#but I will live. I will grab this life and hold onto it and force it to bend to my will
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#tag talk#I think I have a secret third identity which is “I never asked for any of this shit”#and they really just exist online like right now when I have no better way to express myself#conscientious objector#anyway I finally did a full shower and I'm dysphoric as hell and dissociating so fucking bad oughhfghtggggg I kinda wish I were dead but#but I'm so far past the point in my life where dying was an option so I'm stuck like this#two or three wildly broken identities in a fucking trench coat that fits all wrong#I'm stuck like this and I don't have an out I just wish I weren't like this I wish I weren't like this I wish I weren't like this#next year I really need to push for surgery because my current insurance sucks and I had the chance to pick a good one and I fucked up#so I'm stuck like this until next year cause I'm unguided. I was gonna say stupid but that's not true. I don't know what I'm doing but#but that's not stupidity. it's not my fault I'm doing this alone without the support I should have had my whole life#not my fault I've been abused and neglected and forced to live isolated in my own mind#it's not my fault it's not my fault it's not my fucking fault#but I will live. I will grab this life and hold onto it and force it to bend to my will#I am strong and I will survive and I will find happiness and if there's none to find I will craft it with my own spirit#I refuse to break again.
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tornadoes aren't more important than you
tyler owens (twisters) x reader
words: 1.5k
warnings: pregnant!reader, married!reader, established relationship
“be careful, yeah?” you place your hands on tylers cheeks, tilting his head down to look you in the eye.
“i wish you could come with me.” tyler sighs, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours, his cowboy hat tipping upwards and off his head, clattering onto the hardwood.
“i know.” you miss it. the excitement, the fear, the anticipation of storm chasing. “but i don't think the baby would like me getting whipped around.”
tyler chuckles and presses his hands to your stomach, fully showing now that you've reached six months.
“im gonna be safe and im gonna be back home to you real soon.” tyler kisses you deeply, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you in close.
“uh, not to interrupt-”
“you are interrupting, boone.” tyler looks up at him as he stands in the open doorway, trucks filling the driveway.
“we were just finishing saying goodbye.” you raise to your tiptoes and give tyler one more peck.
“i love you.” you whisper against your husbands lips.
“i love you, baby.”
“ew.” boones nose scrunches up, still somehow not used to seeing you kiss despite being married for a year now.
“you stay safe too boone.” you point at him, watching as they head out the door and pile in the trucks.
you wave goodbye to everyone, tyler getting in last as he tips his hat he grabbed off the floor towards you, a silent promise to come back home.
you sigh as you watch them pull away, hand stroking over your belly as the trucks disappear in a cloud of dirt. “it's okay.” you whisper to the baby, but it's mostly for yourself. “daddy will be back.”
--
“hey.” you answer the phone with a smile on your face. “i watched the live stream.”
“pretty fucking cool huh?”
“pretty cool that you let boone drive the rig.” you chuckle, knowing tyler did that specifically for you, to show you that he can let others take the lead, let them be the one to drive into the tornado.
“how's my baby doing?” tyler asks, ignoring your teasing.
“which one?” you giggle, laying a hand on your stomach. “im good, baby is kicking a lot though.”
“put me on speaker.” tyler requests. you roll your eyes but still turn the volume up and hold the speaker up to your belly.
“it's daddy.” tylers voice is half strict and half high baby voice. “you better stop giving your mama grief when im not there to help her. behave for just a bit longer, buddy.”
“i hope he listens to you.” you shake your head, bringing the phone back up. “how's the storms looking for tomorrow?”
“tracking a couple cells.” tyler confirms. “im coming home friday no matter what they look like over the weekend.”
“mhm, sure.” you roll your eyes, although you don't doubt it. now that you're pregnant, tyler is even more protective over you. he knows you can handle anything, but that doesn't mean he's going to force you to do it all on your own.
“i will. already miss that pretty face baby.” his country twang is music to your ears as you hum out.
“i miss you too. miss kissing your lips.”
“you're killing me, sugar.” tyler groans. you hear dani shouting something in the background.
“i-”
“you gotta go. i know. love you.”
“love you more, darling.”
--
you have tylers livestream on in the background as you clean the house, feeling the urge to nest and get everything prepared before you're too pregnant to do anything, and tyler certainly wouldn't let you lift a finger when hes home.
you always dreamt of a beautiful old farmhouse like this all your life, but before you could move in tyler insisted on building a proper storm shelter to keep you safe.
you unpack some of the boxes of things you bought for the baby's room, sticking to yellows and oranges to keep everything brightly colored and cohesive, in contrast to the darkening sky.
you're not right in the path of tornados, but they have been known to swing up and hit the closest town every couple years.
you know the cloudy sky is just a result of all the activity further to the west where your husband currently is.
you look back to your phone, watching for a moment as his handsome face turns to look out the window. you can see the reflection of the twister in his eyes, a mix of awe struck and fear that any man within his right mind would feel.
“god-” you look up to the ceiling. you're not the biggest believer, but growing up in the south has you always reverting to whispering a prayer. “keep my husband safe.”
--
you let out a yawn as you adjust, not knowing for sure the sound that woke you up until you hear it again, your cellphone vibrating on the nightstand.
“hello?” your voice is groggy as you answer. you didn't bother to look at the contact name, there's only one person who would be calling you at this hour. “tyler?”
“baby, get to the storm shelter right now.”
“what?” the words have you instantly awake, hopping to your feet and looking out the window of your second story bedroom. “it looks fine.”
“im- just trust me! are you going?” you can hear the nerves in tyler's voice as well as the roaring of his truck no doubt speeding down the road.
“yes.” you confirm, grabbing one of tylers sweatshirts and slipping it over your head before finding a pair of shoes. “im going down the stairs right now.”
the second you step outside, you can feel the shift in the air.
“im tracking it on the data. we reported it but they said it's not on their maps as if our equipment isn't ten years newer.”
you listen to tylers rant as you round the house to pull open the storm shelter doors. it's not a glamorous area, small and tight but completely concrete and filled with a couple boxes of supplies.
“im in the shelter, ty.” you reassure him as you close the latch. “im safe. the babys safe.”
“it's building.” tyler says, no doubt looking at the radar or getting reports fed to him from boone. “im coming home to you, ill be there in two hours. fuck it, make it an hour and a half.”
“it's wednesday.” you state, although its just after midnight so technically thursday. “you said you weren't coming home until friday.”
“that was before a torando was gonna hit you. baby, i don't want you to go through this alone when you're pregnant.”
“ill be fine.” you reassure tyler. “but if you want to come back and make sure, you're more than welcome. like i said, i miss your lips.”
“gonna give you lots of kisses to make up for being gone.”
“i won't argue with that.” your phone beeps and you pull it away from your ear to realize you're losing service. “i think we are going to disconnect soon.”
“stay on as long as you possibly can.”
you try, but your phone beeps again and the call drops out.
sitting alone in the darkness heightens your other senses, feeling the cold air sneaking in through every available crack as your ears pick up the sound of the wind roaring.
you close your eyes and press your hands against your stomach, softly singing a nursery rhyme that your mother sung to you when you were a baby, your eyes sliding closed as you fall back asleep.
--
you're startled awake suddenly as the door rips open, only for tyler to quickly enter.
“is it over?” you ask, standing up and wobbling slightly. tyler grabs your hips, holding you up and looking at you up and down, his eyes examining you. you watch the stress and fear and anxiety melt away to be replaced with softness and love.
“it's over.” he confirms, tugging you in close.
“the house?”
“a busted window and a downed tree blocking the driveway. that's all.” tyler presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent.
“wasn't bad then.” you wrap your arms around his waist, enjoying the warm embrace.
“no, but i got so fucking scared knowing you were here all alone.” tyler pulls away only to help you up the stairs, hating seeing you confined to the shelter even if it is to keep you safe.
“i just… i can't do this while you're pregnant. i can't leave you here, or anywhere, alone knowing something could happen to you.”
tyler pulls his phone out of his pocket and navigates to his youtube channel, going live and waiting for a couple users to join.
he holds the camera up so he can see himself and you, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.
“as you folks know, my lovely wife here is pregnant with our first child. as much as i love tornado wrangling, i love my girl more. for the next six months im going to be taking a step back, but don't unsubscribe, boone is taking over to keep the excitement coming.”
he doesn't even say goodbye, simply ending the livestream, knowing one of his followers surely recorded it to spread the news around.
“ty, you didn't have to do that.”
“yes, i did.” tyler bends down to lift you up, carrying you across the threshold of your house just like he did the day you got married. “im gonna be with you throughout everything. tornados aren't more important than you.”
#this is purely self insert#like theres truly no reason for me to publish this when its just my fantasy#tyler owens fic#tyler owens fanfic#tyler owens fanction#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens x you#tyler owens x y/n#tyler owens x oc#tyler owens imagine#tyler owens drabble#tyler owens one shot#tyler owens blurb#tyler owens twisters
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ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ
gojo satoru rarely takes his glasses off. in his own world of infinity, you suppose real life is somewhat boring.
you couldn't be more wrong.
you're sitting across from gojo, a jacuzzi separating you. he has dipped his feet into the pool of clear water, the ripples cascading to your legs. noticing them, he looks up.
the first thing he thinks is woah.
the sight of you in a bathing suit stuns him temporarily, his heart clattering faster. but he musters up a cocky smile before strolling forward, putting on his black sunglasses, imitating one of those old men in sunnies staring down at you.
"arrived early, did we?"
you hum, craning your head up. your hand finds his neck, pulling his lips onto yours with a smile.
"you got me." your fingers catch his lightless specs and pull them from his ears. "let me see you."
you don't know what you're doing to him right now. he chuckles, rubbing his nape with a hint of awkwardness, when all he wants to do is take you in right there. he's never been in a relationship before, so he doesn't know if he can check you out so freely.
"you miss me so much?" he teases, though on the inside he's screaming.
goddammit, why did you take his glasses? he forces his gaze on your face- breathtaking, yes, but hardly the only thing that's begging his attention. he tries to keep his stare minimal, yet his lips part unconsciously. he stares at the only partial alternative to satiating his want: your lips.
noticing your boyfriend's gaze, a devilish idea pops into your head.
after geto and shoko arrive, the four of you talk casually in the relaxing hot water. gojo resumes his usual cocky self. an hour or so passes before you decide to switch to the living room.
"gojo, do you know where's the bathroom? i wanna shower."
wet feet plopping in tow through the winding hallways, you feel his gaze boring into the back of your skull. but as you enter, he stops by the door. you turn around, feigning oblivious.
"can you grab me a towel?"
ever eager to please, gojo quickly strides down the hallway for a towel, while you strip and enter the shower. when he comes back, listening to the sound of water, he waits by the door.
"gojo, pass the towel," you call.
he's so glad you don't have the six eyes right now, because he can feel his cursed energy spiralling. "w-what?"
"i said, pass me the towel."
his eyes widen. hovering over the doorknob, he swallows his other thoughts, shuffling into the bathroom, one feet after another, gaze pasted onto the floor.
your hand comes out, waving as though you have no idea where he is. he shoves the object into your hand before you step out, towel wrapped around you. with that, he immediately turns to leave, but not before noticing the devious little smile on your lips, possibly from his reaction.
fuck him, he thinks.
suddenly fingers enclose on his wrist, his limitless shut off from the distraction.
"can you dry my hair?" you say, polite, and in that soft tone you know he can't say no to.
his hands stagger over your head, gripping another towel, drying this part then the next. clunky. he's never touched someone else much before, and it shows.
what entertains you most, however, is the way he's forcing his eyes on his hand and nowhere else, focusing like it's his lifetime.
"done," he mumbles.
at last, you look up at him. he's wearing an uncharacteristically stern face, clearly holding himself back.
you ask, "do you want to say something?"
fuck. him. he lets out a shallow breath. how could you stand there batting your lashes like nothing's wrong, when you're making his hands run over you, yet not in the way he wants to.
"you demon woman. you know what you're doing."
you appear to be pondering, too, what you might be thinking. one of your hands tap at his chest, the space above his heart.
"tell me. what am i doing?"
his hand holds yours, keeping it against him. "you're tempting me."
you tilt your head to the side and you swear, he chokes a little. "and who's holding back, hmmm?"
...
2 years later
"gojo satoru, where have you put my towel??" your voice screeches from the shower.
leaning beside the bathroom door, the most annoyingly handsome man croons, "i've got it right here."
"give it to me. right now."
he shakes his head to himself. you still haven't learnt your lesson, it seems. he saunters over to the shower with the fluffy white towel in his grip. your hand pokes out. he clicks his tongue.
"baby, come on out."
an automatic groan claws its way from your throat and he chuckles, finding part of your unspoken shyness endearing.
"it's nothing that i haven't seen before," he adds, as though that'll make it better.
you feel your cheeks grow hot even with the excess steam. you know if he wanted to, he could step right into the shower and join you, but satoru seems to be in a lighter mood today.
regardless, you don't anticipate the effortless way the towel encases you as you step out. he wraps the cloth around you with care, the motion simultaneously tugging you closer to him. you let out a small gasp in comfort. to that, he snickers quietly by your ear, which provokes a half scowl from you. you look like a bunny in that oversized thing.
you mutter under your breath, "how did i get stuck with you..?"
he hums in response. "you're just too lucky."
he uses another towel to dry your hair. a thought courses through your brain- it's not like it matters much, but gojo satoru is really good at what he does. once he has experience in something, it's like the talent in his body simply activates, and the smooth sensation on your scalp dissipates.
this time, however, he doesn't announce his completion. instead, he tugs you casually against his chest. his hand skilfully cups your jaw, holding your gaze against his.
it's unfair, how the sight of his blue eyes send a seering level of need into your system. your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself and the towel begins to fall.
"wanna see you," he says, his stare roaming over you, unabashedly ravenous.
and finally, with experience, he does.
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo saturo#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk#gojo x you
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Househusband- wanderer
...kinda yandere wanderer..power bottom at the start only..afab and amab reader..also afab and amab wanderer!...found it on a Pinterest acc ASH....
...Wanderer....
Househusband wanderer! who decides the best way to live as a new and reformed person is to lead a more docile life, and what's more docile than staying home all day and tending to your lovely partner?
Househusband wanderer! Who's not a homemaker, he doesn't quite know what to do at times and it becomes overwhelming. Who can't stand doing nothing and constantly has to be doing something.
Househusband wanderer! Who, whenever you try going out to eat something special like a desert, insists that he can do it better!
Househusband wanderer! Who makes your favorite dishes from scratch, Who perfects the recipe by making it a dozen times while you're at work
Househusband wanderer! Who gets mad at you when you spend too much time at work, he doesn't care that your boss specially requested you in fact- why the fuck did your boss request you of all people hm?!
Househusband wanderer! Who you have to ensure that no you wouldn't ever leave him even if your boss had a thing for you- not that he does.
Househusband wanderer! Who's not convinced, you mean there's a chance that your boss does like you?..he won't stand for that.
Househusband wanderer! Who when one day you come back from work after not seeing your boss all day surprises you with a pretty skirt for you to fuck him in!
Househusband wanderer! Who brushes you off when you ask "What's the occasion darlin?" "I'm having a good day..this will make it better."
Househusband wanderer! Who holds onto your hand guiding it up his small skirt just to tease you. You're surprised, he must be having a really good day for him to do this, usually, he's much shyer.
Househusband wanderer! Who will be on his knees after a full day of work in the kitchen just to please you, his beloved.
househusband wanderer! Who'll work his mouth like he does his hands in the kitchen, a bit clumsy but a good end result nonetheless.
[afab reader] househusband wanderer! Who'll lick up all your juices like a hungry dog, he can't get enough, he'll leave soft kisses over your cunt watching as it quivers. "quit being a tease.." you're definitely gonna get him back for this.
[afab reader] househusband wanderer! Who'll leave bite marks and kisses all over your inner thighs, sucking and parting from your skin with a pop! Making sure he's left his mark, this way you'll remember him, this way you'll know that you belong to him as he belongs to you
[afab reader] househusband wanderer! Who whines and almost cums untouched when you get fed up with his teasing and grab his hair, pushing his face right into your cunt
[afab reader] househusband wanderer! Who holds onto your legs leaving scratches all over them as he stays on his knees for however long you want, drowning in you, he's aching and his knees are bruising, but he's relentless to please you
[amab reader] househusband wanderer! Who loves your groans! He leaves teasing kisses up your cock from the base all the way to the tip
[amab reader] househusband wanderer! Who leaves kitten licks on your raging boner, he loves your cock, the way it twitches when he plays with it, looking up at you with such innocent eyes as he toys with you.
[amab reader] househusband wanderer! Who chokes on your cock when you grab his hair, stuffing his mouth full, he loves choking on your cock, moaning against it as you force his head up and down, he swears it's touching the back of his throat!
[amab reader] househusband wanderer! Who swallows all that you give him! Not letting a single drop of your cum reach the ground.
Househusband wanderer! Who shivers gulping down the last of your remains that are left in his mouth when you look down at him with a glare, "Come on baby, think I forgot about your teasing earlier? "
Househusband wanderer! Who immediately crawls onto the bed when you claim it to be your turn.
[afab wanderer] househusband wanderer! Who chokes back sobs as you toy with his soaking pussy, barely pushing the tip of your finger in just to take it right back out
[afab wanderer] househusband wanderer! who sobs and begs you to give him a bit more! This isn't fair!! He didn't mean it! He's sorry!
[afab wanderer] househusband wanderer! whose eyes roll back when you pinch his clit, letting out a cute scream, his hands scramble to hold yours but you just push them down
[afab wanderer] househusband wanderer! whose pussy is soaking wet, his liquids are coating his inner thighs as it pulses for something more it makes such cute squelching sounds as you toy with the cute thing
[afab wanderer] househusband wanderer! Who squirts all over himself the second you stuff a finger in his desperate hole, who whines for you to wait a bit before you stuff him full with another one!
[amab wanderer] househusband wanderer! who cries out for you when your hand keeps circling his red tip, precum drips from it as if it was a broken fountain.
[amab wanderer] househusband wanderer! who's cock quivers at the slightest touch of you, who sobs, fat tears streaming down his face as you blow cold air onto his dick
[amab wanderer] househusband wanderer! Who gets desperate, begging, and pleading with you! He swears he didn't mean to tease you!
[amab wanderer] househusband wanderer! who jerks when you suddenly fist his cock sending shivers up his body! Fuuuck! You're so mean!!
[amab wanderer] househusband wanderer! who's mumbling thanks yous again and again as you finally move your hand, sobbing for you to quicken the pace
[amab wanderer] househusband wanderer! Who shoots cum out like a fountain, spraying all over his stomach, who now starts begging you to slow down "slow down..? But darling, this is what you wanted wasn't it? So quiet down and take it like a good boy."
Househusband wanderer! He cuddles up to you after you're both done, he smiles into your hug, he seems like in a really good mood today..hm.
#genshin x reader#genshin impact#genshin imagines#genshin hcs#sub genshin#sub genshin men#amab reader#afab reader#wanderer headcanons#wanderer smut#wanderer imagines#wanderer x reader#wanderer#sub wanderer#Scara#scaramouche x you#scara x reader#scaramouche smut#sub scaramouche#scaramouche imagines#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche
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could I request randomly shouting “floor is lava!” In front of the batboys? I’m in the mood for a crack fic
It was a dreary day within the Wayne manor and everyone was bored out of their minds. Nothing they did was enough to cure the boredom they were subjected to that day.
However a day of hope appeared before them in the form of you bursting through the door, holding a unbothered Alfred the cat in one hand and a confused Jerry the Turkey in the other, screaming: ‘THE FLOOR IS LAVA!’
Dick is pushed to the floor and stepped on by a mysterious assailant but manages to get up and use his acrobatic skills -cheat skills as Jason would like to call them- to project himself upwards to the expensive chandelier and clung on for dear life.
He was 100% safe.
Smug bastard and his cheat codes -Jason Tood, certified older brother hater aka the younger sibling.
Jason pushed dick onto the floor and step onto his back, somehow trips and lands flat on his face against the carpeted flooring. However he quickly recovers by picking himself back up and bolts towards the curtains instead, where he tries to cling onto them for dear life as the sound of fabric slowly ripping could be heard by everyone.
Jason was on a time limit before he was sent plummeting back to the floor and towards his second death. 39% survival rate.
Damian is the first of the bunch to move into action as he -somehow- managed to grab Titus in a feet of hidden strength fueld by adrenaline, throwing the Great Dane over his shoulder, and still found it within himself to then clamber up the book shelves in the library where he stayed to watch the chaos below him like he was god.
The bookshelves are wooden, it was only a matter of time before he and Titus would have to change to a different location. 50% survival rate. Titus is a good puppy.
Tim shuts the computer, sets it aside and follows Jason’s example by lying down on the floor and awaits his fate with a blank expression. ‘My time has come.’
0% survival rate, instant death but Tim don’t give two shits, he’s lived long enough.
Duke: poor lad is freaking out trying to find a good spot and settles with standing on the table with the janky leg as he was forced to continuously fight for his balance atop of it.
He’s lost too many times just to loose again. He hates floor is lava with a vengeance. 50% survival rate if he doesn’t fall off and looses his fight with the table.
Stephane: the mastermind behind the whole ordeal, cackles as she stays lounging on the plush sofa, sipping her drink unbothered by the consequences to come through the door.
50% survival rate, may drop lower if she tries to reach for her phone that she had left on the table where Duke was. She hadn’t thought this whole thing through admittedly.
Bruce Wayne: heard the chaos and went to see what was happening and sighs upon seeing his children, plus you, practically having destroyed the library over a stupid game.
He’s too old for this shit but ends up showing all of you up either way by standing atop of the stone mantle piece of the fireplace, menacingly.
10000% survival rate bc it’s Bruce Wayne.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc x y/n#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagines#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd fic#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#batfam x reader#batfam imagine#batfamily imagine#batfamily imagines#batfam imagines#damian wayne x y/n#damian wayne x you#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagines#damian wayne fluff
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Mirror Mirror
Day 12 → Mirror Sex 💋 Oscar Piastri
Warnings: 18+ content and body image issues
Kinktober Masterlist
Oscar swings open the door of the apartment, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The training session ran longer than he expected, and every muscle in his body aches with that familiar, satisfying burn. His shirt sticks to his back as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
“Hey, I’m home!” He calls out, already loosening his shoes by the door.
There’s no immediate response, just the quiet hum of life within the walls. The soft sound of typing, a quick, anxious tap-tap-tap, echoes from the living room.
Oscar frowns. “You in there?”
He rounds the corner and catches sight of you sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, fingers moving at a furious pace across the keyboard. There’s something about the way you're hunched over the screen that makes him pause. Your shoulders are tense, like you’re trying to shield the screen from view, your eyes darting up only when he steps into the room.
You slam the laptop shut so fast it nearly snaps.
His brows furrow, eyes narrowing as he approaches. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” you blurt out, standing up quickly, a little too quickly, the laptop clutched in your hands as if it’s a lifeline. “Just … work stuff.”
Oscar doesn’t buy it for a second. “Work stuff?” He takes another step forward, his voice low, suspicious. “Since when do you hide work stuff from me?”
You swallow hard, eyes darting toward the bedroom as if you’re calculating the distance. “It’s nothing, Oscar. Just let it go.”
But he doesn’t. He’s not the kind of guy who lets things slide, especially when something feels off. And this? This feels way off.
Before you can react, he reaches out, fingers closing around the edge of the laptop, pulling it out of your grip with a swift, practiced motion. You make a sound of protest, stepping forward to try to grab it back, but he’s already moving, holding it up and out of your reach.
“Oscar, please,” you say, your voice tight with panic now. “Just don’t-”
Too late. He flips the screen open, eyes scanning the tabs that fill the screen.
Silence.
Plastic surgeons. Breast augmentation. Rhinoplasty. Procedures. Prices. Clinics in Monaco.
Oscar’s jaw clenches. His entire body stiffens as he scrolls through the endless pages of information, his mind trying to piece together what he’s seeing, trying to make sense of it.
He looks up, his voice low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “What the hell is this?”
You’re standing there, rooted to the spot, hands trembling slightly at your sides. Your eyes are wide, like you’ve been caught doing something unspeakable, something you’ve been desperately trying to keep hidden.
“I-” you start, but your voice cracks. You look away, like you can’t stand to meet his gaze, like his disappointment, his shock, is too much to bear.
He doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his grip tightening on the laptop, like he’s trying to hold onto some version of reality that isn’t unraveling right in front of him. “Why?” He asks, his voice still low, but now there's something almost pleading in it. “Why are you looking at this?”
You blink, eyes glistening with tears that haven’t yet fallen. You open your mouth to speak, but it’s like the words are stuck in your throat. Finally, you force them out, barely a whisper. “Because … I don’t … I don’t look like them.”
Oscar frowns, confused. “Like who?”
“The other girls,” you say, your voice breaking now. “The other girlfriends. The WAGs. I’ll never … I’ll never look like them.”
Oscar just stares at you for a long moment, completely blindsided. “What are you talking about?”
You let out a shaky breath, finally looking at him, your eyes pleading for him to understand. “I see them, Oscar. Every time we go to a race, every time I’m at the paddock. They’re all so … perfect. Their bodies, their faces … they all look like they belong there. Like they’re meant to be with someone like you.”
He feels something twist painfully in his chest, something dark and heavy that he wasn’t prepared for. “And you think you don’t?”
You shake your head, blinking away tears. “I don’t. I mean, look at me. I’m not … I’m not like them.”
Oscar sets the laptop down on the coffee table, the sound of it hitting the wood sharp and final. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to push through the wave of disbelief that’s crashing over him. He steps closer to you, his hands reaching out, grabbing your arms gently but firmly, like he needs to hold you steady, like he needs to make sure you don’t slip away from him.
“Are you serious?” His voice is rough now, the controlled calm slipping. “You think you need to change something? For what? To look like them? To, what, fit in?”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
“I can’t believe you’d even think this. I can’t believe you …” His voice trails off, and he releases your arms, stepping back like he needs the space to breathe, to think. "You’re not … them. You’re you. You’re the person I wake up next to every day, the person I chose. And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You think I care about … what? If you fit some stupid image of what a WAG is supposed to look like?”
You shake your head, but you’re still crying, silent tears that slide down your cheeks, and Oscar feels like his heart is breaking in a way he’s never known before. He steps closer again, softer this time, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Your shoulders slump, and you wipe at your face, frustrated with yourself, with the tears, with the words that won’t stop spilling out. “Because I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to … fix it, or say something just to make me feel better. It’s my problem, not yours.”
“No,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “No, it’s not just your problem. It’s our problem. You’re my girlfriend. What affects you affects me, too. How could you think that changing yourself like that would fix anything?”
You look at him then, really look at him, and it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, like you didn’t expect this from him, this depth, this intensity.
“I just …” you start, and then falter, shaking your head. “I just feel like … I’m not enough.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He’s never heard you say anything like that before, never thought you could feel that way. He takes another step closer, his hands finding yours, holding them tight. “You’re more than enough. You always have been.”
Oscar’s voice is steady, but there’s a fire in his eyes now, something burning there, something fierce. “You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
You let out a shaky breath, tears still spilling down your cheeks, and he reaches up, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb, his touch gentle, careful. “You’re perfect the way you are. I need you to see that. I need you to believe that.”
