you don’t buy into any of it?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Who said I don’t believe in it?” He gives you a dry look that makes you scoff, even though you aren’t all that annoyed. “You’re right, I’m new to it. I’m just seeing if it’s something that will actually work for me.”

He hums, nodding between sips of coffee. “Any luck yet? Outside of this retreat, I mean.”

You resist squirming in your seat, thinking about Jeonghan’s little experiment last week. “Yes and no?”

Minghao nods, his smile turning wry. “You don’t like the small talk, huh?”

This makes you snort out a laugh, earning another glare from the woman at the table next to you both that you ignore. “No, I’m not great at it.”

“I can work with that,” he says simply. Behind him something catches your eye. A man trudges in, totally soaked. Your first thought is a mishap too close to the shore, because he’s dripping small puddles throughout the restaurant hall as he shuffles. But you quickly realize what you’re seeing and that no one else is seeing it. A waiter breezes right past the man and doesn’t so much as slip in the puddles he’s creating. You don’t feel anything from this guy exactly, but it’s not hard to figure it out. He’s dead, probably a drowning victim.

A hand waves in front of you and you snap to attention. Minghao’s face is some sort of mixture of confused and concerned. “Are you okay? What is it?”

You blink at him, trying to focus on him, rather than the man that’s still trudging through the hall and into the kitchen behind Minghao, leaving a trail of water behind him. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Minghao just looks at you curiously and the look is only broken when the waitress brings your food and offers more coffee.

Minghao becomes your guide for the day. Workshops start at 9am and when a staff member for the retreat hands out a flyer for today’s options at breakfast, you’re kind of surprised when Minghao asks what you want to do for the day. You must have looked confused because he just gives you a little entertained look and says, “unless you want to go on your own.” You didn’t. So you let him talk you through some of the options. Admittedly, you aren’t too impressed by the sound of any of them, but he correctly assumes you’re a beginner and picks some that he thinks will work for you.

9am is a lecture called ‘Getting out of your own way’. It’s another super zen instructor and you cross your arms and lean back in your seat when he starts. But by the end of it, you’re squirming because this feels like some kind of therapy shit that hits too close to home. You even feel a slice of anger sometimes because it’s not you that’s in your way - it’s everyone else, namely the dead. You can’t imagine how Jeonghan or anyone here would love to dissect such a blame-shifting, defensive response, so you bite your tongue until it bleeds. You regret coming by the time the session ends at 10:30.

The 11:15 session is called ‘Trust your intuition’. There’s a short lecture, but then there’s an experiment to do with the partner next to you at each table. Each pair is handed a deck of cards. Minghao shuffles them well and then slides the top card to you, face down. The rule is that you can’t peek, but you can touch the top of the card if you’d like. When Minghao slides the first one to you, you look at him incredulously and say “I’m not a mind reader.” You recognize that that’s not quite the truth, but you have no clue which card is sitting in front of you.

Minghao wears a sort of secretive smile, looking highly entertained. “It’s not meant to be a quiz to stress about. Just try it. Close your eyes and touch the top of the card.” When you don’t move, he nods again. “Humor me, Y/N. You don’t have to be good at it, just try it.”

You’d scoffed, closing your eyes and placing your finger tips on the card. Nothing comes to you so you sigh, throwing your other hand up in exasperation. “Jack of diamonds,” falls out of your mouth as a guess.

“Okay, turn it over,” Minghao says encouragingly. You expect to have picked quite literally any of the 51 other cards, but when you flip it over, a jack of diamonds greets you. You freeze, face pinched in confusion, because how in the fuck did you do that? Mingaho raises an eyebrow, a flash of excitement on his face. “How about another one?” Ten cards and ten correct guess later, you feel your eyes water from something akin to shock. Minghao must notice that you need a break and he slides you the deck. “My turn.”

After lunch, the 2pm session is ‘Facing your fears’. The hotel has allowed the retreat to take over the courtyard, setting up ropes and a climbing wall. You’d never been particularly afraid of heights and you’d once been quite athletic, so you breeze through this. So does Minghao, though you aren’t surprised based on his physique. You do your best not to focus on his arms or the way his shirtless back flexes when it’s his turn to climb. You aren’t one to be enamored by someone’s appearance like this often, so you squash the thought. He’s been nice, and patient more than most people ever try to be with you, but he does not need to know that you think anymore than that. You’ve known him for a whopping eight hours.

At 3:30, the session is actually a fair that has been set up in one of the event halls at the hotel. There are tons of booths for all kinds of metaphysical stuff. Crystals of all kinds, body products meant to relax and rejuvenate, incense, teas, tinctures, and ritual items. Minghao spends a long time looking at the teas, purchasing a number of them. You bite back the smile at how kid-like he is about it, eyes full of excitement when he has you smell one and tells you about it. You tease that he might as well be selling the tea himself.

You linger on a few items, all of which are labeled with the word ‘protection’. First, it was a set of crystals that are supposedly meant to clear negative energy. Then it was a box of incense labeled ‘spiritual protection’. Then there was an anointing oil labeled for protection magic.

Minghao watches you pick up each of these items, before putting them back and turn like you’re ready to go. You are ready to go because you’re truly so far out of your depth with any of this. You feel like you’re playing with fire, risking any of these things making your problems worse. On the third time, he doesn’t budge when you’re ready to leave the booth. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite decipher. Maybe it’s because you don’t really know him that well, but you wonder if you could ever read a look like that because it’s so layered. “If you’re interested in protection, you should try out those things. At worst, they don’t do anything for you.”

The woman that runs this booth clears her throat behind him, like she’s offended at the implication that her wares don’t work. But Minghao still doesn’t budge and you look back down at the little bottle of anointing oil, picking it up and rolling it in your hand. This feels like another ‘trust the process’ moment and you can afford it, so after a few beats you decide to buy it. Minghao guides you back to the booths that had the crystal set and the incense so you can purchase those as well. You’re kind of relieved that he doesn’t ask why you’re interested in this sort of thing, though you wonder if that question might come before the retreat is over.

Dinner comes and goes, and then later that night, there is a campfire on the beach. You admittedly aren’t into the drumming circle that comes first, but you are very into the marshmallows that are handed out to make s’mores. You and Minghao make half a dozen together, one of you holding the graham crackers and chocolate and the other roasting the marshmallow. This earns a few more glares from some of the more hardcore attendees who sneer when the bag of marshmallows comes around to them. You’re discovering that Minghao isn’t fazed by much, and it’s an attitude that you can appreciate. You wish you could be like that.

You crawl into bed a little after 11pm and drift off.

Just after 2am, you slide open the door to your balcony. The view in front of you is dark, but you can hear and smell the waves, and the breeze is cool. You’ll need the sweater you brought out with you in a bit, but not right now while you’re dripping sweat.

Sometimes, when you’re ‘working’ in your sleep, you meet someone demanding. Most of the time, you don’t even remember or realize what you’re doing. There are no flashes of the supposed line out of the door to assist in moving on. No unfamiliar faces that you remember when you wake up.

But on occasion, someone is desperate to move on and you assume that their urgency wakes you up. Jeonghan says the clinical term is sleep paralysis. The mind wakes up before the body is released from its frozen state. Your eyes are open and you’re aware of what you’re seeing, but you can’t do anything about it. A lot of people experience it, apparently, but Jeonghan says that most of these things are hallucinations - a demon or an old hag hovering over you. Even Jeonghan admits now that your situation is a little different, because yours might not quite be a traditional hallucination. He was hesitant to call it something real, but doesn’t utter what you expect, which is the accusatory phrase, ‘you think it’s real’.

So naturally, seeing the drowned guy from earlier, hovering over you with panicked eyes made your heart beat out of your chest. You have no clue how long it really was, but it seemed like an eternity that you were frozen, watching him gasp for air and try to beg for help. But as it happens sometimes, the moment you’re released from your frozen state, the man is gone in a blink of an eye. You have no idea if you moved him on, or if he’s still lingering, desperate for help. These are the worst nights, and you know you won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. In fact, you can’t stay in bed for a second longer, least of all in the dark. Your first step after getting out of bed is to turn on all of the lights.

You settle in the wicker chair on the balcony, propping your feet up on the ottoman in front of you, breathing deeply. You’re frustrated. You’d hoped you’d show up to something like this and find all the answers to your questions. Maybe it was a high expectation, but a place like this should have had all of the solutions to your problems - after all, they’re the spiritual experts. You feel the frustrated tears flow, but you don’t bother wiping them away, just leaning your head back. Your eyes drift closed, though you aren’t the least bit tired right now, too wired from what happened a few minutes ago.

With your eyes closed, you miss the light in the neighboring room flicking on, but your head does snap up when a sliding door opens nearby. Footsteps echo on the balcony next to you and you rush to wipe your face. You’re not in the mood for conversation, least of all any questions, and you’re hoping that your neighbor just wants some peace and quiet like you.

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps again, this time to look to the neighboring balcony. Minghao is peering around, looking a little concerned. You didn’t know that he was your neighbor. He’d stayed back to talk to someone at the campfire hours ago, so you’d walked up to your room alone.

“Are you okay?” He asks, pulling your attention back.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Minghao stares at you for a few beats, like he’s trying to read your mind, before he finally says, “No, you didn’t. I was up reading.” He leans on the railing, looking you over. From this position, his arms have you sweating again and you feel stupid for it. You’ve never reacted to a man like this. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You laugh, and you wish it held even a little bit of humor. “No, it’s not very ‘wellness retreat’ of me to share what I’m thinking. It would most definitely kill the vibes. Don’t worry about it.”

Minghao shrugs, that flash of humor that he’d had all day on his face again. “I’d say a wellness retreat is kind of the perfect place for that. You know, healing and relaxation, all that jazz.” Still, he falls silent, sitting in his own wicker chair only six feet from you, separated by the railing of your balconies.

You have no idea how much time passes when you finally speak up. “How are you so good at all of this?”

You see him look at you through the railing. It’s a look that’s open and says a lot, but the problem is that you can’t really decipher any of it. “I’m not good at it,” he finally says. “I’m just open to it.” You look away from him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Please don’t take offense to this, but it seems like maybe you’re not open to it. You seem to resist a lot of it.”

“I have a lot of practice with that,” you muse, but your expression feels a little off when you look at him again. Like you don’t know how to just slap on a smile and let it go.

He nods understandingly. “It’s easy to deny. It’s much harder to just let it be. Painful, even.” He hesitates for a second then finally says, “what are you trying to ‘let it be’?”

You give him a rueful smile through the railing. “That’s a pretty soul-baring question.” He shrugs good-naturedly, looking at the dark view in front of you both, seemingly not expecting an answer. You follow his gaze. “It would make me sound crazy.”

“Try me.”

There’s something so painfully genuine and secure about his tone. When you look back at him through the railing, he’s already looking at you and his expression matches his tone. You feel ridiculous and maybe even a little naive when your eyes water because you can’t remember someone ever looking at you like that. You don’t let a lot of people in, especially total strangers. But there’s something about him that makes you want to start peeling back the layers that you hide behind. You may never see him again after this retreat, and that might be okay because being soul-baring is scary.

You start with the first layer, even though it’s a big one. “I see ghosts.”

The next morning starts at 7am. The recommended solo activity for this morning is reflection and journaling. You debate on skipping it because you’re running on just a few hours of sleep, but Minghao knocks on your door at 6:45am, urging you to get dressed and join him.

After you spilled your secret last night, Minghao had just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. You’d blanched at his lack of reaction. “Why are being so casual about this?” You’d asked, anger flooding your voice.

But his easy tone had squashed any anger. “I kind of suspected something. There have been quite a few signs today.”

At around 4am, he’d sent you to bed to get a few hours of sleep, resolving that he’d help you get the most out of the rest of the retreat if you’d let him. You guess this was step one of letting him.

After a shower, Minghao lets you into his hotel room. He also appears to be freshly showered and you brush off any thoughts of how good he smells when you walk past him in the doorway. He gestures to the little table by the sliding glass door for you to have a seat. You do, watching him come back with mugs of hot water and tea bags. You recognize the smell when he hands it to you. It’s one of the kinds that he bought yesterday.

The rest of the hour passes in relative silence. You’ve filled pages by then, and when you come up for air you realize that your tea is cold and Minghao’s page is nearly blank, save for a couple things. “Not into journaling?”

He shrugged, smiling at you. “I do it every day. Some days there just isn’t much to write.” You finish the tea as not to waste it and go with him to breakfast.

Minghao doesn’t tell you what he has on tap for you today, simply telling you to trust him as he leads you out to the beach. You suppress a groan, following him to a couple mats that are placed in the back. He gives you an amused smile, like he knows you aren’t into this. He turns to you on his mat, and you begrudgingly do the same.

“You’re going to hear the typical ‘clear your mind’ mantras. Don’t bother.” You raise an eyebrow at him to continue. “You’re beyond being able to just clear your mind. Do the movements, sure. But focus on the breathing and finding your own voice. Learn to filter the noise. Once you can filter, you can try to tune them out.”

You’re frustrated by how simple he makes it sound and he must be able to tell. “Don’t try to be a perfectionist here. Just use the time to be by yourself.”

You feel the frustration fade, replaced by an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, but it has stupid tears pricking your eyes because not even Jeonghan or Vernon has matched this sort of understanding. If Minghao notices the emotion, he doesn’t say anything about it. When the yoga instructor shows up, you mindlessly follow along with what she says, more focused on trying to do what Minghao said. The filtering is… hard. You aren’t even sure what your voice sounds like.

You’re so focused on the task, that you must miss the end of the session. You’re in a child pose when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You snap up and the hand squeezes, curving around your shoulder maybe attempting to comfort you. Most of the crowd has dissipated, only a few people still lingering with the instructor. It’s not the time loss or the way that you’d ‘drifted’ as Jeonghan had described it that bothers you.

You look up at Minghao, totally aware at how vulnerable you probably look. It’s because everything is quiet. Not even a murmur, like there had been when you tried Jeonghan’s little experiment last week. It’s silent and it had only started when Minghao touched your shoulder. It’s like he pressed the mute button.

“Are you okay? Too much?” He asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“What?” You ask, feeling a little numb with shock.

Minghao reaches out to wipe your face, gentle fingers grazing your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. “Too much, got it.” He stands up, hands leaving you. The noise rushes back and you fold into yourself, forehead hitting the mat again. “Y/N?” His hand lands on your back and the mute button is hit again. It makes your breath catch. He’s rubbing your back lightly, crouched next to you when you come up again. You’re more prepared when his hand leaves you again and the rush of noise comes back. He stands, holding his hand out to help you up. He doesn’t drop it when you’re standing next to him. “Come on. We have a break until 11:15 and I think you need it.”

You needed more than the 45 minute break between sessions. He must sense that you need some privacy to deal with things so he guides you back up to his hotel room where he gives you cups of tea, one after another. He asks questions but they aren’t pressing. You’re relieved by that because you don’t know what to tell him. You just say something happened, but you aren’t sure what. With you being new to all this, it must be an acceptable answer.

You both skip the next session and take a long lunch, showing up for the 2pm session. This one is ‘Developing your own spiritual practices’. You look at the little flyer that the instructor hands out when you guys take a seat in the back row and then look up at Minghao helplessly, still feeling pretty raw from earlier. “I don’t think any of this will help me.”

