#he's been itching for a fight this whole time but I was always like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

Text

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.��

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

3K notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 3 months ago

Text

vanilla-cherry sweetheart | h. sakura

✮ tags ; gender neutral + afab!reader, dom top!reader, sub bottom!sakura, explicit feminization (referring to sakuras ass as a pussy, dick as a clit. the pet name good girl etc.), light dollification (reader dresses him up), rimming, anal fingering, pegging, cumming untouched, lots of gender fuckery, BRIEF breeding kink / pregnancy reference directed at sakura, excessive dirty talk, mirror sex 18+

✮ wc ; 5.1k (im crazy im crazy im crazy)

✮ a/n ; there's no way im not ovulating. this is insane. sorry. also sorry if there are any egregious typos i can only read this once over before i feel like exploding

✮ synopsis ; you think sakura makes the prettiest girl.

The soft slip of silk and satin feel weird against Haruka’s skin.

You’ve put effort into this, more than he thought possible. Every detail of him has been preened and plucked. A soft scent rolls off of his freshly smooth skin, cherry and vanilla. His hair is styled down against, bangs laid flat as opposed to push backwards, decorated with clips and accessories.

He has a face full of makeup on which was a pain to apply and even more of a pain to not rub off. His lips are parted, polished with color and his eyes are lined with a soft brown. There’s some shadow underneath, some glittery dust but everything is generally subdued. He hasn’t seen what the hell he looks like and he thinks he’d prefer it that way.

Like hell he’d wanna see what perverted things you’ve done to his face.

His clothes feel the most unfamiliar to him. Boxers replaced with frilly boyshorts. Bra straps tugging against his shoulder. Expensive so the fabric doesn’t itch. The kind without cups, all loose and sliding against his nipples every time he shifts. He’s wearing clothes you’ve hand-picked. Dresses that girls usually wear. Skin-colored tights underneath a patterned slip dress with that he doesn’t have the full chest to fit into, accompanied by a sweater hanging off of his arms and shoulders.

All of these details on Haruka’s musculature make no sense. It can’t look very good on him, he thinks. Haruka has a hard body. Sinewy muscles from manual labor and fighting, a square set of shoulders. He’s always been thin and languid but not…feminine. He has no idea how to posture himself. In what ways he should sit or stand, how to behave with these soft clothes and light scents on his skin.

The delicacy of your hands as they paint more of a nude rouge onto his mouth, makes Haruka blush further. His stomach turns as he stares at you, searching for answers he doesn’t find in the calm express on your face. You cup his jaw, your other hand using a lip brush to slide it against his mouth as you finish up with last touches. Focused as you prep him to your standards, whatever the hell they are.

Haruka won’t pretend to understand. He thinks most of the effort you’ve poured in priming him is wasted. He thinks that this whole affair has been stupid and he’s sure the minute he catches a glance at himself he’ll want to explode into a thousand little pieces. You’ve been so damn meticulous, Haruka can’t even bring himself to destroy your hard work. No stone left unturned, each and every element met with incredible focus and detail.

More shamefully, the attention has felt good. It’s hard to pretend that it doesn’t when it’s the only thing that makes Haruka bend at your will. He’s never had a relationship before, but he’s not ditzy enough to think your sex life is particularly normal. Nothing about you really is. Maybe your unbridled affection for Haruka can be attributed to that. It was you who pursued Haruka, you who courted him and romanced him - cornered him even as he ran away, with frustrating levels of discretion - until the option to fall for someone else had all but disappeared.

And Haruka had tried to run away from you. Many times. Your persistence wore him down until eventually his mind would only fill with you and whatever you wanted to do to him. With him.

(Haruka loves you to put it plainly. You’re clever and sardonic and interesting and he doesn’t totally get you but he loves you so madly it makes him crazy. Loves you for the ways you’re good and careful, and loves you for the ways you love him. You’re so good to Haruka, so good he can’t stand it. So good his head feels staticky trying to make sense of it

That’s why he’ll do anything for you, no matter how horribly shameful.)

It’s impossible, difficult, irrational - the breadth and depth of Haruka’s feelings for you are completely and utterly distanced from his own understanding. Where Haruka is abrasive yet timid, you are soothing but straightforward. Sincere. You’ve been gently introducing him to the depths of your affection, putting yourself forward in expressing your desires and thoughts.

You’ve always been this sort of person, you hope he won’t hate you etc.

You always give Haruka a chance to run away from you.

No expectations. A warm gaze from across a shared bed that turns Haruka pink, incoming dawn on his cheeks down to his shoulders and collarbones. He always has options, but he likes the option making you happiest. The words thank you sound like a hymn on your lips.

He tells itself its for you, and it is mostly. Mostly. After all this time though, he’s conditioned. His body is molded for your touch. The unwitting pleasure of submitting himself to you had shocked him the first time he really experienced it. How soothing you were, how easily you dragged him into abyss of pure pleasure. Pleasure and sex he couldn’t imagine existing.

Your touch had conditioned his body to burn bright wherever it lingered.

The shame is always there, pooling in his gut and lying in wait to swallow him. It overwhelms him whenever he’s alone.

But you always pull him from it, out of it - cradle him in the palms of your skilled hands as you whisper sweet platitudes against his skin. Praise him, fuck him into something boneless and desperate. Being exposed to a type of want, the euphoria in humiliation, the reclamation of his shame. It turns Haruka’s doubts into noise slowly but surely. He falls so deep into that depth, becomes completely unrecognizable only because he’s so sure you’ll catch him.

He hates it so much.

(Read: He hates liking it. Hates liking the forbidden sexual things you’ve introduced him too that he can’t forget. Hates liking the fact you’ve imprinted so mercilessly on his body and mind. Haruka could never be with anyone else. Nothing would work.

No one could make him feel like this. You’re the first and only in the world.)

A few weeks ago, you had mentioned wanting to dress him up like this. Stared, long and hard before petting his hair and assessing he’d make a pretty girl. There’d been traces of it before then but...

To have it brought up so deliberately made him hiss at you feral until you winded him back down. Asked if he would be fine with it, assured it’d be okay if not.

He said no then, and you didn’t ask again.

(He brought it up later and felt all melty seeing you beam.)

He thought it’d be simple. He’s seen stuff like this before when he went to look up other things you wanted to try. He thought it’d just be panties or clothes, something basic and lacy. Still perverted but simple.

But everything has been elaborately crafted to make him pretty. The soft drawls and whispered demands, the compliments, painting his nails and washing his hair and shaving him.

These are ritual acts of beauty, made to accentuate feminine appeal he doesn’t see in himself but you so clearly do.

After you’re finish up your last touches, you tell him to keep his eyes closed. You stand behind Haruka with a hand under his jaw once he turns in his seat, still blind to his new looks. Your voice is an appreciative murmur, so genuine and so raw it makes all the hair on his neck stand on end.

“Open your eyes. You’re so pretty, Haru-chan,” Your thumb slides against his cheek lightly. “Look how pretty you are.”

He doesn’t recognize himself. Adorned, dolled up. The sinew of his muscles and hard lines of his figures contrast against the shapely pulls of his dress. He’s smooth and smells nice, perfumed and stunning. The makeup on his face doesn’t overwhelm him. It’s him but he’s pretty. So pretty it freaks him the fuck out.

Pretty like a girl. The hell.

“What’s all this even for? Doesn’t make sense. I’m a guy and I’m not—,” He murmurs, trying not to shudder as he feels self conscious. You lean down, your chest pressed to his back as your arms circle around his neck. “You’re so weird.”