You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, and for a moment, the world feels quiet again, like the storm that’s been raging inside you has finally begun to settle.
Oscar’s jaw tightens, and he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear. He presses his lips to the top of your head, murmuring against your hair, “I love you, just the way you are.”
And as he holds you, as the silence stretches between you, he makes a silent promise to himself. He’s going to show you. Every day. Until you see yourself the way he sees you.
The most beautiful woman in the world.
***
Oscar watches you sleep beside him, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, he can still see the faint traces of yesterday’s conversation lingering in your features. The vulnerability in your voice when you said you weren’t enough echoes in his head, and it’s all he can think about.
You had fallen asleep easily, but Oscar couldn’t. His mind had been racing, going over every word you said, every tear that slipped down your cheek. You didn’t see yourself the way he saw you, and that truth made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know were possible.
You stir slightly, your hand curling around the edge of the pillow, your face turning away from him as you sink deeper into sleep. His fingers itch to touch your cheek, but he holds back, not wanting to wake you.
Instead, he slips out of bed, moving silently across the room and into the hallway. He has to do something. He can’t just let you go on feeling this way, believing that you aren’t enough, that you need to change yourself to measure up to some imaginary standard.
His phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down at the notification. It’s an email — one of the many he sent in the middle of the night, after tossing and turning with frustration and resolve. It’s the response he’s been waiting for.
Oscar’s thumb hovers over the screen for a second before he taps the email open. He skims it quickly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The installation can happen today.
It’s a risky plan, but Oscar’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. He’s already planned every detail down to the minute, ensuring that everything will be in place before you come home from work. The hardest part was keeping this a secret — and making sure the logistics didn’t fall through.
Money, thankfully, speeds things up.
Oscar pads back into the bedroom, careful not to make a sound as he crawls into bed beside you. His body is buzzing with excitement now, anticipation humming under his skin. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.
You let out a sleepy murmur, shifting slightly in his arms, and he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering there.
“Good morning,” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.
“Good morning.” His voice is soft, but there’s an energy behind it that you don’t seem to catch. Not yet.
You blink a few times, still disoriented from sleep, and roll over to face him. "You're up early."
“Just couldn’t sleep,” he says with a small smile. “You have work today?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to go in for a meeting,” you reply, rubbing your eyes. “Shouldn’t be too long.”
Oscar nods, trying to keep his excitement in check. “Good, good. I’ll probably just do some stuff around here. Get a workout in.”
You stretch, still half-asleep, and he watches you with a soft smile. He wonders if you’ll notice the change when you get home, or if it’ll take a little prompting. Either way, the plan is in motion, and there’s no going back now.
***
As soon as you leave the apartment, Oscar is a man on a mission. He paces the living room, waiting for the delivery crew to arrive. He checks his phone constantly, looking at the notifications from Life360 to track your movements. He doesn’t have much time, and every minute feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.
Finally, there’s a knock at the door.
He practically sprints to open it, greeting the installation team with an eager wave. "You guys are here. Great, come on in."
The lead installer, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense expression, steps inside, glancing around. "So, we’ve got the specs here. Full ceiling mirror in the bedroom, right?"
Oscar nods, ushering them down the hallway to the bedroom. "Yeah, I need it to cover the entire ceiling. Exactly like we discussed."
The installer inspects the space, his eyes scanning the ceiling as he whistles under his breath. "Alright, shouldn’t be too complicated. We’ll need a couple of hours to get everything up and secured."
Oscar glances at his phone, calculating the time. You’ve been gone for about an hour. There’s a small window — tight, but doable. "That’s fine. Just make sure it’s done before two. She’ll be back around then."
The installer raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. "We’ll get it done."
Oscar watches as they bring in the equipment, laying down protective sheets to keep the floor clean. The mirror panels are large, delicate things, and the precision required for the installation is intense. He finds himself pacing the hallway, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listens to the distant sounds of drills and hammers.
Everything has to be perfect.
He knows it’s a bold move. Some might even call it crazy. But Oscar doesn’t care. He wants you to see yourself every day, to have no choice but to confront the truth: you’re stunning, exactly as you are. He doesn’t need you to be one of those women in the paddock, doesn’t need you to conform to some ridiculous image. You, in all your imperfections, are everything he could ever want.
He glances at his phone again — two hours left. The installers are moving quickly, efficiently, but it still feels like time is slipping away faster than he can keep up with.
The crew works in near silence, their movements calculated and precise. They measure the ceiling, check the panels, and begin the painstaking task of securing each mirrored piece in place. Oscar hovers nearby, watching them work, his nerves jangling like live wires.
“How much longer do you think?” He asks, not for the first time.
The lead installer doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone is patient. “We’re on schedule, mate. We’ve done this a hundred times. Just give us a bit.”
Oscar nods, forcing himself to step back. He paces again, trying to distract himself with his phone, but his mind keeps drifting back to you — to your face when you told him you didn’t feel like you measured up.
He needs this to be perfect. For you.
At long last, the sound of the drill ceases, and the lead installer steps back, wiping his hands on a rag. He surveys the ceiling with a critical eye, then turns to Oscar with a nod. "All done."
Oscar steps into the bedroom, and his breath catches in his throat.
The mirror covers the entire ceiling, gleaming and pristine, reflecting the room in perfect detail. It’s stunning — sleek, modern, but most importantly, it’s exactly what he envisioned.
“Looks great,” the installer says, clearly satisfied with the job.
Oscar nods, still staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. It’s … perfect.”
The installers gather their things, and Oscar sees them out, barely able to contain his anticipation. He checks his phone one last time as the door closes behind them.
Life360 pings with a notification.
Y/N has arrived at home.
Oscar’s heart leaps into his throat. He has maybe five minutes before you walk through the door. He rushes back into the bedroom, doing a quick sweep to make sure everything is in place. The bed is made, the room is spotless, and the mirror … the mirror is flawless.
He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can hear your footsteps approaching the door now, the jingle of your keys as you unlock it.
This is it.
The door opens, and you step inside, calling out, “Oscar? You here?”
“In the bedroom!” He calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, casual.
You walk down the hallway, setting your bag on the floor as you approach. “I thought you were working out or something.”
Oscar stands by the bed, watching as you enter the room. For a second, you don’t notice it. You’re too busy taking off your jacket, distracted by the mundaneness of the day.
But then, as you move toward the bed, your eyes flicker upward, and you freeze.
“What the …”
Your voice trails off, your gaze locked on the ceiling, on the massive mirror that now dominates the room. You stand there, stunned, your mouth slightly open as you take it in.
Oscar watches you closely, his heart pounding. He takes a step closer, his voice low, almost tentative. “What do you think?”
You blink, still staring at the reflection above you. “You … put a mirror on the ceiling?”
He nods, stepping behind you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently back against him. “I wanted you to see yourself.”
Your eyes flick to his in the reflection, confusion mingling with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
Oscar leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice soft but firm. “Every day, you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to look at yourself. You’re going to see what I see. The most beautiful woman in the world.”
You swallow, your eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. “Oscar …”
He turns you around slowly, guiding you until you’re facing him. “You don’t need to change a thing. Not your nose, not your body. Nothing. You’re perfect, just like this.”
Oscar’s hands slide from your waist to your hips, slow and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours, but in the mirror above, he can see the reflection of both of you, bodies so close, your breath mingling with his. There’s a moment of quiet between you, tension hanging in the air like a thread about to snap.
He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice low and steady. “Let me show you.”
Your breath hitches, and you bite your lip, your eyes flicking between his face and the mirror. You don’t say anything, but you don’t resist, either. You’re standing still, waiting, nervous but trusting him completely.
Oscar takes his time. He starts by pulling at the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it slowly over your head. You lift your arms for him, and the shirt falls to the floor. His hands return to your hips, sliding up to your waist, fingers tracing the soft curve of your ribs, then higher.
You shiver under his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but he doesn’t rush. He’s watching you in the mirror, your body, your face, your eyes — taking in every reaction, every small shift in your expression.
“Look at yourself,” he says softly, his voice firm but gentle. His fingers move to the clasp of your bra, and with a quick flick, it comes undone. He pulls it away, tossing it aside, and you’re left standing in front of him, exposed.
Your eyes flicker up to the mirror, but you don’t linger on your own reflection. You quickly glance back at Oscar, as if seeking reassurance.
His hands are on you again, warm and steady, guiding you back toward the bed. He lowers you gently onto the mattress, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets, and you feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirling in your chest.
Oscar climbs onto the bed with you, his movements controlled, deliberate. He kneels beside you, his eyes burning with something deep, something raw, as he looks down at you. The mirror above reflects everything — the way your chest rises and falls, the soft flush creeping up your neck, the way your body reacts to the intensity of his gaze.
He reaches for the waistband of your pants, his fingers sliding under the fabric. “Lift your hips,” he murmurs, and you do as he asks, allowing him to peel the material away from your skin. The cool air of the room makes you shiver, but it’s the warmth of his hands that sends a surge of heat through you.
Oscar lets out a quiet hum of approval, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, admiring every inch of you. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your belly, just above the waistband of your underwear, and you feel a jolt of electricity run through you.
“Look,” he whispers, his voice commanding yet soft. “Look at yourself.”
You hesitate, your eyes flicking toward the mirror but not quite settling on your reflection. You’re still unsure, still caught in the doubt that’s been gnawing at you for so long.
But Oscar won’t let you hide.
He trails his kisses up your body, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, then higher, to the sensitive skin near your collarbone. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips barely leaving your skin. “You’re perfect.”
You close your eyes, trying to absorb his words, trying to believe them, but the insecurity lingers.
Oscar’s hand moves lower, sliding down your body, his fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear again, but this time he tugs them down, pulling them off completely. You’re laid bare before him now, vulnerable, exposed, but you trust him. You trust him with everything.
He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, and you feel the heat of his body so close to yours. His hands find your thighs, gently parting them, and he leans down, his breath hot against your skin. His lips press a kiss to your inner thigh, and you shudder, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.
“Oscar,” you whisper, your voice shaky.
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he moves higher, his mouth tracing a path up your thigh until his lips are where you need them most. The first touch of his tongue is slow, deliberate, and it sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.
You gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed, your hands flying to grip the sheets tighter. He takes his time, his tongue moving in slow, measured strokes, teasing you, building the heat in your core until it feels like you’re going to unravel.
But he doesn’t let you. Not yet.
His hand moves up your body, finding your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in the same slow, teasing rhythm. Your breath comes in ragged gasps now, and your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.
“Look at yourself,” Oscar says again, his voice low and commanding. “Look at how beautiful you are.”
You force your eyes open, glancing up at the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, your body laid out beneath Oscar, your skin flushed, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You see the way his hand moves over you, the way his mouth works between your legs, and it’s a surreal, intimate moment — seeing yourself through his eyes, the way he sees you.
You bite your lip, a moan escaping your throat as Oscar increases the pressure, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that makes your legs tremble. You feel the tension building inside you, the heat growing unbearable, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back.
You let out a desperate whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily toward him, but he doesn’t relent.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice firm. He leans up, his body hovering over yours now, his face inches from yours. “Not until you say it.”
You blink up at him, breathless and confused. “Say what?”
“Say you’re beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Say it, and I’ll let you come.”
Your heart races in your chest, the vulnerability of the moment crashing into you. You’ve never said those words, not out loud, not with any kind of conviction. But the way Oscar looks at you, the way his hands move over your body, it makes you want to believe it — makes you want to see yourself the way he does.
You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you whisper, “I’m beautiful.”
Oscar’s eyes darken with approval, but he’s not done. He presses his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Say it again. Louder.”
Your body is aching for release, every nerve on fire, but you know he won’t let you have it until you give him what he wants — what you need to believe.
“I’m beautiful,” you say again, louder this time, your voice shaky but filled with more certainty.
Oscar’s hand moves between your legs again, his fingers teasing you, his touch deliberate, precise. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now say it one more time. Like you mean it.”
You gasp as his fingers press against that bundle of nerves again, your body writhing beneath him, the pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. But you force yourself to say it, to believe it, because in this moment, you do.
“I’m beautiful,” you cry out, your voice breaking with the force of the admission.
And that’s when Oscar lets you go.
His mouth is on you again, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, and the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You arch off the bed, your hands flying to his hair, your body trembling as you finally, finally fall over the edge.
Oscar doesn’t stop. He keeps his pace steady, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, until you’re shaking, gasping for breath, your body limp and boneless beneath him.
When you finally come down, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears, Oscar moves up beside you, his body pressing against yours, his arm wrapping around your waist.
He kisses your forehead, his voice soft but firm as he whispers, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”
And for the first time in a long time, you believe him.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri#op81#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#oscar piastri x female reader#oscar piastri x y/n#mclaren#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri drabble
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Soulmate tropes multifandom part one: Hunter x Hunter
part two || part three || part four ||
notes: I wanted to try my hand at writing soulmate au's so hopefully this is decent requests are open.
tw's:Talks of death in chrollos part, immortality in chrollos part, and angst in his part too.
Red string of fate you can tug: Kurapika
Kurapika’s soulmate frustrates him to no end, pulling their string at the worst moments with such force that he wonders how the hell they’re so strong. He could be sleeping and suddenly feel a tug from his pinky moving him to the other side. Kurapika understands he’s not heavy but there’s no way he’s that light! When he finally comes face to face with his soulmate giving them the equivalent of the stink eye.
Kurapika huffs before blurting out, “Why have you been manhandling me for no reason?” They have to stifle a laugh at his bluntness.
Immortal x mortal who keeps getting reincarnated but falls in love with immortal over and over: Chrollo
Chrollo’s soulmate constantly wallows in their own sadness, being immortal has no perks once you begin to live it. They hate having so many chances at life when they have to constantly wait for Chrollo again, watching him die months or days after a confession over and over makes them despise their never ending life Chrollo always dies after falling in mutual love with them making his soulmate swear to never fall in love with him again but always falling to the curse of the never ending cycle of reincarnation and death.
“I’ll always love you no matter how many life’s I live,” was always ringing in their ears in different voices but it was always him.
Really poor description on how you meet your soulmate is written on you: Feitan
Feitan’s face contorted into confusion when he first got the inky writing engraved into his skin, yeah sure he knew what soulmates were but the method whoever chooses soulmates picked out for him was annoying. I mean what kind of description of their meeting is, “bodies will hit it will be hot and sharp.” It threw him for a loop but eventually he decided to just give up on his soulmate. He didn't need romance, he's a thief for god's sake! But he was destined to meet you so when he bumped into someone holding scorching hot coffee that splattered onto him it hurt but it wasn’t bad for a nen user but just for the inconvenience he pulled out a switch knife holding it up to their wrist as a threat.
“Oh so this is what the text meant, how ironic,” the unknown person standing before him chuckled as he withdrew his weapon, coming to the same conclusion.
Someone can not experience true love until they meet their soulmate: Illumi
Illumi used to ask his mother about how he would meet his soulmate; she explained that methods are genetic and he would most likely be feeling no love until they meet the one. But he was quickly told to discard the idea of love and soulmates and encouraged to just marry the strongest person he would meet. Illumi drilled that fact into his head after some push from his parents he began to scout out potential candidates for marriage running into a florist worker their clay pot holding flowers were expected to smash into the floor but Illumi assumed that they were a nen user by the way they gripped their pot. Illumi walked off before hearing the same floral worker calling out to him holding a smaller bouquet, the plastic making a crunching noise as they moved to hold it out to the male's chest.
They grinned at him before hesitating, ultimately deciding to speak, “Here to apologize about running into you sir!” A weird fluttering feeling enveloped Illumi. He glanced at them studying their facial expressions and body language, thinking about them possibly cursing the flowers before giving them the pass, shrugging his shoulders and gingerly grabbing the flowers from them.
Countdown until you meet your soulmate: Uvogin
Never paid attention to the timer until Nobunaga pointed out that it was getting extremely low, in all honesty Uvogin kinda wanted to be in a romantic setting. He had his flings here and there but it wasn’t real love; he never pursued anything more due to his… job. So when he caught their eye during a stroll I mean who wouldn’t notice a 8 foot giant walking around! But then when he bumped into them literally I mean he actually slammed into them kinda, his soulmate was a little intimidated But Uvogin let out a hearty laugh like he always does.
They were the one profusely apologizing before he said, “Nah don’t worry about it I could never be mad at a cutie like you.” Before walking off did they notice the countdown on your wrist was at 00:00.
Speaking to your soulmate during dreams: Shizuku
Shizuku was indifferent towards the whole idea, but she also didn't get the hype people would get with soulmates watching people raving about meeting their soulmate while boasting was confusing. Well that was before she got her soulmate method, falling asleep after shifting in her bed for forever Shizuku dreamt of beautiful scenery with a person whose face was blurred out. Finally the two came to the realization, after a long while, that they can talk to each other and share intriguing conversations but whenever they try to say anything about their personal lives other than nicknames the pair would wake up suddenly like they experienced a nightmare. Shizuku, to her surprise, remembered every little detail about the person who appeared in her dreams, the blurry marks on their body and the way everything but their face looked, finding them interesting but not having enough time to deliberately look for her destined partner she became content with the small moments they shared. While out after a mission she craved a strawberry cake slice she opened the door to her favorite cafe strutting comfortably to the desk worker who greeted her with a smile and voice she was all too familiar with.
“Hello, what can I get you today?” Flashing their signature customer service smile they continued, “Take your time there's a whole lot of options.”
#kurapika kurta x reader#kurapika x reader#kurapika#chrollo lucilfer#chrollo lucilfer x reader#chrollo x reader#feitan portor x reader#feitan x reader#feitan#feitan portor#uvogin x reader#uvogin#shizuku murasaki x reader#shizuku murasaki#hunter x hunter headcanons#hunter x hunter x reader#hunter x hunter#hxh#illumi x reader#illumi zoldyck x reader#illumi zoldyck#hxh illumi
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my turn
part 1 | part 2
pairing: marc spector x reader (a bit of steven grant x reader)
summary: marc has had enough of watching you take advantage of steven and not him...
cw: smut (18+), voyeurism, masturbation, rough sex, dirty talk, degrading words, pining omg so much pining, angst, creampie, fluff?, ft. steven
wc: 3.4k
a/n: long time coming (cumming) -- i just realized i barely have marc fics so hopefully this holds up to expectations!
masterlist
----
You know Marc. But you wouldn't necessarily say that you're friends. And even if you were, you're definitely not 'friendly' with him the way you are with Steven.
If you were to ask him though, it wasn't for the lack of trying.
Since you've met Steven, Marc has merely been a shadow behind him, stopping in to check on Steven's personal life every so often before disappearing again.
What you aren't aware of, though, is that the only time he trifles in Steven's life is when he gets to see you.
Usually, Marc is uninterested in the daily life of his other half.
Steven wakes up, catches (or misses) the bus, gets to work, grabs some food on the way home, then calls it a day. It's a bland routine that Marc set up specifically to make sure that Steven is safe and sane. So, of course, when there's a change, Marc starts to pay attention.
Suddenly, out of the blue, you're everywhere.
A smile in the background of Steven's phone, a sticky note on the fridge reminding him to get more blueberries, and the oversized sweater you leave on the armchair one day that Steven steals whenever you're away.
He has no idea how you came into the picture, how he's never noticed you, or how Steven of all people captured your attention.
All he knows is that Steven is fumbling. Hard.
Marc had no idea what the nature of your relationship was until he had a front row ticket to one of your friendly favors.
---
Steven isn't subtle about his feelings. Anytime he's exceptionally scared or excited, Marc is called forward by his subconscious mind just in case he's in danger.
Usually, Marc is forced to front when Steven is about to burn his flat down from his nth attempt at cooking, or when he nearly walks into a busy intersection because he has his nose stuck in a book. But he never expected this.
He knew you liked to baby Steven. Take care of him because he had no one else to turn to (except Gus of course), but he just assumed you were being friendly, a kind soul willing to take Steven under your wing.
Nothing could have prepared him for when he woke up to the sight of you on your knees in front of him. It's odd being in the back seat of his body while Steven is getting all of your attention. He can feel everything, from the way your soft lips brush so sweetly against his cock to the hot suction of your mouth, but there's something that's holding him back from taking what he wants.
He wants so badly to bury his hand in your hair and push you down onto him until you're making a mess of yourself, eyes welling with pretty tears and drool dripping down your chin. He needs to tell you what a good girl you're being for him, so desperate for his cock in your throat. He wants to pick you up and carry you over to the bed to show you just how beautiful you are.
He wants you to look up and know it's him.
But he can't. Because who knows when this development started.
You acted platonically just the other day, and now, you're begging for Steven to cum on your tits.
What are you to each other?
If interferes now and messes this up for Steven, you might leave their lives altogether. Damn, how have you lured him into your clutches without even talking to him?
For all he knows, it could be a one-off thing...
---
It's decidedly not a one-off thing.
Marc has barely had the chance to front since the first time you made a move on Steven. You're always coming over, whether it's a spontaneous movie night or an offer to cook Steven some dinner, you always find a way to slither your way back into his bed. Not that Steven minds.
But Marc does.
With each fumbling move that Steven makes, Marc gets pushed closer to the edge. He could do it so much better. Make it clear that you're wanted. Give you the pleasure you deserve.
He cringes inside with every wary arm that gets thrown over your shoulder during a movie (one of Steven's signature moves to get you to cuddle -- somehow it works, every time). With the messy, unpracticed kisses that Steven haphazardly presses against your sweet lips.
He physically holds himself back from taking control of the body whenever you fall asleep in Steven's arms. He wants to hold you, feel your body molded against his, even if you have no idea it's him.
It's painful watching the two of you walk circles around the truth.
"I'm always thinking about you." Just tell her that you like her, you idiot! What is there to be afraid of? She looks at you like you painted the stars and hung the moon!
At this point, he doesn't even know why he tries.
Whenever you're around, Steven has total tunnel vision. He practically follows you around like some lost puppy. He lets sweet words spill from his lips without even thinking first and you lap up any type of affection he'll give you.
It's a vicious cycle of obliviousness.
Steven is a lost cause. But he isn't.
He can't take it anymore. He can't take waking up with a lingering taste of you on his tongue, or seeing your lovesick smile directed at someone else. He can't take the way you treat him like a stranger, like someone to avoid.
He wants you. So he's going to show you.
---
It's been a long day.
Marc's been out, jumping on top of roofs and kicking ass, all while Steven's 'sweetheart' blows up his phone.
Marc narrows his eyes, shuffling through all the smiley faces and hearts that litter your messages (and the thumbs up messages from Steven).
This book made me think of you <3
A cute little picture of you holding a book next to your face stares back at him, painting his face in a soft glow as he stands in the darkness of the night. He wants to crush the device in his hand.
Call me when you get home safe :)
You know exactly where Marc is right now, and what his life consists of, but you always avoid talking about him directly. You're always just waiting for Steven to come home so he can sleepily tell you he's back in bed and give you the green light to come over and snuggle your face into his chest.
Marc likes to think that he makes measured decisions, but what he does next is completely out of character:
Come over.
---
He's a little impatient, sitting on his worn couch as he waits for you to show up. You said you'd be 20 minutes, but it's been 30 since he texted you.
Sory thought the cookies would be done earlier! I'm otw now!
Your hastily typed out text blinks up from the forgotten phone that lies next to him. He read the sheepish reply when you sent it, but didn't bother to text back because of course you baked cookies for Steven.
He's starting to regret tricking you over. All he can think about is the inevitable rejection he'll get once you realize he's not Steven.
Marc leans back against the collection of overstuffed pillows and (your) gifted squish-mallows that decorate the couch, not caring that he's taking up as much space as possible. Flashes of your time with Steven override his doubts, reminding him of the softness that only you can provide.
He doesn't even realize he's unbuttoning his pants until his hand slips himself out of his briefs. Fuck, he's already so hard just thinking about you.
He doesn't want to get himself too worked up so he attempts to take it slow, stroking and squeezing himself until he's teetering at the edge, pretending that it's your hand instead of his. He quickly gets lost in the feeling, floating in a euphoric dream of you and your touch. It isn't until he hears the door click open that he returns to reality.
You're here. The thought alone nearly makes him spill over himself.
"Steven!"
-- And he's good.
"I'm here--oof," He hears you run into a kitchen stool, "why is it so dark in here?"
He should shove himself back into his pants and greet you like a normal human being, but some sick thing inside of him wants you to see what you do to him.
You place a container of freshly baked cookies on the counter with a smile, satisfied with your work and excited to see him try one. You've been working on a new vegan snickerdoodle recipe just for him.
A sweet treat for your sweet treat. You nearly giggle at your thoughts.
You take a second to smooth down any wrinkles on your dress, desperate to look nice for him. Steven has no idea how obsessed with him you are. You want him all the time. You're constantly craving to coax out soft whines and stutters from your favorite boy.
You look around the dim flat.
Where the hell is he?
Usually you'd find him in front of his makeshift desk, sprawling through various books under a harsh lamp, but tonight his spot is empty.
A soft grunt guides you to the couch, your usual movie night spot. No way he's starting without you.
"Ah, there you are." You're slightly put out that he doesn't move to greet you, but maybe Marc's mission just took a particularly harsh toll on his body.
It's only when you're standing at the side of the couch that he meets your eyes. And you meet his...hard cock, desperately throbbing in his hand. What a sight. Your eyes nearly glaze over at the sight of his mussed hair and laid back positioning.
He just looks up at you, casually. He's been expecting you. He wants you to watch him. It makes it that much more delicious.
He doesn't shy back at your presence. If anything, he sits up to give you a better view. His hand moves methodically -- controlled, stroking himself from tip to base as his half-lidded eyes stare straight back at you.
His dark look and posture nearly make him unrecognizable. It's not just the clothes he's wearing, or the 5 o'clock shadow, but the way he furrows his eyebrows and grips himself so confidently, like he does it all the time.
You shake off the odd feeling settling in your stomach and move over to him with the practiced grace that usually makes him weak in the knees for you.
"Mm...Steven...you're quite needy right now, aren't you?"
He raises a dark eyebrow, briefly squeezing himself in his hand as he unabashedly takes in your figure, draped in a soft dress. He's not backing down like you're used to. At this point, he's supposed to be begging for you to touch him, not staring you down like you're a piece of meat.
"M'not Steven, sweetheart." His voice makes you freeze in front of him and all of the confidence you once held rushes out of your body.
"M-marc?"
A cynical smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
"You remember me?"
You capture your bottom lip into your mouth, holding yourself back from crawling on top of him and skipping the conversation. The dark and intense version of your lover is serving himself up on a silver platter, and all you can do is watch.
"Why wouldn't I?" He shrugs.
You can tell he's enjoying this, watching you squirm uncomfortably as he teases himself right in front of you. He touches himself like it's an afterthought, something to simply accompany the sight of you.
"W-where's Steven? I was supposed to meet him here..."
"I'm the one who texted you."
You freeze, not knowing what to do.
He wants you here?
He wants you?
"You...?"
"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna be a good girl for me like you are with Steven?"
What would Steven think?
"I-I don't know..."
"C'mon, you're always dying to suck him off."