“That’s fine,” he simply, voice like honey to you. “This is just to get some ideas. A lot of this is trial and error for everyone, not just you.”

You listen to this instructor with bated breath because you need solutions fast. The silence earlier was blissful in a way that makes you want to weep if you think about it for too long. You need to be able to shut it off like that anytime. Whatever Minghao has to do with it is a mystery, but he won’t be around forever - only for a few more days. You aren’t sure what to do with any of what the instructor says, but you make notes on the back of the flyer and pocket them for later to research.

The 4pm session is ‘emotional clearing’. You feel overwhelmed by the concept and it must show because Minghao places his hand on top of yours in your lap once you both are seated. The hush falls over your mind again. “Remember what I said. Just get some ideas.” You feel like you need this session more than anything else you’ve experienced at this retreat so far and you’re desperate to focus, so you impulsively grip Minghao’s hand when he starts to slip away into his own space again. He lets you, keeping his hand locked with yours for the whole session.

There’s a similar pattern to the next couple of days. He has you try swimming, which you aren’t a huge fan of and don’t find particularly relaxing, but he sticks with you. Reiki interests you more than you’d expect and you think about searching it out later when you’re back home. On the last full day of the retreat, you give Minghao an amused look when he walks you to a session for ‘Messages from above’. He just gives you an amused look back.

“Hear me out. I know yours aren’t exactly from above, but maybe you can get something out of this.”

And he’s right, you do get something out of it. Perhaps they aren’t tools to help you, but you do feel a little less crazy when you hear how many people in the room believe in their own abilities, and even appear confident in them. You come away not wanting to totally get rid of this little gift of yours, but maybe to one day control it.

After dinner, you both go on a walk along the beach. It’s borderline romantic in a way that makes you feel silly. Your nineteen year old self would have loved something like this. But the thing about Minghao is that he doesn’t let you feel silly for long. He’s just so… safe. You don’t feel like a freak with him. You feel human. You feel okay, even when he’s not touching you, which you’ve avoided for the most part since that morning yoga session and holding his hand during one of the lectures.

A lot of your time together passes in comfortable silence. You find that so few words are really necessary to understand each other. You’ve walked from one pier to the other now and are on your way back when you stop in your tracks. Minghao stops with you, looking in the direction that you are.

“What do you see?” Minghao asks. Your bottom lip trembles because he didn’t ask ‘what are you looking at’. The distinction is something that you can’t spend a lot of time on because what you’re seeing is… bad. It’s the man that you saw on your first morning here in the hotel restaurant. The same one that woke you up the other night. You must not have moved him on successfully because he’s there, struggling in the waves. He washes up and he’s still. You exhale hard at the sight. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a replay of death, but it makes your gut twist every time.

Minghao’s hand lands on your back and you can’t even blink when the man on the shore disappears like he might as well have gone up in a cloud of smoke. Your jaw drops a bit because that’s new. Usually, these horrible visions linger. “Y/N,” he says gently. You glance up to him, feeling a little devastated in a way that only this little ‘gift’ can do. The look he’s giving you is crushing in its own way too. It’s one full of sympathy without an ounce of patronization. He’s quiet for a long time. “Why don’t we go up for the night and settle in?”

You let him guide you by the hand up to your hotel room, where he lets you go in alone.

You’re up again, sitting out on the balcony at a little after 1am. Your bags are mostly packed to leave tomorrow - or today, rather. You aren’t totally surprised when the neighboring sliding door opens and Minghao steps out. He leans on the railing next to you, peering over. “I saw the light click on a while ago. Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you ever sleep?” You tease, looking up at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “I think I could ask you the same thing.” In the dim lighting, your mouth waters a bit looking at him. Given the location and weather, he’s abandoned a shirt a lot of the time, just like now. A pair of sweatpants hang low on his hips. You’re getting the full picture of the toned arms and chest, the abs and the tapered waist. It’s totally unfair because if he’s aware of how just looking at him drives you a little crazy, he doesn’t let on. His smile is fairly innocent. “Could I interest you in a cup of tea?”

Your time with someone like him is limited, what with a plane departure looming tomorrow afternoon. So you smile, standing up. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He lets you in, telling you to make yourself comfortable. But this time, he gestures to the bed instead of the table. The covers are rumpled like he’d attempted to sleep tonight. He makes the tea, handing you a mug and sitting on the other side of the bed. The TV is on some kind of late night cartoon that you watch blindly. The silence stretches but it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s almost 1:45 when you set the empty mug on the bedside table and curl your legs into your chest. “Y/N?” You look over and Minghao’s giving you that exposed look that you can’t decipher again. He takes a breath that is perhaps deeper than normal, like he’s steeling himself. “The other day, at the yoga session, what happened?”

You purse your lips, scanning his face. He’s so handsome, and has shown you more understanding than anyone else you’ve ever met, and… he’s really a total stranger. You just met him four days ago. This connection is scary, if only because it will be gone tomorrow afternoon. You lean your head back against the headboard and he tracks the movement carefully. No wonder he doesn’t really miss anything. “It’s hard to explain,” you find yourself whispering.

“Try me.”

You can’t tell him about the power he seems to have over you. You can’t depend on him. But you decide that you can tell him the rest. You bite your lip and see how his gaze dips down for a split second. It sends a little shock for your system to even consider that this attraction might be mutual. You realize he’s looking at your eyes again, waiting for an answer.

“It did something. It was hard and frustrating to start filtering. But… I think it started to work.”

He doesn’t respond right away but he doesn’t look surprised. He sort of looks like he’s battling with something. Finally, he must come to a decision. “That’s not quite what I meant, Y/N. I meant your reaction when I touched you.” You try to squash your reaction now, but his eyes drill into you and you’re sure he noticed how your eyes widened for a second. “I’m just… concerned that I did something wrong. The look on your face is something I’ll never forget, and I’m not sure if it was even a good or a bad thing. It’s been eating at me for days.”

Minghao lets you stare at him for a while and it feels kind of like falling of a cliff to answer him. But you can’t let him think he did anything wrong. Not when he’s given you moments of blissful silence. Your voice doesn’t sound quite right, even through the din in your head. “It was good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looks a little relieved at your answer, shoulders relaxing a little bit. But then he’s battling with something again before speaking. “At the risk of sounding inappropriate, is it just that you liked when I touched you? Or was there something else?”

You feel your brows pinch together, frowning at him. “Does it matter?”

“I guess it does, so I know whether I should ask to kiss you.”

You feel your breath catch at his words. You scan him for any signs of bad intentions, but you find none. After all, you’ve already been in this room with him before. You’ve spent the last four days with him by your side from sun up to sun down, and a little bit after that too. And he’s asking for permission, giving you an opportunity to shut him down and go to your own room. You’ll both get on separate flights and go home and probably never see each other again.

“You can. Kiss me, I mean,” you blurt. A little smile creeps up on his face and he moves closer to you, hand meeting your cheek. Your eyes drift closed because of the silence his touch brings, and you feel his breath wash over your lips as he closes in.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, before his lips press to yours. They’re soft, light, lingering pecks at first, getting longer when you reach out to hold him close by his own cheek. A little swipe of his tongue at the seam of your lips makes you sigh, hand sliding into his hair. All of it is so soft that you barely feel it when he has you slide down to lay on your back in bed. You’re absolute putty in his hands as he hovers halfway over you, lips still advancing and retreating as his hand crawls up your shirt to lay flat against your stomach. Your hands are doing their own wandering over his bare chest and back, tight muscle underneath your finger tips.

He pulls away from your lips ever so slightly, hand tugging lightly on the hem of your shirt. “May I?” When you nod, he gently peels the fabric up over your head. You didn’t bother with a bra because you should have been sleeping, but you don’t have a split second to feel weird about that because his hand is grazing your breast lightly, then cupping it. You sigh at the feeling and it’s like you’re calling him back to you with the sound because his lips are back on yours again.

It feels like forever but also a blink of an eye when you’ve both lost all of your clothes and he’s gently spreading your legs to kneel between them. “Are you sure?” His tone is a sweet whisper and you think you can identify the look he’s been giving you all week. It’s soul-baring, like he has nothing to hide from you. So you nod, hoping your expression even comes close to his.

Minghao leans down, pressing soft kisses to your lips again as he runs the head of his cock into your folds. The feeling as you both hissing a bit. When he notches into your entrance and starts pushing in, you sigh, nails biting into his back. Once all the way in, he stays still, fully buried inside of you while he kisses you into oblivion. You kind of forget that the goal of this for most people would be sex because you think you’d let him stay like this forever. Between the warmth of his touch and the silence it brings, you feel like this rivals heaven.

When you both are breathless, he pulls back, propping up on his forearms over you. His hand grazes the top of your head softly. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you both are still whispering, but it just adds to the intimate air that you both have, like this is just for the both of you. You feel silly when you think that, because of course it is, but you can’t think long about it, because he’s just feeding this little bubble you both are in with kisses to your cheek.

“Want me to move?” You nod, his lips dancing along your cheek still. “Okay, baobei.” He pulls away, enough to reach for your legs that are spread wide. His fingers gently grip your ankles, pulling them to wrap around his lower back. Then he’s back down, hovering closely to kiss you as he slides out and slides back in with a gentle rock of his hips. The feeling has you whimpering against his lips and it seems to feed something for him. It’s not like you’re incredibly experienced, but something about being with him is so… softly passionate that it’s overwhelming. He’s barely moved or touched you and you feel like you’re already falling apart.

He backs away from your lips to look down at you as he picks up the pace and your eyes drift closed. His hand grazes the side of your face, long fingers combing into your hairline. “Look at me.” The command is still oddly sweet and you follow instructions. The look he’s giving you has your heart jumping out of your chest. You reach to grip his wrist and he simply intertwines your fingers together and rests your linked hands on the bed above your head.

The strokes get deeper and you feel something building. Tears prick your eyes because he’s still looking down at you like you’re the center of the universe. Like he didn’t just meet you four days ago. His other hand intertwines with your other hand and then both of your arms are above your head. You kind of feel like your surrendering to him in a way and you can’t imagine why you would ever say no to something like this because you haven’t even came yet and you know this will change your life in a way that sex shouldn’t.

Minghao’s hips move with just a little more force, and he hits a spot that has you seeing stars, jaw dropping. He groans softly above you, pressing a kiss to your cheek again. “You are heaven,” he sighs against your skin. You wonder if he said it wrong, that he meant that you felt like heaven, but you think he might have meant it the way he said it and it turns you to mush. The heat is building to something that makes you feel like you’ll burst into flames and your voice is weak when you say his name. His head pops up to look down at you again. “You’re close,” he says. It’s not a question and the fact that he just knows makes you keen. Like he knows all of your tells already, knows the ins and outs of your body already. “Look at me, baobei.”

You do and it only takes a few long seconds before the heat explodes, becoming unbearable. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore, fingers gripping his tightly, legs spasming around his waist. You hear a groan in your ear that makes the orgasm linger because you think you could hear him make that sound forever. It doesn’t take long before he’s jumping up, pulling out of you, and releasing across your stomach. You’re dazed, watching the whole thing, particularly the expression on his face, and the only thing anchoring you right now is his hand gripping your hip. Otherwise, you think you’d float away because you haven’t felt this light in nearly a decade.

When he comes down, his hand leaves your hip, grazing your thigh gently. The other hand is cleaned on the bed sheets before it lands on your cheek softly. He kisses you long and soft without a single care for the mess he’s laying across when he presses his body against you. “Okay?” He asks eventually when he pulls away. You nod and he pecks your lips one more time. “How about a shower?”

You feel clingy in that shower in a way that you’ve never been with anyone before. Not even as a naive teenager that was half in love with the first boy that gave you the tiniest bit of attention. He lets you cling under the warm water, rubbing your back gently and pressing kisses to the top of your head. You feel stupid for so many reasons.

You don’t know him. Not really, anyway. You don’t know his last name. You don’t know where he’s from or where he lives. You don’t know what he does for a living. And you feel stupid for knowing that you know none of that but that it doesn’t really matter. You can’t imagine ever feeling like this again. This connection is unparalleled, something that you’d only read about or seen on TV before. You’d laughed about those things, making fun of them, but now you dread the morning. You dread getting on a plane to go home somewhere that he won’t be.

You dread finding out that he doesn’t feel the connection that you do.

When the water starts to get chilly, Minghao urges you under the stream, washing your hair for you. You both wrap up the shower, drying off and pulling on clothes. It’s just past 4am when Minghao guides you back into bed, pulling you close. You lay across his chest, listening to his heartbeat under your ear. You feel the tears pour because you can actually hear it, paired with the sound of both of you breathing. Nothing else. He must feel the tears on his bare chest because he rubs your back until you fall into a dreamless sleep. You’re out cold when he kisses the top of your head and mumbles, “it’s okay, we’ll find each other again.”

#minghao #xu minghao #the8 #minghao x reader #xu Minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #smut

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kyriakewritesshit · 28 days ago

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Qimir x Ex!JediReader

Character: Qimir (Star Wars)

Summary: a quick (approx. 800 words) rant about how I need Qimir and ex!JediReader’s relationship to progress.

Keywords: ex!JediReader, slight angst, insecure/suspicious (Y/N), gender neutral (Y/N).

Note: so...I was gone for a few years and suddenly got an inspiration and decide to maybe come back? 🫣

I saw too many x Jedi!reader where the (Y/N) wastes no time turning from a perfect Jedi knight with strong morals to a blushing lover, because a hot man seduces them with nice words and a few touches. While every now and then I do enjoy this simplicity and fluff every now and then, I also need some angst and frustration. Do you know what I need from (Y/N)?

I need (Y/N) who left the Jedi order because they saw the wrongs of their teachings.(Y/N) who got frustrated with the “only siths deal in absolutes” while the Jedi order did exactly that, but described it with colourful words and questionable morals.

If (Y/N) decided to remain a knight, they would become a grey Jedi. Walking the path between light and dark side - balanced, deciding for themselves what's right and wrong. But you only can do so much without proper training.

(Y/N) who spends their time travelling and learning all the things they lacked in the Jedi temple. (Y/N) who learned a lot of fighting styles and many useful abilities, however they still lacked lightsabers and force training. There are not many Jedi who'd train someone who does not fully agree with their code and would not hesitate to break it if they decide that's the right thing to do.

(Y/N) who came across Qimir, who picked their interest. Realising he’s their only hope of learning more, they decided to stay with him.

Imagine Qimir trying to seduce a potential acolyte! (Y/N) and them getting frustrated by it. Maybe it’s starting to work but they are determined to become a real Sith acolyte (thinking that’s what he wants, and only then would he train them), therefore (Y/N) is more dedicated to the training and proving themselves than to a romance that might potentially destroy their dream.

Imagine(Y/N) who got angry at the soft glances and subtle touches. Who started to separate themselves from Qimir, staying in his presence only for the duration of their training.

He’s not stupid; he’d realise that his gestures are working. However he has no idea why they insist on isolating themselves.

(Y/N) who finally snapped and told Qimir how stupid his plan is.