You ignore his empty threats skillfully. “It’s for me to fuck you in,”

He wants to be pissed at you but you look so pleased. Obvious satisfaction making your shoulders relax, eyes raking over him in the mirror again and again. He looks in the mirror and sees a version of himself so…cute it’s unfathomable it’s even him.

He makes a noise of discontent, lip jutted in a pout. That’s met with an airy laugh. “Seems pointless.”

You smile at him in the mirror and his skin shades a deeper pink, tucking his chin.

“It’s fine if you think that,” You murmur. “Is it okay if I make you feel good now?”

“Don’t say it in such an embarrassing way.” He grits. You laugh again as you bend down over him where he sits, kissing him once before the two of you stumble into shared bed.

Haruka feels conscious of himself when he finally lays back into the sheets. His dress rides up near over his lmees and there’s nothing underneath to shield him from your hungry view. His tights are too sheer of any use. You amble on top of Haruka, sitting on him as he lays back.

You admire him for a long while like that. Palm settled on his waist, you trace his features with appreciation. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you Haruka?”

“I’m…” He deflects instinctively. A coy smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your fingers find the hem of Haruka’s dress. It’s a loose thing, a printed pattern decorated with a frilly hem meant for a more shapely frame. You toy with the material, rubbing it between your fingers. “Fuck off,”

He can’t bring himself to say he’s not a girl. For some stupid reason. The words die on his lips when he stares up at you and sees you looking at him so reverently. So expectant without words. He squirms and looks away.

“What word do you say when you want to stop, Haruka?”

“Tomato. Or I can pinch you,” He repeats from memory. You smile lovingly.

“Right. Is there anything you want to say to me?” Do you want me to stop?

He looks away, frown deepening. Relieved when you take his silence as compliance as you often do so kindly.

“Don’t worry about anything else,” You slide the spaghetti straps of his dress off his shoulder, pulling it down past his chest and revealing the soft patterned black lace underneath. His nipples peek through the material, the rosiness more noticeable through the paneling. It looks so lewd from the angle he sees it. “Just focus on being a good girl for me,”

Haruka lets out a strangle protest before uttered soundless from your steely gaze, nodding frustratedly as your hands slide up to his chest. You brush Haruka’s nipples lightly with the dull edge of your nail, his spine arching responsively to the pleasure. It’s a brief touch, a promise of what’s to come. You lean forward pressing your lips to his as you rub the hardened buds until they’re tender. His lipstick smears a little onto you, a dusty rose. Haruka moans into your mouth, entirely aware of the thing barrier between your touch and his chest. Your fingers are deft in rubbing his nipples as your tongue occupies Haruka’s. You lick against his lips and tongue, sucking on it lewdly. .

Shameless in your pursuit of him, his ass throbs from prior prep and his cock stirs to all the sudden stimulation.

The way arousal floods his brain scares him. He can’t fight it. You’re so good with your hands. Good at everything, like knowing where and how and when exactly to touch him. His cock tents, strains against the suffocating nylon wrapped around his legs and waist. He shivers as he feels the leaky tip press against the silk and push desperately through the nylon - stretching it with it’s length. His whole body is throbbing urgently.

You kiss down Haruka’s bare chest until your mouth finds one of his nipples. You suck them through the cups first before tugging them away slightly and giving Haruka what he wants which is the full heat of your mouth. You’ve made him so weird. Wired his body into feeling this unimaginable pleasure in places he hardly used to touch.

His hips buck into anticipation, mouth open and panting as your incisors sink into the flesh of his pec.

He cries out, shuddering as he grabs the nape of neck to anchor himself at the wet feeling. His blood is rushing south making him light-headed. He feels needy, sensitive. So much anticipation had built up while you spent time on him and all of it floods to his mind all at once. The attention you pay him and only him.

The weight of your gaze clings to him.

“Your clits getting all hard and sticky from having your nipples teased,” You point out. Haruka groans reflexively at your tone of voice. “You’re a perverted girl, huh?”

Haruka should protest your words. He wants too. The cognitive dissonance should cause him discomfort but he finds only euphoria in it’s wake. He can’t understand why. It’s all so weird, but you sound so sure of yourself. Falling deeper into those unfamiliar depths makes his anxiety curl up in his chest yet when he looks at you it all fades.

He feels greedy. Feels so selfish when his mind chants for you to keep looking at him just like that. He falls deep into that familiar liminal space, warm and comfortable.

Your eyes are softened and assured. Haruka makes a pathetic whine. It doesn’t feel like his voice. He protests the words right away. “I’m not,”

“Not what, Haruka?”

He blinks at you wetly, brows scrunched. He huffs. “I’m not a pervert, dammit.”

It’s the right thing to say. He thought it’d be. You light up at the admission, sucking a mark into his neck as you grab his waist a little more and grope him all over. You can’t keep your hands off of him, your fingers searching for all of his skin as you kiss him again more feverishly. He wraps his arms around your neck, his sweater sleeves slipping awkwardly when he does, making you kiss him harder.

“My Haruka. My Haru-chan,” You murmur against his lips in between kisses. Haruka opens his eyes to you looking utterly adoring. Lovesickness bleeds into your eyes, a drug to his system as you direct it his way. “So pretty and perfect.”

“Shut up,” He goads, trying to get you to kiss him a little more. “You’re so annoying.”

You kiss again, deeper and stronger before pulling back. “I’m gonna eat you out, Haru-chan.”

The words make him gasp, shiver - goosebumps covering every visible inch of your skin. “Gonna make use of your pretty pussy and split it open on my cock, make you cum from the inside like a good girl.”

It melts him down to his core, spoken with such clarity - smooth leaving your lips and so genuine. Haruka has been fucked enough to know how it feels and to want it. He thinks of all times prior, and feels the plug inside of him more consciously at the mention. He squeezes his legs together from the arousal, like a girl he thinks and the whines somewhere deep in his chest. Preens for you.

His consciousness feels like it’s fading with each step, each breath he heaves from his lungs labored.

He forms his lips around words that never escape him. Before long you’re scooting yourself further back, down between his legs until you’re faced with his clothed erection.

Arousal nips at him at the sight of your face near his cock underneath so many layers. You purposefully hold the skirt of his dress and rub all over - emphasizing the shape through it. Haruka flushes at the way his cock sticks up against them. Distorts that stupid floral pattern, stretches it. His ears grow hot at the lascivious image it paints. Your palm glides over his bulge once, twice, three times before sliding it up again.

A wet patch stains his nude nylons visibly after all of the teasing, pre-cum dribbling between two thin layers that makes Haruka want to die. Your voice is gravelly, lacks it’s usual amusement. “You’re so wet, Haruka.”

He shivers and huffs.

His cock twitches and his ass is throbbing. Unspoken desire nips at him as your thumb presses against his slit through layers of fancy material. Praise falls from your lips crassly. He becomes more aware each second. His bra and panties, his dress and skirt, the feeling of make-up on his face and the sensation of clips keeping his bangs away from his eye. He looks like a girl and his dick is leaking, twitching, pitifully as you touch and caress him.

His head rings heavy with the words wet.

He wants you to touch him more. Nearly begs with his eyes for you get the memo.

And you do. Of course you do, all wispy and pleased by his obvious desperation for your touch. “Haruka’s got such a needy little pussy, huh?”

He hisses, swears, takes a sharp inhale of air as your fingers find the seam of his stockings and pull until they rip unceremoniously. You pull them until his cock and the insides of his thighs are open to air, and snagged nylon shrinks against his waist. His panties, black boyshort lace panties, make his milky skin look whiter and the tip of his cock redder.