Your face flushes at his bluntness. Are you that obvious?
A hand comes up to hold you by the waist before you're pulled closer to him. He looks up at you, eye-level with your chest, looking as predatory as ever, despite his position under you.
"What's the difference, hm?" He slides a warm hand under the hem of your dress, gently caressing the bare skin of your outer thigh. "It's the same body on top of you. The same cock stretching you out..." You shiver when you feel his fingers tease the edge of your panties, the deep red lace you picked out specially for Steven. "...even the same cum filling you up."
You look down, mesmerized by the way his hand moves under the thin fabric of your dress. You watch his shrouded arm pull at the fabric until it barely brushes at your upper thigh as his hand slides up over the softness of your stomach and the dips of your ribs, before stopping at the curve of your breast.
"You want this."
It's not a question, it's a statement. And he's right.
He watches your eyes flutter close as he cups you in his hand. Despite the heat in his eyes, he handles you so softly. Like you're a porcelain doll in his hands. It's a familiar touch, but there's a hint of something more.
"Steven..." You breathe out. It's said out of habit. This feeling inside of you has only been associated with one person. It's always been him. But now, a whole other side of yourself is opening up.
You quickly realize your mistake when his grip tightens around your waist and on your breast, demanding your attention.
"No." His voice is low, "Not him."
"M-marc."
He hums and rewards you with a teasing flick of his thumb over your nipple. You're disappointed when his touch suddenly leaves you, but before you can complain, he begins to work his pants all the way off.
"Don't worry about him, sweetheart." He pulls you close enough that you nearly fall over him, causing you to straddle his lap and sit chest-to-chest. "Tonight's about us." The skirt of your dress falls around your thighs, shielding the way his length presses against your inner thigh.
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, flustered by the feeling of his hot body against yours, at the idea that this is really happening.
You breathe in once. Is that..?
And then, once again.
He smells like him.
"You good, baby?" He rubs over the tops of your thighs comfortingly while subtly shoving your skirt up to your waist.
"Mhm..." You hum against his skin, relishing in the feeling of his embrace. You experimentally push your hips against his, grinding your needy center against his. He groans at the contact and cants his hips upwards, forcing you to feel just how hard he is.
Your cunt pulses in desperation as he continues to rut against your clothed clit. You're nearly soaking through your underwear with how wet you are. And by the way he groans against you, he can tell.
An eager hand shoves between your bodies to shove your panties to the side. "Need to feel you." He drags a finger against you, spreading your slick until it runs down the palm of his hand. "Fuck. You're so ready for me."
"P-please." It's a hushed whisper against his shoulder, but he hears it loud and clear.
"Please, what?" He pushes you back, forcing you to look at him as he lines himself up. Heat pricks at the tops of your cheeks before you cast your eyes downwards.
Is he really going to make you say it?
"M-marc." You whimper as he brushes the tip of his cock through the seam of your cunt, covering himself with your lust. He mouths at your neck, ignoring your pleas by keeping himself busy sucking bites and bruises into your skin. "Please, fuck me, Marc."
He barely gives you a second before he's pushing in with a single fluid motion. The feeling is indescribable. How can he share a body with Steven, but make this feel so different?
"So big..." You gasp out, thighs trembling around his.
"Taking me so well, baby. Just let me in."
He pushes up until you're filled to the brim, drawing out a broken moan from your lips. The stretch is exquisite in this position. You feel like you've never felt anyone as deeply as he is right now.
As soon as he's sure you're comfortable, he starts moving, grinding up against you until you're looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. You're mewls fill the room as his cock drags perfectly against your slick walls. You arch your back and start moving over him, desperate to feel him entirely.
He watches you bounce on his lap, timing his movements so his thrusts meet yours.
"Such a greedy slut aren't you?" His harsh words are punctuated with sharp thrusts, causing you to clench around him involuntarily. The sensation almost leaves him breathless, but he continues talking through gritted teeth. "You couldn't get enough from Steven, hm?"
His pants turn into rough grunts as he speeds up. He thrusting into you like he's taking revenge, like he's proving that he's the piece that's been missing from your life.
You shake your head, "Need b-both."
"Yeah, you do. Always so desperate to be filled by this cock." He holds you in place and begins to viciously thrust up into you.
"O-oh-!" He's hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You can't help the way your mouth gapes at the toe curling sensation.
Everything around you quickly fades away and all you can see, hear, and feel is him. You can't even articulate anything when pure ecstasy blooms in your core and permeates throughout your body.
You seize in his hold as he continues to roll his hips against yours, feeling boneless from the pleasure that hums through every nerve. He groans at the flutter of your walls around him, gripping him so tight in your warmth. He can barely get out a handful of thrusts before he's spilling inside of you.
You're a mess on top of him, soaking his lap in a mixture of the two of you. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, but it doesn't matter when you can still feel him pulsing inside of you.
Your eyes flutter open as a gentle hand caresses your jaw and guides you to lean in.
You meet vulnerable eyes framed by dark lashes.
He takes a breath, like he's bracing for the worst, but he doesn't have the chance to let it go before you're pressing your lips against his.
---
You sleep like a rock. It's almost like no time has passed. Why dream when you have everything you want right in front of you?
Or behind you, that is.
You can already tell it's Steven with the way he nuzzles himself against the back of your neck. "G'mornin', darling." He's adorable with his roughened groggy voice.
"Hi, baby." He curls up at the pet name and holds you closer, already flustered before he has fully woken up. You can tell it takes him a few moments to blink the sleep away because suddenly he's stiff against you (and not in a good way).
"W-what. What happened?"
You sigh, "Marc happened."
"Did he hurt you? Oh my god," He pushes away to get a better view, "was he mauling your neck?!"
"Steven, it's fine." You feel your face warm up at the thought of the night before. "I...kinda liked it."
Steven huffs to himself as his thumb lightly brushes over a particularly obvious bruise on your neck, "He's trying to steal my girlfriend."
You nearly choke on yourself, "G-girlfriend?"
"Yes...? I mean, you are, right? Unless," Steven's eyes widen, "I-uh, didn't mean to assume--"
"No, Steven. I-I'd love to be your girlfriend."
#marc spector smut#marc spector x reader#steven grant smut#steven grant x reader#marc spector#steven grant#moon knight
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High shower sex with Eddie Munson?
cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you smack it) obvious drug use
The bathroom became foggy as you and Eddie stood in it, the smoke coming from your mouths making it even more hazy. Your lips attached as Eddie stubbed the joint out onto the counter, his hands then sliding up your waist to move under your shirt, pushing it up and pulling it off of your head, tossing it aside.
The thing about Eddie was that being high or drunk always made him horny, not that you minded. In fact, it was what you preferred. You him do whatever he wanted to you and he was the same as you tended to always want each other so badly.
He was also needy and whiny when he was under the influence, but you liked that about him, hearing how pathetic he sounded always doing something to you, especially gettin you so wet you didn't know what to do with you.
"Need you so bad," he whined against your lips as he removed your bra in one swift motion, throwing it behind him before moving onto your jeans, unbuttoning them swiftly before tugging them down your legs, pressing kisses to your stomach as he moved down onto his knees, your cunt right in front of his face.
Before he could get ahead of himself, he stood up and turned to the shower to see that it was finally hot enough. And with that, he stripped then pulled to you where the shower door was already opened, pushing you underneath the shower head.
It rained down on you and you leaned back, letting it hit your head, loving the way the warm water ran down it. You then moved so Eddie could also get wet and he was quick to pull you under it, pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. His hands grabbed hold of your waist and he backed you up to the wall across from him, pushing you against it with so much force that it caused you to gasp.
He just chuckled in response and continued to kiss you stupid, letting his tongue lazily roam your mouth as his hands slide down to your ass, loving the way you gasped into his mouth as he gave it a squeeze, followed by a slap.
He hands traveled lower as he lifted you up to wrap your legs around him. Together, you helped him slid his cock inside you and you both moaned at the feeling, your minds suddenly fuzzy from the weed.
"God, I've been dreaming about this all day," he told you as he pounded into you, your back hitting the wall every time and he was quick to reach up and cup the back of your head so you didn't hit it.
"Me too, baby," you replied, already feeling blissed out as a result from Eddie's cock, but also the joint that was finally catching up to you. You had no idea why you didn't smoke before fucking more often. Seeing his eyes glazing over as he stared down at you, looking as if he was going to eat you alive was going to live in your head rent free for the rest of your life.
"I was thinking about the exact thing all morning. And you're more than exceeding my expectations."
"You look so fucking hot on my cock. And jesus christ, doll, saying things like that makes me feel like I'm already close." He whined as he pounded into you with even more force, watching you crumble in his arms, already looking you were spent.
"Well come on then, let's get you there," you responded as you bucked your hips against his as hard as you could, continuing the motion until you watched him reach his peak, a loud moan leaving his lips before he quickly pulled out.
Eddie then set you back on your feet and the two of you continued to shower as you both came down from your high, deciding that you could have stayed there forever as long as you were in each other's company.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem!reader
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I absolutely love how you write for the bg3 companions!!
Can we get romanced companions reacting to seeing Tav being approached by an abusive ex, who grabs them violently when Tav tries to walk away from the confrontation? They are grabbed violently by the hair, neck, wrist, etc? Thank you!!
omg yessssssssss tw everyone this will contain themes of abuse and domestic violence so if you are uncomfortable with that please click off and I will see you in the next one xox
Karlach:
The tavern was warm and lively, filled with the buzz of laughter, clinking mugs, and the hum of an old bard strumming away in the corner. You sat close to Karlach at a small, dimly lit table, her broad grin as radiant as ever. Her laughter boomed over some silly tale you'd told, her joy contagious as the two of you sipped from your mugs. The night was going perfectly—until they showed up.
You didn’t see your ex at first, but you heard their voice, a cold and unwelcome shard of your past cutting through the tavern’s warmth. “Well, well. Look who it is.”
Your stomach dropped. Turning slowly, you saw them, standing just a few feet away with that same cruel smirk you’d hoped to never see again. They looked the same, too—bitter, angry, and clearly still holding a grudge. Karlach’s laughter faded as she noticed your sudden shift in demeanor. Her eyes flicked between you and the person now looming over your table.
“Not here,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with warning. “Don’t make a scene. Just leave.”
They laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that turned heads. “Oh, I’m making a scene?” they sneered, stepping closer. “You think you can just walk out of my life and act like nothing happened?”
You tried to stand, but before you could, their hand shot out and grabbed your arm, fingers digging into your skin.
“You’re not going anywhere,” they hissed.
The motion was so sudden that the tavern seemed to freeze for a moment. The mug in Karlach’s hand thudded onto the table, her expression darkening in an instant.
“Get your hands off them,” she said, her voice a low, warning growl.
Your ex sneered at her, but before they could say anything more, Karlach shot up from her seat. She shoved them back with one powerful hand, forcing them to release you. The force sent them stumbling, their eyes widening in shock.
“You okay?” Karlach asked, her warm brown eyes filled with concern as she turned to you. Her hand came to your cheek, her thumb brushing gently against your skin.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice wavered slightly. “Let’s just—”
Before you could finish, your ex stormed back, their face twisted in rage. They lunged toward you, but they didn’t get far. Karlach’s fist met their face in a flash of fiery determination, the impact so loud it echoed through the now-silent tavern. Your ex crumpled to the floor in a heap, unconscious before they even hit the ground.
Karlach flexed her fingers, looking down at them with disdain.
“Idiot,” she muttered, then turned back to you. “C’mon, love. Let’s get out of here.”
You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for your coat. As the two of you walked out into the cool night air, Karlach slipped an arm around your shoulders, her presence grounding you.
“Sorry about that,” you murmured after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think they’d—”
“Stop,” Karlach said gently, her voice firm but kind. “You don’t owe me an apology for their bullshit. What’s their deal, anyway?”
You hesitated but eventually sighed. “We were together a long time ago. It… wasn’t a good relationship. They were controlling, mean. It took everything I had to leave.”
Karlach’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of rage in her eyes as she looked straight ahead.
“Should’ve killed the arsehole,” she muttered under her breath.
You chuckled softly, though it was tinged with nervousness. “You don’t have to solve everything with violence, you know.”
She looked down at you, her expression softening.
“Not everything,” she said with a small grin. “But that? They had it coming.” Her arm tightened around you. “No one gets to treat you like that. Not while I’m here.”
A warm wave of gratitude washed over you as you leaned into her, the safety of her presence more comforting than words could express. “Thank you, Karlach.”
“Always, love,” she replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. As the two of you walked home, you felt lighter, knowing you were no longer alone in facing the ghosts of your past.
Minthara:
The streets of Baldur's Gate were alive with the din of activity: merchants haggling in the marketplace, children darting between the crowd, and the occasional bard strumming a jaunty tune. You walked alongside Minthara, her presence commanding, as always. Her arm curled around your waist with a possessiveness that was both protective and tender. Her silvery hair caught the evening light, and her voice, low and firm, reached your ear.
“We are being followed,” she murmured, her lips brushing your temple. “Someone’s gaze lingers far too long on you.”
Your heart sank, a sinking pit of familiarity clawing at your gut. You subtly glanced over your shoulder under the guise of adjusting your scarf, and that’s when you saw them: your abusive ex. Their figure lingered in the shadows, weaving through the crowd like a snake, their eyes fixed on you with that same unsettling intensity you had tried so hard to forget.
“Dammit,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. The weight of the moment sank in, and you let out a frustrated sigh.
Minthara’s amber eyes narrowed as she studied your expression.
“Who is that?” she asked, her voice icy and sharp.
You hesitated, considering whether to brush it off, but you knew better than to lie to Minthara. “Do you remember the scar just above my hip?” you asked softly, barely above a whisper.
Her grip on your waist tightened as she nodded, her gaze fixed on you, unreadable yet intense.
“They gave it to me,” you admitted, keeping your voice steady. “It happened the day I tried to leave them. We fought, and—” You stopped, the memories creeping too close. “They’ve always had a hard time letting go.”
Minthara’s body went rigid. Her hand, still wrapped around your waist, stilled entirely, her nails pressing into the fabric of your tunic. Her jaw clenched, and before you could stop her, she uncoiled with terrifying precision and sprinted toward your ex.
“Minthara, wait!” you shouted, but it was useless. She was already closing the distance.
Your ex barely had time to react before Minthara tackled them to the ground with the force of a lioness taking down her prey. The crowd scattered, gasps and shouts echoing in the marketplace as she delivered blow after calculated blow. Each strike was vicious but efficient, aimed with the precision of someone trained to dismantle an opponent piece by piece. Her movements were smooth, brutal, and terrifyingly beautiful in their ruthlessness.
“Touch them again,” Minthara snarled, her voice low and venomous as she pressed her forearm against your ex’s throat, “and I will ensure that death would beg for you before I allow it.”
She delivered one final punch, leaving your ex groaning and crumpled in the dirt, their face bloodied and swollen. Satisfied, she stood, brushing her hands off as if she had merely swatted a fly. She strode back toward you, the calm precision of her movements making the crowd part before her like waves.
When she reached you, she lifted her chin, a faint, dangerous smile curling her lips.
“The injuries I’ve given them will take decades to heal,” she promised, her voice still simmering with fury. “And perhaps a century to scar.”
You stared at her, part of you unsure whether to admonish or thank her. Finally, you sighed, shaking your head. “Minthara, you didn’t have to—”
“They hurt you,” she cut in, her voice softening only slightly as her gaze bored into yours. “That is reason enough.”
She reached out, brushing her thumb against your cheek with unexpected tenderness. “You are mine to protect. That wretch deserved every ounce of pain I inflicted.”
Despite the ferocity of her words, the warmth in her touch reminded you why you trusted her so deeply. With a soft sigh, you nodded, leaning into her hand.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, the weight of her actions settling in. Her smile widened, pride glinting in her eyes.
“Of course, my heart. No one who dares harm you will ever go unpunished.” She took your hand and began walking again, her steps measured and sure. As the chaos in the marketplace faded behind you, you couldn’t help but feel safer than you ever had before.
Lae'zel:
The bustling market was alive with noise: merchants shouting out their wares, children weaving between the stalls, and the occasional clang of metal as blacksmiths displayed their crafts. You and Lae’zel moved through the chaos, her sharp eyes scanning for supplies while you trailed beside her, taking in the sights. It was a moment of relative peace amidst your usual adventures.
And then, like a thunderclap on a clear day, you saw them. Your ex.
Before you could react, they were in front of you, their face lighting up with a joy that felt out of place—wrong, even. “There you are!” they exclaimed, pulling you into a hug so suddenly that you didn’t have time to resist. Their arms wrapped around you tightly, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat as panic set in. It wasn’t the embrace of an old friend—it was a claim, a reminder of the control they once held over you.
“I’ve missed you,” they said with a grin, pulling back to look at you. “We have to catch up sometime.”
They left without waiting for your reply, disappearing into the crowd as if they hadn’t just turned your world upside down. You stood there, motionless, your heart pounding and your thoughts racing.
Lae’zel, who had been perusing a nearby stand, turned to you. Her amber eyes immediately narrowed, her expression shifting from mild annoyance at the interruption to something far more dangerous.
“What is this?” she demanded, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to fight a dragon with a pitchfork. Who were they?”
You couldn’t speak at first. Your throat felt dry, and the words were stuck, lodged somewhere between fear and shame. Finally, you managed to stammer out, “That… That was my ex.”
Lae’zel’s eyes sharpened, her gaze cutting through you like a blade.
“And this is your reaction to a past lover? You are no stranger to affection, but you looked as though the mere touch of them turned your blood to acid.” Her voice lowered, her tone becoming more dangerous. “What did they do to you?”
You tried to explain, but the words faltered. Your lips moved, but the memories caught up with you, dragging you back into a place you didn’t want to revisit. You didn’t need to say it, though—Lae’zel saw the truth in your silence.
She cursed violently in Gith, the harsh, guttural sounds slicing through the air. Her hand tightened around her weapon, and her whole body tensed like a predator ready to strike.
“They hurt you,” she said, her voice barely above a growl. “I will take their head and present it to you as a trophy.”
She turned, already scanning the crowd for their retreating form, but you reached out, grabbing her arm.
“Wait,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… wait a moment.”
Lae’zel hesitated, her muscles twitching with the need for action, but she stayed. Her eyes never left you as you closed yours and took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within. She stayed close, her presence grounding you as you forced yourself to let go of the fear and focus on the present.
After a few moments, you opened your eyes and gave her a weak smile.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I just needed a moment.”
Her gaze softened slightly, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed.
“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. “Because I will not let this stand.”
You nodded, a small gesture, but it was all she needed. With a fierce grin, she turned on her heel and stalked into the crowd, her focus like a blade honed to perfection.
It didn’t take long for her to find them. You followed at a safe distance, your heart racing but unable to stop her now. She caught up to them near a fruit stall, grabbing them by the shoulder and spinning them around. They barely had time to react before Lae’zel shoved them against a wooden post, her face inches from theirs.
“You dare to touch what is mine?” she snarled, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone nearby. “You have left scars on them that I cannot abide. For that, I will use your head as my footrest.”
The ex stammered, their confidence evaporating under her ferocity. Before they could say anything more, Lae’zel delivered a sharp blow to their stomach, doubling them over. She stepped back, letting them fall to their knees, then stood over them like a conqueror surveying her victory.
Satisfied that her message was clear, she turned and walked back to you, her expression fierce but triumphant.
“It is done,” she said simply. “They will not trouble you again.”
You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you despite the chaos. “Thank you,” you said, reaching out to take her hand.
Her grip was firm, reassuring. “No one hurts you and walks away unscathed,” she said. “Not while I draw breath.”
With that, she led you away, her protective presence a shield against the world.
Shadowheart:
The party was vibrant, full of chatter, music, and laughter. The hum of lively conversation filled the grand hall as you and Shadowheart wove through the crowd, wine glasses in hand. You hadn’t been entirely thrilled about attending, but Shadowheart’s soft insistence and the promise of shared moments made it worthwhile.
That was until you saw them—your ex.
They were standing near the center of a small group, regaling their audience with some elaborate tale, their gestures animated and their voice dripping with charm. Your stomach turned when they noticed you, their expression lighting up with the kind of false familiarity that set your nerves on edge. They sidled over, slipping seamlessly into your space, and before you could react, they had drawn you into their circle.
Shadowheart, ever watchful, stayed close, her sharp eyes flicking between you and your ex.
“We can leave,” she murmured under her breath, her voice calm but concerned. “Say the word.”
You shook your head, managing a strained smile.
“I’ll be fine,” you assured her, though your grip on your glass tightened slightly. You didn’t want to ruin the evening for her.
As the conversation swirled, your ex began telling a story—one about you. They spoke as if the two of you were still an item, peppering their tale with biting remarks and veiled insults.
“Oh, you should’ve seen them back then,” they sneered, “always so scatterbrained. Couldn’t even get through a simple task without my help.”
The group laughed awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension. Your face burned with a mix of anger and humiliation, but before you could find your voice, Shadowheart stepped forward, her demeanor cool and composed, but her eyes as sharp as daggers.
She interrupted smoothly, her voice cutting through the conversation like a blade.
“That reminds me of a story from my past,” she said, her tone conversational yet chilling. The group turned to her, captivated by the quiet authority in her voice. “There was a time when I dealt with an exceptionally arrogant prisoner. They fancied themselves clever—always talking back, thinking they were in control. So I decided to teach them a lesson.” She paused, taking a sip of her wine as if the next part were merely an afterthought. “I ripped out their tongue and fed it to them.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The group stared at her, their eyes wide, as the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. Your ex, who had been so confident mere moments ago, visibly paled, their mouth opening and closing as if searching for a retort.
Shadowheart tilted her head slightly, a faint, dangerous smile playing on her lips. “It’s remarkable how much quieter some people can be after a simple… correction.”
Your ex stammered something unintelligible before hastily excusing themselves, practically fleeing from the room. The tension broke, and you couldn’t help but laugh—a genuine, bubbling sound of relief and delight. You turned to Shadowheart, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection.
“Thank you,” you said, grinning. “The look on their face… I’ll treasure that forever.”
Shadowheart leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a tender yet possessive kiss.
“I love you,” she said softly, her words a vow as much as a declaration.
Then she pulled back slightly, her eyes glinting with something dark and resolute.
“Hold my wine,” she said, pressing her glass into your hand. “There’s something—or rather, someone—I need to deal with.”
Before you could protest, she was gone, her dark hair flowing like a shadow cutting through the crowd. You watched her go, a mixture of admiration and mild terror filling you. Whatever she had in mind, you knew one thing for certain: no one would dare cross her—or you—ever again.
Jaheira:
The warm hum of Jaheira's household had always been a comfort to you. The chatter of the children, the occasional laughter, and the scent of a home-cooked meal mingled with the faint floral aroma of the plants she meticulously tended. You were setting the table, ready to sit down for the evening meal with Jaheira and her family, when an insistent knock sounded at the door.
The sound froze you in place. It wasn’t the friendly, casual knock of a neighbor or friend. No, it was sharp and demanding, like someone who felt entitled to be heard. Dread pooled in your stomach, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t that person anymore. You were stronger now, surrounded by people who cared for you.
Still, when you opened the door and saw your ex standing there, their familiar sneer twisting their features, that old fear reared its head.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, keeping your voice firm. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
Your ex scoffed, taking a step closer. “I’ll decide where I should be,” they spat. “We have unfinished business.”
Your heart raced, but you held your ground. “Leave,” you repeated, gripping the doorframe tightly. “Now.”
Their response was to shove you—hard. The force sent you stumbling back, and you hit the ground with a painful thud, the breath knocked out of you. Your ex marched inside, their eyes scanning the room like they owned it.
“Get out!” you shouted, your voice shaking more than you’d like.
The commotion brought Jaheira’s children rushing into the room. Jhessem and Tate were at your side in an instant, their small hands helping you sit up as they looked at you with wide, worried eyes. Fig, ever the fiery little warrior, grabbed her wooden sword and brandished it at your ex, her small frame trembling but determined.
“You leave them alone!” she yelled, her voice high-pitched but fierce.
Your ex laughed, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. But the laughter died when Jord and Rion stepped forward, their presence filling the room with an almost tangible force.
Jord, tall and broad-shouldered, the half-orc planted himself between the children and your ex.
“You’ve got two seconds to get out of this house,” he said, his voice low and rumbling with warning.
Rion, her sharp features twisted into a glare that could cut stone, pointed a finger at your ex.
“You do not belong here,” she said, her tone icy. “Leave before I make you.”
Despite the bravery of Jaheira’s children, you quickly pushed yourself to your feet, positioning yourself between them and your ex.
“This isn’t their fight,” you said firmly, your voice stronger now as you faced your abuser. “Leave them out of this. Leave us alone.”
Your ex sneered, taking a step toward you, but before they could say another word, the sound of measured, deliberate footsteps echoed from the staircase. Everyone turned as Jaheira descended, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s.
She took in the scene at a glance—the children bristling with protective anger, you standing tense and pale, and your ex, whose presence tainted the very air. Her expression darkened like a storm cloud.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.
Your ex, ever the fool, sneered. “Just having a little chat.”
Jaheira’s gaze flicked to you. “Are they threatening you?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
Before you could answer, your ex made the mistake of laughing. “This is none of your business, old woman.”
Jaheira didn’t respond with words. Instead, she raised a hand, her fingers curling in a subtle motion. Thorned vines erupted from the floor, twisting and writhing like living snakes. They wrapped around your ex with terrifying speed, pinning their arms to their sides and tightening until they yelped in pain.
“Get them out of here,” Jaheira commanded, her voice like steel.
The vines obeyed, dragging your ex toward the door. They thrashed and cursed, but the thorns only dug in deeper. With a final, satisfying motion, the vines flung them out into the street. The door slammed shut behind them, and the vines retracted as if they had never been.
Jaheira turned to you, her eyes softening. You immediately started to apologize, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “Jaheira, I’m so sorry—I never thought they’d come here. I never wanted to put you or your children in danger—”
“Stop being ridiculous,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. She stepped closer, her hands cupping your face as she looked you over. “Are you hurt?”
You shook your head, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I’m okay.”
“Good,” she said, her hands dropping to your shoulders. “You’ve been through enough tonight. Rest now.”
“I’ll make some tea,” Jord said, already heading toward the kitchen with calm efficiency.
Fig tugged at your sleeve, her wooden sword still clutched in her hand. “We’ll always help you,” she said, her voice small but fierce.
You managed a smile, ruffling her hair. “Thank you, Fig.”
Jaheira wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward the sitting area.
“You’re safe here,” she murmured, her voice steady and soothing. “No one—no one—will ever hurt you again.”
As you sank into the cushions, the tension slowly leaving your body, you felt the warmth of Jaheira’s family around you. They had rallied to protect you without hesitation, and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly safe.
Gale:
The cozy, labyrinthine aisles of Sorcerous Sundries stretched out around you, their shelves laden with ancient tomes and scrolls that hummed with latent magic. The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air, grounding and soothing. You and Gale had been immersed in your own quiet exploration, each lost in the treasure trove of knowledge. Every so often, you’d exchange a snippet of discovery—a passage here, a glyph there—but for the most part, it was a shared silence, warm and comfortable.