”You want an acolyte right? Then treat me like one! Don’t go around acting like you’re my partner, when we’re nothing more than master and apprentice! We can’t be… if you want an acolyte, then catching feelings would destroy everything we worked for.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath and started to walk around while wildly gesticulating

”Also how do you think this plan of yours would work? You tempt someone, just so they become your acolyte, and you don’t expect them to ask for special treatment once you manage to fool them into that? What do you think would happen if you’re too harsh during training? Do you think they would stay and just go with the sudden change when all they came for was some relationship? There’s a huge gap between partners and master-acolyte. Did anyone ever fall for it?” They tried to explain the faults of his plan, while he stared speechless. This only confirmed (Y/N)’s worries that he was insincere in his action and they just revealed his plan.

I need their relationship to change after that. For it to take a more official tone, no more romantic gestures and seduction. Something they both agreed on. (Y/N) believing his previous actions were all fake anyway so it gives them peace of mind for now.

BUT I also need there to be some angst, so imagine his feelings were genuine, but (Y/N) got too insecure and scared. They would rather end this charade as soon as possible than fall for him only for it to be all fake.

I imagine their relationship outside of the training would improve though! No more tiptoeing around each other allowed them to find themselves actually enjoying their presence. Forced gestures and an uncomfortable atmosphere have been replaced with laughter and meaningful conversations. They both became more honest with each other, perfectly balancing their days and routines. Yet there was still something hanging in the air. Something neither of them dared to admit in fear everything would be lost.

I need a huge change, once the tension gets too strong to be ignored by either of them. I need it to become the reason Qimir took Mae under his wing and I need (Y/N) who didn’t get jealous about it, but is kinda relieved. The Siths are always in two - master and acolyte, which meant a lot of pressure was taken off (Y/N)’s back.

And once Qimir revealed to them his plans about the mask and other identity? Who was(Y/N) to deny the flirtings of a certain poison maker and not reciprocate them double?

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #star wars acolyte #star wars acolyte imagine #star wars acolyte x reader #star wars qimir #qimir #qimir x reader #qimir imagine #kyriakewritings #imagine #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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your-nanas-house · 1 year ago

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𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮, 𝓲𝓭𝓲𝓸𝓽?

◇ Pairing: Neil Lewis X best friend!Reader

◇ Warnings: fluff, sadness, mean parents, Neil's made up childhood, friends to lovers, kiss, tuna

◇ Summary: Neil has to bring his girlfriend to the Christmas dinner with his family, the problem?... He doesn't have one so he asks his best friend.

◇ Note: Another amazing collaboration with @mrkdvidal1989. First fic of the new "event" 'From love to Love'.

Neil froze hearing his mother's words over the phone. His eyes widened in shock while Y/n walked in front of him, peacefully sorting out movies while humming. Unaware that her best friend was just going through a hurricane of thoughts at the ridiculous demand of his mother.

You take her or don't bother to come, she said, and after not getting any response for a couple seconds, she hung up with a sigh of annoyance. He knew how his mother was but usually… he didn't care too much. Usually the whole family would just pick on him “playfully” because of the fact that he was still single, just running his store for a living. Suddenly breathing got heavier and the humiliation set in, as he sighed moving quickly. Passing by Y/n, he rushed to his office, in need of a moment to deal with his own feelings.

“I can’t” were the first words that left Neil’s mouth since the call ended, it was crazy and dangerous and he was pretty much regretting having picked up the phone that morning, he would have lived better without knowing those annoying news.

He had to go back “home” for Christmas… back to his childhood house more like, as he never truly felt there like home. After a couple of years now going there just to spend Christmas all together like they used to do. A fucking nightmare. How could he survive, he thought, his hands covering his face in pure desperation, so worried and pissed to go there… he was off age, why couldn’t he do what he wanted?

That’s how his colleague and friend found him, leaned on his desk, at the edge of crying.

”Man, I'm just trying to help.” Jonathan shrugged, after he came quickly to the Gumshoe right after Y/n’s shift ended, passing by her at the door with a smile. Neil huffed with helplessness. He knew that his friends just wanted to help him with the issue, but nevertheless it was.. more than frustrating. Pacing back and forth he stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, thinking intensely. Looking… for a solution that wouldn't require making himself look like a fool in front of his best friend.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to ask her, huh? Not that I intend to.” Neil hissed, gesticulating in desperation “I can’t do that! Especially not to her, I have been stuck celebrating all those awful events, forced by my parents… She would come willingly. That would be—” Jonathan interrupted him quickly, shaking his head “Man, calm down! we don’t even know if she can, I’m just telling you that you should try. You always say that everything is way more fun when she’s around so why not try to fight this by using her..help, huh?” the man suggested, proud of himself as he waited for Neil’s reaction “she even likes to dress up and trust me, bet she would be way happier to come with you there than to participate at another of the events here in the show” he commented quietly.

”How can you know that?” Neil snapped, as he registered only the first part of the sentence, his mind jumping to the conclusion that Jonathan was spending a lot of time with her. Jealousy racing through his veins in a second.

Seeing it, Jonathan rolled his eyes at the reaction.

”Yeah, and maybe.. maybe you two could sort that weird… “friendship” out.” He suggested, gesturing in the air as he spoke. ”No need to get snappy, man. She seems to like only one geek, and you already took that spot.” He joked eventually, wanting to ease the atmosphere. It worked, as Neil smiled weakly.

It was true, they were friends ever since Neil approached her in the third grade asking about the sandwich she had. For her the tuna sandwich was the grossest thing in the world, but little Neil had shiny eyes at the thought of it. She called him gross and he pushed her. That's how their friendship started, ironically.

She sure was perfect and that way Neil wouldn’t have ruined their every-year plans.. Christmas Eve together and a quick meeting at Christmas, like always. They could spend even more time together if she agreed to go with him.

Huffing, he sat down in the armchair as he ran his hand through his dark hair. Was it really a good idea? he wondered silently, glancing a couple of times towards Jonathan, who was still standing there awkwardly. Even if she wasn’t in the store anymore, he should have called or gone to her apartment but… he couldn’t leave Gumshoe, right?

He remained lost in his thoughts for a couple of minutes, coming back to reality hearing a soft knock on his office door. His baby blue eyes snapped up as he sat better on his chair, surprised to see Y/n back there, a smile on her face. “Sorry to interrupt the …meeting, I just left my scarf in your office Neil, so I came back to get it. It’s pretty cold outside, I was freezing…” she revealed continuing to ramble while walking to the small sofa in his office, grabbing her scarf before heading back to the door. Neil was forced now to ask her, it looked really like faith.

“Weenie—” he spoke abruptly, making her stop mid step, and turn around to face him with a raised eyebrow, the nickname catching her attention immediately like every time, just like the way he said it. Instead of the casual, easygoing tone of his, he sounded.. nervous and awkward. The tone that Y/n knew too well, which piqued her interest just as much as the old nickname that they have been using for several years. “What, dink?” she asked with a soft smile on her face. Jonathan just staring at them with wide eyes and toothy grin, seeing how the stare they shared couldn’t be one of just friends.

Neil looked at his feet awkwardly, not knowing how to start.

”Yeah, tell her, Dink.” Jonathan mocked playfully, earning a soft slap on the back of his head from Y/n, who scolded him and reminded him that she was the only one that could call Neil like that and he should have respect for his own boss. One stern glance from Neil was enough to make him lift his hands in surrender.

”Alright, alright. I got the message.” He said, slowly heading to the door.

Just before the door closed shut, he shot Neil one last look that was basically saying “tell her, idiot!”

A sigh pushed past the nervous man's lips as he was left alone with his best friend in the office. Neil had no energy and will to play around the topic, so he just took a deep breath approaching her closer.

”Look… if I had any different choice, I wouldn't… I wouldn't try to pull you into it..” He started off, sitting on the desk in front of her, looking down at his hands, making her quite nervous. But without a second thought she lifted his chin with her hand, making him look in her eyes.

”You can pull me into anything as long as you follow, you know that— Stop being so nervous, now, I’m starting to fear that it’s something big and concerning” She urged, feeling that something wasn't right… not with how he was trying to avoid eye contact with her.

”Are you involved with the mafia, Dink?” She held back a giggle, using her best poor Italian accent to try to ease the tension and his mood, successfully as he giggled back.

“Are you trying to perform as Robert De Niro, now?” he huffed amused “You are still doing it wrong” Neil added, commenting on her performance “Lies, you’re just jealous of my skills. Bet someone could actually mistake me for him, bit of makeup and I look just like him” she joked, her smiles switching slowly into a soft one when Neil spoke softly to deny it “You are beautiful… so shut up” he quickly added the last part to ease the awkward tension. She chuckled as well, sighing as she sat at the chair in front of the desk.

”So.. tell me. What do you need, Neil?” Y/n asked seriously this time, so he mirrored her body language.

”Okay so… My mother said… well, more like forced me? Obligated me… to bring at the christmas dinner a girlfriend and… and she said that if I don't I.. I shouldn't even come.” He stuttered out nervously again, glancing at Y/n as she kept listening to him while nodding. She didn't say anything, as she knew that it wasn't the end of the story. Neil knew it too.

”andithoughtthatyoucouldgowithme” he spat out really quickly, breathing deeply just at the end of the sentence, almost passing out.

Y/n tried not to laugh at that, nodding as if she understood everything he said to her “Now.. I have known you for years, Dink. I know what you said but you know how much I like to see you in such a state, huh. Ask it better” she requested, humming while crossing her legs smugly, waiting for Neil’s next move.

He scoffed at that, of course she wanted that... and he was going to give it to her like every time “Fine! You dick.. Would you come with me… please” he asked, showing her his pleading eyes, earning a chuckle from her “First, I’m not a dick. Second… of course I will, you dork” she answered, leaving a couple of seconds of silence before giving him her final answer, creating suspense between them.

Neil was just nodding sadly, sighing softly as his hand rested on her small shoulder, patting it twice “I know that you would have….wait what—” he raised his voice quickly, his eyes snapping to hers as his mood changed completely “You’re not joking, right?” he asked to make sure he could celebrate his victory. Y/n just rolled her eyes before she got up, kissing his cheek exaggerating the noise.

”I’m not, but now I need to run if I want to make it to the bus. See you later, send me the details.” She said quickly, running through the door with a smile.

Neil sat there in silence for a moment before exhaling loudly. Then a slow smile appeared on his lips.

. *time lapse* .

The snow kept falling down on them as they waited in front of the big mansion, looking at each other every now and then

”You can do it… we can do it. Together.’’ she reminded him as soon as she felt his nervousness, squeezing his hand in her own.

Neil exhaled, straightening his back as he glanced at her. She nodded, and they went to the door, knocking before they'd change their mind. Here we go, no backing away now. Neil knocked, and they waited a couple seconds before steps approached the door, swinging them open and showing the silhouette of Neil's mother.

”Oh, Neil… you're here.” She said with a fake smile plastered on her face. Then her gaze fell on Y/n and her eyes shone with respect. Y/n really was a pretty girl, nice features, styled hair and a very pleasant body, she was also all dolled up like Neil asked her, just for that dinner… ready to support her best friend as best she could. ”..and who's that?” the older woman asked, reaching out to Y/n, who shook her hand with a smile.

”That’s Y/n. My.. girlfriend.” Neil informed his mother, stuttering for a second, glancing at Y/n when the word girlfriend left his mouth.

His mother just nodded, lifting her chin up higher with a smaller smile.

”Come in.” She said, opening the door wider and closing them behind them.

It will be a long night, Y/n thought seeing the rudeness in his mother's eyes.

. *couple hours later* .

Y/n clenched her jaw again that night, hearing the two-sided comments towards Neil. He was quiet most of the time.. before he wasn't, as his younger brother threw an insult towards Y/n this time.

”Watch your fucking mouth.” He barked at him suddenly, surprising everyone by the table. His father's eyes widened, and a little smile appeared on his lips. George gasped in shock, as it never happened before that Neil would actually stand up for himself. He'd either ignore him or just stutter out some insult back.

”Neil” His mother scolded another time throughout the dinner, and Y/n was fed up. She scooted back, and the chair squeaked, scratching the wooden floor from the sudden movement.

”Are you serious? This little brat insults him all night and you won't say anything, but when Neil stands up for me, you dare to scold him?” Y/n spoke up in a harsh, stern tone. The icy gaze in her eyes was enough to make everyone go quiet.

”I… I..” His mother stuttered out, still shocked.

Neil got up suddenly, heading to the door as he needed some fresh air. That whole “Christmas” dinner was a nightmare.

Y/n and Mrs. Lewis kept glaring at each other, and as the older woman opened her mouth to continue arguing, her husband's fist slammed at the table, startling her.

”Enough! Are you happy with ruining our Christmas dinner?” His low voice boomed at her, as he had enough of her backhanded compliments and rude talk. Seeing the situation, Y/n decide to leave as well, grabbing one of the tuna sandwiches from the plate standing on the table, fully knowing that Neil didn't manage to eat anything. Just some baked potatoes but she stole most of them from him. Rushing through the corridor, Y/n noticed that his jacket was gone, so she didn't hesitate to get out of the house.

Looking around, her heart pounded, not seeing him anywhere. Only as she looked at the other side of the road she noticed him, sitting on the bench despite the cold wind and falling snow.

He was visibly upset, with red cheeks and nose, tucked into his big jacket to keep some warm, and snowflakes in his dark hair… he looked beautiful. Even more than usual, she thought.

Even though she was heading to him, he didn't hear her steps or the crunching of snow under the sole of her boots. Only when she stood in front of him, Neil looked up at her face with teary eyes, making her expression soften.

She didn’t say anything, just moved her arm to show him what she was hiding under her coat, a small smile on her face. Neil looked at her, glancing down at the thing she was offering to him, a smile breaking on his face as well.

“A gross tuna sandwich for the grosser boy I know” she sang, moving the food closer to Neil, her cold flushed cheeks making her look like a kid “Come on… take a bite or do you need me to feed you, huh?” She teased, handing him the sandwich after she moved it in tiny circles in front of his face, so that he could sniff its smell.

Neil grabbed it, brushing his warm hands against her cold ones before sticking out his tongue like a kid, just like when he was younger.

Y/n watched him take it, before she sat down on the cold bench next to him. She didn’t talk, just leaned her head on his shoulder, sneaking her hand in his pocket to hold his bigger one in hers.

They stayed like that for some minute, in silence and now in each other’s arms ‘’Don’t listen to them, Dink…’’ she whispered, watching his side profile as he ate his sandwich. Neil was clearly lost in his mind for a while as they just sat there, getting covered with snow. Several minutes passed before Y/n attempted to talk again.

”I don't regret coming here with you.” She confessed, making him look at her, surprise written all over his face.

”How come?” He asked, confused. Neil couldn't think of a single reason for why she would actually be happy about coming on the Christmas dinner to his family. It went.. horrible.

Y/n shrugged, playing with his big long fingers.

”I mean… I don't know.” She backed off a little, feeling a little ashamed of her confession. Neil could see that she wanted to say something else, but doubt crept up her mind. He grabbed her chin suddenly, surprising her and himself as well, making her look in his baby blue eyes that looked even more charming with the white snow in the background.

”Tell me.” He asked more like commanded in a quiet voice. Suddenly the atmosphere between them got more.. intimate than fragile like before. His gaze didn't falter for a second, as he boldly starred in her eyes.