It’s so unbearably dirty to him. It’s so humiliating. Vanilla scented skin and the heady scent of his own cum, his painted, blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands - bitten chest and misplaced bra, all of it is so humiliating. Makes his dick even harder under everything as your fingers wrap delicately along his shaft with the fabric. “You have to cum from the inside first, Haruka,”

You remind him and he aches, grits his teeth about it but you don’t budge.

You don’t take Haruka’s panties off either. The panel of fabric barely covering his cock instead gets pushed aside. Haruka bends his legs up instinctively. Your thumb taps on the jewel end of a plug, one he’d mostly forgotten about until he’s forced to be reminded it of it. He swears loudly.

You make an abrupt move suddenly, reaching over to bedside table and rifling along for things you’d both need. Lube, a harness, and something to fill Haruka with. You settle back between his legs when you’ve got them all before you carefully tug his plug away from him.

The emptiness makes him whine - hole pink and fluttery and open. Your thumbs pull him open until he gapes a little more, hands massaging his thigh. “Such a perfect pussy.”

Haruka makes an aborted noise - a pitchy whine cut off as you dip down further and further until your nose tucks against his perineum and your tongue slides over wet hole.

He cries out at the sudden intrusion, muscles fluttering as you force your tongue as deep as it can go. It’s embarrassing, so shameful he could die and it feels incredible.

“It’s fucking dirty,” He shouts, cries, prying himself away from you before it can feel even better. “Stop, it’s—“

“Ish not dirty,” You mumble, words mumbled against his puckering hole. “I helpedth you clean, remember?,”

You pull away and your face is wet with something, lube likely, but the visual mixed with everything else makes Haruka want to crawl into a hole. Your hands on his thighs are soft and your eyes gaze, turned on him is sparkling. “You’re a cute girl, Haruka. Saying things like it’s dirty. But this much is normal, okay? It’s only polite if I eat your pussy.”

His stomach flips, heart racing at the ease of your words. A cute girl. Being praised in such a way… so genuinely. Enough to make him think it. Haruka likes being your boyfriend, your good boy but there’s something so much naughtier about all of this that makes him want to cry. His body is so chery red, down to his neck and shoulders.

You’re going to fuck his pussy while he’s wearing these lacy, frilly, girly clothes and he wants it so bad he could die from the shame.

“Do you want me to eat you out? Do you want me to make your pussy feel good?”

The words come out like a sob, ripped out of his labored breaths. “Fuck, yes —“

So you dive back again, pressing your tongue to Haruka’s hole with reckless abandon. It feels strange but it feels good when you tease and slurp. It’s sensitive and ticklish with each stroke, something about it feels dirty. All the hairs on the back of his neck stand - electricity shooting through his nerves and making him pulse hot all over. You’re doing it so passionately, eating him out like he really has a—

He moans a little, shuddering, cock dribbling pr-espend. Tip ruddy and desperate, he want more. He grinds against your face searching for it, hips chasing for friction.

He knows what he really wants even if it’s too shy to voice it. His body feels so empty, so uselessly empty. He casts his gaze on your harness, your cock—laying beside him and clenches without thinking. He wants it so bad he’s drooling, aching, hips pushing against air as he moans while you eat him out. Please, please,please.

You make an appreciative noise into him as you pull away, his hole soaked from your saliva as you look up at him from between his legs. Noticing the state he’s in, faced reddened and chest heaving. He feels so ruined and so, so stupidly horny. He wants to cum any way he can, he thinks.

He looks at your face, absolutely lovestruck, then shivers.

That’s not true. He wants to cum from your cock, from being fucked. He wants to cum like a girl.

“I want you to see yourself baby,” You say, all warm. Haruka pants. “Come here,”

Haruka is dazed as you help him up to his feet and guide him back to your vanity. He can barely stand he’s so hard. His knees buckle further when he sees himself in the mirror.

God. He looks ruined. His makeup smudged slightly at mouth despite himself, his bitten chest and skin and his clothes. His ripped tights. All of it is too overwhelming to process. He decides against thinking.

You wrap your arm around his waist from behind. “My pretty girl.”

Haruka covers his face instinctively, squirming. “Shut up.”

“Mm,” You put a hand on the front of his thigh. “Put your knee on here and your hands on the vanity table, Haru-chan.”

Haruka obliges only because he can barely keep himself upright other wise, propping one knee onto the vanitys bench. He’s close to himself in the mirror this way - the lights making him look at himself with more scrutiny than before. He has no idea what it is about this you like. Gold-silver eyes, short hair - everything about him, he doesn’t see what you admire.

But you’ve put so much focus into accentuating each of his features. It’s skilled in the way Tsubaki is. Everything done with meaning.

He looks at himself closely. The sweater around his arms, the shiny polish on his fingers, the jewelry. The ornery of it all messy and ruined. Mascara rings around his eyes and his lipstick is swiped messily. All of that effort to make him so beautiful only to fuck it all up. It’s fitting. To be made and completely ruined by you in the same breath.

When you return to him, you’ve got your strap harnessed and lube in your hands. Pour it onto his pussy and rub it in with rough touches, doing the same to your silicone cock before tossing the bottle back towards the bed. You finger Haruka open with a hand on his hips, squeezing appreciatively at his ass through tights before tearing them even more.

He groans, gripping onto the sturdy vanity for his life as you work him back open soft enough to be fucked.

“Haru-chan,” You murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss the small of his beck where his dress rides up. “I’m going to fuck your pretty pussy and make you watch,”

Your crass words sent heat flaring through up his spine. His nerves fray at the end. He pushes his hips back on instinct as you slip a third finger in, curling against his prostate. Nearly slipping, Haruka lets the sensation bleed through him, tip weeping as his pussy aches for the perfect stretch.

“Deep breath, Haruka.”

He takes in a sharp inhale as the head of your cock swells inside of him. Pushes past the puffy, pink rim of his hole and stretches around the sticky, veined shaft. His mind goes numb, body limp. Your hand pushes down on the curve of his back until he’s arching properly, feeling it deeper. His body and mind disconnect, acting on instinct as his teeth grind making up for the emptiness. The tables edge digs into his palms hard and Haruka shakes. His mouth drop opens, drooling from the corners of his lip.

“Deeper,” He groans, can’t think, can’t think of anything but the delicious and obvious intrusion of your cock inside of him. “Harder, fuck.”

“I wanted to be gentle,” You tsk then thrust. Slam yourself into the welcoming tightness of Haruka’s pussy without second thought, knocking all the air from his lungs. “It’s good to be gentle with girls. Haruka likes it rough though, right? You like your cunt mistreated even though you’ve got such a cute face.”

Your hips grind against the back of Haruka’s ass as you bottom out and his cock twitches. His vision goes white, body taut before trembling violently. You pause. “Did you cum, Haruka? Did you cum from having your pussy filled?”

He’s shaking. He can’t stand up properly. He’s so full. His stomach is so full, he’s so happy to be so full. It feels so good everything in his vision is white, smatterings of starlight behind his lids when they flutter closed. His pussy feels so good. He feels good for you. He’s so contented nothing else makes sense.

“Haruka,” Your voice is wrecked. Like you were the one being devastated, not him. “Oh, my perfect girl. Cumming from my cock, so good. You’re a good girl, you’re such a good fucking girl. Such a tight pussy.”

You fuck Haru with reverence. Pure delirium. His eyes widen frantically when you pull out and blow wider when you slam back in - forcing him to hold onto the vanity for dear life. You angle yourself and fuck Haruka hard and hot without so much as another word of warning. Praising him endlessly as you look at him in the mirror.