As your fingers trailed over the spine of a particularly aged tome, its title caught your eye: The Heart of Aetherial Bonds. Intrigued, you flipped it open and found a passage that immediately reminded you of Gale. The words were poetic, a reflection on the ties between love and magic, the way one could amplify the other. A small smile tugged at your lips. He would love this.
“Gale,” you called softly, tucking the book under your arm as you began to weave through the aisles, searching for him.
Your steps were light as you rounded a corner, spotting a familiar silhouette a few shelves away.
“There you are,” you began, but as the figure turned, the words died in your throat.
It wasn’t Gale.
Your blood ran cold as you recognized them—your ex. The person who had haunted your past, whose shadow you had thought you’d escaped. Their eyes lit up with a twisted glee, and before you could move, they stepped forward and grabbed your arm in an iron grip.
“I can’t believe it,” they said, their voice dripping with possessive satisfaction. “I’ve been searching for you, and here you are.”
“Let go of me,” you said firmly, trying to pull away. Their grip only tightened, the familiar pain radiating up your arm.
“You’re coming home,” they hissed, their tone leaving no room for argument.
Your heart pounded as you pushed against their hold, your voice shaking. “You’re hurting me—let go.”
But just as before, they didn’t listen. Their other hand reached to grip your shoulder, and for a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm you.
Then, the air shifted. A crackling sound filled the room, sharp and electric, like the air before a storm. A chill ran down your spine as the oppressive grip on your arm faltered. Both you and your ex turned toward the source of the energy.
Gale stood at the end of the aisle, his form illuminated by a pulsing, arcane light. His expression was unlike anything you had seen before—fierce, unyielding, his eyes glowing with a raw, dangerous power. Magic swirled around him, forming tendrils of energy that snapped and sparked against the air.
“Release them,” he said, his voice a low, commanding growl.
Your ex hesitated, their bravado wavering as the sheer intensity of Gale’s presence bore down on them.
“This isn’t your business, mage” they spat, but their voice lacked conviction.
“Oh, but it is,” Gale said, his hands lifting as the magic in the air intensified. “You’ve made it so.”
Before another word could be uttered, a blinding flash of energy erupted from Gale’s outstretched palms. The searing light enveloped your ex, their scream cut short as their form disintegrated into ash, leaving nothing behind but a faint, acrid scent and a smudge of dust on the floor. The magic dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the air still and silent.
Gale was at your side in an instant, his hands gently cradling your face as he looked you over.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice soft now, filled with worry.
You shook your head, tears welling up as the adrenaline drained from your body.
“I—I’m okay,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the weight of what had just happened settled over you. The tension in your body melted as you buried your face in his chest, the faint scent of his robes and the comforting hum of his magic grounding you. Your shoulders shook as quiet sobs escaped, the fear and relief spilling out all at once.
“It’s over,” Gale murmured, his hand gently stroking your back. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
You clung to him, the sound of his heartbeat steady and calming against your ear. After a while, your tears slowed, and you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His face was a mixture of concern and quiet anger, his protective instincts still on high alert.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said, your voice trembling but sincere.
He smiled softly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ll never have to find out.”
Astarion:
The lively hum of the tavern wrapped around you like a familiar cloak, its warmth and noise a welcome respite from the chaos of adventuring. You sat at a corner table with Astarion, his sharp wit and flair for drama turning a mundane evening into something delightfully entertaining. Together, you exchanged hushed gossip about the other patrons—their fashion choices, their whispered secrets—and laughed at his outrageous commentary.
“Oh, look at him,” Astarion murmured, tilting his head toward a burly man near the bar, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “I’d wager he’s had one too many pies—and just one too many wives, judging by that tan line on his ring finger.”
You snorted into your drink, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And yet, you adore me,” he said with a playful smirk. He lifted your glass with a flourish. “Speaking of adoration, I’ll be a dear and fetch you a refill. Don’t miss me too much.”
You grinned, watching as Astarion sashayed toward the bar, his charm radiating even in the simplest of tasks. Leaning back, you took a moment to enjoy the bustling atmosphere, but your peace shattered as a shadow fell over your table.
Your stomach churned as you turned to see your ex standing there, their presence as unwelcome as a dagger in the back. Without waiting for an invitation, they slid into Astarion’s vacated seat, their grin sending a chill down your spine.
“Well, well,” they said, leaning closer. “Fancy seeing you here.”
You stiffened, your pulse quickening. “Leave,” you said coldly, standing abruptly. “This isn’t the place, and I have nothing to say to you.”
But as you turned to leave, their hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you back with a cruel force. A sharp yelp escaped your lips as pain flared along your scalp.
“You think you can just walk away from me?” they snarled, their grip tightening. You tried to swing at them, but panic muddled your movements, and they easily avoided your weak attempts to break free. The room seemed to close in, the once-lively chatter of the tavern fading into a distant hum as fear took hold.
And then, just as suddenly, the pressure on your scalp vanished. You staggered forward, catching yourself on the edge of the table, and turned to see your ex frozen in place. A knife glinted at their throat, a thin line of blood already welling against the blade’s edge. Behind them stood Astarion, his expression icy and predatory.
“I’ve been dying for a fresh kill tonight,” Astarion purred, his voice dangerously low. “And it seems you’ve volunteered. How considerate.”
Your ex’s bravado crumbled as they began to stammer, their hands raised in shaky surrender. Astarion’s grip on the knife didn’t waver, his sharp eyes flicking to you.
“Darling,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “this one’s causing you trouble, isn’t he?”
You met his gaze, your scalp still throbbing but your heart swelling with gratitude. Nodding slowly, you gave him permission with a single, deliberate motion of your head.
Astarion’s smile widened, and he dragged your ex out of the tavern with an almost casual ease, ignoring their sputtered protests. The crowd parted instinctively, sensing the danger in his stride. You stayed behind, nursing your scalp and taking deep breaths to steady yourself. The minutes felt like hours, but eventually, Astarion returned, brushing off his hands as though he’d simply taken out the trash.
“All taken care of,” he said, his tone light as he reached for you, cupping your face gently. “Let me see—did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “I—I could have handled it.”
Astarion raised an elegant eyebrow, his hand trailing down to rest on your shoulder.
“Oh, please, my love,” he said with mock exasperation. “You’re many things, but you’re not a liar. Let me have this one.”
You sighed, relenting. “Thank you, Astarion.”
He smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “You’re welcome, darling. But seriously, are you okay? That brute—”
You interrupted him with a nod, placing a hand over his. “I am now. Because I’m with you.”
His expression softened, the predatory edge replaced by something tender.
“Always,” he murmured, his voice a promise. With a protective arm around your waist, he led you out of the tavern, away from the echoes of the past and into the safe haven of his presence.
Wyll:
The ballroom of the Ulder Ravengard's estate was a vision of opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast shimmering light over marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Noblemen and women in resplendent attire swayed to the music of a skilled orchestra, their laughter mingling with the hum of conversation. You and Wyll had been thoroughly enjoying yourselves, weaving through the room, gossiping about fashion choices and laughing at poorly-hidden flirtations among the elite.
Wyll, as always, moved with an effortless charm that drew people to him like moths to a flame. He introduced you to old friends, clinking glasses with ease, his laugh rich and genuine. His warmth was contagious, and you found yourself at ease in a social world that might have otherwise intimidated you. But when Wyll excused himself to chat with a group of friends near the wine table, you waved him off with a smile, happy to people-watch for a while.
A light tap on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts. A hand reached out, beckoning you to the dance floor. You assumed it was a friend or an acquaintance and allowed yourself to be led. But as you turned, your stomach plummeted. Your blood ran cold.
It was them.
Your abusive ex stood before you, their grin as sharp and cruel as you remembered. It was a grin that promised pain masked under a veneer of charm. You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but their grip only tightened, their fingers digging into your wrist.
“Don’t look so surprised,” they said smoothly, their voice low and venomous. “You didn’t think you could escape me forever, did you?”
“This isn’t the time or place,” you hissed, keeping your voice quiet to avoid drawing attention. “Let me go.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” they replied, their grip tightening further as they began to lead you into a slow, swaying dance. Their tone was soft, deceptively sweet, but their eyes glinted with malice. “You owe me this much, at least. Don’t make a scene. Wouldn’t want to embarrass your fancy boyfriend or his oh-so-important father, would you?”
Your heart raced as they leaned in closer, their breath hot against your ear.
“You think you’ve moved on, don’t you? That you can just walk away from what we had? You’re mine, and you always will be.” You tried to twist out of their grip, panic rising in your chest.
“Let go of me,” you spat, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed.
Their smile only widened. “Oh I don’t think so,” they said, their voice dropping an octave. “You’re going to regret leaving me.”
You braced yourself, half-expecting them to lash out. Your eyes squeezed shut as you prepared for a blow that never came. Instead, a loud, sickening crack echoed through the ballroom, followed by gasps from nearby guests.
Opening your eyes, you saw your ex sprawled on the polished floor, clutching their face. Blood gushed from their nose, staining their pristine clothing. Standing over them, his posture rigid with fury, was Wyll. His usual easygoing demeanor was gone, replaced by a simmering rage that made the air around him feel electric.
“Touch them again,” Wyll growled, his voice low and deadly, “and a broken nose will be the least of your worries.”
Your ex scrambled backward on the floor, their bravado shattered as they stared up at Wyll in terror. Before they could say anything, a pair of Flaming Fist guards appeared, having been alerted by the commotion. Wyll waved them over, his eyes never leaving your ex.
“Take them,” Wyll ordered, his voice firm. “They’re disturbing the peace.”
The guards didn’t hesitate. They grabbed your ex by the arms and hauled them to their feet, ignoring their sputtering protests and threats. As they dragged your ex away, Wyll finally turned to you, his expression softening in an instant.
“Are you alright, love?” he asked gently, stepping closer to cup your face in his hands. His warm brown eyes scanned you for any sign of injury.
“I’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky. “Wyll, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to cause a scene—”
“Stop,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize. This isn’t on you.”
The weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, brought tears to your eyes. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head as he whispered soothing words into your ear. The rest of the ballroom seemed to fade away, leaving only the comforting warmth of his presence.
When you finally pulled back, he brushed a stray tear from your cheek and gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
You nodded, your breath evening out as the panic subsided. “Thank you, Wyll.”
He kissed your forehead tenderly before taking your hand in his.
“Come, my love,” he said, his voice returning to its usual warmth. “Let’s get you a fresh drink. We’ve both earned it tonight.”
And with that, he led you away from the gawking crowd, his protective arm wrapped securely around you, a silent promise that no harm would come to you as long as he was by your side.
Halsin:
The forest was tranquil, the golden light of the afternoon filtering through the dense canopy of leaves. You moved between patches of wildflowers, humming a tune as you gathered handfuls of blooms for the orphans back at the grove. The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and moss, and for a time, you felt entirely at peace.
Your basket was nearly full when a faint rustling behind you caught your attention. You paused, glancing over your shoulder, but the forest appeared empty. Shrugging it off as a rabbit or some other harmless creature, you bent down to pluck a cluster of bright yellow flowers. You didn’t notice the shaggy, wiry wolf stalking closer, its pale eyes fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.
Suddenly, the wolf sprang from the underbrush, a blur of fur and teeth. You gasped as it collided with you, the force of the pounce knocking you to the ground. Its heavy paws pinned you to the forest floor, the breath driven from your lungs as you struggled beneath its weight.
Before you could scream, the wolf began to shift. Fur melted into skin, limbs elongated, and in moments, you were staring into the face of your abusive ex. The recognition hit you like a blow to the chest, your blood running cold.
“You,” you breathed, horrified, and immediately began to struggle.
They leaned closer, their wild eyes gleaming with an unnerving fervor.
“Did you miss me, darling?” they crooned, their voice dripping with mock affection. “I’ve missed you so much. I couldn’t let you go, not like that.”
“Get off me!” you snapped, shoving at their chest with all your strength. Your heart pounded as you tried to call for help, but their hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you.
“Shh,” they whispered, their grin twisting into something darker. “Don’t make this difficult. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
Panic surged through you, and you did the only thing you could think of—you bit down hard on the palm of their hand. They hissed in pain but didn’t flinch away, instead smirking as if they found your resistance amusing.
“Still feisty,” they murmured, their tone infuriatingly condescending. “I’ve always loved that about—”
Their words were cut off by a deafening roar, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through the forest. A massive brown bear charged out of the trees, barreling into your ex with bone-crushing force. The impact sent them flying, their body slamming into the trunk of a tree with a sickening thud.
The bear was relentless. Your ex shifted back into their wolf form, snarling as they tried to defend themselves, but they were no match for the sheer ferocity of Halsin. His claws tore through fur and flesh with savage precision, his roar echoing through the woods as he drove your ex deeper into retreat. When the wolf finally lay broken and bloodied, it whimpered and slunk away, disappearing into the underbrush.
Halsin remained in bear form for a moment longer, his massive chest heaving as he watched the wolf flee. Only when he was certain the threat was gone did he shift back, his towering frame immediately rushing to your side.
“You’re hurt,” he said urgently, dropping to his knees and cradling your face in his large hands. His amber eyes scanned you for injuries, his expression a mixture of worry and fury. “What did they do to you?”
“I’m okay,” you said, your voice trembling as the adrenaline began to fade. “I’m just… shaken up.”
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. His embrace was almost crushing, but you didn’t mind—you needed the grounding warmth of his presence as much as he needed the reassurance that you were safe. You buried your face against his chest, clinging to him as your body trembled.
“I should have been here sooner,” Halsin murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your forehead. “I’ll never let anything like this happen to you again.”
You rested your head against his chest, letting his warmth and steady presence soothe your frayed nerves. “You were here when I needed you,” you reassured him. “That’s all that matters.”
Halsin pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. He didn’t let go, and you didn’t ask him to. In that moment, being in his arms was the safest place in the world.
[If you or anyone that you know of has experienced behaviors like this please do not hesitate to contact your local authority]
oof that was a bit of a heavy one but i hope you guys enjoyed it - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
#cw: domestic abuse#bg3#baldurs gate 3#minthara x reader#lae'zel x tav#lae'zel x reader#karlach x reader#karlach x tav#karlach bg3#baldurs gate karlach#shadowheart x tav#shadowheart x reader#minthara x tav#bg3 x reader#bg3 imagines#baldurs gate tav#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#gale x reader#gale x tav#gale dekarios x tav#halsin x reader#halsin x tav#wyll x reader#wyll x tav#wyll ravengard x tav#wyll ravengard x reader#bg3 hurt/comfort#jaheira x reader#jaheira x tav
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Mounting Spring Ch. 6
Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)
Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.
From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.
Masterlist to the previous parts!
Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there! Chapter dedicated to @marianafairybread because she always wants to be first in the chapter's comment section... and she did it! haha
Reaching out, he grabbed the first items he found, dropping them into his basket with little thought. ‘I should’ve gone to Trost’, he mused.
The small rural town near the Scout facility didn’t offer much in terms of variety. Most locals lived self-sufficiently, farming or raising livestock. Trost, on the other hand, was farther away, and with his limited free time, it wasn’t an option this week. The act of grocery shopping felt like a distant memory, more of an abstract concept than a routine he’d ever mastered.
In the underground, homes were more like squatter's shelters—claimed rather than owned. Kitchens were either non-existent or barely functional, forcing most people to rely on taverns for meals. He’d done the same. If he wanted more than bread and cheese, he’d head out for something warm. He recalled the occasional market day when he’d taken Isabel to pick out “whatever she wanted,” keeping his hood up to avoid attention.
The image flashed briefly—Isabel, beaming, holding up a packet of cookies, seeking his approval. The memory flickered and faded as he reached for some pastries on display at the bakery. They weren’t much, but they were more than plain crackers.
He picked items at random, a mixture of reluctance and uncertainty guiding his choices. This should do, he thought, noticing the baker’s daughter lugging a heavy tray of milk buns to the counter. Her flour-streaked apron and flushed cheeks gave her the look of someone used to hard work.
Levi cleared his throat.
“Oh, are you done, Captain?” the girl asked, dusted her hands off before packing his selections into paper bags. She couldn’t have been older than his newly proclaimed wife.
“Can I get a dozen of those, too?” He pointed at the fresh white bread.
She blinked, surprised but obliging. “Of course.” As she moved to fulfil his request, she added, “I dare say, Captain, it’s surprising to see you here like this. You hardly ever shop in town.”
Levi hummed noncommittally, neither confirming nor denying. He glanced over his shoulder at his squad, who were busy loading supplies onto the cart, too preoccupied to notice him.
“Is someone sick at HQ? The weather’s been wild lately,” the girl continued, clearly eager for conversation. She might have assumed someone had caught the flu, forcing him into town for soft bread to tide them over until rations were delivered.
“No,” Levi replied curtly, “But yeah, it’s been raining a lot.”
“Do you sell dairy?” he asked, shifting topics as he mentally ticked off his list.
The girl shook her head. “No, that’s Gilbert. He’s around—want me to call him?”
Before Levi could answer, she turned to the back window and shouted, “Gilbert!” Her voice was startlingly loud and commanding, a sharp contrast to her polite demeanour moments earlier. She returned with a cheery smile. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
Levi barely had time to process before, a young man with a dishevelled look and a peaky cap leaned into the window, clearly irritated.
“What now, May?” he grumbled.
‘They’re close’, Levi noted. ‘Well, this town’s so damn small, everyone is.’
Gilbert’s attitude flipped the moment he spotted Levi. “Captain,” he greeted, pulling off his cap and nodding respectfully.
“He’s asking about dairy,” May informed him, returning to her chores.
“Oh, is someone sick?” Gilbert asked, shifting his attention to Levi.
“No, just need milk, cheese, maybe butter. I can’t keep coming down here every time I run out. Do you deliver to the countryside?”
“Of course.” Gilbert nodded. “Leave the empties near the stables. I’ll replace them when I see them.”
“That’ll do,” Levi agreed, pulling out his wallet. He suspected other Scouts’ Squad Leaders had lived a little less frugally than he did. ‘Like Eyebrows,’ he thought grimly. But at that time, most of them where gone.
“I’m just surprised you’re shopping here now,” May chimed in, a sly smile on her face. “Is everything alright at HQ?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the Scouts had a deal with the Reeves Company,” Gilbert added, leaning on the window frame.
Levi hesitated. Socializing wasn’t his strength, but ripping the bandage off now seemed the easiest option. “It’s for my wife,” he said plainly.
Silence fell, heavy and awkward. Levi pressed his lips together; it simply didn’t feel real to pronounce those words. Saying them out loud confused him, it just made no sense for him but it was real. Almost like a weird illusion. The girl’s fake innocence vanished, replaced by a look of irritation and disappointment. Gilbert, on the other hand, stifled a laugh poorly by noticing her face.
“Congratulations,” the girl muttered begrudgingly.
“Congratulations, Captain,” Gilbert said, grinning. “Actually, my father mentioned something about it, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Thanks,” Levi replied curtly, eager to leave.
“Where’s she staying? Maybe she’d like to join us, the girls and I, for tea,” May asked, her tone a forced blend of sweetness and curiosity.
‘For fucks sake, just drop it,’ Levi decided to ignore it as the young man set four glass bottles of milk and some extras. Levi paid, though May tried to refuse. “It’s on the house, Captain,” she insisted.
“Come on, I grabbed a lot,” he countered.
“And my mother would be thrilled knowing Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’s wife is eating her recipes,” she insisted.
Reluctantly, Levi accepted, gathering the bags with practiced efficiency. She resumed her prying. “Let us know where she’s staying! We’ll invite her out!”
“She’s at HQ for now.”
May’s surprise was evident. “I didn’t know civilians could live at HQ.”
“Let them be,” Gilbert teased, nudging her arm. “Newlyweds can’t stand being apart, especially this time of year.” His comment made her giggle and blush.
—
“I paid for those groceries with my dignity,”
“I mean… they’re kind of right; don’t you think? What’s a civilian doing at military headquarters?” The brunette nudged the captain, attempting to keep the conversation alive. “You can’t just keep her locked up in your quarters forever, you know.”
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I know. But where the hell am I supposed to put her? In the stables?”
Hange’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, despite Levi’s clear frustration. “Oh, we could go house-hunting! I’ve always wanted to do that!” They grinned, as if this were an adventure. “Owning a house is one of my wildest dreams! Right up there with seeing the outside world. I can’t believe I got to see the ocean before I could even afford a house—but hey, that’s the economy for you.” Hange chuckled, undeterred.
“I’ll have to have a word with that asshole Zackly. I can’t keep her living off charity,” Levi muttered. His long list of responsibilities felt like tackling a Hydra—cut off one head, and two more grew in its place.
“So?... Did she like them? Or is she still sticking to that hunger strike?” Hange leaned back; their cheeks already flushed from the alcohol. They’d shifted from standing close to the captain to sprawling in their own chair, drink in hand.
“There was never a hunger strike. She just hates our food,” Levi replied dryly. “Not that I blame her. But she’d better start getting used to it. I’m not hiring her a private chef, and she can’t live off cookies and cheese forever.”
The memory of earlier that day surfaced unbidden.
“You’re back!” she said, startled, stepping out of the room quickly to meet him.
“I brought you something to eat.” Levi set the bags down on the table. Unlike her usual cautious approach with the trays he brought, she dove right into inspecting the bags, curiosity lighting up her face.
She peeked into each bag, her expression softening with genuine delight.
Levi caught himself staring—maybe for the first time since they met, he noticed something resembling happiness on her face.
“Oh!” she squealed, pulling out the buns and bringing one to her nose. She inhaled deeply, savouring the sweet scent before tearing a piece off and taking a generous bite.
“Try not to fill up before dinner,” he warned gruffly. He remembered the previous night’s “dinner,” which had mostly involved her picking through the stew like it was poison.
But her eyes, bright and grateful, met his. She made an effort to swallow quickly, breaking the eye contact momentarily, then said softly, “Thank you.”
“Oww. Look at you, all doting. Your little alpha brain was probably glowing,” Hange teased with a wide grin.
Levi frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Come on, Levi. Alphas instinctively provide for their mates. Bringing her food is, like, prime courting behaviour—”
“Spare me the biology lesson,” Levi cut them off sharply. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense for one day.”
He reached for his glass, hoping it would hide the faint heat creeping up his neck. He’d dreamed of her the previous night. Not just of her, but of marking her—claiming her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to think about while awake.
“At least her scent’s calming down,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hange. “Maybe now I can actually think straight.”
The last remaining veteran hummed faintly, their approval distant as they leaned back in their swinging chair, eyes closed. Sleep-deprivation from endless responsibilities and the alcohol in their system created a perfect cocktail for them to drift into dreamland almost instantly.
Levi, however, let his head hang over the back of his seat, eyes shut. He sighed heavily. “The one thing I’m grateful for... is that those two are Betas. If they weren’t, I’d never hear the end of it.”
He was referring to the fact that the small-town folk—most of whom were Betas—couldn’t recognize or differentiate between the scent of a bonded or unbonded Alpha.
—
“Dear Nana,
How is everyone? How is Clauws doing?”
She carefully penned the letter, seated at a desk that wasn’t hers. The pen’s tip dipped into ink once more before gliding across the paper. Though countless questions buzzed in her mind, very few could actually be written down. Her grandmother had always been strict, but when everything fell apart, she was the first to offer support—a comforting presence her own mother hadn’t provided. Her mother, too preoccupied tending to the returned “head of the house,” had barely noticed her struggles.
“I’m sorry I ruined your dress, Nana,”
She paused, remembering the day her grandmother had handed her the cherished wedding gown. It was simpler in design, a reflection of the fashion back then. “A piece of me will be with you that day,” her grandmother had said.
The letter rambled in places, yet felt hollow in others. “Things are improving slowly. My belongings arrived two days ago, which was a clear improvement,” she wrote.
She smiled at the memory. How ridiculously happy she’d been to finally take a proper shower using her own soaps, hair products, skincare, and body lotions. At last, she could wear a dress that was hers.
Levi’s reaction to the mountain of boxes had been understated—a brief glance, a slight narrowing of his eyes—but he’d said nothing. His indifference almost tempted her to write: “Nana, is it normal for a husband to not be interested in you?” But she stopped herself.
Her initial theory had been that her appearance was to blame. The limited wardrobe and lack of self-care products had left her feeling dull. But after her belongings arrived, she took her time in the shower that night, ensuring every inch of her smelled pleasant.
—
Levi returned to his chambers after a long day, utterly drained. He kicked off his boots, but still bent down to align them perfectly by the wall. Scratching the back of his head, his hand moved instinctively to push the bathroom door open—only to stop short when he noticed the light was on.
Her startled squeak from inside made him freeze. The door slammed shut in his face.
“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping back to avoid getting hit. He’d completely forgotten she was there. Despite the subtle changes around his chambers—the rearranged furniture, the extra storage for her belongings—it hadn’t sunk in.
Levi waited a few moments, exhaustion weighing on him. Each blink grew slower, heavier. Finally, he sighed. “Is this going to take long? I need the bathroom,” he asked, voice calm but firm.
“No.”
He frowned, rolling his eyes as if following an invisible clock. “Is that a ‘No, I’m done,’ or a ‘No, I need more time’?”
“What does that even mean?” she called back, her muffled voice sounding farther away than it actually was.
Levi shifted his weight impatiently, hands on his hips. “It means your ‘just a minute’ is turning into an eternity.”
He opened the door, the abrupt motion startled Hange, who was working at the desk nearby. Levi muttered irritably under his breath, brushing past them. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” Hange quipped sarcastically, as if they didn’t burst into Levi’s chambers uninvited all the time.
“I need to use your bathroom,” Levi snapped. But after a quick glance inside, he wrinkled his nose, muttered, “Never mind, the cadet’s public ones are cleaner,” and left.
—
When he returned to his chambers later, exhaustion pulling at every step, she was seated there. Her freshly washed hair glowed with a soft sheen, and the dress she wore seemed to accentuate her figure in all the right ways. The change in her mood was palpable—she looked lighter, almost happy.
“You’re back earlier,” she said softly, breaking the silence. Perhaps the isolation was getting to her. She had no one to talk to but herself, and even her inner monologues were starting to feel unhinged.
“Yeah.” Levi didn’t elaborate, setting down a stack of papers he needed to finish. He poured himself a cup of tea and sat at his desk, ready to get to work.
But her gaze was intense, her attention unwavering. He raised his eyes slowly from the papers, catching her shy smile. She looked... almost embarrassed.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice betraying no emotion.
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright with unspoken thoughts. Levi frowned inwardly. ‘She wants something’. Too tired for subtle games, he asked bluntly, “What do you need?”
“Oh, um… how was your day?” she asked, the long pause making her question feel like an afterthought.
“Busy.” He blinked slowly, waiting for her to get to the point. “What do you need?”
For Levi, this was attentiveness—cutting to the chase and solving her problems directly. But to her, it felt cold. Distant.
Pressing her lips together, she tried to maintain her optimism. “Don’t you notice something different?” she asked, her voice carrying the same tentative excitement as a child presenting a crayon drawing, they’ve poured their heart into.
Levi barely looked up from his work. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him after nonstop duties. “Your stuff arrived.”