Y/n felt like that moment would pass soon if she didn't take the change.

”I.. I liked.. playing your girlfriend.” She spoke up, matching the volume of his voice. Neil’s eyes shifted down, looking at all the features of her face separately, carefully and taking his time. The intention in his eyes was visible, and made Y/n’s breath deepen as her heart started pounding in her chest.

”I like it too.” He whispered, subconsciously leaning in, reducing the distance between them with each second.

Without a second of doubt, Y/n moved closer, tilting her head up so he could reach her lips more easily.

Even though they both knew it was coming, the sensation that went through their bodies was.. shocking. Knowing each other for years, neither of them would expect to feel… such fireworks while kissing.

Her soft lips moved against his slowly, sensually without any rush. Neil was completely frozen, not moving at all as he didn't want to ruin the moment. Y/n wasn't as shy, as her hand reached his cheek to keep him closer. In their minds the kiss lasted for hours, yet it was barely a minute before they ran out of oxygen. Parting in need of a breath, Neil leaned his forehead on hers, letting out a shaky breath. Silence between them lasted for a couple minutes.

”Neil…” She started out.

”I know.” He cut her off, earning a chuckle.

”Neil…” She started again ”If you don't confess that you love me, right now… I'm afraid I'm going to throw up. I feel your tuna in my mouth.” She whispered, making him burst into laughter.

Shaking his head he grabbed her face in his hands, his eyes shiny and hair a mess, hanging over his forehead.

”I love you, Y/n.” He said, still smiling so widely, and she giggled out loudly.

”I love you too, Dinky…. I'm freezing by the way, could we go back inside? Not in the dining room but maybe in your room. I was always curious to see your childhood bedroom” she revealed, a bit too eager to know more about Neil's past.

With that the young woman stood up, offering her now hopefully boyfriend her hand. It took Neil a couple of seconds to take her hand finally, since the priorities came first, aka his tuna sandwich, leading her himself back towards the house and upstairs to his bedroom.

Nothing had changed much during the years, his little brother George received more useless stuff while her older sister Margaret wasn't living there anymore so her useless stuff was all in her own house.

As soon as they walked in the bedroom, Neil made sure to lock the door, past trauma of people walking in his room without asking just to annoy or piss him off came quickly back. Y/n didn't seem to mind though, her eyes kept wandering around as her hands worked on the buttons of her coat “I have a gift for you by the way” she informed Neil with a smile, her beautiful eyes now stopping back on him “but…I won't give it to you till you go wash your teeth. I don't want to risk getting another tuna kiss” she murmured, shivering at the idea, making Neil laugh and nod as he headed to his own small personal bathroom to do as she said.

Coming out again, his eyes locked with hers— she was now sitting on his bed, leg crossed with a small rectangular present next to her body. A small smile on her face. “Come on, open your gift, Dink” She encouraged him, watching how he walked closer with a childlikeness hidden in his eyes.

Neil carefully took the wrapped object, working on the paper to open it carefully, stealing glances at Y/n who was watching him with his same mood.

“You like it?” The young woman asked softly, studying her best friend's reaction “it's an old noir movie… I heard your discussion about it with Jonathan in the Gumshoe and I managed to find it.” She added anxiously, seeing no clear reaction from him. Her lips parted for the third time, ready to ask for clarification again but she didn't need to, since Neil's lips pressed against hers— his arms wrapping around her smaller frame as his big hand cupped the back of her head to keep her in place. It really looked like one of those kisses characters shared in old movies… so rich of passion and love.

The position was quite uncomfortable though, so they changed it after a couple of seconds, his arms now holding her hips firmly against his body and her arms hugging his neck to keep him closer to her. No tuna this time.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

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lemonylioness · 7 months ago

Text

A Work of Art

Madara x Reader - University AU - An aspiring artist gets their first nude model

Content warnings: dub con, D/s dynamics, edging, public sex, mild bondage, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, squirting, creampie, aftercare

4.8k

So honestly, this is only marked for Madara, because he is my favorite. When writing this, I felt it could fit a lot of our older “Daddy” type characters and I kept it intentionally vague (except for a line or two) so feel free to imagine your favorite dominating you. Madara, Hashirama, Tobirama, Jiraiya, Kakashi, Kakuzu, Geto, Toji, Nanami… Honestly the list goes on… Enjoy~

“Alright, class, for this week’s project, we will be using posed nude models to complete studies of the human body and to grow your knowledge of anatomy. You will create a painting in either oil or acrylic medium on canvases or boards. I want the completed project to be at least 10” x 20”,” the art professor wrote on the chalkboard as he spoke, writing down the same requirements for the project as he was speaking, “Be respectful of our models as they are volunteers, older students and professors who graciously donated their time for your practice. Once they come in, stay seated, they will come to you. The model you get is the model you get. No swapping and no complaining.” He turned and snapped a finger at the student closest to the classroom door, “Let them in and remember, we are grateful for their time.”

The student pulled open the door and a line of robed men and women came into the spacious classroom, a mix of body types, heights, and hair colors ranging from white to blonde to brown to the deepest black, splitting off and sitting by whoever caught their eye and immediately the volume of sound in the room increased as strangers got to know each other and robes were discarded. You were tucked back into a corner by the large window. It was your favorite place to paint as it had a view that overlooked the university campus and had a perfectly warm sunbeam for most of the class time. Rearranging your paint brushes on your work table nervously, you worked not to catch anyone’s eye, a deep blush coloring your face at all of the exposed skin. This was way outside your comfort zone, but you loved art and this was a part of it. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as the pairs settled, leaving only one model left, who was standing at the front of the room with the professor, his broad back to the class as they spoke. You recognized him as one of the professors on campus, possibly teaching history or something like that, his wild black hair tamed back into a ponytail and his large hands moving through the air as he gesticulated to whatever he was saying that you couldn’t hear.

Suddenly, he turned, looking in the direction the professor was pointing which was straight at you, making you duck behind your canvas as your blush turned a blazing red. When you peeked out again, you were immediately ensnared in his dark eyes, his expression changing to something like hunger as he started toward your little corner. Dropping your eyes, you fiddled with the brushes again, unexpected heat flooding your body from just his look. You felt like a trapped rabbit as the predator stalked silently towards your hiding place and it was taking everything you had not to break and run.

“Where would you like me to be?” The model’s smooth voice brushed past your ear from way too close and you jumped, not expecting him so close so soon.

“R-right th-there is perfect,” you stumbled over your words as you indicated the stool set up in front of your easel, making use of the sunbeam that glittered across the floor. More blood suffused through your face and neck as you tried to ignore how much of your personal space this man was in, “You can use the stool if you want… Or whatever you’d like…”

He chuckled as if he knew exactly how nervous he was making you before stepping around your body and canvas. Taking off his robe, he asked, “how would you like me to pose for you?”

“Oh… Ah… Um…” Your brain was short circuiting as your eyes roamed over his muscular frame, “h-however is most comfortable for you… I’m not picky.” Clearly comfortable with being naked in front of an audience, he started arranging himself on the stool after a sly smile in your direction, finally settling on facing you with his feet propped on the foot rest bar and legs spread apart, showing his manhood as well as the curls of hair above it. He sat up straight, arching his back slightly as he positioned his arms above his head, elbows bent and hands tucked behind his neck. It was a very casual pose that showed everything. Muscles rippled as you watched him flex for you, his eyes on your face, waiting for your reaction. Gathering yourself, you tried your best to keep any evidence of the heat you were feeling from your face, though you couldn’t deny the way your core ached and dampened just from his gaze alone.

There was no doubt about it, he was very attractive and he knew it too. It was like he was preening as more and more of the class looked your way. Hiding behind your canvas, you tried to stay out of the line of sight of everyone as you wet your brush and got started on your piece. At least here, you could avoid not only the jealous looks of your classmates, but also your model’s laser focus. Taking a deep breath and steeling yourself against another flush of heat, you let your mind wander back over his perfectly sculpted muscles, the gorgeous dark hair both on his head and the dusky thatch between his legs, under which was perched his nicely formed penis and scrotum. You had seen naked men before, you certainly were not a virgin, however none of them had looked like this. Or had his eyes. It was his eyes that drew you in the most. Deep and intelligent, it was like they could see right through you, like he could read your mind and everything you thought with just a look. It was just so intense, like he had stolen his eyes right off of the cover of a romance novel.

Taking another calming breath, you picked up your paint palette and looked out from behind your canvas to make sure your model wasn’t just a figment of an overactive imagination. His eyes immediately locked onto yours again and he smirked.

“Ready to get started?” he purred, flexing fully once more. Swallowing hard, you nodded and started your sketch, praying to whatever higher power that you were going to survive this week without melting into a little puddle. It was going to be a long project.

—

The art room was empty except for yourself and your model. The other students had long since called it quits for the day and shuffled on to other pursuits. He was no longer in his pose as you had finished your bare bones sketch and wouldn’t need him until it came time to set the lighting and color. For now, you were slowly adding detail from memory avoiding looking at him as much as possible. He was currently chewing on his lip and staring out the window, still perched on the stool, still unbelievably attractive, and still making heat flood your body every time you forgot yourself and stared at him for too long. The silence in the room was overbearing and making things worse for you as there was nothing that could be used as a distraction. Maybe it was time to call it a day. You certainly could use the break to get rid of the nagging ache between your thighs, your dorm room sounding better all the time for some privacy. Your panties had to be soaked after all.

Finally setting down your paint brush, you stretched and stepped back away from the easel, catching his attention, “Are we done?” He stood up and stepped over to look at the canvas, immediately invading your personal space again and standing way too close.

“Well no… I mean, I’m taking a break for a moment… But you certainly don’t have to stick around… I can wait until tomorrow for the parts I’ll need you for, but for now I just want to step away for a moment or two,” you stepped back away from him, turning to your work table to hide the arousal you were sure was stamped all over your face. He was so warm and you couldn’t handle his presence when it was so close to you. He also smelled really good and your hands itched to see if his skin was really as silky as it looked. You needed to get a hold of yourself. He was turning your brain to mush and he wasn’t really even doing anything.

Gathering your paint brushes, you moved to take them to the sink, when suddenly a strong arm had you trapped against the table, his firm, bare chest pressed against your back as he caged you in place, “you do look a little tired, taking a break is smart. I’ll stay here with you.”

Even though his voice was soothing, you tensed as his breath fanned across your neck. “I should leave,” you struggled to speak normally, hoping he couldn’t hear the beginning of the needy whine in your voice, “and let you get dressed and back to whatever you need to do… I’ve got a few things to take care of and I’ve held you here long enough…” Your voice faltered as his lips pressed just under your ear.

“Don’t go,” his tone left little room for argument and he pressed closer, his body solid against yours and making you shiver.

“I-I… W-we can’t… You’re a professor and someone could come in at any time… We don’t even know each other’s names…” You argued weakly, the ache was becoming unbearable and you were pretty sure he knew.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about, just relax,” his mouth trailed up and down the tensed muscle of your neck, one of his hands moving to press against your stomach to keep you in place when you tried to turn to face him, “No, kitten, stay where you are. Forget about everything, the project, your worries, your inhibitions. Just focus on me. Focus on how this makes you feel. I won’t let anything bad happen. Understood?”

A soft moan left your lips as you felt his teeth nip your skin before you let out a breathy, “Y-yes…”

A deep rumble powered through his chest at your acquiescence, “yes what?”

“Yes Sir,” you blushed with embarrassment as you answered him without hesitation, the words springing from your lips instinctually.

“That’s my good girl,” he purred, his unoccupied hand moving to pull the paint brushes from your grip and setting them aside before he guided your hands up into the air so he could pull off your shirt and bra in quick succession. His mouth moved to your neck again, making your knees weak as kisses and nips heated your skin only to be soothed a minute later by his tongue. You melted back against his hard chest as his teeth caught your ear lobe, tugging as he sucked at the soft flesh. Your acceptance of his ministrations seemed to please him and he pulled you back tighter against his body, one of his hands moving to cup your breast while the other drifted lower to the waistband of your shorts. His fingers were gentle against your skin in contrast to the way his lips and teeth were attacking your neck and shoulders. Your eyes slid closed as another moan left you, the combination of his skillful touch and sinful mouth was getting to be too much.

He seemed to have been waiting for this, taking it as his cue to start taking things further. He squeezed your breast, his thumb tracing around your areola and over your nipple, making the bud tighten into a stiff peak for him to tug on as his other hand slipped into your panties, moving to cup between your legs. His touch was electricity, delivering shocks of pleasure that just seemed to turn you on and on and on. You were more aroused than you had ever been before in your life. Your little cunt wouldn’t stop aching, begging to be filled with something just so you could have an ounce of relief. Your model seemed to be feeling similarly, you could feel his thick, twitching erection pressed firmly against your ass and when you reached back to touch him, he groaned in your ear as his hips bucked slightly.

“That’s right, kitten, go ahead, touch whatever you’d like. I want you and this wet pussy so bad… I can’t believe how ready you are for me…” His voice tightened and he stifled another groan as your fingers wrapped and squeezed around his girthy shaft. You arched against him as he pulled his hand from your shorts so he could undo the button and push them down past your hips, letting them and your panties pool around your feet as his hand went right back to where it was, your legs spreading of their own accord to give him more access. He hissed against your neck before purring in your ear, “So ready… You’ve wanted this for a while haven’t you? My naughty girl. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

A harsh whine left your throat as his fingers started to probe between your lower lips, “Y-yes S-sir… P-please… I-I need more…” He chuckled as his other hand came up to gently circle around your neck, holding you as still as he could, his arm pressing between your breasts and against your sternum, pinning you to his body.

“Of course, pet, all in good time, just be a good girl for me,” his fingers slid inside of your throbbing heat and curled deliciously causing pleasure to spike through you. Panting from the delightful feelings, your thighs tried to squeeze together as he worked his fingers against your g-spot, the stimulation already overwhelming as his hand tightened around your throat in warning, causing you to freeze. One of his legs came up between yours, his muscular thigh forcing you to keep your legs spread as he pulled your back into a harsher arch, making it difficult for you to do anything except take it as you balanced on your tiptoes. “Relax, kitten, let me pleasure you,” he admonished gently as he continued to massage your spongy spot until you were shaking in his grasp, your hand pumping his hot, silky cock erratically. It was so easy to follow his commands and let him toy with your body that you found yourself going boneless in his arms, letting him have his way as he made pleasure course through every one of your nerves, setting you on fire every time his fingers moved inside of you.

“O-oh, p-please, I’m so close… I’m g-gonna c-cum,” you soon sobbed, your pussy fluttering with your impending climax.

His hand immediately stilled, his fingers sliding out of your core and making you cry out as your orgasm slipped away, tears gathering on your lash line, “shh, pet, I know, I know… But you can’t cum yet… Not yet. You’ll only cum on my cock or not at all.” He wiped your juices across your stomach, letting you whimper quietly as he readjusted your position, pulling your hand from his cock and pushing you down chest first onto the work table, your breasts squished to the cool surface. He nudged your legs apart with his knee so your soft lower lips and fluttering cunt were on full display for him, one of his hands splayed across your back to keep you in place as the other groped the smooth globe of your asscheek. You squirmed underneath his hand, feeling your slick start to ooze from your clenching, empty heat, coating your trembling lips before drooling down your thighs and spattering onto the tile floor between your feet with a soft pap, pap, pap.