“Fuck, look.” Your hands go around to his chin, cupping his jaw upwards with free hand until he sees himself in the mirror in sheer bliss. He sees you in the reflection, too, besotted. Flushed all over, eyes glazed over in complete hunger. Haruka looks embarrassing, looks euphoric and messy and so filthy he can’t believe its him he’s looking at. “Look how fucking pretty you are.”

You pull Haruka up back his arms until his back is against your chest when you fuck him, sinking your cock so deep he feels it in his throat. He cums again, dry, from the inside just like you want. The wet slam of your hips is making it hard to think.

“So beautiful. Gorgeous, aren’t you? So stunning even without all this. My beautiful Haruka’s and his pretty, perfect cunt. You’re made for me to fuck you like this. Made for me to fuck you like a girl,” You babble, voice hoarse as you fuck into him hard and precises over and over and over. “Made for my dick. Should fuck you pregnant, keep you all filled until you carry my kid , turn you into my housewife.”

It’s nonsense. Useless, horny filth. And it makes his head spin, makes his body ache so hot when you say it. Hearing you praise his cunt so affectionately, being made to take your cock. All of it makes his blood rush and turns him stupid. Impossible but his body aches at the possibility as it gets filled. Haruka can’t keep his head on straight, can’t find his tact or pull away from you fucking him so ruthlessly.

He moans your name with his voice shattered, hands at his sides as you pound away. Dick slapping against the soft plane of his stomach each time, dribbling cum onto satiny floral and dying it white.

His body goes taut. He can feel it. He’s going to cum again, going to cum harder.

His voice is shot as he begs.

“Touch me,” He whines. “Touch me,”

“Touch where, baby? Say it.”

He nearly buckles. “Touch my c-clit. Make me cum, fuck.”

“Good girl,” You praise, so sweetly. “Such a good girl for me,”

Your wet hands wrap around Haruka’s shaft and everything he was keeping pent up inside him explodes all at once. You barely stroke twice before his cock starts to twitch so hard it hurts, an orgasm hurdling towards him full speed before he nearly gets knocked down. His spine arches against you as he finally, finally gets the relief he wants and he cums.

Haruka cums hard. Thick, heavy, wet ropes of white semen splash onto your vanity and mirror, into your fingers as you fuck him through his orgasm, jerking him off hard until he’s howling from overstimulation. He’s overwhelmed when you bottom out, sticky hand holding his hips as you grind.

“I’m close,” You pant. “Hold still.”

Haruka feels as you grind yourself against the leather harness of the strap with your forehead pressing his back and feels aroused all over again. His brain is so clouded with lust he can’t stop the words from escaping his lips as he looks at your face in the mirror trying to cum.

“Cum in me,” He begs helpless. “Want you to cum in me,”

And you push yourself into him further, deeper, hips rutting until you drop down in a shudder and scream. “Fuck. Shit! Cumming in you, fuck,”

You cum and still drunk from the endorphins Haruka thinks its a waste you didn’t cum inside - too deep in his head space to think about the whine from his lips.

You breathe slow and kiss his shoulders and all over his neck. “Love you, Haruka.”

He shudders. “…Love you too,”

#sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #windbreaker x reader #sakura haruka smut #writing tag #wind breaker smut #no i dont want to talk about this actually

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angelbarelywrites · 7 months ago

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♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim… (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of violence and cannibalism, kidnapping, stalking, suggestive content

♡ notes; I’m kinda surprised this prompt won out for a part 2 but very happy lol, I had some fun ideas.

the whole gang is not here, just some kinda kinky guys again- I feel like this doesn’t work super well for every single slasher? only some of them are psychopaths AND perverts

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Bo Sinclair

> bo was having a rough day

> your friends had been putting up one hell of a fight, killing the first four was a huge pain in ass

> so by the time there’s only two of you left, he hasn’t even gotten a proper look at you

> it’s not until you come back to the gas station, wide eyed and begging for help that he finally notices you

> god you’re cute- you can be last

> he drops the nice guy act and gets you to the chair- rough as always and threatening you the whole way

> but then he notices it’s all a lot easier than usual today

> he glances up and can’t help but grin

> your cheeks are bright red and your chest heaving- you like being restrained

> “i’ll be good- promise—“ you mumble before he can be a smart ass

> he gags you anyways, but he praises you as you open your mouth for him to stuff the rag it in

> he can hear you whimper as he does and he’s just itching to leave so he can come back

> he leans over, one hand planted between your legs to steady himself

> he can hear your breathing catch as he simply kisses your forehead, snickering as he leaves

> you were really something

> a pretty, obedient little something that would last way longer than a day if you kept it up

Danny Johnson

> he’s worried you saw the flash of his camera through your window that morning

> he’s normally so careful, he can’t believe he slipped up like that- honestly he’s surprised you didn’t call the cops

> you must have been too groggy, or maybe it wasn’t as dark as he thought it was at the time. maybe you noticed but didn’t put two and two together

> he needs to kill you soon anyways. he’s been watching for a while, and he’s wasting time

> he settles back into his usual spot where he can see perfectly into your bedroom

> he sees you frown just a tad as you pick up the phone call from an “unknown number” - but you still pick up

> “Hi there, doll .”

> he’s called you more than once, this “ghost voice” that’s been terrorizing you- and god is it a nice voice

> a nice voice that says vile things. some of them just violent, some…well some things you like too much

> you can see you make an expression he doesn’t expect. you bite your lip, cheeks pink

> he’s seen that look before…not for Ghostface, of course, but for Danny

> you were easy enough to befriend, and it just gave him more opportunities to keep tabs on you

> like most people he charms, you clearly have a crush on him, and that little lip bite is about the same face you make when he flirts

> maybe he’s just seeing things

> you couldn’t be that perfect.if you were he would have to keep you around

> he continues on and on, observing you carefully

> and you just keep getting more and more flustered, even when he’s threatening to choke you stupid

> “you know you’re so cute when you blush like that,”

> what you say next comes just about as close to scaring him as you can get

> “Thank you, Danny.”

Hannibal Lecter

> you weren’t quite as close to victimhood as one might assume

> but he was a fast killer once he had a mark set- you had to impress him more than a bit to be considered and then ruled out

> you start as his patient

> you’re a meek thing, easy to read and fragile

> you’re practically asking to become an entree

> if you taste as good as you look, you’d be his best dish yet

> it’s not hard to get you alone outside of an appointment

> you’re delighted when he invites you to a dinner party- you’ve heard great things about his little get togethers

> and he even lets you help him get ready, setting the tables

> the conversation become macabre as you discuss some recent murders that police suspected were committed by a cannibal

> that he committed for the sake of the dinner party, naturally

> he corners you before you can realize it - he likes playing cat and mouse

> you giggle nervously and look up at him

> he’s got a hand on the wall above you, and he notices your eyes linger on his toned forearms

> many patients and victims have crushes on him, it’s not surprising or a deterrent

> though it surprised him the gristly conversation wasn’t bothering you

> “yknow, it must be nice to know you’re safe from that serial killer in the neighborhood. If he is a cannibal, he’s most likely to chose someone more sedentary.”

> you leave him there, as if you hadn’t said something so delightfully offputting to find a vase for the table

> maybe he could do some further studying….

#slashers #slashers x reader #slashers x you #house of wax #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #dead by daylight #dbd #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal tv show #cw suggestive #cw kidnapping #cw stalking

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theminecraftbee · 3 months ago

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the summer before THE END...

(this fic contains @hotguycomiczine spoilers! go read it first! i'll wait!)