She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Well, yes. You brought it.” She leaned forward slightly. “Something else.”
Levi, disinterested, returned to his papers. “My bathroom is crammed with packages of things that’ll be impossible to keep tidy. That it?”
Her smile faltered, the enthusiasm in her eyes dimming. “No,” she muttered.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the scratch of his pen on paper. Her drop in mood didn’t register with him immediately; his focus remained fixed on his work.
“Then I don’t know. I give up,” Levi finally said, his tone casual as though indulging in a child’s guessing game. “Communication is key, isn’t it?” He kept the conversation going, albeit with his usual bluntness. “I’ll be direct. I leave this place around six in the morning and come back around nine at night. When I get here, I just want to use the bathroom without waiting an hour. The rest of the day, it’s all yours.”
In his mind, he was simply setting boundaries—clarity prevented misunderstandings. “Settled accounts keep old friends,” as the saying went. He didn’t want resentment to build and cause an issue later.
“Sure,” she replied, her voice lacking the earlier spark.
Minutes passed in silence. Only then did Levi notice the shift in her mood. He tapped his pen against the desk, trying to shake off the sense of something being off. Straightening in his chair, he forced himself into a form of socialization that didn’t come naturally.
“How... was your day?” he asked, his tone awkward but sincere.
She gave him a faint, understanding smile. “It was good.”
“Good to hear,” he said, returning to his papers.
She replayed the events of the previous night in her mind, conflicted.
‘He called off my wedding and chose me with such determination... didn’t back out of the new arrangement when I lost my heat.’
She pieced together the events as though unraveling a mystery, searching for a missing clue.
‘He not only didn’t want to claim me… he’s simply not interested in me.’
A deep sigh escaped her as she ran a hand over her face. The confinement of the past few days had left her dizzy and drained.
‘Am I doing something wrong? Failing as a wife somehow?’
The thought of asking, ‘Captain, have we met before?’ lingered on the edge of her mind. How could a man so adamant about marrying her—a man who used his newfound authority after the uprising to demand her as his wife—not even know her?
‘We must have met before,’ she rationalized. ‘Perhaps at a ball? Maybe he knows my father?’
Yet, even as her thoughts spun, she arrived at a reluctant conclusion:
‘I don’t desire him to claim me, but at least he could be interested in me.’
If she could wish for one wedding gift, it would be for him to talk to her—about anything. She wanted to know if this marriage was punishment for her family, a humiliation disguised as duty, or if he was simply as severe and unyielding as he appeared.
She stood a few steps behind him, clutching the letter she had written earlier. Her eyes lingered on the curve of his bent head as he worked. When should she ask? Would it annoy him? What if he refused?
‘What if he doesn’t want me to contact my family anymore? Should I lie and say it’s for a friend?’
“Ehm,” she began hesitantly, catching his attention.
Levi glanced at her, waiting.
“I was wondering if you could send a letter for me?”
She braced for his reaction, expecting irritation or even outright anger. But Levi merely extended his hand.
“Sure,” he said simply.
Her initial shock passed quickly, and she moved closer, handing him the envelope. “Is... this alright?” she asked cautiously, testing the waters.
“Did you write the address correctly?”
“I think so.”
“Then I don’t see why not.”
They shared the same language, but their meanings never aligned. She questioned the morality of staying in contact with her past, while his thoughts drifted to streets and doorways, turning her words into something as practical as addresses.
Levi flipped the envelope over, his sharp eyes catching the empty space where the sender’s details should have been. Picking up his pen, he filled in the information himself, then reached for one of the stamps he used for his own correspondence. After affixing it to the envelope, he placed it atop the pile of outgoing letters.
“Done. With that stamp, it’ll be sent as a high priority.”
She wondered if this was some sort of test. “Alright, thank you,” she replied hesitantly, retreating slowly back to the room. Her cautious movement caught his attention.
‘Try talking to her, be sociable,’ Hange had urged him during lunch. ‘At least try to befriend her. You’re the only person she knows.’
The memory of that conversation made Levi press his lips together and exhale softly, though not loud enough to draw attention. His eyes scanned his desk as if it might somehow offer the social skills he so clearly lacked.
“You don’t have to leave. We can share the room.”
Those words stopped her in her tracks. After countless nights of waiting for his return and his insistence that he had too much work to spare time for her, she had assumed he didn’t want her there. Slowly, she walked back to the desk, hesitating before taking one of the armchairs in front of him.
Her mind was a battlefield of questions, but the voices of those who once told her that the success of a marriage depended on a woman’s quietness forced her to remain silent.
Levi, on the other hand, wished she would ramble about anything—or everything. ‘I’m not in a position to get picky’, he thought. It wasn’t that he particularly enjoyed talkative people— ‘no one likes a damn yapper’, he mused with a wry press of his lips—but he wished she didn’t seem so…scared.
Respect and fear had followed him like shadows since his underground days, and he had never found silence uncomfortable. But something about the absence of connection in their shared space unsettled him. This was his sanctuary: the room where veterans had snuck in to celebrate his birthday against his will; the room where he, Mike, and Hange had gotten high because the mess in their rooms drove him mad; the place Erwin would stumble into drunk to rant about aging before forgetting the entire conversation the next morning.
Now, she slept in his bed—a bed he rarely used unless he got any unexpected visit for a night or two. She had gone through his drawers, where condoms, hardly touched lube, and those ridiculous chocolates Hange had once gifted him as a joke lay tucked away. She had invaded his space, his place, and he didn’t even know if she had some embarrassing middle name.
“You came back earlier today,” she muttered, breaking the silence.
He blinked. Had he? Maybe he had been trying to finish work earlier, hoping to get back before she fell asleep. “Did you forget your keys?” she asked.
Her question made him freeze, his sharp eyes narrowing. She instantly regretted asking.
‘Someone tried to break in’, Levi’s mind leaped to the worst conclusion.
“What happened?” he asked, his tone calm but commanding.
“Nothing. It was a quiet day,” she lied, her eyes darting away like a guilty dog avoiding its owner.
“Don’t lie to me,” Levi said firmly, though without aggression.
“Nothing. The front door’s knob was pushed down and tugged a couple of times, but that was it. The door was locked anyway,” she admitted, her voice hesitant, “I thought maybe you’d forgotten your keys.”
She tried to shrug it off, though her footing felt shaky. “It really was nothing,” she added quickly, her excuses flimsy and arriving too fast to be convincing. “It’s not that deep.”
‘I want to go out… I need to leave this place, or I’ll go nuts,’ she thought, the words she withheld tightening around her like chains. It felt as though she’d just added three more locks to the door with every word she spoke.
“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” she murmured, her voice softening.
‘Well… maybe a little,’ she admitted silently, guilt prickling at the edges of her thoughts.
Levi sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. His patience was stretched, but his tone was steady.
“Stop it. I’m not angry at you.”
“Well…you look like it,” she muttered, barely audible.
Levi caught her words. “That’s just the face I was born with,” he deadpanned, standing to prepare tea. “If I were actually mad, you’d know.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though she still seemed wary. When he asked, “How much milk?” she snapped out of her thoughts.
“Oh, half and half, please,” she replied.
He carried on, adding two sugar cubes and placing her cup next to her before returning to his seat. One leg over the other.
“Thanks,” she murmured into her tea, both hands clasped around the warm cup.
As the room fell silent again, Levi’s gaze landed on a stray sketch she’d left on his desk—a portrait of a cat. He held it up. “You’re an artist, huh?” “You’re an artist, huh?” he asked suddenly.
“Uh?” She blinked, then realized what he meant. “Oh. I won’t leave them around again. Sorry.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, a trace of exasperation in his tone. “You’re not bad at it.”
A soft smile touched her lips. “Thanks, but I’m just an amateur. A real artist is someone professional. My technique is weak.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re better than anyone I know,” He scanned the sketches scattered across the desk. “Who told you that? Some shitty teacher?”
She hesitated. “My father.”
Levi pressed his lips together. “Sounds like a real ray of sunshine.”
She chuckled at his dry tone. “He just didn’t want me to think I could make a living out of it.”
“Ah, a natural motivator,” Levi deadpanned. “Bet he works in suicide prevention.”
She laughed, the sound light and genuine. ‘First joke she’s found funny,’ Levi thought.
She leaned forward slightly, a grin on her face. “Do you know my father, sir?”
“Not a clue,” he replied, sipping his tea. “Don’t call me ‘sir,’ by the way. I told you that.”
Her expression turned sheepish. “Sorry… force of habit.” Her smile faltered. Then why…why did you choose me? The question hovered unspoken between them.
Before she could gather the courage to ask, Levi changed the subject, holding up the cat sketch again. “You like this cat?”
Her face brightened instantly. “Yes! That’s my baby, Clauws!”
Levi raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself. ‘What kind of shitty name is that?’
She explained, “I got him as a Christmas present. He had claws, and Santa Claus brought him to me, so…Clauws.”
“Ah. I see.”
She laughed, catching his expression. “Give me a break—I was ten!”
“Fair enough.”
“Are you a cat person or a dog person?” she asked, clearly trying to keep the light mood alive.
“Neither,” he replied bluntly.
Her smile faded.
“I never owned pets. They shed everywhere. Too messy.”
Her enthusiasm dimmed, but she tried to hide it. “I guess…”
—
“I’m telling you, he’s been taking trays to his chambers!” Sasha’s finger hit the mess hall’s table as she spoke. “He has someone there!”
“How do you know he’s taking an extra tray for someone else and not just for him and Commander Hange to have dinner together?” Connie asked, trying to find logic in her declarations.
“Because there’s been an extra tray for every meal!”
“You count trays?” Jean grimaced in shock. “You’ve got a serious problem with food.”
“Whatever! He has someone there!”
“Ugh, let’s put an end to this,” Armin said, appearing out of nowhere to place his tray on the table. He climbed onto the bench attached to the surface, the rest of the group looking at him in confusion. With a loud, fake sigh, Armin pulled out a small pile of letters and held them up for everyone to see. The group gasped.
“He has a girl named Y/N over. How do I know? Correspondence,” Armin declared.
“Armin, you’re a genius!” Sasha exclaimed, but Jean stared at him in pale horror.
“Have Eren’s suicidal tendencies rubbed off on you?! Captain Levi will beat you senseless if he finds out you’ve touched his letters!”
“Relax. I’m going to put them back before he finds out,” Armin said calmly. “I read in a detective novel that you can open letters with steam and reseal them. Maybe we’ll figure out what she’s doing here.”
Before anyone could respond, another voice broke in. “Who? The omega Captain Levi has in his office?”
As Floch appeared and sat down next to them—uninvited and unwelcome—their lighthearted curiosity turned uneasy.
“How do you know that?” Connie was the first to ask.
“Well, Mr. Wannabe Detective here would’ve known if he were an alpha,” Floch sneered, clearly enjoying his superiority on calling Armin’s beta nature out. Was there a connection between Floch clear unbiased wish that they would have chosen Commander Erwin, a well-known alpha, over Armin? Perhaps.
Armin stayed silent, his self-esteem taking a blow, but Jean, the only alpha in their group, though far from dominant, jumped to the challenge.
“Shut up! Even if she was one, how would you know?” Jean demanded.
“Oh, I know.” Floch smirked. “I was delivering reports to Commander Hange, and her scent hit me under the door.”
Floch had recently come out of a rut, a telltale sign of young alphas developing.
“I have to say, before I realized it, I was trying to open the door. But it was locked,” he added, sounding almost offended. “Such a pity.”
The friendly atmosphere disappeared completely, and everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“That’s creepy as hell, dude,” Sasha said, disgusted.
Floch shrugged. “Everyone knows omegas drive alphas wild. Who the hell brings one here? That’s on them.”
Suddenly, Armin stood, clutching the letters tightly. “Maybe I should put these back,” he muttered. The idea of digging into Levi’s private life no longer felt like innocent gossip—it felt deeply wrong.
—
Levi stared at the two envelopes in his hands, clearly not work-related and not addressed to him. He quickly noticed one bore the name of the letter he’d sent earlier. But something didn’t add up. The last names didn’t match. “Her father, maybe,” he thought as he read, “Dietrich.”
He shrugged it off. “Maybe they’re a tight-knit family,” he guessed. He made a mental note to drop the letters off at his chambers before heading to his meeting. “Maybe it’ll cheer her up.”
But when she saw the letters, she didn’t look cheerful at all. She tried to mask her unease with a forced laugh. “Oh, haha, I just have a headache,” she lied, waving it off.
“Do you want some painkillers?” Levi asked, already thinking about making a quick trip to the infirmary. ‘Maybe it’s an omega thing after a heat?’ He wasn’t well-versed in omega biology, but he wanted to be a considerate partner.
“No, no, thank you! Have a good time at the meeting,” she said quickly, ushering him out.
Alone at last, her hands trembled as she clutched the letters, sinking into the couch. Her heart raced.
‘He wrote to me,’ she thought, her cheeks flushing. But the realization quickly turned sour.
“He wrote to me,” she muttered, dread sinking in.
One part of her wanted to read it, to giggle and cherish the thought that she was still the deepest desire of a man who wouldn’t give up without a fight. But her rational side screamed, “Are you out of your mind? Imagine what he’d do if he found out.”
Duty or love. Desire or safety.
‘Screw it,’ she thought, her hands trembling as she struggled to open the seal without tearing the paper.
A gilded reflect caught her attention from the corner of her yes. Her grandmother’s letter, sitting on the coffee table next to the wedding ring she’d taken off earlier.
The ring was uncomfortable. It didn’t fit her well. But the sight of it next to her grandmother’s letter felt like a moral reminder. Her grandmother had written back so quickly to offer support, her words a lifeline in this overwhelming new life.
The excitement drained away, leaving only shame and pain. “You know what the right decision is,” her conscience scolded.
Before regret could take hold, she tore Dietrich’s letter to pieces and flushed it down the toilet. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s the right decision,” she repeated, thinking of her younger siblings—particularly her two little sisters.
It was late into the night. The field lay eerily still, save for the occasional shadow of soldiers patrolling under curfew. Their footsteps were sparse and distant, a quiet reminder of the night’s vigilance.
She sat on the wide threshold of the office’s main window, her head leaning heavily against the glass. The chill seeped through, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, and she welcomed it. Her lifeless gaze stretched out into the abyss beyond, where darkness swallowed everything in sight.
The tears hadn’t dried yet. She blinked slowly, afraid they might return if she lingered too long on her thoughts. The air felt thick, oppressive, as if it carried the weight of her despair. The walls seemed to close in with each passing second, shrinking her world into something suffocatingly small.
‘I hate it here,’ she thought bitterly, the words ringing like a quiet scream in her mind.
Levi returned to his quarters, the weight of another gruelling meeting pressing on his shoulders. The moment he stepped inside, he noticed her sitting by the window, her figure barely illuminated by the dim moonlight. Her head rested against the glass; her shoulders slumped. Something about the way she sat—so still, so lost—struck him.
He shut the door quietly, hanging his cloak by the hook before stepping further into the room. “You’ve been sitting there all night?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with a hint of concern.
She didn’t turn to look at him, her voice soft and hollow only hummed. “What is that even supposed to mean?” Levi asked back.
She didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m fine.” The words were brittle, almost a whisper.
He crossed the room, setting something down on the desk before leaning against it. “You don’t look fine.”
She seemed unresponsive, as if life were something that passed her by, not something she was meant to live. Levi’s gaze lingered on her, his breathing slow and deliberate as he wrestled with the unfamiliar territory of trying to be understanding. ‘What is it now? The food? The place?’
“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but firm. The sound of her name seemed to pull her out of the fog she was in. “I told you—I’m not a mind reader. If something’s wrong, just tell me, so I can fix it.”
Something shifted in her expression, her dull gaze sparking with an edge of frustration. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her voice breaking slightly. “I’m far away from home, from everyone I know. Stuck here, in this tiny little room.”
‘Oh… so that’s it,’ he thought, nodding softly with an air of exhaustion. “This is temporary,” he replied, his tone even. “I’ll find you a place—somewhere better. Somewhere you don’t have to be here… with me—”
Before he could finish, she raised her hands to her face, muffling a scream before collapsing into sobs. Levi froze, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. That reaction wasn’t what he’d expected.
“What the hell did I say now?” he muttered under his breath, bewildered, watching her unravel before him.
She turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed but sharp. “What do you want from me?!”
“I’ve the same damn question,”
“Why are you doing this?”
He frowned, taken aback. “Doing what?”
“This.” She gestured vaguely around the room, her tone sharp and weary all at once. “Why am I here? Is this some sort of punishment? Did you think my family would suffer more by taking me?”
Levi’s brows knit together. “Punish your family? What are you talking about?”
“I’m not going to excuse anything,” she continued, her voice rising as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’m not going to excuse what my father did, alright? He did business with the old Military Police. Sure. But we weren’t some noble family rubbing elbows with the royal court. We’re not that influential.” Her words came faster now, anger and frustration spilling out unchecked.
Levi opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t stop.
“At first, I thought you knew my father somehow, or maybe you hated my kind, and this was some sort of twisted fantasy,” she began, her voice trembling but firm. “Then I wondered if you just wanted an Omega wife to fit neatly into your new position in the government. But now? I don’t know anymore! I don’t understand what you want from me!”
Her hands clenched into tight fists on her lap, her knuckles whitening with the pressure.
“I don’t understand!” she repeated, her tone rising with the weight of her frustration. “You don’t even want me here—you’re trying to send me away, somewhere I won’t be a burden to you. You had plenty of single Omegas lined up for marriage, but instead, you called off my wedding, dragged me all the way here… just to cast me aside. What do you want from me?!”
Her voice broke as the raw emotion spilled over. “Is it fun for you? To ruin my life? To make me miserable? Is that all this is to you—some cruel game?”
She looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor. “And now my grandmother writes to tell me that my cat won’t eat. He’s lying in my old room, waiting for me. He’s going to die because of all this.”
Levi straightened slightly. “Your cat?”
“Yes, my cat!” she snapped, her eyes blazing. She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, but her tears betrayed her. “I was supposed to marry someone else,” she said bitterly, her words slicing through the air. “I had a life planned out. I was going to live close to the capital with my friends, with my cat, with the man I’d been preparing my whole life to marry. And then you…” Her voice wavered as she fixed him with a glare. “You called off my wedding.”
Levi froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What?” he said, his voice low and rough. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, her hand raising as if to physically block his words. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want your excuses or justifications. Just leave me alone, okay?”
He stood there, his hands at his sides, watching her crumble in front of him. Her words hit him harder than he cared to admit. He hadn’t known she was engaged—or that her life had been so carefully planned before all this. He hadn’t realized how much she’d lost in the process of being pushed into his world.
But she wasn’t letting him speak.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please… just leave me alone.”
Levi clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. He wanted to say something—anything—
—
“You GAVE me a girl who was engaged to someone else?!” Levi’s voice cut through the room like a blade.
“You didn’t claim the damn Omega?!” Zackly shot back, his tone equally sharp.
The two cadets stationed at the far wall exchanged nervous glances, their bodies stiff and pressed flat against the plaster as if trying to disappear. They dared not breathe too loudly, their eyes darting from one side of the office to the other as the shouting escalated.
“Who the hell cares about that?!” Levi snapped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “The girl’s a blink away from throwing herself off a balcony! And the only reason she hasn’t is because I live on the first floor. She’s smart enough to know she’d survive the fall and just end up crippled!”
“You come into my office to shout at me,” Zackly growled, slamming his fist on the desk, “demanding a house, calling me a liar—and you haven’t even claimed the girl?!” His voice rose with incredulity. “You wanted her. No second thoughts. We gave her to you! What the hell did you expect us to do?”
“I don’t know,” Levi retorted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Maybe you could’ve told me she was already promised to someone else!”
“You got what you asked for,” Zackly shot back with a scoff, leaning back in his chair. “You had one damn job, and you couldn’t even do that. So go back, claim the girl, and then we can talk about anything else.”
Levi stood frozen, disbelief washing over him. His steel-gray eyes locked on Zackly as if trying to process how a man could be so absurdly indifferent. “Maybe you’re the type to enjoy abusing girls half your age, but that’s not me. She doesn’t just hate me—she despises me.”
Zackly let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, your wife hates you? Boo-hoo, Captain. Welcome to marriage.” His sarcasm made one of the cadets stifle a chuckle, which they instantly regretted when Levi’s sharp gaze flicked toward them.
“We’ve got a coastal expansion to deal with, a train system to build, and a Marley invasion to prepare for,” Zackly continued, waving dismissively. “Neither of us has time to waste on this nonsense.”
Levi’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He’d never seen eye to eye with Zackly, and now, his patience was at its breaking point. “I need a damn house,” he ground out. “I can’t keep her at headquarters.”
The tension in the room was broken by one of the cadets, who sneered, “A house? Alone, for an unclaimed Omega? We’re not funding a brothel. Half the Alphas inside the Walls would be lining up outside her door.”
Levi’s world went red. His hand shot out, grabbing the cadet by the collar and dragging him close, his voice a low growl. “You say something like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re the one they’re lining up for.” He yanked the cadet lower, forcing him to meet his piercing glare.
The cadet’s bravado shattered instantly. “I’m sorry, sir—I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care what you meant,” Levi hissed, his tone deadly calm. “You like to act cocky, but the moment you’re in my hands, you’re shaking like a little bitch.” He held him there a moment longer before shoving him back against the wall. “Don’t test me again.”
The cadet nodded furiously. “It won’t happen again, Captain. I’m sorry.”
“Tch.” Levi turned away, muttering under his breath. “This couldn’t get worse.”
—
“So… no house hunting today?” Hange quipped as they exited the main building, each fresh from their respective meetings. Their steps initially fell in sync, heading toward the waiting cart, but Levi abruptly veered off down the street.
“Were you going?” he shot back, his tone flat yet tinged with subtle sarcasm.
Hange stopped, blinking at his retreating figure before jogging slightly to catch up. their eyes dropped to the letter he held, his gaze fixed on the address written there.
“I’ve got something to pick up,” Levi said curtly, not breaking stride.
—
“Hey. Come on, wake up.”
Levi’s voice was quiet but insistent as he gently rocked her shoulder. She was sprawled on the bed, deeply asleep, the pitch-black room silent except for his voice. He’d been gone the entire day, leaving at five in the morning, and now it was three a.m. the following day. Despite his best efforts, she hadn’t even stirred when he came back.
“Wake up,” he urged again, shaking her lightly. “I’ve got something for you.”
A muffled groan escaped her lips as she shifted uneasily, her face scrunching in sleepy confusion. “What?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “You’re back?”
“Yeah, now come on.” He tugged lightly at her arm, his grip firm but not rough. “Get up.”
Grumbling incoherently, she sat up, her movements sluggish as she tried to process being forced awake. Levi didn’t wait for her to fully come to her senses. He turned on the light in the adjoining office, casting a blinding glow that made her squint and groan louder.
“What’s this?” she muttered, shielding her face and rubbing her eyes.
Levi didn’t answer at first. Instead, he walked to the center of the room, a box resting on the floor. “You’ll have to be responsible,” he said plainly, crouching to open it. “I don’t have the time to take care of it or clean up after it. That’s my condition.”
Her grogginess evaporated the second she processed his words. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught as she saw him lift the box’s lid.
“Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. Dropping to her knees, she reached out as her cat—frail, disheveled, and scared—darted toward her arms.
The small animal let out a hoarse, frantic meow, burying its head into her neck as she hugged it tightly, crying openly.
“It’s okay,” she sobbed, rocking the trembling creature as if to soothe both of them at once. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Levi stood in silence, watching the scene unfold. His lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the cat clinging to her like it was afraid to let go, its pitiful meows muffled against her shoulder. The animal looked half-dead—though perhaps it had been revived by her sheer will the moment it reunited with her.
Before he could say a word, she rose to her feet, still clutching the cat, and threw her free arm around him in a fierce hug. The startled animal was caught between them, meowing in protest, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Thank you,” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much!”
“You’ve got to be responsible—” Levi started, but his words cut off as she planted a quick, impulsive kiss on his cheek.
He froze, his usual stoic composure crumbling for a split second as his brain scrambled to process the gesture. He didn’t know whether to step back, reciprocate, or say something, so he settled on standing still, his arms awkwardly hovering at his sides.
‘Well,’ he thought dryly, watching her coo at the cat with unrestrained joy, ‘this’ll make it ten times easier to tell her she’s stuck here until further notice.’
Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.
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THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon – 001
summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you're forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you're left wondering if daryl was even alive.
pairings: daryl dixon x f!reader.
warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, mention of suicidal thoughts/attempts, mention of drug use, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.
word count: 1.7k
Warm water trickles your skin, washing away your filth. Physically you weren’t dirty, but subconsciously you felt that way; you’re curled up in the fetal position on the bathtub floor, as still as a frightened rabbit. Your body felt numb, and you envisioned yourself anywhere but where you were now.
You had been laying in this position for about 20 minutes now. You knew eventually you’d have to get up. You didn’t want the wrath of your stepmother banging on the door shouting about how you were running up the water bill.
You finally find your strength to get up, turning off the water. You sit for a few more minutes in silence. It was quiet in the house. You figured your stepmother had gone to bed. You grab your towel from atop of the toilet tank, standing up to wrap it around your body.
You step onto the shaggy rug outside of the tub, drying your feet off. Last thing you wanted to hear was complaints about how you left the floor wet. Your stepmom would bitch about anything if she could.
You open the door, peeking your head out to make sure she wasn’t walking around the hallway. It was radio silence, and dark. You shuffle down to your bedroom, your feet pattering against the hardwood floors. You notice your stepmother’s bedroom door was closed, officially confirming that she was indeed asleep.
You softly close your bedroom door behind you, letting out a meek sigh. You dry yourself off, quickly trying to change so you could head out for the night. You needed the fresh air. You felt suffocated the longer you stayed in here. You grab your set of house keys from your nightstand, leaving back out of your bedroom. You tiptoe past your stepmom’s room, making your way into the living room.
You slipped on your shoes that were sitting by the front door, and you were almost home free until you heard her voice. “Going somewhere?” You jump in surprise, the lights suddenly flicked on to reveal your stepmother sitting at the dining room table. She’s sitting with a bottle of tequila on the table, the glass she was drinking it from in her hands. She was drunk to all hell.
“I’m– I’m just going for a walk…” You stutter, timidly. She scoffs. “Don’t lie to me. You’re going to those trailer parks to see that hillbilly Dixon boy, aren’t you?” You don’t respond, and she snickers. “Those boys ain’t nothin’ but trouble. I don’t see why you even go over there. What’re you doing? Letting them run a train on you?”
You bite down on your bottom lip, holding back your tears. “I’m just going for a walk.” You repeat, opening your front door to leave. “Make sure you get your money's worth, you slut!” She shouts. You slam the door behind you, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand.
You stuff your hands in the pockets of your sweater as you make your way to the trailer parks. It wasn’t too far from where you lived, probably like a 20 minute walk if you had to estimate it.
Your best friend Daryl Dixon, who you were on your way to see, used to live a couple blocks down from you. That was before the house fire that claimed the life of his mother happened. Now he, his older brother Merle, and their father Will were living in a shaggy trailer park neighborhood.