He rumbled in approval behind you, “That’s it, now I can see your needy, little hole. Don’t move.” His hand left your body as he stepped away from you, the loss of his heat making goosebumps rise all over your skin as you quickly chilled in the cool air. You couldn’t help the shiver that worked its way up your spine as an anxious ball tightened in your belly, your swollen clit throbbing as your pussy clenched and quivered in anticipation. Suddenly, smooth hands were pulling your arms behind your back, the tie from the robe he had been wearing earlier wrapping and knotting around your wrists to keep them together and in place against your back as he stood behind you once again, his thick cock resting between your ass cheeks, leaking pearls of pre-cum onto your shivering skin as he contemplated his next move.

A whimper fell from your lips as your hips involuntarily bucked back, “Please… P-please… Please…” You weren’t even sure what you were begging for, but you needed something to happen, you couldn’t stand waiting any longer.

He tutted softly, tracing a finger down your spine and making you arch and shudder, more of your slick dripping and pooling on the floor, “Ask appropriately, kitten, use your words… Tell me what you want.”

“P-please, Sir, I want you inside me… I want your cock so bad… I need it. Fuck me! Please!” You begged brokenly, practically sobbing with urgency as you gave into his dominance, letting him have complete control as you laid submissively on the table, your legs shaking.

“That’s my good girl,” he purred, wasting no time shifting behind you and pressing the tip of his cock against your fluttering entrance, getting himself slippery with your juices. Before he thrust into you, he leaned down and his hand circled around your knee, bringing your leg up to rest in a bent position on the table, pushing your hips back flat on the cool surface and opening your cunt up even more for him to look at and touch, his fingers ghosting over your twitching skin and lightly catching on your swollen clit, making you sob and buck again. “Mmm… You’re so perfect… This pussy is so perfect… This is now my property, do you understand that, pet?”

Without waiting for an answer, he groaned as he slowly worked his heavy girth into your sloppy, slobbery hole, the head of his cock popping past the tight ring of muscle and stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before. You moaned pathetically, your hips jerking back and your body threatening to climax just from him barely penetrating your quivering pussy.

“F-fuck, kitten, you’re so tight,” he choked and shuddered behind you, his fingers digging into the plush of your ass as he reeled from how hard you were clamped around just the tip of his length. “That’s it kitten, go ahead, cum for me,” one of his hands reached between your bodies and thumbed at your clit, thrusting shallowly to give you a little friction to help, planning to use your orgasm to slam home. The stimulation quickly sent you over the edge and into a shaking, spasming frenzy. With your arms bound behind your back, you had no way to muffle your cries as your little hole strangled his dick and pleasure whited out your vision. He immediately took advantage of your quivering, cockdrunk body, his hips thrusting forward before the euphoria of your orgasm could fade and sheathing himself in his entirety in your pulsing heat.

The sudden stretch of his heavy girth had you mewling and shuddering, the immediate overstimulation threatening to send you back into orbit. He stood still behind you, giving you time to get used to how his thick cock was stuffing your little hole full. You couldn’t help the way your hips jerked forward, your body shifting further onto the table as you tried to relieve some of the intense pressure overwhelming your senses. Soft whines fell from your lips as your only broken thoughts revolved around how deep his cock felt buried in your guts.

“Look at my dumb little kitten, thinking you can run from my cock,” his hands quickly grabbed your hips, dragging your body back to his as his dick twitched and flexed within you.

“T-too m-much,” you whimpered frantically, “p-please t-too much!”

“Shh, pet, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he cooed gently, pressing closer to your trembling body as he worked to calm you down, “you’re doing so good, kitten, you’re taking me so well and you feel absolutely amazing. Just breathe, sweetheart, I’m about to make you feel so good.”

As your shaking body started to relax, he continued to praise you in hushed tones, one of his hands staying wrapped around your hip as the other moved to grip your arm bindings holding you tightly in place as he started to drag his silky cock through your gummy walls, achingly slow and controlled. He very carefully built his rhythm, his strokes long and languid until you got used to his size and the stretch, your moans and sobs acting as his guide. It wasn’t long before he was pounding into your dribbling cunt, his thick length pressing against every sensitive spot inside of you and making you see stars every time his tip kissed your cervix.

“Ah- Ah- M’gonna… M’gonna…” You struggled to speak as your second orgasm built way more quickly than the first, the knot in your core threatening to snap after only a few seconds of his rough thrusting.

His only answer was his fingers finding your clit, rolling the little bud in tight circles as he kept up the demanding pace. You were almost immediately shoved off the edge of your peak and dropped into a churning sea of ecstasy, your back arching as you wailed your pleasure, your sloppy, little hole strangling his rutting cock.

He groaned loudly, but his pace never faltered, “Ngh, kitten, fuck, you feel so good…” Your response was another cry as again you hit another peak, euphoria tearing through you as he continued to stimulate your sensitive pussy, not giving a bit of respite as he chased his own pleasure. Shudders wracked your body, leaving you a dumb, drooling mess on the table as your cunt gushed around him over and over, soaking you both in your fluids. Big, fat tears traced their way down your cheeks as climax after climax rolled through you, stealing your breath and not allowing you to do anything except lay there and take the cock bullying into your trembling heat.

Panting as his own climax drew near, your model shifted behind you, his rhythm pausing as he wrapped one hand around your throat, lifting you bodily from the table and quietly directing you to place both knees on the surface to get you at the perfect height, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist to cage you to his chest as he began to sloppily fuck up into you. His crushing grip on your jaw did nothing to muffle your sobbing moans, your straddled legs keeping you spread wide open as his dick pounded into your cervix, making you see stars with every thrust. Pace picking back up, he tilted your head back onto his shoulder so he could look directly at your fucked out face, his own pupils blown wide with lust as he ran his tongue up your cheek, collecting the tears that still streaked down your skin, savoring the taste of your overstimulation.

“You’re doing so good, kitten, give me one more orgasm… We’re almost there… Just one more, pet, that’s my good girl,” he cooed against the shell of your ear, keeping eye contact, and probably very aware that you more than likely couldn’t even understand him with how absolutely obliterated you were. His pace finally broke down into jolting thrusts, each ending with a grind deep into your womb until finally you fell apart again.

Shaking and arched in a silent scream, your soul was evicted from your body with one last earth shattering orgasm. Your pussy clamped down tightly around his cock, milking him for all he was worth as he spilled his hot seed deep into your belly, the liquid heat painting your quivering walls as his dick twitched and flexed. His hips jerked a few more times, drawing out both of your climaxes until at last his softening length slid out of your used, sensitive cunt, spilling the lewd mixture of your fluids into the already messy puddle on the floor.

Carefully, he slowly lowered you to sit down on a clean spot of the floor, snagging his robe to place underneath your body so you weren’t in direct contact with the cold tile. He gently cupped your face, directing your gaze to his so he could judge your condition as he released your arms from the robe tie, making sure you made it back down from your high safely as he rubbed feeling back into wrists and hands. After your color was better and you had caught more of your breath, he left you to grab a few towels to clean up the mess on the floor and between your legs. You squirmed against him as the towel pressed against your sensitive flesh and he chuckled in your ear, holding you close to him as he continued to work, getting you as close to spotless as he could before helping your jellied limbs back into your clothes. Setting you back on the floor, not trusting you to stay in a chair yet, he threw back on the soiled robe, tying it closed so he could step out of the room for a few seconds or minutes, you weren’t really keeping track as you started to doze, exhaustion setting in. Before you knew it though, fingers were tapping against your cheek, bringing you back into consciousness to see your now fully clothed model kneeling in front of you.

“You okay, kitten?” He smiled, his fingers brushing across your skin, “you still look pretty fucked out and like you’re going to need help getting home.”

Your face immediately heated up, startled at the thought of this man, who just pounded the life out of you, escorting you to your dorm room, “N-no! I’ll make it back, thank you, but I’ll be- I am okay.”

Disbelief was written across his face, but he didn’t say anything as he watched you wobble to your feet like a fresh baby deer. That is until you tried to take your first step and all but collapsed into his arms. “Mhm, you’ll definitely make it back on your own,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before scooping you up into his arms and standing to his full height, “I’m getting you home, whether you want me to or not. Though I’m somewhat hurt that you don’t want me to make sure you arrive safely.”

You struggled in his grip, but gave up quite quickly after the stern look he gave you, “It’s not that I don’t want you to… I just don’t want to explain it to my roommate… You know, why a professor is seeing me to my dorm room safely and looking like this…” You indicated your rumpled appearance and wild hair, a fierce blush creeping from your cheeks, down your neck, and blooming across your chest.

He threw back his head with a bark of laughter, “I might have a solution for that. You’ve trusted me thus far… Would you be okay with me taking you to my home instead? I don’t live far and you can rest, shower, and straighten up before facing this roommate of yours.”

“Are you going to fuck me again?” You asked with a squeak, arousal blooming in your core at the thought of being alone in his house with him, though a hint of trepidation joined the mix at the thought of doing all of that again, you were tired and couldn’t really feel your legs as it was.

“If you want me to,” he answered with a grin and started carrying you out of the art room.

“Wait- my stuff!”

He didn’t even pause in his stride, “We’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll let your professor know that your things are there and I doubt anyone will bother with them.”

“B-but,” you started to protest.

At this, he did pause, “There is nothing you can say now that is going to stop me from taking care of you. I want to make sure after all of that, that you are okay. What we did was intense and I don’t want you to experience any sort of drop. I honestly don’t want to let you out of my sight at all. So please, kitten, let me make sure you are okay.”

You closed your mouth and he quietly carried you out of the building and to his car while you thought over his words. You were silent while he buckled you in and started the vehicle, pulling out and beginning the drive away from campus. After a few blocks, you turned and looked at his serious face, getting up the courage to speak.

“What if I want you to fuck me again?”

He only smiled.

#naruto fanfiction #madara x reader #madara uchiha #madara

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sansaorgana · 9 days ago

Text

— A CERTAIN TYPE OF WOMAN

🚨 This fanfic is a repost from 26 Jun 2022 from my different blog. I kept the Author's Note and everything from the fic the same as it was back then.

PAIRING — Jack Nelson x Wanda Weiss (OC)

SUMMARY — Jack comes to Chicago to make a business deal with Dean O’Banion. He doesn’t expect to fall in love with Hymie Weiss’ cousin but that lovely girl from the church is not as innocent as he might think.

AUTHOR’S NOTE [26 Jun 2022] — It’s written for @solomons-finest-rum 800 Followers Celebration and I chose a “It takes a certain type of woman to talk to a man the way you do” prompt + Jack. I wanted it to be with Tommy at first but the theme is related to the noir movies so I thought it would suit Jack better! I haven’t seen “Boardwalk Empire” (yet) so Dean O’Banion and Hymie Weiss are described based on the real people but the whole gangster plot in the background is very loosely based on real life events in general. My OC is Polish–American and I am aware of the fact this level of self-indulgence might discourage some people from reading but I am very proud of this story so I decided to post it anyway. It’s not in a chronological order so pay attention to the months before every scene!

WORD COUNT — 6,190

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

A CERTAIN TYPE OF WOMAN

CHICAGO UNION STATION, SEPTEMBER 1923

Wanda Weiss took a drag of her cigarette and leaned on the wall to watch all the busy people walking around in a hurry. She fixed the hat on her dark hair and squinted her eyes while looking for the man she had been there to meet with.

She spotted him eventually and raised her hand to wave at him. He was quite short and had curly black hair, full lips and golden rings on his fat fingers.

“I don’t have much time,” he started with an Italian accent. “What do you want, Wanda?”

“I have a message, Antonio,” she informed him in a casual manner.

“From your cousin?”

“Hymie says that your boss’ new friend from Boston gives a rise to an imbalance of power between the northern and southern Chicago. Don’t be surprised if we gain new friends in New York. Meyer Lansky might be interested,” Wanda told Antonio and he furrowed his brow. “You tell that to Scarface himself if you’re brave enough.”

“Lucky is the boss' friend,” Antonio swallowed thickly. “They won’t start a war because of some Polacks.”

“Don’t underestimate Lansky,” Wanda threw her cigarette on the ground and sighed while stepping on it with her shoe.

“But there’s some misunderstanding!” Antonio gesticulated and a few people turned around to look at them. “We don’t have any friends in Boston,” he lowered his voice.

“We know that Mr. Nelson is your business partner now,” Wanda gritted her teeth, trying not to show any emotion while mentioning Nelson’s surname.

“Mr. Nelson withdrew. We are not doing business with him,” Antonio shook his head and Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Why would he? Capone’s a good business partner for him. Lots of money,” she pointed out bitterly and took a glance at the huge clock to make sure she wouldn’t be too late for the bus to take her back home.

“He said he was withdrawing from the deal for personal reasons and that he doesn’t want to ever come to Chicago again,” Antonio chuckled nervously. “Sentimental guy he is. We think it’s about some woman.”

Wanda pressed her lips together to make a thin red line made of lipstick.

“Anyway, I have to go now. For the sake of your dumb cousin I will not repeat the message you have given me to my boss, you hear me, Wanda?”

She nodded and clenched her jaw.

“And congratulations on your wedding. When is it?” He put the black hat on his head that he had been holding in his hand all that time.

“Tomorrow.”

“You’re getting married tomorrow and you’re working as Hymie’s messenger today? Jesus,” Antonio let out a laugh. “Soon it’s gonna be over for you, doll. Your husband won’t ever allow that.”

“He won’t ever know.”

“Why are you doing this, huh? It’s a man’s world, what is so exciting about it for a girl like you?” Antonio furrowed his brow.

“Being a woman in a man’s world, Antonio,” she smirked and fixed his coat, “means that I can play as dirty as a man but none of you will hurt me because I’m just a woman.”

“Donna stupida (Stupid woman),” Antonio laughed and nodded before walking away.

“Stupida, stupida…” Wanda repeated the words that she could understand perfectly despite not being fluent in Italian. She took a deep breath in and stood at the end of the queue leading to the ticket office.

Perhaps indeed a stupid woman she was.

“Where to, Miss?” the woman sitting behind the desk asked her when it was finally her turn to buy a ticket.

“Boston, Massachusetts.”

NORTHERN CHICAGO, APRIL 1923

Jack Nelson visited Illinois to meet with Dean O’Banion, a fellow Irishman who ran the Northsiders gang in Chicago. O’Banion really wished for a deal with the Boston's King of bootlegging business, which would definitely help his position in the war against Al Capone and his Italian gang in the south of the city.

“It kind of makes me sad that Catholics kill each other in gang wars,” Jack noticed and took a drag of his cigar.

“Come on, Jack, them wops are not worth it,” Dean waved his hand dismissively while glancing at his watch.

“Who are we waiting for?”

“Hymie Weiss, he runs the business with me,” Dean explained.

“A Jew?” Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Nah, they gave him that stupid nickname but he’s Catholic like us. His name is Earl.”

“German surname,” Jack noticed.

“It’s not real. His family took this surname after coming to America but their real surname is something I won’t even try to repeat to you, Jack,” Dean laughed.

“Polish?”

“Yeah.”