It’s midday. The sun is heavy and hot, bearing down against the asphalt and visibly making the air shimmer over the road. Summer in Hermitopia can be miserable, and frankly Cuteguy thinks it’s far more miserable than the bruises. The humidity makes his feathers stick together and itch in awkward ways, he’s sweaty twice over because he hadn’t had time to actually wash his costume between the last major villain attack, his recent part-time line cook job, and then this fight.

He’s in his early thirties and he’s becoming an old man, he thinks. His knees should not hurt this much, and yet here they are. Vigilantism is going to give him early arthritis.

They’ve driven off the villain. Didn’t manage to catch him, though. He wasn’t even from Hermitopia. That’s been happening more lately; people who see Hermitopia as some lawless wasteland where they can come visit, avoid drinking any water, and live out their dreams of being a comic book character, damn the consequences or collateral damage. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, deep in Cuteguy’s soul, he sort of thinks the Soup Group has a point in calling out all this bullshit.

Of course, they do all that murder about it. So. Not much better, really.

He leans against a building and tries to breathe. Normally he has a water bottle with his costume, but this guy had homemade napalm. Luckily, not real napalm! The water did work for putting out the fire! Unfortunately, it’s ninety-seven degrees and humid and Cuteguy has just done enough cardio that he’s honestly worried about the odds he passes out.

Out on the street, Hotguy is chatting with every civilian he comes across. He’s grandstanding. He’s giving blow-by-blows. He’s acting like his sweat doesn’t stink like a mere mortal’s. He has a water bottle, and he’s taking sips of it between chats with reporters and posing for cameras. There are enough cars and civilians that Cuteguy isn’t all that worried about the TCG yet. Hotguy’s still pretty damn wanted, what with the whole possession thing that they don’t exactly have the means to prove to the public, so Cuteguy’s got to keep an eye out for them, but with this many cameras on him? The TCG isn’t about to arrest him on camera. Despite everything, he's still too charismatic; he'd still make them look too bad.

Cuteguy wipes his forehead again. He does notice when someone starts approaching him; he might be exhausted, but he’s acting as Hotguy’s situational awareness while he’s busy playing up crowds. He can’t afford to be that exhausted, so he isn’t. That, and the woman approaching him is hardly as stealthy as the Bleeding Hart. Another thing he might have to give to the Soup Group were he willing to give them credit for anything: he’s never been able to fully stop noticing where everyone is around him. Hotguy had winced and called it “hypervigilance”. Cuteguy had said that he wasn’t any better, he just calls it a superpower. Hotguy had said it is hardly his fault his superpower promotes vigilance. Cuteguy had—

“Uh, good fight. Thanks,” says the woman.

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome,” Cuteguy says.

She’s tall and blonde. Also, she has four arms. Cuteguy should have probably noticed that first, but he didn’t, and that’s on him.

“Bit of a mess, especially in this weather. Hotter and they’d issue a heat advisory, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cuteguy says.

He is not good at post-battle smalltalk. That’s why it’s Hotguy’s job. He’s good at causing chaos if needed, but chaos is the opening the TCG would need to get to Hotguy. Cuteguy glances in his direction. He’s posing and signing autographs still. He can’t help but sigh. They’re going to be here all day.

The four-armed lady follows his gaze.

“You know, I’d always wondered why you stick to him,” she says.

“Sorry?” Cuteguy says.

“I just mean—I watched the fight. Yeah, he’s good, but you’re decent at range too. You can get enough height to really not need perfect accuracy because you’ll be hard to hit. Wings are, uh, a pretty overpowered combat tool, really, especially when most of your enemies are on the ground. But you’re good at close range, so, uh, inside isn’t awful for you either, really.”

“I mean, you’re right, I am pretty good,” Cuteguy says, interrupting her. “I don’t really get—”

“Look at him,” the woman says. “You ran around more than him and he took the water bottle.”

Cuteguy wants to defend Hotguy for that one; it’s hardly his fault that Cuteguy dumped his water bottle on napalm like it would do anything. It did, which is convenient, but still. Not Hotguy’s call. He doesn’t quite get the chance.

“Even after everything last month, he’s still grandstanding too. Sure, he’s stopped shooting people for not being grateful enough, or holding rescues hostage for cash, but look at him. Hardly any better, is he. Sure, he says he was possessed—”

“He was,” Cuteguy snaps.

“—but like, is the guy he is now actually all that different? Just saying.”

Cuteguy stares at the man trying to get extra photo ops out of a group of passing runners. They’re topless to account for the heat, which is probably why Hotguy wants photos with them. Cuteguy can just barely hear the man asking to trade phone numbers. Is it worse or better, Cuteguy wonders, that the phone number Hotguy gives out just goes straight to Cub’s inbox? Is that catfishing or just good sense?

“He’s trying to help,” Cuteguy says.

“He’s desperate for attention,” the four-armed woman says. “You know, you’d probably be better without him. After everything that happened, your reputation would be better too. A little more in the shadows, a little less associated with his crimes.”

“He’s…”

“I just want the real reason, really,” the woman says.

“What do you…”

“Why would you stick with him when you’re so much better?”

Hotguy waves goodbye to the runners. He takes another sip of the water bottle. Really, there’s so much that Cuteguy can say here, watching that. He could say something about how, in the terrible days when the Soup Group had first come onto the scene, Hotguy had barely left Cuteguy’s side until Cuteguy started pushing him away. He could say that Hotguy is earnest, that he really does want to save people, despite the fact he also wants attention. He could say that he knows the man behind the mask now, and he’s seen his films, and frankly getting a little recognition as Hotguy kind of makes up for not getting recognition for his decent acting talent. He could say something about playing Mario Kart on the couch, or learning to aim a bow, or fights with Doc, or secrets shared that Cuteguy wants to make sure Hotguy never has an incentive to spread. He could say something about how dangerous fighting alone is. That’s probably the more sensible thing to say, actually; Cuteguy knows exactly how dangerous fighting alone is.

What Cuteguy says is this:

“He makes me happy.”

There is a long not-quite silence as sirens and cicadas fill the summer air.

“Huh,” the woman says.

Cuteguy doesn’t say anything else.

“Well. I mean. I don’t really know how to save you from that, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” the woman says. “Consider if he’s really worth it.”

She leaves. Cuteguy stares after her a moment before shaking his head and going back to scanning the crowd for any known TCG elements.

“Birdie!” Hotguy crows, running over from the reporters. “We’re on the 5 PM news!”

“Really? An out-of-towner with questionable pyrotechnics made it?”

“I got it worked out,” Hotguy says confidently. “But, uh, with that said, you look like you need some AC and a drink. I have so much Gatorade in my fridge that it isn’t even funny. All the labels are pulled off because it’s for that one football movie I did, right? And for some reason they didn’t want to give Gatorade the product placement, so they made all these sports drinks without—”

“Not in-costume, Hotguy,” Cuteguy says, but he doesn’t put any heat into it.

“—oh, you know no one’s listening, lighten up! Anyway, so the movie ended up somehow ordering far too many bottles, and you know what they say about underpaid actors and free food—or, I’m not sure it’s actually an expression, but let me tell you, I have never turned it down. And with the number of ele… electo-mites? I think? You know, all the sweat we’re sweaty about—come on Cuteguy, I don’t want you passing out on the pavement, I really didn’t mean to get caught out that long!” Hotguy says, grabbing Cuteguy’s hand to take him back to his apartment.

Miserable heat or not, Cuteguy can’t help but smile slightly.

“I don’t want to pass out either, that’s why I’m not running, Hotguy,” he says, and he lets himself be tugged along in that man’s wake once more.