“Right where they belonged” your stepmother would say. You make it to the trailer parks, walking through until you get to the Dixon residence. You notice their lights were on, meaning they were likely awake. As you readied yourself to walk up the stairs, the sound of a loud crash makes you freeze. “You ever talk to me like that again, boy, I’ll make you wish you died in that fire too. Ya hear me?!”
Will Dixon could be heard yelling from inside. A pretty normal occurrence for the Dixon home. “Man, get off me!” You hear Daryl shout back, his heavy southern accent easy to distinguish. “You leave out that door boy, you can sleep out there tonight.”
“Like I give a damn!” The door is suddenly ripped open, and Daryl steps outside, slamming it close behind him. The brunette pauses as he sees you at the end of the stairs, staring up at him. He’s quiet for a moment. “You heard all that?” He asks, coming down the steps towards you.
“Just the end of it.” You say. You notice there’s a cut on his lower lip. Your eyebrows knit together in concern as you reach up, letting your thumb gently brush over the wound. “Your lip’s busted.” You frown. Daryl winced, moving his head back from your touch.
“To hell with it.” He mutters. “Whad’ya doin’ here?”
Your head tips to the side slightly, and you give him a small smile. “I’m always here.”
You and Daryl sat without a word, your backs rested up against a southern magnolia tree in the woods. This was a spot you two always went when you wanted to get away from everything. It usually involves you both in silence listening to wildlife. You didn’t mind it. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words anyway. Hasn’t been since his mom’s death. Regardless of if you guys did talk or not, you were just happy to be in his presence.
“Merle’s in jail.” He disrupts the silence, picking a stick off the ground before he begins to break it apart piece by piece. Merle was always in jail so that didn’t surprise you one bit.
Both the Dixon boys weren’t strangers when it came to trouble, but Merle was the worst of the two. Anytime Daryl caught himself in any trouble with the law it came from dumb shit Merle dragged him into.
You truly couldn’t stand Merle, but you could never tell that to Daryl. His loyalty to his older brother was impeccable. You hope one day he could get out of that phase and come to the realization that Merle wasn’t good for him.
“What did he do this time?” You ask, not really needing to as you could guess that it probably involved him assaulting someone. He wasn’t exactly a people person. “He beat the hell outta some guy in a bar.”
‘Bingo. Right on the mark.’
“That brother of yours isn’t gonna be satisfied until he’s locked in there for life.” You mumbled. Daryl shoots you a look. “What? You can’t just go around beating people up without consequences. That’s not how the world works.”
“Asshole probably deserved it.” He murmured, chucking the stick. You roll your eyes, deciding not to push the subject any further. You hear Daryl wince, and you look over to see him messing around with the cut on his lip.
You dig in the pockets of your sweater in search of something you could wipe the blood off with. Great forces are on your side as you pull out an alcohol prep wipe. You often carried them around for moments like these. This isn’t the first time you’ve cleaned up a wound left on Daryl by his father, or even a wound on yourself.
You rip open the package before gently grabbing the brunette’s face to make him look over at you. “Hold still.” You say, placing the wipe on his open wound. He winces again, trying to move his head back but you don’t let him. “Oh cut it out you big baby, it’s not that bad. You don’t want it to get infected, do you?”
Daryl grumbles, but sits still to let you work. It’s quiet as you do, nothing but the sound of an owl hooting. You could feel Daryl’s eyes on you, and your focus shifts from his lip to his blue hues. “What?”
“That come from her?” He questions, nodding his head to the choke bruise on your neck. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before. You swallow a lump that was beginning to well up at the back of your throat and shake your head. “She had another guy come by today. This one was into choking…”
Daryl’s jaw clenched in anger. Every time he heard about the men your stepmother invited over he just wanted to go there himself to rid you of the burden once and for all. But he didn’t want to put you in a worse situation than you already were in. “You don’t deserve what she’s doin’ to you.”
“Neither do you.” You remark. “But that’s just our reality.”
“Don’t have to be.” He declared. You pull the wipe from his lip, deciding it was clean enough. You ball it up, tossing it wherever on the ground. “Done.” You smile faintly, moving on from the topic. You didn’t want to think about it right now. “S’gettin’ late,” he comments. “Want me to walk you back home?” He offers.
“What’re you gonna do?” You remember his dad telling him not to come back. You’d think that he truly didn’t mean that but even you knew that Will made sure there was no way Daryl could get back inside the house tonight. “I’ma come back here to sleep. Ain’t the first time my old man’s kicked me out. Damn sure ain’t gonna be the last.”
You nod. “Then it looks like I’m staying.” You insist, settling against the tree. Daryl shakes his head. “I don’t need you to-”
“Shut up.” You cut him off before he could argue. “I’m staying.” You lean your head against the tree, your eyes closing. Daryl stares at you for a moment. Your stubbornness amazed him sometimes. It was worse than his own, but he knew he couldn’t fight you when you made up your mind on something.
“Fine.” He says, settling against the tree along with you. You scoot a bit closer to the brunette, letting your head fall on his shoulder. He tenses a bit, but calms his nerves. His body relaxes underneath you.
“Hey.” Daryl mutters, unsure if you’re awake or fast asleep already. You hum in response. “You really ain’t gotta be here.” He tries once more to change your mind. You smile.
“I’m always here.”
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@daryldixmedown, @supernaturalstilinski, @vampiresluv, @myassisasolarsystem
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fic#daryl dixon angst#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixon smut#daryl fanfiction#daryl smut#the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#the walking dead smut#twd daryl#daryl dixion x reader#daryl x female reader#daryl x reader#daryl x you#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead fic#the walking dead x reader#the walking dead x y/n#daryl dixion smut#daryl x y/n#twd x y/n#twd x you#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x female reader#twd x reader#x reader#merle dixon#daryl drabbles
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— heatwave
I’m suffering through the heatwave over here, and Bakugou is the only thing that could make it better or worse.
Warnings: 18+, not proofread, Bakugou is your roommate, sweaty sex, dirty talk, spanking, creampie.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Word Count: 3.8k.
“It’s too damn hot,” Bakugou growled as he lay the back of his head against the couch. Even the soft, worn fabric was uncomfortable against his back. Retaining more heat than necessary paired with his body temperature it had sweat pooling against his skin.
Life as an up and coming Pro-Hero had been rough. With long shifts, terrible hours and little pay he was stuck in this dingy, stuffy apartment. Waiting for the day he’d add an extra figure onto his paycheck to have enough to move out. Things like air conditioning were a lavish luxury that he couldn’t afford right now, so it meant suffering through the torridness with a small ice pack he’d grabbed from the freezer.
The only bonus was having a roommate like you.
Originally Bakugou had been adverse to living under the same roof as someone, unable to trust anyone living in close quarters with him. There was an entire cacophony of issues that could arise from picking the wrong person— from being kept up all night, the mess they could leave behind to having friends or hookups in his shared space.
But you had been a godsend, understanding of his unsocial work schedule and his house rules. You could even argue that you were a better roommate than he was, with his friends delighting in showing up unannounced and causing a mess in his apartment. Something that you were always so understanding of when you’d join them for movie nights or dinner.
You were a blessing. Or now that he thought about it, perhaps it was a curse. Now forced to watch you practically saunter around in the shortest short shorts known to man in a feeble attempt to try and deal with the extreme temperatures. Your top half not much better, the stringy vest top you wore— without a bra no less— exposed your midriff and the cute stiffened peaks of your nipples. Not that he was looking, and even if he was what did you expect him to do.
Rubbing sweat from his upper lip as he spreads his legs wide on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes roaming your figure as the shorts hugged the swell of your ass perfectly. Dipping in between the cheeks as he imagined pulling them apart to see what was hidden between them, the material dangerously close to revealing it to him anyway—
You were doing absolutely nothing to help quell the heat oozing through his body. In fact, Bakugou was certain you were making it worse. His cock jumping at the sight of you, pulsing beneath his shorts as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Praying that this sudden heatwave would cease and he could stop being tortured by the sight of you like this every damn day, it was bad enough when he’d catch peeks of you in a towel coming from the bathroom towards your bedroom, or forgotten panties left strewn around. But this? This was unbearable.
“I can’t deal with this heat,” The whiny tone to your voice had Bakugou silencing a growl deep in his chest, watching you hold the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically, “I wanna sit in the freezer.”
“Don’t you dare.” Bakugou knew from experience the heat alone would be enough to shut down the entire machine, and you both definitely didn’t have enough money to replace it if it did.
And that freezer was the only thing satiating the heat so far. Shoving his melting ice pack against his chest, the contents quickly changing form to liquid as he tried to make the most of it before it would have to go back inside the freezer.
“Let me feel,” You came around the couch to stand in front of him, his eyes set in a heavy glare as he tried to weigh up whether it was worth letting you feel how cold the pack was.
It was bad enough having you so scantily clad in such short proximity to him right now, certain he could now smell the saccharine of your perfume as you pulled the top of your vest down, exposing the swell of your breasts as you presented your sternum to him.
Bakugou pushes the pack to your chest and immediately regrets it when the sound you let out is downright sinful. You have to know what you’re doing to him, the way your lips curl into a delicious looking pout and your eyes roll to the back of your skull.
“Oh god, that feels so fucking good.” You moaned, eyes clenched shut to focus on the cool chill that slowly washed over your chest.
His cock jumps in his shorts as he tries to shift his hips to avoid you from noticing the now very evident bulge, the throb pounding through his veins as he feels a different kind of heat beginning to take over.
He should stop here, take his ice pack back and tell you to go and sit in front of your mini desk fan again. Get you out of the room and as far away as possible and save this for another day, a day when you’re both not delirious from the intense heat.
But his depraved thoughts have already consumed him, the thought of your plush body pressed against his while he slides his throbbing cock inside you now at the forefront of his mind as he presses the pack lower. Watching as you arch your back towards it, welcoming the cool chill as you lean forward to splay your sweaty palms against his thick thighs.
And whether he’s delirious from the heat, or it’s the desperate look in your eyes he doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s kissing you fiercely, the ice pack drops forgotten between your bodies in favour of grabbing your hips.
“Fuck,” You kiss him back, words swallowed by his chapped lips as you feel the bulge between his thighs press snug against your crotch.
Your hands reach up to card through messy blond spikes as your nails graze his damp scalp, your tongue swiped against his as he palms your ass. Calloused fingertips disappear beneath the flimsy fabric as he squeezes the fat of it, tugging you down against his hardness as he pulls more sultry sounds from your throat.
“It’s too hot for this, Katsuki.” You whine, breaking the kiss as you gasp for air in the humid room.
At this chance Bakugou’s lips venture lower, peppering kisses along your jawline towards your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your vest. Tugging the fabric down to reveal your round breasts, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips at the marvellous sight.
His nighttime fantasies can’t compare to the sight in front of him, crimson eyes shamelessly ogle your skin to commit the sight to memory as he leans forward.
“Shut up,” He rasps back gruffly while mouthing your breast.
You’re right, it’s entirely too hot for any kind of strenuous activity, especially when he’s sweating so much it already feels like he’s run a marathon. But the way your soft body feels pressed against his is too much to pass up. Especially when this is what he’s been dreaming about ever since he moved in with you, fisting his cock too. It’s too much to leave it to chance that he may get this opportunity again later. Bakugou’s always been a greedy man, and he wants to have you now.
“Fuck,” You cry out when his teeth graze your nipple, pushing your crotch against his with more urgency.
Certain you’ve leaked through the flimsy fabric, desire surges through you dense and fast. A stark contrast to your lethargic movements as you grind yourself down on his lap pathetically.
“Katsuki,” You whine.
His strong hands are doing all the work as he moves you how he pleases. Strong palms pick you up by the meat of your ass to drop you back down on his length. Grinding your puffy clit against his pelvis with each motion as he has you crying out in pleasure.
“Fuck, Katsu. S’too hot—”
You weren’t sure whether it was the humid air permeating the room or the way that Bakugou was looking at you with smouldering eyes that had your body aflame. Muggy, vapid air filling your lungs as clammy hands stroked along his bare torso. Mapping out a course of newly discovered territory as you let your thumbs brush against his pebbled nipples, his chest vibrating against your touch with more sultry groans.
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He hummed, his fingers brushing the crotch of your shorts, “Let me make you feel good.”
“Oh,” You gasped when you felt the calloused pads stroke your labia, involuntarily leaning forward to give him more space as Bakugou began to spread you apart for him. Fingers gliding through your messy folds, dragging your essence along your slit until he found your puffy clit.
The contact had you jolting forward, nails grazing his chest as he focused his attention on it. Circling it tentatively with the pad of his finger as you began to rock your hips back against him, uncaring about how debauched you looked as you began to seek your own pleasure.
“Yeah?” He rasped, and the gravelly husk did nothing but increase the desperation inside you, “You like that?”
“Fuck, please—“ You buried your head in the curve of his neck, your lips pressed against the slick skin as you tasted the saltiness of his sweat on your tongue.
“Please what, sweetheart,” He cooed.
“Please—“ You gasped when you felt his thumb press against your empty hole. He knew exactly what you wanted, he was toying with you.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Your fingers.” You were shameless, your hips grinding back against him as Bakugou finally took mercy on you and pushed his thumb into your sloppy entrance. The slightest penetration enough to drag a deep moan from your throat as he kept his focus against your clit, leaning his head back against the couch to try and see the blissful expression on your face as he worked you with precision.
“Got no damn idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” He husked against your ear, lips soft against the shell as you clenched around him in response, “Always walkin’ round in those fuckin’ short shorts got me wanting to bend you over every surface in this house.”
“Oh fuck,” You mewled, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your climax as he kept his pace constant against your clit, his thumb positioned to press against your spongy wall as his other hand tightened its grip on your ass. Spreading you open, as you found your bliss, “Katsuki.”
“That’s it, good girl.” He hummed, feeling your walls pulse around his digit as he kept his pace. Working you through your release as he pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your temple.
You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wished the same, coming into the kitchen to see him still in full hero gear after work. Dirt and grime covering his body as his mask was pulled up over his forehead to show his blackened eyes, bending over to grab the carton of juice from the fridge as he held it up to his lips to chug it. Watching his Adam’s apple bob as the liquid flowed, giving you the perfect view of him as you tried to busy yourself to hide the fact you were blatantly staring.
Or the moments where he’d come out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips to shout at you for using the taps in the kitchen while he was showering. The cheap apartment had one flow of hot water and it shut off that luxury whenever it was used elsewhere. The cold water catching him off guard as he glared at you, water droplets drooling down his perfect skin and making him look more like an ancient god or deity than your roommate.
“So why didn’t you?” You asked when you’d come down from your high.
“Huh?” Bakugou’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before.”
“I like livin’ with you,” He shrugged, “Didn’t wanna jeopardise that.”
“You wouldn’t have,” You smiled, pulling yourself back from his neck to meet his gaze, “I like you too.”
“That mean I can finally eat this pretty little pussy?” He groaned, shuffling his hips, “Been thinkin’ about it since the day I met you.”
“Later, please—” You pawed at the hard bulge between his thigh, his pre staining the fabric as you pressed against the tip.
“Fuck,” He grunted, shamelessly bringing his fingers to his lips to get a taste of you. His tongue sweeping against his digits to clean them of your slick, “Gonna take you over every damn surface in this house, princess.”
Your fingers curled into the hem of his shorts, Bakugou lifting his hips off the couch to help you drag them down just enough to free his heady cock— the sight of it better than you’d ever imagined in those nightly fantasies.
He was thick and long, bulging veins that forked along the length of him only made him seem that much more intimidating as his balls sat heavy at the base. Neatly trimmed blond hairs decorated his pelvis as they created a pretty trail along his abdomen, unable to resist running your hand along it as his stomach folded at the touch. A sharp hiss sucked sharp through his teeth as you wrapped your hand around him at the base, holding him steady so you could see the tip. The head a swollen pink as pre continued to bead at the slit, drooling down towards his frenulum as you moved to settle between his thighs. Wanting a taste of him yourself as you swiped your thumb over the leaky tip of his cock.
“Oi, I thought you said later,” He teased, rough hands steady on your hips to stop you from moving.
“Please,” You whined pathetically, “Wanna taste you.”
You brought your thumb to your lips as your tongue swiped at the surface, tasting him on your tongue as your lashes fluttered. Crimson eyes focused on your movements as his cock twitched in appreciation, tempted to let you do whatever you pleased. But he’d been waiting far too long for this moment, and there was no way he could wait any longer.
“You little minx,” He groaned as you sucked your thumb, “I promise later.” He groaned, tugging at your shorts, “Do you like these?”
“Yeah, they’re— what the fuck, Katsuki?”
You gasped when you heard the sharp sound of ripping fabric, “I said I liked them.”
“Sorry,” You could tell from the smug grin on his face that he was anything but as he positioned you above his leaky cock, “I gotta have you now.”
You held onto his shoulders as he wrapped a large fist around his cock, dragging the tip through your slick as he felt it catch against your tight entrance. His other hand on your hip slowly dropping you down onto his length as you felt the pleasurable ache of him stretching you open ebb through your pelvis.
“I got you, sweetheart,” He groaned, watching his cock slowly disappear inside you as he felt your warm walls wrap snugly around him, “Gonna take such good care of you.”
You felt hot, the heat radiating from your sex sweltering and yet you didn’t want to let go. The thick girth of his cock filled you perfectly as you felt him pressed against every ridge and groove of your cunt like he was made for you.
Your lips move together languidly, tasting the saltiness from his upper lip as you move together in tandem. Wet and sloppy while his tongue strokes yours, desperation evident by the way you try to deepen the kiss. As though you’re trying to melt into him, to feel him devour you whole.
“Oh, shit.” You choke back a cry when you feel the tip of his cock hit a spot deep inside you, certain you’ve never had something quite so big before.
You struggle to lift yourself up with your legs spread wide over his thick thighs as you grind yourself against his lap. Your clit catching against the trimmed hairs at his base as you roll your hips with desire, your chest pressed taut to his as you start a lazy pace. The scorching heat inside the apartment makes it difficult to breathe as you writhe in his lap, his warm breath fans against your skin almost feels cooler than the thick air clouding the room.
“Kats. It’s too hot.” You whine pathetically, your pace clumsy and sluggish as the desire inside you burns hot and heavy.
“You started this.” He retorts cockily with a smug smirk on his face.
“I did not.” You pout, “This is your fault.”
“Stop whinin’” He reaches back to bring his palm down on your ass in a rough smack, the sweatiness of his quirk has his skin tacking to you as it increases the sensation, clinging to your skin as you gasp in surprise. A painful pleasure courses through your veins as the skin prickles beneath his touch, your pliant walls clamping down around his girth in retaliation.
Without hesitating he reaches his large palms back to cup a cheek in each hand, lifting you up languidly as he marvels the glossy sheen your slick leaves on his cock.
“You just sit there and look pretty, let me do the work.” He spread is thighs wider, giving himself more air as he shifted your weight. Picking you up and dropping you down on his length as he listened to the pretty sounds that spilled from you like a siren, drawing him in and capturing his heart as you pulsed around him.
“Why couldn’t you have got an ice quirk?”
Clammy hands paw at his shoulders as Bakugou repeats the motion, skin tacking to skin as he bounces you on his cock. The kinetic energy builds heat swiftly and harsh as you feel the stickiness against your skin. Your wetness seeps out against his pelvis and matts the hair at his base, catching your clit with each drop of your hips.
“Shut the fuck up,” He scoffed, “You won’t be sayin’ that come winter.”
The thought of having his warm body to warm you during those cold winter months, still being with him then— had you clenching around him.
“Oh yeah? You like the sound of that?” He grinned, “Can feel this pussy clenchin’ around me.”
“Fuck, Katsuki.” The heat was becoming unbearable, radiating from your core as it burned molten lava. The coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as you danced on the crux of your release, gasping for air as he changed tact. Holding your hips tight under sweaty palms as he planted his feet flat on the ground, pistoning his hips up into your pliant sex, “There— oh, god. Right there—”
“That’s it,” He rasped, watching your tits bounce with each rapid thrust, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
“‘m gonna cum,” You choked out between moans, feeling the curved tip of his cock drag against the spongy spot inside you with each thrust, “Oh shit—”
“Cum for me,” He growled, “Cum all over my cock.”
The tips of Bakugou’s thumbs pressed against your pelvis, tightening his grip as it only increased the pressure. Sweat trickling down your temples as he sent you vaulting over the edge into euphoria.
“Good girl,” He grunted, feeling your walls clamp down around his cock as you willed him to come with you, trying to milk him of his seed.
The pleasure was unlike anything you’d felt before, mind-numbingly intense as you cried out a jumbled mess of his name. Your nails digging crescent moons into his skin as he hissed beneath you, shamelessly searching for his own end as the heat radiated from your body. Sliding against each other from the sweat that now trickled down your skin, leaving a glossy sheen against you both as he used you for his own pleasure.
“I’m gonna cum,” Bakugou grunted, moving to lift you off his cock before you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, unbothered about the stifling heat in the room as you kept him tight against you.
“Cum inside me, Katsuki.” You gasped a he choked back a grunt, your words all it took to meet his own end.
His guttural moans are sinful, erotic as you cling to him with fervour. Committing the sensation to memory as though it’s the last time you’ll have him like this, as if the heat has him in this delirious state. And maybe it does—
You never thought Bakugou could look so pretty like this, completely vulnerable as he exposes his most intimate self to you. Thick, white spurts of cum spurt from his tip as he empties his balls inside you.
“Fuck, baby.” He breathes hot and heavy as you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.
Bodies slumped together on the couch as you feel the dampness of skin against skin, your vest that now sits useless around your waist is soaked and warm as the fabric clings to your body.
“I’m so sticky,” You whine childishly, making no attempt to move as Bakugou’s fingers trace absent-minded patterns along your exposed back.
“How the fuck dya think I feel?” He rasps, “My ass is stuck to the couch.”
“Eww,” You tease, running your nose along his collarbone as you take in the musky scent of him, “We’ll have to get another couch.”
He catches you by surprise as he presses the forgotten ice pack to the back of your neck, although it’s mostly melted it’s a stark contrast to your sweltering body as you flinch in surprise. Your cunt clenches around him at the sensation as Bakugou grunts from the attention.
“Oh shit, don’t do that sweetheart—“ He hisses, wrapping an arm around your back to hold you tight against him, “You’ll make me hard again.”
Something that you’re not sure you’d mind, even though your body is screaming out for a different kind of relief now. Desperate to cool your temperature down as you scrunch your nose in irritation.
“I feel so gross.” You complain as he gives your ass another playful spank as you barely move from the impact, your bodies stuck together with a mixture of heat and sweat.
“Got no one to blame but yourself, princess,” He groans, “I was just mindin’ my business until you came over in those little shorts.”
“You weren’t complaining when you were balls deep.” You moved your head back to glare at him.
“My balls feel like they’re on fire now,” He scoffs, leaning forward to peck your pouty lips, “Cold shower?” He asks, although he’s already decided he’s showering with you— he’s taking every moment he can with you now.
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OK I'm thinking aaron hotchner x wife!reader when he was sent to the middle east for a short bit to run a task force but then instead of him coming back for a "case" like he thought reader pulls him to the side and tells him he's gonna be a daddy for a second time! Just fluff
Mission: Daddy 2.0
A.H x Wife!Reader
Pure Fluff
Aaron Hotchner wasn’t entirely sure what he was walking into. After weeks overseas, running a special task force in the Middle East, he’d expected a quiet return, maybe a subdued evening with you and Jack. But the minute he stepped through the front door, he knew something was different.
For one, you were practically buzzing with excitement, your energy so infectious it made his jet-lagged brain suspicious.
“You’re back!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him before he could even set his bag down.
He laughed, the sound low and warm as he hugged you tightly. “I’m back,” he agreed, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “Miss me?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you said, looking up at him with a sly smile. “You hungry? Tired? Or are you up for… a surprise?”
That got his attention. “A surprise?” he repeated, his profiler instincts kicking in. “Should I be worried?”
You grinned mischievously, grabbing his hand. “Only if you hate good news. Come on, sit.”
Hotch allowed himself to be pulled into the living room, where you all but pushed him onto the couch. He sank into the cushions, his curiosity growing by the second as you began to pace in front of him, clearly trying to find the right words.
“Okay,” you started, hands on your hips. “So, you know how Jack’s been asking for a sibling?”
His eyebrows shot up, caught completely off-guard by the question. “I… do. You told him to ask Santa.”
You pointed at him. “Exactly! Which was a brilliant distraction, thank you. But, uh…” You trailed off, biting your lip to keep from laughing.
“But?” he prompted, leaning forward.
“But it turns out, we might’ve beaten Santa to it,” you blurted, throwing your hands up as if to say, Surprise!
For a moment, he just blinked at you, clearly trying to connect the dots. Then his gaze dropped to your stomach—though there wasn’t a visible change yet—and darted back up to your face.
“Wait,” he said slowly, his tone incredulous but tinged with dawning realization. “Are you saying…?”
You couldn’t hold back your grin any longer. “I’m pregnant, Aaron. We’re having another baby!”
His reaction wasn’t immediate. Instead, he sat there for a beat, looking almost comically frozen. Then—like a switch had been flipped—he was on his feet, closing the distance between you in two long strides.
“You’re serious?” he asked, his voice breathless as his hands found your waist.
“Completely serious,” you replied, laughing at the way his face lit up.
He let out a stunned laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. “How long have you known?”
“A few weeks,” you admitted, resting your head against his chest. “I wanted to tell you in person, but it was torture keeping it to myself.”
Hotch leaned back, looking down at you with a mixture of awe and teasing exasperation. “You mean you let me get off a 14-hour flight and didn’t warn me I was about to have my life changed?”
You smirked, looping your arms around his neck. “I figured a little suspense would keep you awake. Was I wrong?”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “Not wrong. Just… unbelievable.” His hands slid to your stomach, resting there gently as if he were afraid of breaking the moment. “Another baby,” he murmured, his voice soft. “How do you feel?”
“Excited,” you said honestly, covering his hands with yours. “And a little nervous. But mostly excited. Jack’s going to lose his mind.”
That earned another laugh, and Aaron’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “He’s going to ask if he gets to name them.”
“Oh, absolutely. And the first suggestion will be something ridiculous, like ‘Spider-Man Hotchner.’”
“Or ‘Captain Jack,’” Aaron added dryly, earning a snort of laughter from you.
The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the excitement settling into something quieter but no less joyous. Finally, Aaron tilted his head, a sly smile curving his lips.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve faced international criminals, interrogated spies, and worked with some of the most brilliant minds in the world. But somehow, you still manage to outsmart me.”
You grinned, leaning up to kiss him. “That’s because I’m the real mastermind in this family, Hotchner. Don’t forget it.”
“Never,” he murmured against your lips.
And as Jack came barreling down the stairs a few moments later, demanding hugs and peppering Aaron with questions, you knew this was only the beginning of a new, beautiful adventure for your growing family.