Jack only nodded and waited patiently, eyeing Dean O’Banion up and down. He was short and plump, with thin lips and small eyes. He wasn’t an attractive man but when he smiled or laughed, he seemed to be kind and quite trustworthy – as much as a gangster could be.

The door opened rapidly and another man walked inside the kitchen of the house they had a meeting at. Jack assumed it was Earl “Hymie” Weiss.

That one was taller and looked more reckless – there was something wild in his eyes but he was objectively more handsome than his Irish friend despite his big ears.

“Finally!” Dean scolded him. “Earl, that’s Mr. Nelson of Boston…” he started.

“Nice to meet ya,” Hymie extended his hand and Jack stood up to shake it. “I have an hour.”

“An hour?” Jack raised an eyebrow and sat back down.

“Sunday mass starts in an hour.”

“You attend?”

Hymie put his hand into his pocket and took out his gun to place on the table. His rosary followed.

“I always have them with me,” he said seriously and Jack blinked a few times.

“Actually, I would attend the mass, too,” he only said.

“Alright, we can all go,” Dean nodded. “Let’s discuss the business first…?”

“That’s alright with me,” Jack nodded and watched Hymie Weiss hiding his gun and rosary back into his pocket.

THE DRAKE HOTEL, CHICAGO, AUGUST 1923

Jack Nelson was standing in front of the glass window and staring at the people outside running their evening errands. He took a sip of whiskey and raised the handset of a ringing telephone.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Nelson, there’s a woman here. She wants to see you,” he heard the receptionist’s voice on the other side.

“What woman?” he asked, although he knew perfectly well.

“She says her name is Wanda Weiss.”

“Let her come in,” Jack nodded and put the handset down. He squeezed the glass tighter and waited for the encounter that would probably be their last.

After a while he could hear a familiar sound of the short heels echoing through the hotel’s corridor. Wanda was a fast walker like she was constantly late or running away from something. Her heels were short because of that but also because she was quite tall for a woman and even without them she could look in the eye of many men. Not to mention her casual humble attire that was about to turn out to be nothing but a disguise.

She knocked and Jack put the glass down before fixing his tie and walking up to the door to open them.

There she stood in a beige dress and dark red shoes. She didn’t say a word, just kept staring at him with those huge dark eyes like she was trying to hypnotize him.

“Nice dress, pussycat,” he started, trying to hide his nervousness. “Why did you come here?”

“I was around and wanted to smoke but…” she took a cigarette out of her purse, “...I ain’t got no light. You got a lighter, Jack?” she asked and batted her eyelashes.

“Come inside,” he sighed and took a step back so she could enter the room. She looked around and threw her purse on the armchair.

Jack extended his hand with a lighter and lit her cigarette. She thanked him and walked over to the desk he had been occupying during his Chicago visit.

“So you’re doing business with Capone now,” she raised her eyes to lay them on him.

“Wanda, baby, you gotta understand,” he winced. He hated apologizing, he hated explaining himself like a school boy. Only a woman was able to make a man like him explain himself. “Capone’s gonna win this war between the gangs and I don’t side with losers. It’s strictly business, no offense,” he put his hands into the pockets of his trousers and she cocked an eyebrow.

“You son of a bitch,” she drawled out and Jack froze after hearing such words leaving that soft mouth of hers. She would give the sweetest kisses with it, sing the Bible hymns during the Sunday masses and whisper the most gentle words with those lips, making beautiful promises. But it was a disguise. Everything about her was a disguise apparently. “Capone’s not gonna win this war because he’s better. Now, he’s gonna win this war because he’s got you by his side. You are the one to dictate this war, Nelson. Whoever you side with wins and you are a traitor.”

“I chose what was the best for my business in Boston,” Jack angered. He didn’t want to get angry – not at her – but his temper was short and also her behavior was bringing the worst out of him. She wasn’t that soft woman he had remembered from their secret encounters.

“You’d rather side with the Italians than the Irish. O’Banion counted on you, so did my cousin. You had your deals already prepared,” she reminded him.

“How do you know so much about Hymie’s business, huh?” Jack approached the desk, too, and stood facing her with nothing but the wooden furniture between them.

“What do you care, Nelson?” she snorted.

“You know, doll, it takes a certain type of woman to talk to a man the way you do,” Jack pointed out.

“A whore?” she raised an eyebrow and he shut his mouth, taken aback by the question. “Only a whore is allowed to speak this way to a man, isn’t she? Because none of you ever care about any whore’s opinion but when a decent woman calls any of you a son of a bi–”

“Enough!” Jack interrupted her. “You’re no decent woman, Wanda. You lied to me. You talk to me like a common streetwalker and all this time you’ve been involved in your cousin’s business!”

“I have never lied to you, Jack,” she shook her head. “Just because I happen to help my cousin with his business, doesn’t mean that the girl you met at the church was not real. I have never lied to you. Never,” she emphasized. “You got used to them Irish women in Boston. Go back there, marry one of them. She’s gonna give you nine kids and look down whenever you speak, never interfere, never help with any advice. Obedient little thing. Us, my women, we are tougher.”

“Tougher how?” Jack shook his head and couldn’t help a little laugh at Wanda’s outburst of jealousy that made her cheeks turn pink.

“My parents and Earl’s parents came to America from a country that didn’t exist on the maps back then, you know, Jack? They came here hoping for a better life and what did they get, huh? You Irish always say you have it so bad here and I agree. The humiliation, the poverty, the constant reminder of being a filthy little working class Catholic,” Wanda’s eyes filled with rage as her fists clenched on the corners of the desk. “We know it, too. But you Irish, you have one thing easier than us.”

“Which is…?”

“You speak their language. No matter how much you deny it, you’re more their kin than us. Our language hurts their delicate ears, it’s barbarian and savage. My mother still doesn’t speak English and she never will but this is your language as much as theirs.”

“English is not my language!” Jack protested.

“Then say something in Irish to me,” she challenged him and crossed her arms but he couldn’t come up with anything. Wanda smirked. “Don’t talk to me about a certain type of woman, Nelson. You know nothing of the life I’ve lived here. The woman you met at that church could be me and she is still in me but I can’t be so naive if I want to survive in this world.”

Jack softened and walked over to her. She surprisingly didn’t flinch when he put his hands on her arms.

“You go back home, Jack,” she whispered softly, fighting her tears back. “We were never meant to be. It was a mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake, Wanda,” Jack caressed the sides of her arms.

“For men women are never mistakes, just adventures,” she pointed out and hissed at the burning pain. She looked down and noticed a cigarette burning her finger that she had forgotten about. She put it out in the ashtray and brought her hands to her lips to soothe the pain but Jack held it gently and pressed a kiss upon it.

“Will you be happy with him?”

“Happier than with you,” Wanda’s eyes sparkled with anger again and Jack furrowed his brow. “I hate you, Nelson, I hate you. You betrayed us and if you cared about me at least a bit you would never do that because… Because it might bring danger upon me, too. But you don’t care, you just want the money, you want prestige, you want… What do you want, exactly?” her voice calmed down and she ran her finger along the scar on his lip.

“Everything,” he answered.

“I wish I hated you enough to kill you,” she pushed him away and turned around to approach the armchair and take her purse.

Jack grabbed Wanda’s wrist and pulled her close to him again. She tried to fight back but she wasn’t strong enough to get free despite the fierceness.

“A woman…” Jack started while struggling to keep her in place.

“Let me go, you brute!”

“A woman who can hate with such passion and yet is so vulnerable… He doesn’t deserve you, that fool of yours. He doesn’t even know how to kiss ya,” Jack pressed his lips to Wanda’s and she gave up the fight, immediately returning the kiss back. Jack smirked and she stumbled but he held her strongly in his arms.

“You chose business, Jack,” she whispered after breaking the kiss and taking a deep breath in.

“So did you.”

“No, I chose my family,” she cleared her throat, grabbed her belongings and hurried out of the hotel room but Jack didn’t intend to chase her.

She was lost.

ST. STANISLAUS KOSTKA PARISH, CHICAGO, APRIL 1923

Jack and Dean wanted to stand in the back but Hymie sat in one of the front rows so they followed him recultantly. None of them understood much from the mass going on in a language so foreign, therefore Jack focused on looking around and admiring the art and architecture of the church.

He got bored after a while of doing so and he started to copy Hymie’s hand movements and kneel when the other one would kneel so he wouldn’t stand out too much. While staring at Weiss he noticed that a few times during the mass Hymie leaned in towards a young woman standing nearby and whispered something into her ear. She would push him and shake her head in response.

There was another man standing next to her. This one looked neat and he was focusing hard on his prayers. He was tall with broad, muscular shoulders and Jack noticed his hands were full of scars and little wounds. He had to work physically.

When the mass ended, the girl approached the priest and spoke to him before standing in the corner where the queue had formed.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked Weiss.

“Donations,” Hymie shrugged his arms. “My cousin is doing charity work here and collecting the money.”

“She’s your cousin?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, her name is Wanda,” Earl answered. “She’s getting married in September to this guy,” he pointed at the man Jack had spotted earlier. “Ted, he’s a mechanic, a good man. I found him for her.”

Jack thought for a moment and then he decided to stand at the end of the queue. Hymie and O’Banion looked at each other surprised before joining him.

“I want to make a donation,” Jack explained, already looking for his leather wallet inside the pocket of his coat and people around kept staring at him from the corner of their eyes. Not only was he a stranger but he was also the best dressed man there.

“You don’t have to,” Hymie chuckled nervosly. “Although it will be appreciated.”

“It’s a beautiful church.”

“Tell that to Wanda, it will make her happy,” Hymie rolled his eyes. “She helps to keep the place clean and neat.”

Jack’s heart softened at those words and then it was finally his turn to make a donation. He took a better look at the girl and he smiled.

Wanda Weiss had big dark eyes and dark hair combed neatly. She was wearing jewelry – after all her cousin was one of the gang leaders – but it was humble. Her dress was pastel pink, tight around the soft curves of her body and her shoes were white on a small heel, making her even taller than she naturally was but still way shorter than him. She smiled shyly at the sight of him and the world stopped for a moment for Jack Nelson.

“Nie widziałam Pana tutaj wcześniej, (I haven’t seen you here before, sir),” she started and the sound of a language so foreign was what brought Jack back to reality.

It was odd and it sounded harsh but for him it was like the angel’s greeting.

“Wanda, it’s Mr. Jack Nelson of Boston. He’s Irish,” Hymie introduced him. “We’re making business with him and he wanted to join us during the mass.”

“Oh, I see,” she switched the language and smiled at him even brighter than before. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Nelson.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he leaned in to place a kiss upon her hand and she blushed adorably. “I find this church beautiful.”

“Thank you. Churches are our pride, usually. That and vodka,” she giggled nervously.

“Speaking of, we need to start gathering the bottles for your wedding, am I right?” Hymie winked.

“Can we please not discuss such matters here?” Wanda’s eyes lost the sparkle.

“I would like to make a donation,” Jack changed the subject and she laid her dark eyes on him.

God, she was perfect, he thought. He barely knew her but he imagined her standing next to him during the masses inside the church back in Boston. Their arms intertwined, his wedding ring on her finger.

There were many women like her at the churches he had been going to but not a single one of them had this aura of innocence and fierceness at the same time. It had to be the fact that she wasn’t Irish or German but she was Polish and she had the fervor Jack had only witnessed in Italian women before. He had always had a soft spot for Italian women for that very reason but they usually ended up married to the fellow Italians who had enough patience to tame them. Wanda Weiss looked like she didn’t need taming because she knew perfectly well how to balance those two sides of her personality.

That, of course, was nothing but an image Jack Nelson had made inside of his head, based on nothing but his own assumptions.

“That is very kind of you, sir,” she smiled kindly but her hand was already extended in a quite demanding manner like every Catholic while gathering the money for their church. Jack chuckled at that and handed her a few bank notes from his wallet.

Wanda’s eyes widened at the sight as she squeezed them tight like she was afraid to lose them.

“I… That’s too much, Mr. Nelson, I cannot…” she didn’t know what to say. “I’ve never even seen such a big amount of money, yet alone held it,” she swallowed thickly.

“Don’t be stupid, take it,” Dean laughed and Jack nodded at her. Her cheeks turned pink and she hid the money into a basket she had been holding with all the donations.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Nelson. May God bless you with many children in return,” she added and Jack furrowed his brow at that but it was time for them to finally leave the queue.

“What did she mean by that?” Jack asked Hymie when they were going outside.

“It’s a Polish saying, don’t think about it,” Weiss shrugged his arms. “Alright, now we can go back to business…”

But Jack couldn’t focus on the business. Not on that day.

PULASKI PARK, CHICAGO, MAY 1923

Wanda Weiss was 25 and she lived with her parents in a house nearby the church and a Pulaski Park where she liked to spend her free time. She didn’t have a job, she was only helping around the church, therefore she had lots of free time but surprisingly she wasn’t spending it with her fiancé. His name was Ted Kowalczyk, he was a bit older than her and he was a mechanic living on the other side of a Polish district in Chicago. Hymie found him for her because he didn’t want her to end up as an old maid.

After gathering all that information from many sources, Jack decided to take a walk around Pulaski Park whenever he visited Chicago on business. On that sunny day he finally succeeded and saw Wanda walking out of the church.

Her hair was braided with a white ribbon and her skirt was humbly long but teasingly tight at the same time, which didn’t leave much room for imagination about the shape of her body. Jack approached her and took a hat off of his head to greet her.

“Miss Weiss,” he started and she stopped. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she swallowed thickly.

“Do we know each other?” she asked, scared.

“Mr. Nelson from Boston. I believe you remember the donation I left after one of the masses,” he reminded her nonchalantly.

“Oh!” she smiled widely. “Hymie’s business partner!”

“Well, not yet,” Jack put the hat back on his head. “I’m glad to see you again, Miss Weiss. I decided to take a walk around the park while waiting for your cousin and his friend but now I have company. Where are you heading to, may I ask?”

“Home,” she pointed at one of the houses and started to walk slowly. Jack followed.

“From what I remember you are getting married soon. Why isn’t he walking you home?” he decided to risk it all and ask a question so blunt.

“Who? Ted?” Wanda laughed and shook her head. “He’s working.”

“Usually men in love want to spend every moment with their sweetheart,” Jack smiled softly, teasing her to sell him more information for free.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that, too. What does it have in common with me and Ted?” she asked like she was genuinely surprised.

“You’re not marrying him out of love?” He pretended that he hadn’t known about it already.

“I shouldn’t tell you that but you’re not from here so what do I care… No, I am not,” Wanda sighed. “Hymie wants me to get married so I’m protected if something happens to him. My parents are happy, too, because I won’t end up as an old maid and he’s a hard working Polish man of faith. He’s not even an alcoholic. A good choice, you see,” she sneered.

“Why would you end up as an old maid?”

“I’m not as sweet as you might think,” she smiled at him slyly.

“Oh, no doubt,” Jack chuckled. “Does Ted love you?”

“He hasn’t even kissed me,” she laughed and then went serious again. “I think he agreed to marry me only because he’s scared of Hymie and because Hymie promised him his own workshop after the wedding,” Wanda shrugged her arms. “And what do you do, Mr. Nelson? Are you a bootlegger?” she asked bluntly but he couldn’t blame her after the questions he had asked her before.