#hgcz #hgcz spoilers #hotguy comic zine #hermitfic #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #grian #a bee fic #man this one needs a lot of tags.#i have a MUCH LONGER side story that i'm still working about that's about My Favorite Characters but for now.#sometimes i think about Them.

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kookslastbutton · 1 year ago

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take care of you ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: To keep your fiance from burning out you suggest a weekend getaway to Gapyeong, a charming town about an hour outside Seoul. You've specifically asked him to leave his work equipment at home but like a deep rooted habit, he still brings it with him. You're left with no choice but to find a way to get his attention back.

pairing: workaholic!yoongi x reader

genre/AU: fluff, tiny angst, smut, established relationship, vacation au, engaged couple

word count: 7,581

warnings: yoongi has a hard time relaxing so oc gets a little frustrated with him, oc and yoongi riding in a hot air balloon, yoongi gets a little shy with pictures, oc gets a tiny bit insecure, both very in love with each other, yoongi keeps calling oc Mrs even though they have not tied the knot yet, swearing, tiny misunderstanding (ik misunderstanding 😒 but its cute i swear!), sexual content

sexual warnings: switch!yoongi, switch!reader, lingerie, handj*b, oral (m. receiving), teasing, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, explicit sex (oc on birth control), f*cking from behind, missionary, f*cking on the floor, bigd*ck!yoongi, yoongi has a chain on, butt slapping (once), f*ngering, licking, biting, a tiny bit of breast play, slight begging kink, body worshipping, he calls oc sl*t once but it's tame, aftercare in bathtub

now playing: You Want to Make a Memory, With all My Heart, Perfect

a/n: I will not lie this pwp turning to a 7k fluff peice with smut. I am truly in love with this one and I miss yoongi 🥺 hope you enjoy 💞

There are two things your fiance’ considers most precious in this world–you and his industrial-grade music equipment. Trying to pry either from his soft, veiny hands is enough to earn a death wish. But when you come between his music producing or when his music comes between your relationship…oh it's a fight.

Over the last four years, you’ve grown quite an admiration for Yoongi’s relentless dedication to work and profound love for music production. It’s his lifeblood and you would never in a million years even think about taking something so beautiful away from him. And truthfully, one of your favorite moments to witness is when he finds the perfect beat for a new song after twelve long hours of mixing. Seeing his gummy smile break free on his handsome face never fails to send you over the edge of sanity.

Ever since the first time Yoongi let you into his studio, you’ve been sneaking in any chance you can get. Watching him work is a whole experience that leaves you feeling a combination of awe, respect, and utter joy. He likes you there too, his face always lighting up when he sees your faint shadow moving behind the glass door. There’s been a handful of times you’ve used his studio for more than music producing too…but that’s an entirely different matter altogether.

So no, it doesn’t bother you in the slightest that Yoongi is devoted to his music. And if it did, well, you wouldn’t have agreed to marry him last month when he asked you, would you? (You’re still on cloud nine about that one…)

What does bother you, however, is when your fiance' doesn’t allow himself to take a break despite how burned out he clearly is. Not that you’re one to point fingers, being one to stretch yourself thin for the sake of professional responsibilities too. But even so, you’d argue that you’re in better shape than your fiance’ who literally works 24/7.

Day or night Yoongi is always in his studio or bringing his equipment everywhere he goes. You get the logic, you really do. But you care about his health most of all; something he tends to put last.

That’s why this week you made one tiny request–that you take a weekend trip together and that he leave his equipment at home.

But like an itch that won’t go away, Yoongi is adamant about stuffing his equipment in the trunk of his car.

“I thought we agreed you’d leave all of this at home this time,” you sigh and gesture at his equipment stacked in the far corner of the trunk.

Yoongi takes your suitcase from your hand and tosses it next to his own. “It’s a safety measure,” he justifies. “You never know when you’ll need it or when the right idea will strike you.”

“Min Yoongi.” Your voice is sharp and earns your fiance’s full attention, which is no simple task when it’s typically the other way around. “You promised me.”

He steps forward and puts his hands around your stiff shoulders–an attempt to soothe you. “I won’t use it unless absolutely necessary okay? You know I like having my music with me at all times so if anything it’s just for my own comfort. It’ll stay in some odd corner of our rental and not be touched.”

“What counts as absolutely necessary?” You narrow your eyes at him, unwilling to let him off that easily. So what if he looks ridiculously handsome today in his open white button-down shirt with a white t-shirt and ripped jeans underneath?

“Baby,” he coos in a raspy voice.

Fuck–you swear to yourself. Stay strong, __.

“How’s this…I won’t use it unless something on our trip really inspires me. Or unless I’m bursting with an idea and I’ll run it by you first. I’ll wait until night too, when we aren’t doing anything.” He grabs your hand, the one with the ring on it, and kisses it softly–how evil of him. “Please?”

You glance at his hand in yours and then back into his deep chestnut eyes. “Kiss me again and I’ll allow it,” you say.

Yoongi smirks at your reply and leans forward to press his pillowy lips against yours. It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls back.

“Okay?” he waits for your go-ahead which, shamelessly, you give him.

“Fine, but just remember the only thing I want you touching this weekend is me and not your keyboard. So if I see you sneaking it around behind my back I will not hesitate to strip naked in front of you until you’re forced to give it up.” You gently pull your hand from his hold and walk to the passenger side door.

“Fucking hell.” You hear your fiance’ curse as you both hop in the car. “You're gonna make me drive an hour and half with that thought replaying in my head?"

You don't meet the question with a response, but rather smile sweetly at him and turn volume of the car stereo up a few notches.

What else is there to say? You simply want him to enjoy himself for three days without having to get stressed over work.

The place you and Yoongi are headed to is called Gapyeong, a small town about an hour away from Seoul. Its lush forests and clear streams give a sense of perfect serenity which is exactly why you chose the area. There are hot air balloon rides that'll provide you with an hours' worth of scenic views too, which is definitely at the top of the priority list.

The closer you get to Gapyeong the more you see the view out your windows changing. The bustling city with 60-story skyscrapers is now turning into majestic mountains, rivers, and vibrant greenery. You love Seoul but you miss nature sometimes.

"Yoongi look! " You point out the window when you spot a beautiful overlook up ahead It looks like the kind of spot many stop at due to a handful of other cars that are parked off the side of the road. "We should take a break and stretch our legs."

"Is that really necessary?" Yoongi asks with one hand gripping the steering wheel. "We're about twenty minutes from our rental and it's not even one o'clock yet. We have all day to look at sceneries and take pictures."

You toss him a slightly displeased look immediately. Little pit stops like these aren't your fiance's cup of tea as he'd much rather get from point A to point B. But if there's anything you want him to get out of this weekend, it's a break from routine.

"Come on Yoon, aren't you feeling a bit stiff from driving? We don't have to stay long," you do your best to plead with him. Yoongi glances at you and then at the empty space off the side of the road a few feet ahead. He sighs and signals over.

"Ten minutes," he says, putting the car in park. You grin excitedly and unbuckle your seatbelt.

"Let's go!" You lean over and surprise him with a quick kiss on his cheek. You want to point out the blush that creeps on his face but ultimately decide to keep that to yourself. Maybe you'll bring it up later. Yoongi tends to get more nervous when you point stuff like that out and besides, you like keeping little secrets from him sometimes.

"Alright, I'll admit it," he jumps out of the car and takes in the fresh air. "It's pretty nice out here. Reminds me of when I came here as a child with my parents." A light breeze blows a few strands of his pitch-black hair over his eyes but he cards it back with a few fingers.