#aaron hotchner#hotchner x you#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x female reader#hotch x y/n#aaron hotchner x reader
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never lose me • ljh
pairing: woozi x f!reader, established relationship
genre: smut, 18+ MINORS DNI!! slight angst, fluff, miscommunication
synopsis: it’s been awhile since you’ve gotten jihoon alone, and a sundress is all it takes for him to realize how much he misses and is obsessed with you
warnings: pwp, unprotected p in v, oral (f), riding, fingering, reader wears a dress, they say ‘i love you’ a lot, mild angst, fluff, buff woozi, long haired woozi
a/n: i love woozi. unedited of course
jihoon knows he’s in trouble the moment you step out into the living room in a baby pink sundress that clings to your chest and gives you a lift, your hair tossed up in a loose updo, donning gold jewelry, and a smile that makes him physically weak. his chest swells with love and desire, a deep sense of yearning overtaking his being.
he’s been distant lately, he knows. working late nearly every night and leaving early in the morning. sometimes, he doesn’t even make it home and ends up sleeping at the studio or at the dorms, despite having his own place with you. he’s been meaning to make it up to you—he bought you a few things, though he knows the key to your heart isn’t material things—though he hasn’t really found the time (or out in much effort) to do so, other than offering to take you to the farmers market today since you mentioned it awhile ago and he never went with you.
looking at you now, he’s overwhelmed with the information that he’s very much in love with you, and that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “are you ready?” you ask him, a soft smile on your face. jihoon swallows and nods, standing up from the couch and wiping his palms on his jeans. he places a hand on the small of your back and places a gentle kiss on your jaw.
"you look pretty," he says softly, removing his hand from your back to hold onto yours. you blush and thank him, feeling an ego boost that he at least noticed. it’s been hard interacting with him since when you do see him, it’s short and brief. you understand that he’s busy, and understand he needs his time and space to work—you’ve never taken issue with that—but you do miss him, more than anything.
the drive to the farmers market is short, and you do most of the talking, catching him up on things you know he’s missed, whether it be things going on in your life, or in the pop culture word. he’s quiet, but he hangs onto every word you say even if it’s not about you and your life. it makes him realize just how gone he’s been, and he starts to feel guilty and like the worlds worst boyfriend.
“ji, you okay?” you question, tapping his leg. he looks down at your hand and grabs it with his right, squeezing it. he glances over at you and sees the concern on your face and begins to feel worse.
“yeah, yeah im fine,” he says unconvincingly. you know him better than that—probably better than he knows himself—and you know something is there under the surface, but you never push him unless you feel like he needs to be pushed. rather than forcing the truth out of him, you leave it alone.
soon enough, he’s pulling into the designated parking lot for the farmers market, and the two of you are getting out of his car and walking hand in hand through the street. it’s a bright day, and there are many people, families, and dogs milling about. “ji, we should get a dog,” you say when another toy poodle passes by the two of you. he chuckles and shakes his head lightly. “cmon, it would be like prep for when we have an actual kid.” you say casually, a twinkle in your eye.
the breath gets caught in jihoons throat and his cheeks flush. the two of you have talked about having kids before, but not recently. the fact that you’d still consider him to be the father of your children makes him feel warm and hopeful that he isn’t a total screw up of a partner.
“i’ll think about it,” jihoon says, swallowing. your grin at him and grab ahold of jihoons hand to drag him over to a booth. he lets you guide him, his brain still stuck on the comment about kids. he wants kids, especially with you, and now he can’t seem to think of anything else.
and he lets you guide him to whichever booth you want. you lead him to a booth that sells fresh produce, and he stays close by to you while you pick things out. he can’t help but watch you move and feel an ache deep inside of him, a strong sense of yearning for you despite the fact that he has you. “i’m gonna try to bake something this week, what do you want?” you ask jihoon, picking up a carton of strawberries.
turning, you have an expectant look on your face until you see your boyfriend looking extremely… sad. like a little puppy, his eyes wide and his mouth downturned into a small frown. “baby, what’s wrong?” you ask, placing a hand on his arm.
jihoon opens his mouth and closes it before trying again, taking a step closer to you. he slips an arm around your waist to rest on the small of your back, dropping his mouth close to your ear. “i love you,” he murmurs, mouth ghosting over your jaw in a soft kiss.
you smile and tilt your head to look up at him. “i love you too, baby,” you say, placing a kiss on his lips this time. you don’t really mind PDA—jihoon does, though he’s not complaining right now. he wonders if anybody else can hear how hard his heart is beating in his chest, and whether you can feel it, because it feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
once you two pull away, you go back to picking our fruit and jihoon goes back to swooning and yearning over you. but he wanders around the booth and grabs some vegetables that he can meal prep with, and finds you when he’s done. you tell him what you’re going to make for the week—blueberry lemon loaf—and then the two of you bound up to the counter to pay. jihoon hands the person behind the counter his card with ease.
afterwards, you pull him to more booths and he follows you closely, letting you wander around but never keeping you out of his line of sight. he can’t keep his mind off of you right now, he's so overwhelmed by you, and he wishes he could get a handle on himself right now. he's so consumed with the fact that you still want to have kids with him, about the fact that your dress is much too tight in the chest and its turning him to mush.
jihoon glances around and finds a spots a florists tent only a few feet away. you're preoccupied with looking at handmade jewelry that he's able to quickly slip away without you noticing. jihoon's eyes quickly scan the bouquets, reaching for a large one full of white, pink, and yellow flowers. he holds them for a second before setting them back where he found them and walking up to the people who run the booth. "hi, do you guys have any bouquets with peonies?" he asks, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.
the woman smiles and stands up, already walking over to another display of flowers. "yes! we have bouquets made up of entirely bouquets–like this," she holds up a band of pink peonies to show jihoon. "or we have a few that contain peonies, but not nearly as many. depends on what you like." she finishes happily, a polite smile on her face. jihoon's eyes dart between both bouquets, a crease forming in between his eyebrows. "is it a special occasion? person?" the florist asks, trying to help jihoon out.
"they're for my girlfriend. she likes pink," he says, reaching for the bouquet of mixed flowers. theres pink peonies, white roses, and a third pink flower he can't identify. "i think i'll just get these." the florist nods and leads jihoon back to the counter to pay. he hands her his card and rocks eagerly back and forth on his heels, feeling a semblance of normalness for the first time today.
taking the flowers, a sense of pride swells in his chest at the mere thought of handing them to you, in seeing the expression on your face when he gives you the bouquet.
when jihoon gets closer to the booth he left you in, his eyes search for you, but he is unable to see you. his eyebrows furrow, but he keeps his panic at bay–you're a grown woman after all, and you definitely could not have gone far since he was hardly gone for more than five minutes. he'll find you.
like a dog with a squeaker toy, his ears perk up at the sound of laughter. but it's not just any laughter, its one that he'd probably be able to pick out even amongst a chorus of people laughing. its the sound of laughter that always makes him want to start laughing; its infectious, and sweet, and its yours. its laughter that comes from your chest, and he can just imagine what you look like: eyes squinty, teeth showing, cheeks round. his stomach churns with butterflies at the mere thought of it.
jihoon follows the sound, gaze landing upon you in a few seconds. but he stops short when he sees why you are laughing. a man stands close to you, a bit too close, marveling at the fact that he was able to elicit such a sound from you. now, jihoon isn't a regularly jealous guy, nor is he possessive. but he sees the way the man looks at you, watches his eyes drop down to your chest for a split second while you're busy talking about something and not quite paying him any attention. the butterflies that once inhabited his stomach vanish, and the churning stems from elsewhere. he swallows and runs a hand through his long, dark hair, and finishes making his way to you.
the man notices jihoon before you do, and he makes his presence known by slipping a hand onto the small of your back. with a start, you almost accuse the man of trying to pull a fast one on you until you turn and see jihoon, immediate relief and relaxation washing over you. "oh! baby, you scared me," you say, sliding closer to him. you notice the flowers in his hand and you break out into a smile. "for me?" you ask.
jihoon smiles sheepishly and nods, but he keeps his eyes trained on the stranger. you notice jihoons attention divert and follow his gaze, lips parting, ready to introduce to two of them but you stop short once you realize you don’t even know the man’s name and that he just started talking to you. “uh,” you start, a shy smile on your face.
“ill leave you two to it,” he says, throwing up an awkward thumbs up and slipping off to wherever he came from. you look at jihoon and get help the laugh that escapes you, dropping a hand onto his shoulder.
“that was so awkward!” you say, hugging the flowers to your chest. jihoon gives you a halfhearted chuckle, the corner of his lip dragging upward before immediately falling into a flat line. he’s not upset, especially not with you. there’s a bunch of emotions swarming through him today, and that man only added fuel to the fire. he feels like he’s on borrowed time with you and can’t get ahold of anything.
a frown takes over your face at your boyfriends mood, your frustration growing. “jihoon, what is wrong?” you ask, voice hushed because of the public setting. he glances around and takes a step closer to you, arm snaking around your waist.
“it’s nothing, i promise,” he says, voice low. jihoon places a consolidation kiss on your cheek, but you don’t believe him. it’s bullshit and both of you know that you know that, but you don’t say anything because you really do just want to enjoy this day with him.
the two of you wander around the farmers market for a few more hours, jihoon hardly leaving your side of letting you out of his sight for too long. he is hyper aware of who talks to you, where their eyes linger and for how long. it’s extremely out of character, this level of possession he’s displaying. it’s not him, but he’s extremely on edge.
you notice it, of course. his hand rarely leaves the small of your back unless you wrap yourself around his arm. he’s not nearly this close and clingy to you, but it doesn’t necessarily bother you—his possessive behavior, though, is where you’re stumped. you’re now 101% sure that he’s been bullshitting you all day. again, you don’t say anything and choose to just embrace him being all over you, especially since it’s been awhile that you’ve been able to get time with him.
after a few hours of walking in platform sandals, your feet start to ache. the two of you have gone to nearly every booth at the market, and have seen the crowd die down. “my feet are killing me,” you say, flexing your toes.
“are you ready to go home?” jihoon asks, rubbing small circles into your lower back.
“yeah, i think so. we basically saw everything, right?” you ask, the two of you already heading back in the direction of the parking lot. jihoon nods, slipping his hand from your back to intertwine your fingers together. you glance over at him and smile, grateful for the time you’ve had with him today despite his strange attitude. “i love you, you know?” you say, bumping your shoulder with his.
jihoon smiles, looking down at that ground. “i love you too,” he says softly, the tips of his ears reddening. the two of you make it back to the car and jihoon opens the trunk to put the tote bag of stuff in the back. you wait for him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a kiss when he closes the back. he holds onto your sides tightly, fingers lightly bunching up the loose fabric of your dress. you press your chest against his own, your nipples peaked and sensitive against the fabric of your dress mixed with the friction of his tshirt.
jihoon feels his mind go blank for a second, almost like he’s a virgin again when he feels your nipples through your dress. he hadnt realized how thin the material was, or what you weren’t wearing a bra, and now that changes everything about today, about the feeling of you in his hands, about the stares you received from strangers. it makes him more agitated and pathetically hard, though the latter makes him feel guilty for even thinking about you in that way when he’s barely spent real quality time with you.
pulling back, you place a soft hand on the side of his face, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. jihoon relaxes against your touch, letting out a small breath that makes you smile. “i’ve missed you,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your hip.
you hum, placing your other hand against his chest. you flatten it over his right pec before gently dragging your nails over his clothed skin. “prove it,” you say, tone sultry. you flick your eyes up to meet his own and he swallows, his erection straining against his pants. if you notice it, you don’t make it known, just smile that angelic smile and slip away from him to get in the car. jihoon stands there, static flowing through his brain.
there isn’t a coherent thought in his mind other than getting you home as quickly as possible. he quickly hops in the driver seat and starts the car, flying out of the parking lot far too quickly. but he doesn’t really have time to stop and think, his dick agonizingly hard in his pants and you achingly beautiful right next to him.
“baby, it’s a red,” you say, looking over at jihoon with mild concern when he flies up to a red light, hardly feeling like he’s pressing on the brakes. jihoon leans back in his seat once the car is idle, and lets out a chuckle at his own ridiculousness. he won’t be able to fuck you like he wants if he dangerously speeds home, but he’s eager, buzzing in his seat.
“god, i love you,” he mumbles for the millionth time today, running a hand through his hair and pressing on the lightly on the gas when the light changes.
you smile and place a hand low on his leg. jihoon can’t help when he jerks at your touch, leg shifting open wider. it’s embarrassing, pathetic, and whorish, and his face burns in mortification. you bite back a giggle, not wanting to add to his embarrassment.
the short car ride home is tense. again, you talk and he listens—or tries to; unable to fully concentrate with your hand on his leg. you can tell that he’s really trying though, and you find it sweet since the tent in his pants hasn’t faltered once. you’d be lying if you said he hasn’t had you hot and bothered all day. he’s a man of simple fashion: black tshirt and jeans, but his bulging muscles will forever make you drool.
pulling up to the house is like beating the level in a video game before the final boss battle. except in this case, the boss level is getting you naked in the next few minutes. jihoon doesn’t even bother grabbing the stuff out of the trunk, just opens your door for you and ushers you up to the front door. he fumbles with the house key for a moment, lowly mumbling out a few curses before finally shoving it into the lock and opening the door.
jihoons on you in an instant, backing you into the closed front door and placing his lips on yours. you toss your purse onto the entry table and thread your fingers through his long hair. his hair has grown out a lot lately, results of him being so busy with work and forgetting about everything else. you like it, a lot, and rue the day he decides to chop it all off.
he pulls back from your mouth to kiss down your neck, groaning into your skin. jihoon holds onto your sides, hands kneading at the flesh. his mouth is hot against your skin, lips searing like he’s claiming you, branding you.. its a sensation you’ve been deprived of lately, one you’ve missed. jihoon kisses down your chest to the tops of your exposed breasts, resisting the extremely strong urge to rip you out of the fabric. “fuck,” he curses, moving back up to your mouth. he’s desperate for you he can hardly contain himself or get his thoughts straight.
jihoon pulls you from against the door and walks you backwards down the hall. you let him, hands gripping onto his biceps for support. you pull apart when he presses you back against a surface, and you find yourself in the kitchen pressed against the island. jihoons lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown and cheeks flushed. you lovingly run a hand through his hair, pushing the strands out of his face so you can really see him. he closes his eyes for a brief second and grips onto the counter, dropping his forehead against yours. "you're driving me crazy," he mumbles, breath warm against your face. "this dress. you." jihoon lifts his head to look at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
your heart hammers against your ribcage, like its ready to beat out of your chest and flop onto the kitchen floors. his gaze is intense and makes heat pool at the base of your abdomen, thighs pressing together. you reach behind you to unzip your garment, but he stops you, gently grabbing onto your forearm.
"leave it on."
jihoon is on his knees in an instant, flipping up the skirt of your gown and disappearing under the material. you want to see him, nearly ready to complain until you feel his mouth on your core. he breathes you in, brain clouding at your scent and wetness. your panties are damp and stick to your folds in a way that makes him spin. he wastes no more time and pulls down your underwear, yanking them off your ankles before stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. his mouth is on you again, this time making you let out a soft sigh and bunch up your dress atop his shoulders. he grabs one of your calves and props it against his broad shoulders, spreading your open wider and giving him more room to work.
he's an expert with his tongue, and you let him know that by all of the sounds you make. you didn't realize how long its been until you notice how loud you're being, how quickly your legs begin to shake when he suckles on your clit. "fuck, jihoon!" you moan, knees growing weaker by the second. he keeps a firm grip on your thighs, supporting most of your weight. his tongue is everywhere you need him most, licking up your arousal like its the last thing he'll ever do.
jihoon groans against you, making you whimper above him and press your thighs together. his lips find themselves around your sensitive nub, and he lets go of the leg that is propped up against his shoulder to stick to fingers inside of you. you clench around him in a way that makes him feel like he could cum in his pants in the next few seconds. you're warm and tight.
"h-hoonie, i-i-" you cut yourself off with a pathetic whine, tears gathering in your eyes as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, his tongue swirling around your clit.
he's prepared for your release, but he's not prepared for the way your arousal squirts out onto his face. he freezes, watching your pussy flutter around his still fingers, your arousal flowing out of you like rain. "jihoon!" you yelp as you come, body burning and legs shaking. he attempts to retracts his fingers from inside you, but you clench around him and squeeze him back in.
its pathetic the way he whimpers and jerks his hips forward, a dark patch forming on his jeans. he manages to pull his fingers back, and stands up from the floor, hand moving to your hip to support you on your weak legs. the sight before him is one of his favorites: your chest heaving, eyes closed and mouth parted. its a state of bliss that he put you in, and he'll never get tired of it.
upon feeling him stand up, you attempt to sit up against the counter and open your eyes. when you see his shiny face, your eyes widen and your face burns with embarrassment. " oh my g-" he cuts you off with a kiss, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. you moan and grip onto his shoulders tightly, body buzzing.
jihoon is the first to pull away, spinning you around by the hips and pressing you against the counter. he grabs the hem of his shirt and wipes his face before pulling it off and and tossing it on the floor. next are his pants, though he doesnt even bother stepping out of them and just lets them pool around his ankles. he's never been this eager and hungry for sex, its almost animalistic the way he feels inside.
grabbing your leg, jihoon props your knee up on the counter and checks that you're comfortable. "yes, just fuck me," you sigh, folding your arms under your head and resting your cheek against them. jihoon pushes up your dress and lines himself up, pushing the head in and letting out a string of curses at your grip on him. you never fully got used to the size of him, but now that’s it’s been a minute the stretch is much more intense than before. "baby." you whine, biting your bottom lip, cunt fluttering around him. jihoon grips onto the counter with one hand and your hip with the other, bottoming out and staying still for a moment to really feel you.
"i l-love you," he says, breathing labored. he leans down against you and presses a soft, loving, kiss to the back of your neck. "i love you so fucking much."
he pulls back and snaps his hips back into your ass, a loud gasp getting pushes from you lungs, followed by a cry of his name. he's relentless with his strokes, unable to control himself. you don't mind the harshness, especially after how long you've gone without having sex. "j-jihoon!" you cry, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time tonight.
"i m-missed you," he grunts, pushing up your dress so he can see your ass, eyes trained on where you two connect. "missed this pussy, fuck!" he groans, knuckles turning white from his grip on the counter. a white rim coats the base of his dick, both of your arousals mixing together to make it easier for him to glide into you.
“it’s yours,” you mewl, pressing your hips back into him and deepening the arch in your back. jihoon grunts in agreement, moving the hand that is on your hip up to your chest. he gropes your chest, tweaking your nipple through the material of your dress.
he pounds into your hard enough to knock the strap of your dress off your shoulder. you want it off, but he’s adamant that you leave it on. “you feel so good!” tears slip out of your eyes due to the pleasure you’re feeling. jihoon pulls the top of your dress down and lets your breasts spill free, the other strap sliding down your arm.
jihoons strokes begin to lose rhythm and his breathing becomes exceptionally labored. you know he’s close—you are too, unbelievably close—and you want to cum with him. reaching back, you call out his name and wiggle your fingers.. jihoon grabs onto your hand without a second thought, squeezing tightly as he continues to give you a few more powerful thrusts. “baby, i’m c-close,” you breathe, the knot tightening in your core.
“m-me too. wan’ c-come with y-you,” he grunts, thrusts becoming shallower by the second. you whimper and clench around him, crying out his name when you start to spasm around him, legs shaking.
jihoon grunts and holds your hip tightly to keep you in place, groaning out your name as he releases his load into you. he folds himself onto your back, unable to hold himself up any longer while he releases ropes of his cum into you. you appreciate the weight of him on you, keeps you from floating up and away from the present.
“fuck,” he breathes, pushing himself up and off of you and pulling out of you warmth with a whimper that makes you involuntarily clench around him. “baby.” jihoon pulls out of you and grabs at your waist, gently spinning you around and cradling you in his arms. you give him a blissed out smile, eyes low and tired, skin shiny from a thin layer of sweat.
“hi.”
“hey,” you smile at each other like two lovesick fools, and you push yourself up to his lips to give him a soft and sensual kiss. “i’m sorry.” he mumbles against your lips, hands grabbing the zipper of your dress and pulling it down, the cool air making goosebumps arise on your skin.
“you’re forgiven,” you say in a rush, letting the dress fall to the floor. you’ll get to the root of the apology later, but right now you still need him.
it’s desperate the way jihoon gets on the floor and pulls you down on top of him, guiding you over his dick. you plant your feet on either side of his hips and lower yourself onto his shaft, mouth dropping open at the sensation of being split open for the second time. “ah, jihoon, fuck!” you cry, planting a hand on his chest for stability. you won’t last long riding him—both of you know that—but you intend to make it count for as long as you can before your legs give out.
jihoon is in a trance watching you bounce on top of him, fully convinced that if he were to die right now this would be the way he’d love to go out: you on top of him in all your glory, fucking him—using him, like he’s your little toy. and he’s happy to be exactly that.
the squelching your cunt makes every time you drop down onto him pushes him closer to the edge. he can hardly keep his eyes open, but he wants to look at you, wants to watch you as you take everything he’s got, milk him for all he’s worth until there’s nothing left. “i-i missed this,” you moan, switching from bouncing up and down to rotating your hips, dropping down onto your knees. “missed you.”
“i’m all yours,” he breathes, whining when you lean back and hold onto his thighs, raising your hips and swirling on his lap. jihoon reaches forward and presses his thumb to your clit and rubs quick circles on the sensitive nub to get you to your release. “cmon, baby. i k-know you’re close.” he rasps, body flushed with heat.
with a few more rolls of your hips and jihoon rubbing on your clit, you’re coming for the third time. jihoon catches you when you collapse against his chest, wrapping his arms around you and sitting up, hard member still inside of you. he cradles you in his arms as he ruts his hips upwards, getting himself to his own release shortly after, your warm heat sucking him in completely.
for a few minutes, you two stay like that on the floor. he holds you against his chest, softly dragging his fingertips up and down your spine. he goes soft inside of you, but deep down he feels like he could go for a third round if he really puts himself to the test, but with the way you’re breathing he knows that you two are done for the night.
sitting in his arms, you clutch him like he’s going to slip from your grasp at any second. you try to push thoughts about your reality away, but the longer he holds onto you the more you realize this probably won’t last beyond tonight. you’re partly okay with it, because he comes home to you. but you miss him. “jihoon,” you murmur.
“hmm?”
“can we talk?”
“always. what’s up?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
you pull your chin from his shoulder to look at him, placing your hands on his cheeks. “jihoon, i know you were… bothered… earlier today. talk to me, please,” you say, eyebrows furrowing. he sighs and hugs you back into his chest, feeling like he’s unable to look at you without feeling like crying.
“i know ive been a bad boyfriend. and i felt like shit today because i haven’t spent time with you in what feels like forever, and i just miss you so much, you know? and i love you so much, i don’t want to lose you—ever. and im just so, so sorry,” he rambles, clutching you tightly. your heart breaks for him and yourself. you’d never leave him, not over his job especially. you know he loves you, he shows it even where there is distance. but you appreciate him saying it out loud.
you pull back against his right hold on you, but he relents. “jihoon, im never going to leave you, okay? we just need to talk—you need to tell me when you feel any kind of way, okay? i love you, and you’re not going to lose me. i’m in this for the long haul,” you say, giving him a smile that makes the corner of his lip go up. for good measure, you give him a quick peck and run your hands through his hair. “i do wish you were around more, but i get it. i’ll always be here.”
he drops his head bashfully and sucks in a breath. “okay. i’m sorry.”
“you’re forgiven,” you say, kissing him once more. “but we need to get off this floor, hoon. i’m getting old.” you say, untangling yourself from him. you rise and let out a sigh at the loss of contact. your legs wobble and you catch yourself against the counter, glaring at jihoon when he chuckles. “it’s not funny.”
“it’s cute,” he says, standing up and picking up your guys’ clothes. he holds your dress in his hands and gives it a long look before lightly shaking his head.
“i’ll wear it more if it gets me fucked like this again.”
#svt imagines#svt smut#seventeen smut#seventeen imagines#woozi x reader#woozi x you#woozi smut#lee jihoon smut#lee jihoon x you#jihoon smut#jihoon x reader#svt fluff#woozi fluff
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—if walls could talk
some things are meant to be secret (we'd fall from grace) pairing: charles leclerc x female reader warnings: 18+ minors dni. loadsss of google translated french. language, friends talking about sex, nsfw warnings under the cut :) love, mackie... 6.3k words! sometimes the only person who can help you out is a good friend. happy almost thanksgiving to all my american followers :) thankful for each and every one of you. mwah mwah mwah.
18+ because: fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, aftercare, mentions of hookups/faking it
You’re the last one to walk through the door of Charles’ apartment. Everyone else has been long comfortable, leaving imprints on the comfortable couch, footprints in the freshly-vacuumed rug, empty wine bottles and half-empty glasses on the coffee table.
There’s always something so cold about his apartment—always empty, always dusty, filled with the remnants of his boyhood and the promise of his adult life. It has all the makings of a home, but it still feels like a house—like a museum instead of a secondhand shop. Always, except on days like tonight, when it’s filled with warm laughter and the smell of half a dozen different meals and the quiet hum of his favorite playlist. On days like today, it feels like a home.
Nobody in the living room hears you open the door or slip off your shoes—they’re too preoccupied in their busy, lively conversation about a road closure on the way to the airport in Nice that adds twenty minutes on to the drive. You move in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen, to set your crowd offering—blue cheese stuffed shrimp—on the counter and get a wine glass from the cabinet to fill. He’s in the kitchen when you turn the corner, carefully examining the platter of Italian meatballs he’s got cooking in the oven.
Charles looks up as soon as you set the heavy plate down on the counter. “Hé!” Hey, he greets, closing the oven door and pulling off his blue mittens to properly kiss both of your cheeks, a single arm wrapping around your middle to pull you into a quick hug. “Quand es-tu arrivé?” When did you get here?
“Tout à l'heure,” Just now, you reply, roll up the sleeves of your shirt because his kitchen is so small, and heats up so quickly when the oven is on. “Désolé, je suis en tard,” Sorry I’m late.
“T'es pas en tard,” You’re not late, he interjects, dragging a tortilla chip through someone’s dip and popping it into his mouth. With his other hand, he’s reaching into the cabinet above his head, pulling down a wine glass and handing it to you.
“Je suis très en tard,” I am so late, you smile, take the empty wine glass with a thank you and follow suit with your own chip in the fame dip. “Je reviens directement du travail. Les crevettes sont restées dans le réfrigérateur du bureau tout l'après-midi,” I came straight from work. The shrimp sat in the office fridge all afternoon, you explain, and he scowls, raises his brows at you and at the shrimp. You chuckle, nod. “N'en mangez pas,” Don’t eat it.
His eyes are stuck on your cheek, which forces your hand to investigate what he might be staring at. “Quoi?” What? You ask, fingers coming up with nothing but an embarrassed heat.
“Rien, juste... tu as un cil,” Nothing, just… you have an eyelash, he lets a sharp exhale leave through his nose, “je l'enlèverai,” I’ll get it, and then he does. Carefully, with the pad of his middle finger, he picks the eyelash from your cheek. You don’t look at him while he does it, but you are watching when he transfers it to his thumb and drops it onto the platter of shrimp with a quick flick. “Oh, non,” he feigns concern, grabs the platter from the counter, “Allons juste…” Let’s just… he laughs and holds the plate over the trash can and drops the shrimp into the plastic bag with a thump.