“A bootlegger?” He pretended to be offended anyway.

“What else would you be with that handsome scar on your lip, making business with my cousin and O’Banion? So, are you?” she squinted her dark eyes.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On what do you think of bootleggers.”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less,” she shrugged her arms.

“Well, then, sure I am,” he stopped because they were already in front of her house. She hugged her own self with her arms and bit her lower lip before looking up to meet his gaze.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Nelson.”

“Just call me Jack,” he extended his hand.

“Jack…” she shook it and he swooned on the inside at how sweet his name had sounded while leaving her parted lips.

“I hope we will see each other again,” he said.

“No doubt,” she smiled and turned around to cross the street and go inside the house.

THE DRAKE HOTEL, CHICAGO, JUNE 1923

Hair strand after hair strand, Jack undid Wanda’s braid and was left alone with a soft, blue ribbon in his hand. Her hair was loose and now slightly curled, her eyes sparkled.

“So, do you like it?” he pointed at the liquor inside her glass.

“Oh, yeah. It’s so sweet…” she giggled, already a bit intoxicated.

“I knew you’d like it. We’re bootlegging it especially for the ladies,” he winked at her.

“Am I that predictable?” she teased.

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged his arms and put the ribbon down on the table before moving closer to her on the sofa. He still couldn’t believe she had agreed to come with him to the hotel.

“What are you doing?” she furrowed her brow and moved away a bit.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sounds exactly like you do,” she put the glass down and swallowed thickly.

“If I wanted a woman like that… I wouldn’t have to play all those games and give her a bottle of my finest liquor, you get me?” Jack blinked a few times.

“You sound like you get many girls, Jack,” she looked down.

“Oh, they’re just meaningless flings but a woman like you…” he moved closer once again but this time she didn’t move away. “...a woman like you is someone I’d want to marry one day,” he finished.

Wanda’s dark eyes suddenly became sober when she met his longing gaze.

“You can’t be serious, Jack,” she chuckled nervously.

“Dead serious, doll,” he fixed her ruffled hair. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

“I can be,” she teased.

“I wish I could steal you from him.”

“Then do. What has ever stopped you from stealing, Nelson?” she cocked an eyebrow and he pressed his lips to hers in a heated kiss. Wanda opened her mouth to kiss him back as their teeth clashed. She tilted her head and tickled his cheeks with her long eyelashes as he returned the favor.

“I can’t,” he broke the kiss and took a deep breath in. “I can’t corrupt you.”

“Corrupt me?” she chuckled and placed her hand on his chest. “Jack, Hymie really wants that deal. Make me a part of it.”

“It’s not right… I respect you too much for that,” he swallowed thickly.

“Buy Ted his workshop and he won’t say anything,” Wanda giggled but her eyes saddened.

“You deserve to be married to a man who would truly love you,” Jack caressed her cheek. “Who would cherish you, who would keep you at home in diamonds and furs.”

“Diamonds and furs? On me?!” she snorted and burst out in laughter. “Oh, Nelson, Nelson, you’re crazy!”

“Sure I’m crazy,” he nodded in response. “Crazy about you.”

“How crazy?” she crossed her arms, pretending to be unimpressed by his confession.

“So crazy I told my mother about you,” Jack leaned in to steal one more kiss from her surprised mouth. “So crazy I sometimes imagine a little girl sitting on my lap who would look just like you. Her big brown eyes looking up into mine, reminding me of her beautiful mother. She’d have me wrapped around her little finger,” he muttered and kissed her one more time and then another and another. She melted in his arms at those words.

“You’re sweeter than that liquor, Jack,” Wanda whispered.

“No, doll,” he began to place open mouth kisses on her neck and shoulders, “the sweetest thing in this room is you.”

NORTHERN CHICAGO, AUGUST 1923

When Wanda entered the house, Dean O’Banion and Hymie Weiss were sitting by the table and hunching over a map of Chicago.

“Co tam robicie? (What are you two doing?)” She asked her cousin and went to the kitchen to make herself some tea.

Hymie didn’t answer and when she came back with a mug of tea, their facial expressions were rather annoyed and a bit worried.

“Is everything alright?” she asked to make sure and furrowed her brow.

“We are trying to figure out how it’s gonna look now when the huge imbalance of power is coming to Chicago,” Dean explained and looked up at her. “We might need you to deliver the information…”

Wanda cocked an eyebrow. She knew why they were often using her as a messenger – as a woman she was untouchable. No reasonable gangster would hurt a humble, religious Polish girl. But at the same time she was smart and both Hymie and Dean knew it. She knew almost everything about their business because she often had good ideas.

“What information? What’s going on?” she chuckled nervously.

“Capone’s got a new friend,” Hymie explained and clenched his jaw. “That Nelson bastard betrayed us.”

“He will join Scarface’s bootlegging business in Chicago,” O’Banion nodded and lit himself a cigarette. “Supply him from Boston and all.”

Wanda felt like someone had just slapped her face but she had to keep her poker face on. Hymie and Dean had no idea about her secret encounters with Jack Nelson and now she kind of felt like a traitor as well.

But most of all she felt betrayed.

“That son of a bitch,” she muttered and took a sip of tea to hide her nervous face.

“I will contact Lansky in New York,” Hymie scratched his chin. “Wanda, I saw Ted today,” he changed the subject and laid his eyes on her.

“Hm?” she asked.

“He says you haven’t visited him in two weeks. He’s only seeing you at the masses these days. What’s going on? You’re plotting something up?” her cousin’s eyes squinted at her.

“No, I don’t. He’s working hard, I don’t want to interrupt him,” she shrugged her arms and put the mug down on the table. “I will marry him in two weeks as planned. I already have a dress prepared…” her voice broke a little. “I have to go…”

“Where?”

“To Ted,” she answered and left the house to take a deep breath in. Then she burst out into tears.

Jack was supposed to save her from the loveless marriage. He had promised to take her to Boston and take care of her. He had kept repeating all those sweet lies every woman wanted to hear – how much he had wanted to marry her and all that stuff.

Now she couldn’t stand a thought about him. She hated him and she hated herself even more for the fact that despite the hate caused by his betrayal, she still loved him.

She didn’t go to Ted's that evening. Her fiancé had to wait for the visit until the next day. She decided to visit Jack in his hotel and break things off. She wanted him to know what type of man he was in her eyes.

And what type of woman she was. The one he shouldn’t have crossed.

BOSTON, SEPTEMBER 1923

Jack Nelson was sitting behind his desk and staring at the wall in front of him with his fingers intertwined. He couldn’t focus on that day at all because all he could think of was Wanda Weiss in a white dress walking down the aisle of the St. Stanislaus Kostka Parish in Chicago to become Ted Kowalczyk’s wife.

He gritted his teeth at the sharping pain in his chest. He had never been expecting not being able to get the woman he would want to marry. Jack Nelson always got what he wanted. And out of all the possible exceptions to that rule… it had to be the woman he loved. Ironic.

At first he hadn’t expected it to hurt that much. After coming back to Boston he had tried to forget; surrounded himself with fine alcohol, bright businessmen and pretty women. Wanda had been always at the back of his mind, though.

The woman he had left in Chicago. The one for whom he had decided to withdraw from a lucrative deal. He had never done that before. He had never expected to do it for a woman.

He loved the duality of her, the challenge. How humble she’d look by his side during all the boring meetings with important people and how fierce she would be behind closed doors while fighting him, making love to him and helping him to build an empire.

A woman like her… marrying a simple mechanic. He couldn’t believe that.

“Mr. Nelson is busy!” he heard his secretary’s voice behind the door and furrowed his brow. He didn’t want any interruptions on that day. “What are you doing?! I’ve just told you that–”

The door opened rapidly and Jack blinked a few times, not being able to believe the sight in front of him. Wanda Weiss herself in ruffled hair under a wrinkled hat and a dress that looked like she had slept in it.

“Mr. Nelson, I’m terribly sorry!” the secretary followed her. “This madwoman–”

“Leave us alone, Jill,” Jack didn’t even look at her and she shut her mouth before looking down and leaving the room. “You married him?” he asked in a calm voice the moment the door shut closed.

“No,” Wanda’s answer was almost inaudible. Her eyes were widened and her hands trembled slightly. “I ran away. Yesterday I bought a ticket. It wasn’t planned, I just… I was at the Union Station, dealing with one of Hymie’s businesses… Spoke to that guy named Antonio, he told me about you withdrawing from the deal. He congratulated me on my wedding and I felt so sick, Jack… I felt so sick,” her voice broke and eyes filled with tears. His heart broke at that but he only furrowed his brow. “I have never minded much marrying without love, I thought I couldn’t count on anything else but yesterday it suddenly started to be unbearable… I thought I would rather let the train run over my back than marry Ted…”

“And what were you thinking, doll? Coming here and thinking what exactly would happen?” Jack chuckled nervously and leaned back on his armchair. Wanda’s lower lip trembled.

“I thought that… I thought that I would find you and that you would… That you would take care of me…” she sniffled like a child after realizing how naive it had been. “Was I a fool to think so, Jack?” she asked.

He couldn’t stand it anymore; he couldn’t stand her tears and a shaky voice, her fear and her uncertainty of his feelings towards her. He stood up rapidly and approached her to cup her face in his big hands. She only stood there, petrified.

“No,” he answered and leaned in to place a loving kiss on her shaky lips covered in a slightly smudged red lipstick after the whole night spent on a train on the way to her lover. “You’re many things but you’re not a fool, Wanda Nelson.”

MASTERLIST

#jack nelson x oc #peaky blinders oc #lilysfiction

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karasbroken · 13 days ago

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I'm American, so on top of work being very high pressure at the start of the year, my nation is in the throes of massive, toxic change. The desire to flee into fandom is there, but the energy to write posts or stories has been lacking. So apologies for not keeping up with my usual Farscape dithering.

But I did manage to write a whole scene over the last couple days. Small, and pointless, but complete. So I thought I'd share, even a day late.

Setup is that Aeryn and John have landed on a random planet because John wanted to and they're now walking down to the shoreline of a purple sea. The planet doesn't have a moon, so it doesn't have large wave activity (in addition to spinning faster than the Earth and other features that don't matter).

The beach, when they arrived, was even less impressive than it had looked at a distance. A wide flat plain of sand that sucked at their boots, with water streaming in and out in slow oscillations that barely warranted the name of wave.

The most interesting feature was a swarm of tall multi-legged insectoids traversing the shoreline. They proved to be robotic harvesters of some small, mud-dwelling creature, plucking them up, then storing or discarding them according to some unknown rubric. Like the airborne drones, the machines scattered at their approach, crept closer again after a micron, then resumed their work.

Aeryn scanned one of the rejected animals, whose red shells blended into the sands almost perfectly until overturned, revealing a mass of bright blue tendrils. Only Rigel would be able to eat it without exhaustive preparation. "Don't touch those," she commented over her shoulder. Their suits should withstand the acidity, but there was no reason to risk damage to hard to replace gloves.

Crichton only grunted an acknowledgment. After a quick check that the water had a tolerably low alkalinity--corrosive, but only at a very slow rate--he had immediately waded quite a distance into the sea, seemingly intent on figuring out how far he could go before the water deepened. He was crouched down now, face denches from the surface.

"If you get your faceplate cracked by some attacking alien, I can't guarantee I'll be able to carry you back to your module before this air damages your lungs."

That got his attention. "Carry me?" He looked past her, in the direction of his module, only the top edge of it still in sight. "Could you really carry me that far?"

"If I had to. Don't make me have to."

"Don't be such an anxious skin protrusion." He slapped the water with one gloved hand, then scooped a little up in his palms, looking closely at it again. "There doesn't seem to be a large variety of aquatic animals here, and it's still too shallow for anything big. But I think I know why the ocean is purple."

"Skin protrusion?" Aeryn asked, apparently not coldly enough to reclaim his attention.

"It's algee! Single-celled, but the water is full of it."

Aeryn stooped down to stare at the water too, feeling foolish. It just looked purple to her. "I don't see anything."

"They're too small for the naked eye, but you can see them with the oculars. Man, I wish I had something to take a sample. I wonder if they're the same as Earth…"

It had never even occurred to Aeryn that the oculars could be used on something so small. That they could be used to magnify at all. She didn't remember any training on that. "Why do you need a sample?" she asked, trying to focus the oculars on the water, and only getting a closer view of the deep red sand beneath.

"Just to study. I'm no life scientist, but this stuff is interesting! And before you ask, no, not study to make medicine, or a weapon, or food. I just want to know how they work." John stood up straight again, gesticulating around him. "All this stuff, everything, all the time is a bizarre mixture of things I understand, that are familiar, like beaches and shell-fish and farms. And things that I don't. I know you're blind to the mysteries of the universe, but some of us like to see."

That felt like a pointed jab at her inability to focus the oculars, but she didn't respond, just pulled the medpack out of her belt pocket, janked out an empty syringe, and activated it to suck up some of the purple water. Then she handed it to him. "You have a sample, satisfied?"

"Uh… yeah." He took the syringe, holding it up to the sun, and shaking it a little. "Thanks."

"Don't lose it," Aeryn started wading back to the beach. "If we bring back some microscopic alien and get sick, Zhaan will need it to try to save us."