"You came here as a child?" You move beside him to link onto one of his arms. Something about being this close to him makes you feel warm and safe.

Yoongi nods and walks both of you to the edge of the overlook to get the best view of the mountains surrounding the area. "When I was about ten years old my family and I took a trip up here. I'm not sure if this was the exact spot but it was an overlook similar to this. It was autumn too, the colors changing to shades of reds and oranges."

"Oh wow." You're embarrassed you didn't realize he'd been here before. Being this close to Seoul surely he would have but now it makes question coming here. Had he preferred to go elsewhere? And if he did, why wouldn't he have told you?

"I'm glad we came here together," he interrupts your thoughts as if knowing exactly what you're thinking. He then flashes you a tight-lipped smile. "I always thought I'd like to come here with someone special."

Your previous nerves are eased after this and you smile back, eyes piercing in his. He's so handsome with the way the natural light shines on his face. The thought comes from nowhere but you couldn't stop the next words even if you wanted to. "Can I take your picture?" you dig in your bag and grab your phone laying somewhere at the bottom.

Yoongi instantly breaks eye contact. "Uh–why? Don't you already have enough of me in there?" He chuckles, no short of shyness.

See. It's like you said before–he gets flustered at stuff like this.

You shrug casually at him and open the camera app on your cell. "I have hundreds of pictures of my boyfriend. But I still haven't gotten one of my fiance' yet." It's true, the last picture you took of him was before he proposed. You would have taken more since then but Yoongi is far less interested in them compared to you so you try not to overload him.

Yoongi shakes his head at your clever comeback. "We'll take it together." He reaches over to take your phone out of your hand but you move it further from his grasp.

"Just one of you first," you say. "Please?"

"Aigoo," he hits the railing of the overlook playfully. "I'll allow it this once, Mrs. Min. Where do you want me?"

"Yoon...." you flush hearing him refer to you as Mrs. You and Yoongi recently got engaged a month ago and the wedding won't be held until next spring. "Isn't it a little soon to be calling me that?" you ask with hot cheeks.

"Oh, I got ahead of myself." He scratches the back of his head and shifts his eyes towards the mountains again. "Let's take the picture okay?"

"Okay." You loop your arm out from his. "But Yoon?"

"Hm?"

"It's okay that you called me that. I like it even if it's a bit soon." You lift your phone camera and take a photo of him before he has time to respond. It's a cute shot with the breathtaking forest and mountains behind him. Your finace' has his signature gummy smile on as well, the one that makes you forget where you are entirely.

This one will go in the album you have dedicated to your memories with him for sure.

After stopping at the overlook you and Yoongi finally arrive at your quaint vacation rental. The size is just right for a three-day stay and is centrally located with nature enclosing the premises. To sum, it's private yet welcoming.

"This is the last of it," he says, setting his music equipment on the dining table. "What do you want to do now?"

"I'm kinda hungry for lunch. Maybe we can go to a local spot and then see if there are any balloon rides open?"

"You wanna do the balloon ride on the first day?"

"Why not?" We're only here for a limited time and tomorrow we're going to Nami Island so I thought we could do something leisurely tonight. And then I was thinking we could watch a movie."

The corner of Yoongi's mouth quirks into a half-smile. "You planned this out pretty thoroughly I see. Not a second to spare."

"Mhm," you say, shifting your stance when you see your finace' coming face to face with you.

"This wouldn't be you making sure I stay away from my computer would it?" He tests with interrogative eyes, knowing that it's exactly what you're doing. When you take longer to reply than he'd like, Yoongi continues speaking. "I don't mind by the way. I just think it's sweet so thank you."

You open your mouth to respond but a loud grumbling noise from your stomach stops you. Yoongi laughs and takes your hand to drag you out the door of your rental. "I think it's time I take care of you this time," he says. "I saw a pretty good place to eat a few blocks away."

Once you get in the car Yoongi reaches in his pocket for his phone but it's not there. "I think I left my phone in the kitchen when I was bringing stuff in. I'll be right back." He hops out of the car once you give a brief okay.

Namjoon: Hey man, hope you have a good time with __ this weekend! You both deserve some relaxing time. But I gotta ask, how's the new song going? Any progress?

Yoongi quickly taps on his phone's keyboard with a small sigh.

Yoongi: Not really. I've been working on it for weeks and I can't seem to get anything right. It's driving me crazy.

Namjoon: I get it and I don't have to tell you how challenging producing new music is. You still have time though so don't push yourself too much. Take in the weekend and maybe the inspiration will strike you.

Yoongi: I'll try. __ will likely kick my balls if I work this weekend. Namjoon: Ah just like __. Well, you left your equipment at home, right? So no worries! Yoongi: I mean I have it here but I promised not to use it unless necessary.

As soon as he sends the text everyone starts rapidly texting in the chat. Yoongi rolls his eyes at the sight of all the lurkers suddenly becoming vocal.

Seokjin: Yah! Tell me this is a joke! Jimin: Come on Yoongi you can't be serious! Hoseok: Ah Yoongi-hyung, always working! Be careful you still have a finace' after this! Taehyung: Hyung, I think you should focus on your future Mrs. She obviously wants to spend time with you this weekend, not fighting for your attention with your computer! Jungkook: Think about what you're doing hyung. Pick one: sex or no sex.

Namjoon: This isn't about sex Jungkook

Jungkook: It will be if Yoongi-hyung pisses off __! Yoongi: Everyone shut up, I didn't bring my music equipment to work okay? It's just a safety measure. Jimin: Wrong equipment to bring on a weekend away with your lovey hyung...why didn't you ask me about this first? Jungkook: At least someone is on the same page as me! Namjoon: For the last time this isn't about sex! Yoongi: I really don't have time for this right now. __'s in the car and we're about to go eat. See ya. Seokjin: What the hell are you doing? Making __ wait while you text your friends!

Yoongi turns his phone off and slips his cell back in his pocket. He'll deal with them later.

"Sorry, it took a bit." He gets back into the car and opens his maps app. "Let me just get the directions up."

Half an hour into lunch Yoongi's talking significantly less compared to earlier at the overlook. He doesn't seem tired but more disengaged.

"Everything alright?" You ask.

Yoongi looks up from his plate with a nonchalant expression. "Yeah why?"

"No reason," you lie. "Just wondering if you're feeling okay is all. Nothing happened while you went back inside the rental to get your phone right?" You let out a nervous giggle and it makes Yoongi soften his gaze. He drops his chopsticks and closes his hand over yours.

"I think I need to remember how to vacation," he says. This is true but the much bigger reason for his sudden disengagement is that getting the text from Namjoon reminds him of the new song he'd like to have finished sooner than later. He shouldn't be paying attention to it while on a vacation with you but it's a difficult habit to shake.

"Let work go for a bit Yoon," you reply. "I understand how much your music means to you but I want you to be able to unhinge a little too. The last thing I want to see is you overworking yourself."

"I guess you're right."

"Of course I am. Now try this." You clear the thick air by holding out your chopsticks with some of the best, richest kimchi stew you ever had. And that's saying a lot since you've basically been obsessed with it for years. The spice from the cabbage mixed with the hearty pork broth is to die for. "Isn't it good?"

Yoongi eats what you've offered him. "Wow, that's delicious. Here try mine." He does the same as you but with some barbecued pork. He makes sure to blow on it first to contrast the heat of the grill it was on.

"This is an excellent place to eat." You swallow the tasty pork and take a sip of your water. "We should leave a review, especially since it's a local restaurant."

"Sure, I can write one online before we leave."

And he kept to his word. Yoongi left a decent praise for the restaurant about fifteen minutes before finishing up your meal. You both signed the cute guest book at the front too.