“Bon appel,” good call, you laugh.
He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up.
They go through phases, the two of them. She doesn’t like your friend group very much, and Charles doesn’t seem like he likes her all that much, but they come and go like seasons. Together one month, broken up the next week. He usually tells you, but even when he doesn’t, you usually know. He’s always touchier with you when she’s out of the picture. Not that you mind it, but. He is.
It’s all a little more comfortable, like you’re both a little less aware of the fact that you’re the only girl in the group who isn’t spoken for, or that you’re both atrociously the other’s type.
“Regarde qui j'ai trouvé,” Look who I found, Charles announces, and you’re met with a spattering of greetings, plopping down onto the couch, slotting between Marta and an empty space that is quickly occupied by Charles.
You both fight over the corner seat, who gets to take up more of it. He loves to sprawl out and you love to curl up. When it’s all settled, he’s spread out like he likes, and you’re curled up into the space he leaves, half leant against him with your knees pulled to your chest, sleeves pulled over your hands because it’s hot in the kitchen, but only in the kitchen.
“J'ai entendu dire que vous avez tous les deux eu un week-end assez mouvementé,” I heard you both had quite the eventful weekend, Marta teases. She’s the only other person besides the man next to you—as far as you know—that knows about what went down last Friday night. It takes even you a moment to remember, having already relegated the mortifying details to the bottom of your soul. When you do recall, your cheeks burn with the sudden blow flow and you giggle, curl into Charles a little further than you probably should.
“Quoi?” What, Joris asks, “ce qui s'est passé?” What happened?
“Rien ne s'est passé,” Nothing happened, Charles tries to protect you from re-living the evening, but it’s no use. Now that your friends have a sniff of a story, they won’t stop until it’s told in complete, painstaking detail. So, you begin:
“J'étais en train de garder un chat le week-end dernier pour mon collègue, n'est-ce pas?” I was cat sitting for my coworker last weekend, right?
— —
You were indeed cat-sitting for a coworker last weekend. It was an orange cat whose name you never really learned, much less remembered, and you were on day three of five of cat-sitting. It’s important for the rest of the story, for later. It is.
Anyway, you were cat-sitting on a Friday night, but that wasn’t going to stop you from going out. Your sister had invited you, something about a club and her boyfriend’s friends visiting from London. Only if I can claim a brit, you’d joked. You’d joked, right up until coming face-to-face with the twenty-something, five-foot something-but-still-taller-than-you, perfect brown hair and perfect green eyed British man that had come along for the visit. You weren’t joking after meeting him.
Once the two of you were finally drunk enough to lose any sense of what’s good for you, you were squeezing into the back of a taxi and stumbling up the stairs of your apartment complex, the cute boy and his little kisses and touchy hands slowing the whole process down.
We all know what a drunken Friday night hookup looks like, so. There’s no need to explore the logistics of it with someone who’s name you’ve since forgotten, who you hope is back home in London never to return. Because where the story really gets good, is after the uneventful hookup, when Mr. Brit really needed to get back to his fiends and had you walking him to your apartment door in just a towel because he didn’t have the patience to wait for you to put on some fucking clothes.
— —
“Bon sang,” damn, Hugo laughs from the other end of the sofa, “tu es vraiment si mauvais en sexe?” Are you really that bad at sex?
“Va te faire foutre!” Fuck you, you scoff. “Je suis incroyable en matière de sexe,” I’m amazing at sex.
“Je peux trouver quelqu'un pour vous donner des cours, si besoin,” I can find someone to give you lessons, if you need.
You pause, blink twice, and then continue your story. “De toute façon,” Anyways.
— —
As you open the door to let him out, the cat you’ve been cat-sitting—see. It did come back to be important—darts out of the door.
“Grab him!” You’d yelled, and the guy actually looked back at you before replying.
“I’m allergic.”
You scoffed, hurrying past him and down the stairs after the cat. You manage to corral it in the corner of the stairwell, pick it up and return to your apartment, just in time to watch the door shut behind you. You look at the door, at the guy you’d just fucked, at the cat in your hands, and then back at the door. “That is not good,” you say.
The guy laughs. “Just open it.”
Oh, brilliant. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “It’s locked.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
By the grace of God and all things good in this world, the guy had a fully-charged phone. Unfortunately for you, of the three people with a spare key to your apartment, there was only one number you had memorized: Charles.
You text him before you call him. It’s me, please don’t send me to voicemail, and then he did send you to voicemail twice before calling the number back.
“Bonjour?”
“‘Bonjour?’ Mon cul!” ‘Hello?’ My ass! You greeted, the cat snarling and wiggling against your grip. You were so far beyond being in the mood for pleasantries. You just really, really wanted some fucking pants. “J'ai besoin que tu viennes ouvrir ma porte. Genre, il y a dix minutes,” I need you to come unlock my door. Like, ten minutes ago.
“Et avec qui ai-je le plaisir de discuter?” And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with? You swear if you could, you’d punch him through the phone. You can’t, so you settle for hanging up.
It’s at this time that Mr. Brit properly excuses himself from the evening of fun, because now that he knows you won’t stand outside your apartment in nothing but a towel for the rest of time, his conscience is clean.
You and Charles live a sixteen minute walk from each other, and he definitely chose to walk rather than literally any other form of faster transportation. Maybe you should have disclosed your current state over the phone, but that probably would have made him walk slower.
When he finally does trudge up the stairs, he stops three steps short of your landing at the sight of you, towel and cat and literally nothing more. “Qu'est-ce qui t'est arrivé, putain?” What the fuck happened to you? He laughs, and then finishes his walk up the stairs, holding your key out to you tauntingly.
“Connard,” Asshole, you mutter, snatching the key away from him with your free hand and forcing it into the lock. “J'avais un gars chez moi,” I had a guy over, you add, forcing the door open with your hip.
“Où à?” Where? He asks, following you into the apartment.
“Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, où?” What do you mean, where? You laugh, gesture around the apartment. “Ici,” here.
Charles frowns, scowls even. “Et il t'a laissé dehors?” And he left you out there?
You nod, gather up your clothes from the floor before they can exist there long enough to be perceived. “Tu n'es pas obligé de rester, je vais bien,” You don’t have to stay, I’m fine, you tell him, half-usher him back out the door he came through. “Je sais que ta copine va probablement me tuer,” I know your girlfriend is probably going to kill me next time she sees me.
— —
“Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle ne t'a pas tué,” I can’t believe she didn’t kill you, Ricky chuckles, looking to Charles.
You find solace in the bottom of your wine glass, an excuse to fill the silence that follows Ricky’s comment. “En fait, nous avons rompu,” we actually broke up, Charles says, and the room falls into the same silence it always does everytime they break up. It’s not that you guys don’t like her, so much as… well. Yeah, it is that you don’t like her. But she didn’t like you guys first, so it really shouldn’t matter much that none of you like her.
“Je suis désolé, mec,” I’m sorry, mate, Joris offers, and then everyone follows suit with half-hearted apologies they don’t mean.
“C'est bien, vraiment,” It’s fine, really, he offers to the group. “Elle était gentille, mais elle ne l'était tout simplement pas…” she was nice, but she wasn’t… he hesitates. You take another sip of your wine. Your friends listen to him intently. “Je ne veux pas être méchante,” I don’t want to be mean.
“Soyez méchant,” Be mean, Marta giggles.
He laughs nervously, fidgets with his fingers, watches his rings spin. “Elle n'était pas très bonne. Elle ne pouvait pas... Je ne l'ai jamais fait, tu sais,” She wasn’t very good. She couldn’t… I didn’t ever, you know, he trails off, gesturing wildly into the space around him, anything to avoid having to say the words the entire room has picked up on.
You roll up your sleeves, hot again. Burning.
The teasing that follows from the guys is relentless, gets to a point where you and Marta step in, begging them to stop kicking a dead horse while Charles is in the bathroom. They do ease up, and the night continues far, far away from horrible hookup stories and mortifying relationship admissions.
You were the last to arrive, which means you’ll be the last to leave, make sure that the whole place has been cleaned up, returned to its stiff and dusty places in the apartment before you head home for the night.
“Juste pour que tu le saches,” just so you know, you comment, scraping the last of the left behind chip-dip into a tupperware container while he gathers up the now-stale crackers from the charcuterie board. “Je ne te crois absolument pas,” I totally don’t believe you.
He meets your eyes, confused. “Tu ne me crois pas à propos de quoi?” Don’t believe me about what?
“A propos de ne pas…” about not… you look away, direct your attention to the lid of the container. Anything but looking him in the eyes while talking about each other’s sex lives. “Tu sais. Il est impossible que vous n’ayez pas joui depuis cinq mois.” You know. There’s no way you haven’t gotten off in five months.
You see him shake his head in your peripheral, distract himself with the task at hand the same way you had. This isn’t something the two of you talk about, and you talk about pretty much everything. Sex, though. It’s always been off-limits, especially in a situation like this, just the two of you together. “Non,” nope, he mutters. “Je souhaite,” I wish.
You roll your eyes. “Charles, regarde tes mains,” look at your hands, you say, and he does, all full of crumbs and salt and grease. “Voilà, voici la solution à ton problème. Tu peux le résoudre dès que je partirai,” there’s the solution to your problem. You can fix the issue as soon as I leave tonight.
He rolls his eyes right back, “idiote,” idiot, he says, shoves your shoulder with one of his hands and you laugh. “Je ne peux pas. C’est… je ne sais pas, c’est irrespectueux,” I can’t. It feels… I don’t know, it feels disrespectful.
You laugh, curl in on yourself at his comment because it feels so completely ridiculous. He’s a good guy, you know. You know, or you wouldn't be such good friends in the first place. You know, but that's a crazy concept even for a good guy. “Manque de respect envers ton ex-petite-amie si tu te branles après un séparer?” Disrespectful to your EX-girlfriend if you jerk off after you’ve broken up?
“Bien. Quand tu le dis comme ça,” well. When you say it like that.
“Ouis,” yeah, you chuckle, hoisting yourself up onto the counter you’d just cleared. The granite is cool even through the denim of your jeans. “Quand je dis ça comme ça, tu es un imbécile,” when I say it like that, you dumbass.
“Pourtant,” Still though, he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He always looks particularly boyish when he gets even the tiniest bit frustrated with you. “Tu ne comprendrais pas. Ça n'est pas pareil.” You wouldn’t get it. It’s not the same.
Wouldn’t I? You pick at your cuticles, don’t know how to skate around the admission that you’re finishing about as often as he is—that Mr. Brit, who he’d missed by no more than ten minutes last weekend, was not exactly giving you a very eventful evening when he decided he was done for the night.
"Je ne vois pas comment tu pourrais,” I don’t see how you could.
You nod, wish you lived in his little naive world where you always finish. “La moitié des gars de ce putain de pays ne savent pas comment faire jouir une fille. Et apparemment, les gars de Londres non plus.” Half the guys in this fucking country don’t know how to get a girl off. And apparently, neither do the guys in London.
“Vraiment?” Really?
You nod. “Je ne peux pas te dire combien de fois j'ai simulé parce que j'en avais marre que quelqu'un attaque ma lèvre gauche avec sa langue,” I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve faked it because I was tired of someone assaulting my left lip with their tongue.
“Fuck,” He laughs. “Ce n'est tout simplement pas bien,” that’s just not right.
“Non, ça ne l'est pas,” no it is not.
“Tu devrais vraiment obtenir de l'aide pour ça,” you should really get some help with that.
“Et toi aussie. Je mourrais avant de laisser tes conneries arriver.” So should you, you offer. I’d die before I let that shit happen. And you would, you really would. You can’t think of something worse than dating someone for months and knowing you’ve never gotten them off once. And she knows, she has to know, because there’s no way for him to fake it. She has to know.
There’s a pause, and you realize that somewhere on the other side of the apartment the music has stopped playing. The speaker must have died—or the phone playing through it. You realize that Charles is close, now. Really close. Has he been this close the entire time you’ve been cleaning up, close. “Le feriez?” you would?
“Cent pour cent. Une bonne petite amie le ferait—en fait,” a hundred percent. A good girlfriend would—actually, you stop yourself, scowl a bit at the idea of it all. “Une bonne petite amie n’aurait jamais ce problème en premier lieu, mais ce n’est pas la question,” a good girlfriend would never have that problem in the first place but, that’s besides the point. He smiles, the threat of a laugh, and takes a step closer, firmly between your legs, now. You put your hands on either of his shoulders, give them a firm, friendly squeeze. “Une bonne petite amie t'aurait aidé,” a good girlfriend would have helped you, you assure him, but it doesn’t sound as friendly as your gesture was.
His hand falls to your knee, thumb moving over the fabric of your jeans there ever so softly. It sends a chill up your spine, makes you shiver. “Un bon ami pourrait m'aider,” a good friend could help me, he says, hardly above a whisper—like he thinks saying it quieter is going to make it have any less suggestion.
You nod, gulp, your fingers intertwining behind his neck. “Un bon ami pourrait vous aider,” a good friend could help you.
“Ouis,” yeah. You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, that your noses might as well slot against each other. That you might as well be kissing, even if you aren’t. You’re sure your eyes cross when they meet his.
“Dommage que tu n'en ai pas,” shame you don’t have any of those, you tease, smile pulling on your lips, hands falling from over his shoulders to move down his chest, to feel every reaction of his muscles as you trail over his abs softly, toy with the hem of his t-shirt.
“C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?” It is, isn’t it? His hand moves up your leg, and you instinctively move towards the touch, move yourself closer to the edge of the counter. He moves up, up your thigh, to your hip, threatening to go further. He doesn’t, though. He stalls there, searching your eyes for the permission to be there in the first place.
And then, just like that, he kisses you.
It starts soft, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. It’s a gentle collision, tender and hesitant and exploring whatever new waters you’d just sat yourselves in. His lips are so soft against yours, so careful, so sweet, and then his tongue is slipping through your lips, settling into the kiss now that he knows you’re going to kiss back. And you do, you kiss back, until it’s all hurried and messy, noses bumping against each other, teeth scraping each other’s lips. Until you’re hazy and dizzy and have to pull apart for air.
“Peut être,” maybe, you chuckle into his mouth, kiss him again quickly. “Peut-être que tu devrais accepter l'offre de Hugo de trouver un tuteur,” maybe you should take Hugo up on his offer to find a tutor, you joke, and his smile is sweet against your lips.
“Peut être,” maybe… he says, fiddles with the buttons of your jeans hurriedly, like they’re going to seal shut if he doesn’t undo the button that very moment, and then he unzips the zipper, “ou peut-être,” or maybe…
You kiss him again. Your core aches, the knot in the pit of your stomach pulling itself tighter and tiger with each millimeter further he moves. “Tu pourrais juste,” you could just.
“Je pourrais juste,” I could just, and he dips a hand into your pants.
You sigh, react instantly to his touch and his lips are on your again. Your hips move against his hand like it’s the first time you’ve ever been touched—which, this whole thing feels so charged that it might as well be. Charles’ hand moves in flat circles over your clit, pushing farther, deeper, slipping a single finger inside of you.
You hiss at the movement, kiss him harder when your breath is back, pull him hard against your lips by the back of his neck. “Putain, tu es tellement mouillé,” Fuck, you’re so wet, he says.
You nod, talk into his mouth, “Je sais, je sais,” I know, I know.
You reach between your bodies to palm him, find him already hard in his jeans, taking in a sharp breath when you touch him there. His other hand grabs at your tits, pushing and pulling and squeezing over your shirt before finally slipping under, haphazardly pushing your bra out of the way and palming them, kissing mumbled profanities into the skin on your neck.
He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine—he ruts against the counter when you do, smirks against your lips and hums whatever noise he’s attempting to swallow.
You sigh when he pulls his hand out from your jeans, but he’s quick to get them off of you, pulling them and your underwear off as soon as you raise yourself up off the counter. It’s cold, so cold, but his hands are equally warm, burn against your body as he explores every inch of available skin.
You work away at his jeans, pushing down his pants and underwear as far as the angle allows you to. His cock springs out of the elastic waistband and the only thing you can think is how pretty it looks, all swollen and twitching and wet with precum. It looks painful, almost, how hard he is. But so, so pretty. “C'est tellement chaud,” this is so hot, you say.
“Tu es tellement belle,” you’re so hot, he replies.
You’re expecting for it to all boil over, then, for him to sink into you, fill you up with his perfect pretty dick, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself to your cunt and looks at you with nauseating eye contact. “Dis moi quoi faire,” tell me what to do, he says.
“Quoi que ce soit. Faire n'importe quoi,” Anything. Do anything, you beg.
He does, he does—licks a long stripe through your folds, forces your head to the sky and a sweet moan from your lips. He holds your legs apart with a hand on the inside of each thigh—strong, warm, big—and fucks you with his tongue. It’s messy and natural, but every move is intentional, working towards the goal of getting you off before he even fucks you. And he will, he will, because he listens so well.
Every direction, even the jumbled, incoherent moans that leave your mouth, even the little twitches of your legs or the way your hips move against his mouth—it's all an instruction for him. What to do. What to continue doing exactly like he’s doing. “Juste comme ça. N'arrêtez pas,” just like that. Don’t stop, you chant, and he doesn’t stop. He holds his pace, and then you’re coming in his mouth, fingers slipping on the countertop in search of some kind of grip, some kind of stability as you writhe against him.
When you’ve come down, come back to reality and the cold countertop and his warm hands, he’s kissing you again, cock hard and twitching between your bodies. You take him in your hand and he winces, groans when you start to stroke him, to spread the precum around his tip with your thumb. “Ça fait du bien,” feels good, he mutters.
“Laisse-moi t'aider,” Let me help you, you insist. He doesn’t need much convincing. None at all, really.
“Est-tu toujours... sur le?” Are you still… on the, he asks, tapping your arm.
“Mon implant? Ouais, ouais,”My implant? Yeah. yeah.
He kisses you again, licks into your mouth in a way that feels half-illegal, like all the rules of the universe have been broken. “Tu veux que j'utilise un préservatif?” Do you want me to use a condom?
You shake your head against his lips, shrug somewhere in the distance, far away from where your mouth is on his. “Je m'en fiche, je suis propre,” I don’t care, I’m clean.
“Moi aussi,” Me too.
"D'accord, d'accord. Putain," Okay, okay. Fuck, and then he's slapping the head of his cock against your pussy, making you quiver with every touch. He drags it over your clit, through your folds, and then he’s sinking into you. His fingers bruise into your hips as he ruts into you, you reaching down to circle you clit while he fucks you full of him. "Putain, Dieu," Fuck, God, he moans.
“Oui c'est bien?” Yeah, it's good? You ask.
“C'est tellement bon, putain, c'est tellement bon, tu es si sexy,” It’s so good, fuck—it’s so good, you’re so hot. You don’t know if its his words, or that the seal’s properly broken now, but right as his dick slips out of a particularly measured thrust, you’re coming around the air, shoving a finger back inside to ease the ache of emptiness, pulling it back out and guiding his cock back in. He fucks you so good. So hard. So deep, just the sounds of each others groans, of heavy sighs and skin slapping filling the room, bouncing off the walls. “Je suis près,” I’m close, he tells you. “Je suis si proche, putain. Je vais,” I’m so close, fuck. I’m gonna, he repeats, fucking into you hard. Hard, burying himself in your cunt longer and longer each time.
“Fais-le,” Do it, you say, “laisse-moi l'avoir, je le veux,” let me have it, I want it. And then he’s coming. Hard. Bottomed out in you, groaning against your neck, and filling you up with him. Fuck, he breathes. You can’t make a distinction between a sigh versus a laugh. “Ça va?”Are you okay? He asks.
Your breath is heavy, heart thumping in your chest, in your ears, in your toes. “Je suis,” I’m, you laugh. “Ouais, je suis plus que… je vais bien,” Yeah, I’m more than… I’m okay, you finally sputter out into his patient eyes. You think that’s the reason you stutter—the eye contact. “Es-tu?” Are you?
“Ouais,” Yeah, he says, running a hand through his hair, nodding. “Oui. Très bien.” Yes. Very okay.
“Bien,” Good, you nod, and then, with all the vulnerability in the world: “Étais-je bien?” Was I alright?
He smiles, moves his hand to brush your flyaways from your forehead, to stop them before they can get in your face. “Tu étais…” You were… he laughs, and there’s no mistaking it now. When he does it, you’re reminded just how full of him you still are, of the ache you’ll feel when he finally pulls out. “Je ne pense pas que quiconque puisse avoir un problème avec toi,” I don’t think anyone could have any issue with you.
“Oh,”, you chuckle, eyes locking onto the clock hung on the kitchen wall. You can hear the second hand clicking around the same way you can hear your own pulse. “Bon alors,” Good then.
“Et moi?” And me? He asks, and pulls out slowly before you can begin to answer. There’s a silence in the room, just the clock and your heart and your breathing, his eyes glued to your cunt like he’s admiring his handy work. “C'étaient…” Those were…
“Tous deux très réels,” Both very real, you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, catching his eyes when he leans over the sink, wetting a paper towel and ringing it out. “Je ne suis pas doué pour faire semblant,” I’m not that good at faking it.
“Bon,” Nice.
“Je ne pense pas que nous soyons le problème, alors,” I don’t think we’re the problem, then, you chuckle, eyes snapping back to the clock, mind to the feel of the counter under your fingertips. You can’t think about anything more, of any other feeling or sense of taste or smell you’re experiencing or it will be too much.
“Non je ne pense pas,” No, I don’t think so, he continues, and starts to clean you up, warm hands on your legs again while he runs the cool paper towel through your folds. You recoil at the cold, a shiver running up your entire body and his eyes jump to yours—”Désolé,” Sorry, he mumbles.
“C'est bon,” It’s okay, you squeak, and it sounds like you’re about an inch tall. Utter mortification will do that to you, something this fucking awkward making you incredibly aware of everything happening in the room around you, of every touch of his warm hands on your skin. A lot of things are different now. Everything is different.
“Je, euh. Putain,” I, uh. Fuck, you resort back to what you know best, to the only thing you can think about that doesn’t spiral back to the feeling of him finishing inside you. “Je n'arrive pas à croire que je doive nettoyer à nouveau ce comptoir,” I can't believe I have to clean this counter off again.
He laughs again, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. It sits on top of everything else like a billboard, screaming about what it had been used for. The lid on the trash can doesn’t close like it’s supposed to. “C'est à ça que tu penses en ce moment?” That’s what you’re thinking about right now?
“Ouais,” Yeah.
“Tu es tellement bizarre, putain,” You’re so fucking weird, he says, adjusting himself, tucking back into his boxers, pulling them and his jeans up to make himself proper again. You have to hop off the counter to do the same, collecting and correcting your things as fast as you can because you can feel his eyes on your figure while you dress, and it feels too intimate.
“Je ne suis pas bizarre,” I am not weird, you quip, buttoning your jeans and pulling up the zipper, carefully fixing your shirt, your bra, smoothing all of your clothes out over your skin.
“Tu es. Tu es tellement bizarre.” You are. You’re so weird.
“Peu importe,” Whatever, you mumble, quickly closing the lid to the trash can.
The night has run its course by now, and then some. You spend fifteen minutes silently moving around each other in the kitchen, the whole room quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the downstairs lobby. You spend at least ten of them cleaning off the counter, which doesn’t feel so cold anymore, at least not where you were sitting.
“Tu peux rester, tu sais…” You can stay, y’know… he finally breaks the silence. “Si tu veux.” If you want.
“D’accord,” Okay, you nod. “Je ne… je ne sais pas si c’est une bonne idée.” I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.
“C'est vrai, ouais,” Right, yeah, he says, and the place threatens to fall back into negative decibel levels. “Je t'entends, tout ce que tu veux.” I hear you, whatever you want.
“Désolée,” Sorry, you choke.
“Ne le soit pas, vraiment,” Don’t be, really, he assures, but you still are, still feel like you're stepping on a little baby bug that’s on its way home to its family. It’s not that you don’t want to stay, it’s more that you… you don’t trust yourself to stay, and you don’t trust him not to turn this into a messy rebound thing. If you slept in his bed tonight and got a text next weekend that he’d gotten back together with his girlfriend, you’d feel like a piece of shit. It’s bad enough that when they do inevitably reconnect, you’re already never going to be able to look her in the eyes again.
“Tu m'enverras un texto quand tu rentreras à la maison?” You’ll text me when you get home? He asks, standing opposite you in his doorway.
“Bien sûr,” Of course, you nod, fidgeting with the keys on your lanyard. “Nous n’avons pas simplement ruiné notre amitié, n’est-ce pas?” We didn’t just ruin our friendship, did we?
“Non,” he answers, without leaving space for a hesitation, to really wonder about your question.
You smile at your keys, bite back a chuckle at just how quick he’d responded to you, about how sure he seemed. “Parce que tu es une de mes personnes préférées, tu sais,” Because you’re one of my favorite people, y’know.
“Tu es ma personne préférée,” You’re my favorite person.
You swallow, and when you look up from your keys, he’s staring right back at you. The comfort in the silence is palpable, and it makes you shy, pushes a nervous laugh from your lips. Charles just nods, certain in his choice of words. It makes you even more sheepish.
You’re completely aware that he doesn’t look at everyone like this, that he never looked at her like this. “Que s'est-il passé entre toi et elle cette fois, d'ailleurs?” What happened with you and her this time, anyway?
He sighs. “Tu veux vraiment savoir?” You really want to know?
“Ouais,” Yeah, you nod. “Je fais,” I do.
“Je euh,” I uh, his fingers fidget with each other, pulling on the joints and twisting his rings. He doesn’t look at you when he tells you, watches the metal spin around his finger. “Je suis rentré de chez toi le week-end dernier et elle attendait dehors que je la laisse entrer. J'ai complètement oublié qu'elle venait après le travail.” I came home from your place last weekend and she was waiting outside for me to let her in. I totally forgot she was coming over after work. You regret asking as soon as he starts explaining. It’s not your business, and you could have gone your whole life without knowing that you were the catalyst for it. “On s'est disputé, elle m'a dit de choisir qui était le plus important,” We got into a fight, she told me to choose who was more important, he shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like he was being asked to flip a coin, asked what color the sky was. “Je te choisi,” I chose you.
“Charles,” your head falls to the side defeatedly. You wish he never told you this, even though you asked. You wish he knew better, that you knew better.
“Je sais,” I know, he nods, and it sounds like he feels genuinely bad about the truth. “Je suis désolé,” I’m sorry.
“Je devrais y aller,” I should go.
“Ouais…” Yeah… he hesitates, his hand lingering around his front door, refusing to close it on you. “Ouais,” yeah.
“Juste... ne le fais pas,” Just… don’t. You stop yourself—or you try to stop yourself—from speaking. It’s unsuccessful, how could it not be when he’s staring at you intently with those big green eyes, clinging to every word that leaves your lips. “Ne te remets pas avec elle S'il te plaît,” Don’t get back with her. Please.
“Je ne vais pas,” I won’t.
You nod, even though you know he will. He always does. They always get back together. It’s nice to pretend, though, for a few days. To pretend that anything is ever going to come of what’s happened this evening.
“Bonne nuit, Charles,” Goodnight..
“Bonne nuit.” Goodnight.
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