#farscape #wip wednesday #fanfiction #series: unfamiliar idioms

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batsplat · 3 months ago

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have you ever done a ranking of your fav vale podium celebrations (or celebrations in general)? Would love to hear your thoughts <3

I love ranking dumb things so I HAVE done this, years ago actually, but I've not posted it on here! going over my list and I stand by the order with two minor alterations. I won't just limit my picks to podium celebrations but WILL exclude all his title-winning celebrations, because that feels like its own thing. so here goes

next off list *deep breath*: first win, brno '96 (so thrilled he almost rode into the wall, bless); playing the violin, donington '05 (just slaps idk man); bowling, jerez '07 (cute but also kinda funny in hindsight given how the rest of the season played out); hazing your baby teammate, catalunya '09 (like it's not even anything specific it's just SO hammy); superman, assen '97 (jorge martinez saw that shit and was like ENOUGH I need to retire NOW); bike medical check, catalunya '04 (endearingly corny and quietly ominous); 46 yamaha wins, sepang 2010 (delightfully stupid dick measuring contest with jorge); serving the champagne, brno '05 (it's silly and it's sweet, especially uccio correcting valentino's tea towel placement); beachwear, mugello '98 (this one HURT to leave out, not least because of the poor veteran valentino was upstaging)

and here's my actual top ten:

10. empty grandstands, andalusia 2020

idk this one's just so quintessentially valentino to me; I'm glad he had something fun like this for his very last podium. he parks the bike on the side of the track, gets up on... whatever you call those things, barriers? and then he wildly gesticulates in celebration at an entirely empty grandstand at the height of the pandemic as if he's being serenaded by fans. I like that it was at jerez too, feels like a full circle moment for a celebration featured later on the list - one that's also about like... subverting expectations in 'communicating' with the 'crowd'. it's just so FUN, the vibes were incredibly off back then (to put it mildly) but he did his thing and it did low key cheer me up at the time. which is the classic valentino magic, isn't it

9. tricked them all, welkom 2004

another one of the simpler, more spontaneous celebrations - valentino stopping at the side of the track after winning his first ever race with yamaha. he kisses the bike, he briefly sits down and buries his head in his hands. the commentary thinks he is crying, overcome by the magnitude of what he achieved - but in his autobiography he says he was laughing (x)

“So I was right!” I thought to myself. “I can’t believe it, I tricked them all, what a show!” I kept repeating.

it's just such a pivotal valentino moment... and in its own way, it's a very memorable celebration. an intimate *cough* moment with the bike, a genuine outpouring of emotion from a man who had won pretty much everything there was to win the last few years... but was now attempting to achieve something almost nobody thought he'd be capable of. he WAS right, he DID trick them all - and he certainly put on a show

8. robin hood, donington 1998

listen. I'm a lesbian. this gets as high up the list as it does on sheer concentrated power of lesbianism. I don't even have a lot to say about this one, I just think it's neat how he was winning everything and also winning everyone over while swanning around like THAT. valentino charmed his way into the hearts of the british to such an extent that they would terrorise anyone who looked at him wrong for the next decade plus, and it all started with some remarkably dyke-coded behaviour. look at him with his cap and his bow and his arrow. no wonder he had them all eating out of his hand

7. chicken, catalunya 1998

redefined commitment to the bit. everything about his whole 'inventing a fake sponsor to fuck with the press' saga is obviously just. excellent. all the comedy hijinks where they're getting someone to act as osvaldo and trying to continue stringing the sceptical press along... something about how he managed to still treat the whole thing as a game, still had fun with his friends, didn't take himself too seriously. obviously this celebration is a culmination of sorts of that whole ploy - valentino riding around with his imaginary chicken sponsor to the delight of the crowds. I'm always a fan of a recurring bit, so I also like the continued chicken-themed celebrations over the years. let him be a silly little guy y'know

6. speeding ticket, mugello 2002

this one is just pure camp. what can you even say. like it's such an annoying lame bit that crosses the line again to be incredibly funny, classic valentino style. this race set off valentino's mugello streak after he'd crashed out of his home race in 2001... also low key the speeding ticket was a good idea, given it kept valentino away from a rather dangerous track invasion where one rider was dragged off his bike. so he just stayed out of trouble, did his silly camp theatrics and continued to rack up wins at the circuit for the next six years. so deeply lame. bless

5. portaloo, jerez 1999

this one I confess I didn't really Get when I read about it the first time. kinda went... okay, that's cute, but I also don't really know what the point is. so it's been a bit of a slow burn for me. think it's one that helps to actually watch and then read a bit about the crowd reaction... it's just a classic case of subverting expectations, right. this entire crowd is going nuts at your victory, you're known for your zany post-race celebrations, and then you just... dive into the portaloo. he has to sell it too, I reckon, like it just wouldn't work the same way without his earnest little dash. and so the crowd goes quiet - until erupting with even more volume once he emerges. just that feel for engaging the crowd... for toying with them and winning them over all the more as a result

4. donkey ears, misano 2009

huh, this one really has snuck up the order for me. idk I just find everything about it annoyingly endearing. I like how valentino was willing to take the piss out of himself after his indy crash (which he very much should because it was extremely stupid). I like how he showed up to his home race with a donkey helmet because he'd been such an idiot. it's a tense moment in the championship given that the indy crash having very much reopened the contest. so you've got valentino really committing to this playful way of bouncing back from an embarrassing failure... smart too! it takes the sting out of things, right, just defuses the optics of his big error by gently mocking himself

The donkey is because I was stupid to crash at Indy. [...] [In this race] I was in trouble, I found myself fourth and I didn't feel confident with a full tank. So I took my time to put some more temperature in the tyres and then I attacked. Today, I was the flying donkey!"

I like how he gets his crew to wear donkey ears to greet him in parc fermé. I LOVE him mock-formally shaking the hands of his team - including obviously with luca - before giving them all a proper hug. unfortunately just unavoidably very sweet. and I like him imitating donkey ears to the camera

and OBVIOUSLY I love him putting on those bloody donkey ears for the actual podium. the way he gets down onto his knees in front of the adoring crowd. wonderfully annoying

just something about these later celebrations, when he wasn't doing them as often anymore,,, it's almost strategically recapturing that sense of whimsy, right - using this old part of his repertoire to regain a measure of authorial control. helps bring to the forefront what the celebrations are actually doing for him in practical competitive terms, what he's getting out of them beyond just having a laff. and of course I love how big a fan of these celebrations jorge is (x, x):

Rossi's donkey. At Misano my Captain America was replaced on track by Rossi’s donkey - the one he put on his helmet and the ears he wore onto the podium. It is one of the funniest celebrations I have seen Valentino do and I laughed when I saw him get the helmet out. He is an expert at turning things around, and that wasn’t the only occasion he put that talent to good use this weekend. On the podium he tried to hush the fans who were whistling at me. Personally I saw their reaction as normal because they were defending one of their own.

one of THE key moments you need to get their dynamic imo. jorge understands exactly what valentino is doing here and they're in the middle of a title fight and jorge really does think it's GREAT. it's sort of the precursor to the misano fish helmet to aragon shark fin 2015 dynamic, right, where jorge is such a keen student of valentino's... and he also is so determined to be magnanimous and honourable and all that other stuff - which is why him glazing the celebrations makes it all the way to his biography. and the helmet makes him laugh, because it's funny! jorge might know what valentino's game is, might be taking notes on exactly what he's doing - but nobody's completely immune

and now *drum roll* my top three in just. a little more detail:

3. kissing the corkscrew, laguna seca 2008

okay, picture this. you are currently leading the championship, but your main rival (who kicked your arse the previous year) has won three races in a row and is steadily closing in on your points tally. he's doing his thing again all weekend, looks ridiculously dominant to the point pretty much everyone is framing this race as a fight for second place. you spend the night before the race plotting and scheming how to make up the difference, and you tell your best friend you will not let your rival win the race whatever happens - even if the both of you have to crash. you go out there and - with all your cunning and guile and ruthlessness - somehow prove yourself capable of hanging with your rival as you gradually infuriate him. on lap four, you plunge down a terrifying blind corner and go off-track as you make an overtake, bumping into your rival and only by some miracle keeping the bike upright. around twenty laps later, you finally break your rival and manage to tease an error out of him that makes him tip the bike into the gravel. you ride the remaining laps in utter tranquillity - not only are you under no threat, but the two of you ran so ferocious a pace that your rival can finish in second even after crashing. you win the race. the championship momentum is back on your side and you have finally managed to drag down your toughest rival down to your level. you know just how much he will have hated that. so, what do you do to commemorate this moment? well, of course you go back to said terrifying blind corner where you almost crashed on lap four of 32. you get off your bike. and you kiss the ground

idk, there's just something beautiful about the presence of mind valentino had to have in order to know that this overtake would be the defining image of the race - to pay tribute to it immediately and reinforce the memorability of that moment in everyone's heads. was he thinking about doing this while cruising home to victory? planning it out while the laps pass by? or was it really just a spur of the moment thing? it's my favourite of the spontaneous celebrations - because of course it could only ever be spontaneous, because he never could have expected to win that race, and certainly not in such a memorable fashion

and then the second part of the celebrations: how valentino decides to really, really, really rub it in. these are for my money quite possibly the most triumphalist celebrations of valentino's premier class career (catalunya 2009 is the only one in the same league), to the point where the eurosport commentators commented on how unusual it was for valentino. back in the day, during his prime, he really did go for a bit more of a cheery but cool tone for his celebrations - almost as if minimising the effort it took to take the win. all just a bit of a laugh, right? no ecstatic fist pumping on the bike, no sign that the victory had ever been in doubt... but here, valentino goes all in. he makes no secret of how delighted he is, no secret of just how much he loved beating casey. interrupts casey during his post-race tv interview in front of lurking cameras and microphone, grins his way through parc fermé and the podium. no playing sly here - he's making a point to savour it. and in commemorating the most memorable moment of the race, in getting a rise out of casey, valentino has gotten exactly what he wanted. together with the race itself, it is this post-race theatre that changes the complexion of the season, that has helped immortalise the episode

which very much includes all the ways valentino interacts with casey directly! the way valentino just REFUSES to leave well enough alone and keeps nagging casey while casey is trying so, so, so hard to not say something he will come to regret in the coming weeks. a task he is ultimately unsuccessful at, but my god is it a brave effort to not strangle valentino then and there. it's fantastic stuff because it's also a pattern of behaviour reserved entirely for casey - latching onto his defeated rival is NOT actually part of the valentino rossi playbook. the closest he gets is interrupting jorge's tv interview too in catalunya 2009 (which is how you know it's a deliberate ploy lol), but after that if anything it's jorge who is initiating communication...

whereas at laguna, obviously casey has less than zero desire to talk to valentino. and obviously valentino is 100% aware of this. valentino usually isn't the sort to get in someone's face like this when he knows they're pissed off at him - he's more the avoidant type - but he makes an exception for casey. partly it'll be because he knows casey isn't doing himself any favours with his on-camera behaviour, partly because it's his chance to twist in the knife and make the experience as hellish as possible for casey - but partly I reckon he's just getting a genuine kick out of casey's reactions. beautiful, isn't it

hell. hell! hell <3

2. prisoner of your own success, brno 2003

look, I've yapped extensively enough about this celebration by now that there's probably not much new for me to say. to make an analogy circa two people reading this will appreciate, you know that episode in revolutionary girl utena where a flashing pointing finger directing the viewer's attention to the symbolically important objects on screen? this is valentino's in-universe equivalent. flexing those authorial muscles to make everyone aware of The Themes. something charming about how it's like. zero subtlety. just valentino turning to the camera and explaining to you, the audience, what character arc he's currently undergoing. you see, he's unhappy at honda - he's feeling trapped, if you will. like his individuality is being suppressed. he had a big cock-up at the sachsenring that made him reevaluate how he tactically approached races - from now on he'd be "taking no prisoners". he feels the media is being too harsh on him, almost as if they're punishing him for how dominant he was the past. which would make him a 'prisoner of his own success'. if you will

here's a post that just like,, has a few relevant quotes from the commentary and the autobiography and all that. key detail about that weekend is that after sulking/partying with his title rival on ibiza during the summer break, valentino shows up to the paddock with his snazzy new hairdo. which obviously the commentators speculate during the race is a form of mind games

dyeing my hair red to psych out the competition. like a pro. the race itself is obviously fantastic, but I love that he had celebrations this elaborate planned out for a race he won by *checks notes* .042 seconds. I mean. come on, could've easily gone wrong. in the end, however, valentino plot armoured his way to reversing the defeat from a few weeks prior - and immediately does this whole chain gang routine, which is just another elite camp bit. and crucially it's also a bit of a throwback! the planned celebrations had petered out a little at this stage of his career, as if he'd grown out of them... both the hair and the celebrations are recapturing his wild lesbian youth from the days before he became a honda factory man

he's got to break free, you see, got to express his identity again. and "prisoner of my own success" is just. such a funny phrase. deeply insufferable. the way he carries that stupid ball and chain around with him, on the bike and off it... how sete has a kick at it during the podium ceremony... how valentino's still holding that blasted thing mid-champagne spray...

open wide

valentino brings back the celebrations later that year when he seals the title - carried aloft by fans dressed in convicts' garb while sporting a massive novelty lock and key. back in brno, he had told yamaha under the cover of night that he would sign for them. when he seals the title, his last for honda, he is freed from the expectations of the press and the fans that had been weighing on him all year. he is about to liberate himself from honda. the novelty lock is now open... whatever that might symbolise. and the following year is about truly embracing his own identity, for better and for worse. beyond being a fun celebration, it functions as a neat little thematic road map for what's to come. plot significant celebration. imagine having plot significant celebrations

1. sweeping the grid, sepang 2004

sue me, I'm horrible, but this one will always come top of the pile for me. this is another one I've talked about way too much by this point - but to me it really is the definitive marriage of joy and cruelty that valentino so thoroughly embodies. he's having fun! coming up with a little joke with his team :) but of course the whole thing is also incredibly, shamelessly malicious. valentino is obviously on one that entire weekend... or, well, he's on one that entire month tbh. he's already exhibited some generational malice in the press conference that started off proceedings, he's doing his thing that entire weekend to unsettle poor sete as much as possible - and eventually he wins the race in reasonably straightforward fashion

which in itself is already enough to swing the title fight back to being basically wrapped up (though I'd still advise keeping the risky last lap phillip island lunges to a minimum, but you do you), so you'd think that'd be job done. except valentino is still feeling furious and vengeful towards both sete and honda. so after blatantly ignoring sete's outstretched hand on the cooldown lap (to the surprise of one of the commentators, who said such unsportsmanlike behaviour was unlike valentino - which... buddy), valentino then stops at the side of the road for another one of his fun little celebrations. this time, it's reenacting the sweeping of the grid that had given him that nasty back-of-the-grid penalty the week before

similarly to misano 2009, what valentino's doing is defanging his own mistake from the previous week - he's reducing its power, drawing attention away from the self-inflicted nature of his precarious championship situation, making his setbacks into jokes better than anyone else can. except unlike in 2009, valentino does not primarily blame himself for his recent humiliation. valentino's pre-planned celebrations are generally about himself, not his rivals - but he makes an exception here to mock sete and honda. to show them that nothing is forgiven. the sete rivalry is about valentino gaining more agency in his story, including in torturing his rivals, so it feels right that this gleeful malice really comes to the fore here too. I didn't include jerez 2005 in this post because that's more... valentino reacting to the crowd in his celebrations rather than doing his own thing (though obviously I'm also a massive massive fan of that energy and dearly wish valentino had been booed more often). and well, that's the same vibe of valentino just relishing how much torment he was causing sete, the spanish crowd... the fourth wall break when he's mocking sete's injury, just properly embracing the nastier side of his celebrations. joy and cruelty, cruelty and joy - these two things were never really in opposition to each other for valentino

and just to mention my favourite detail, the cleaning company valentino and co invent to 'eliminate dirt from the world championship':

as in, they're cleaning starting grids... but they're also taking action against dirty rats. naming no names. lovely, isn't it

the whole thing's mean-spirited to a somewhat cartoonish extent - especially when you consider what a tight timeline they were on here. seven days between qatar and sepang, both flyaway races, like logistically it's honestly kinda impressive they made this happen. what the power of spite will do for you, I suppose. I also love that jb has one of these shirts. I love jb being completely ride-or-die in getting revenge on sete, helpfully commenting that it's dangerous to piss valentino off. watch out :) get yourself a crew chief who will enable you in psychologically torturing your opponents

and, remember, all this came in the third-to-last round of a tight title fight!! with a slender fourteen point lead in the championship, a mere week in between races including quickly nipping back to italy to attempt to address the hole in his finger... and valentino's spending his time coming up with custom shirts to take the piss out of his enemies? fantastic sense of priorities, 10/10 no notes

#underrated bit of jerez '05 is when they interview jb live on air and he fully goes 'yeah i didn't see what happened in the last corner :)'#like it just adds something vale ended up with a crew chief who's also so messyyyy idk... the stuff he used to say about jorge/casey/dani #theyre always saying how no nonsense this lad is and he's letting his charge brainstorm mean shirt ideas at the back end of the title fight #//#brr brr #clown tag #batsplat responds

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