'Great atmosphere, great food, great dinner date. We'll come back again after our honeymoon – Min Yoongi & __'

After lunch, Yoongi fulfills your wish of going on a hot air balloon. The pilot assists you into the basket and stays with you the entire time of the flight. Regardless of his presence, however, you and Yoongi are able to maintain a healthy level of intimacy. And besides, it's not like you both have a ridiculous need to make out all the time.

Your relationship was more subtle so to speak; everything was in the details. Gentle touches, small favors, remembering the more significant and least significant facts about each other. That's how you and Yoongi love and connect with each other.

Still, you like a good make-out session as much as the next guy but making out with the pilot only steps away? You and Yoongi prefer privacy–light kissing was okay though.

"The view is better than I expected," you say with your arms wrapped around your fiance's waist. "Thank you for doing this for us. It's unbelievable."

Yoongi holds onto you as well, his arms around your shoulders and back. "I wouldn't dream of coming here and not doing this with you. The weather is perfect for this sort of activity too."

While the balloon drifts over all of Gapyeong, its charming nature on full display, you snuggle yourself into Yoongi's chest. The moment is completely surreal and you can't imagine a life without him by your side. And what's more, is that he feels the exact same way.

"Yoon?" You lift your head to meet his face.

"Hm?" His eyes are set straight ahead, giving you a side profile.

"Can you kiss me while we're up here?" You whisper the words but he doesn't quite hear you evident by his lack of response. "I want you to kiss me," you repeat.

Yoongi looks at the pilot who shifts his eyes elsewhere as if on queue. A pair of warm lips capture your cooler ones milliseconds after and surprisingly it's firm.

"I love you."

"I love you too __."

You snuggle back into his chest as he points out several areas he finds interesting, comparing them to different songs it reminds him of.

You return to your rental around 7 p.m., right after dinner. Both you and Yoongi decided it is better to save the rest of the exciting activities tomorrow as originally planned and watch a movie. Dinner got you both stuffed to the high heavens too so you needed to turn in for the night.

"Hey baby?" he asks in the same raspy voice from earlier today while he was packing the car. Hearing it always makes your stomach do somersaults. Yoongi puts his hands on your waist and continues. "How would you feel if we watched the movie in an hour?"

You loop your arms around the back of his neck to draw him closer. "Okay. What do you have in mind?" You're sure you know where he's going with this until he starts hesitating his next words. And when you notice he's looking past you towards the dining table where all his equipment is stacked, you break from his hold.

"Min Yoongi, are you seriously trying to seduce me into letting you work tonight?" You throw your hands on your hips as most anyone in your situation would do.

"I'm not," he starts but pauses. "Okay I kinda was but I had such a wonderful time with you today that it gave me inspiration for one of my new songs. I'd kinda like to get a bit of it on my computer before I...forget it."

"Oh Yoon," you cross your arms.

"We can watch a movie right after. I don't even need an hour. How about half an hour. Twenty minutes?" He's must be onto something if he's trying to bargain with you this much. Well as much as it pains you, you're no she-devil. You'll let the man work but you're cutting him off at forty minutes only because if he gets to an hour, he won't stop for the rest of the night....or trip for that matter.

"Go ahead," you say.

Yoongi grins when you agree to your request, his eyes sparkle too. You're still borderline ticked about this but you said you'd let him work a little if necessary. And by the looks of it, he about to explode if you don't let him get his ideas out.

"Will you tell me what you're working on?"

"Top secret information. I can't tell you and risk exploiting the company." You slap his chest, feigning irritation. Yoongi chuckles and paces over to the dining table to unzip his laptop case. "I'll show you when it's done."

You take a seat at the table with him but find it extremely out of character when he gives you a displeased look.

"Uhm, wouldn't you be more comfortable on the couch baby?" he suggests, eyes darting towards the living room.

"Why? You don't want me being here or something?" you joke yet it rings true by the way he struggles to form an answer. Obviously he wants privacy this time. "Fine," you say and get up from your seat. "No more than forty minutes you hear? I'll lay down in the bedroom and nap or something."

"Mhm yeah," he replies and sits in one of the chairs with his earphones already over his ears. He looks cute actually...adorable even. You snap a quick photo and slip into the bedroom.

Well, you caved and let your fiance' work on his music for another forty minutes after the original forty minutes was over. So here you are, star-fished in your king-sized bed and jammies, waiting for Yoongi to be ready for your movie.

But wait a damn minute.

Just who are you __? You and Yoongi had a deal that he'd only be allowed a certain amount of time to work on his music and he pushed that limit with that stupidly handsome good looks of his. Plus he didn't even let you stay with him. Just tossed you to the curb. Isn't that a little sneaky of him?

Okay so maybe you're stretching it a little but you won't lie–you want our finace's attention back! And what better way to do it than to use your feminine prowess. It's sooner than you'd planned to use it but you have a sexy white lingerie set that you buried at the bottom of your suitcase. It's a lacy corset with matching panties you got only a week ago so he's not seen it yet.

You leap out of bed and start tossing your clothes off one by one–a giddy feeling settling in your gut. You swear to god if he even thinks about telling you to go back into the bedroom you will get on your knees and suck his dick.

Alright, maybe you're getting a little too wound up so to calm yourself down you go in the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face. After that, you dig in your bag until your fingers graze across something soft and lacy.

"Oh Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi," you hum to yourself in a sing-songy voice. "Two can play this game."

He doesn't notice your presence when you creak the bedroom door open. Your rental is all one level with the bedroom facing the dining room where your fiance' concentrates on his laptop.

You quickly body-check yourself one last time before strutting toward him. When you get close enough, you set your hands on the table and stare at him until he blinks his eyes up at you.

"__!" He tosses his earphones off his head when he sees a sliver of your cleavage above his laptop screen. "What are you doing dressed like that right now?" You'd tell him to look you in the eye when he talks to you but you enjoy his shocked expression too much–it's a mix between being caught off guard and getting extremely turned on.

"I wanted to get your opinion on this little number I bought a few weeks ago. I think it's pretty with the lace detailing throughout. And it fits really well too which is a rarity for me. Don't you think?"

Yoongi swallows hard and watches you stand straight to graze your hands down your sides. They move slowly, tracing every line and curve on your body. And he must admit this set you have on is accentuating you in the finest way possible.

"Yes, I think it's very nice __." He shifts his attention back to his laptop screen. "Is that...all?" he dares to ask.

"No," you shake your head, struggling to keep yourself controlled and seductive. Like how they show it in movies–seemingly effortless than in real life. You round the dining table until you're directly behind him. You place your hands on his muscular shoulders and start massaging them. "I'd like to know what you like about it Mr. Min."

Yoongi groans at the use of his surname and closes his eyes, basking in the feeling of your hands digging into his shoulder blades. "It's sexy yet elegant at the same time. Makes your body look like heaven with the way the fabric clings to your form. And the corset pushes up your breasts into two perfect globes whereas the panties accentuate your inner thighs, making it look like a sin that most can only dream of touching."

"Look at you becoming an expert in ladies' undergarments. Picking a few things up from Jimin huh? What else do you like about it?" You bring your lips to his smooth neck and graze your teeth ever so gently over the delicate skin. It's only a tease, barely touching, but you feel your finace' flinch at the action.

"Fuck–if you want me to go absolutely feral keep doing what you're doing." If it's meant to be a threat you're unscathed.

"Wanna see it Yoongi." You lick the side of his neck. "That's all I've been wanting this whole time. For you to let loose a little with me. But here you are with your computer for nearly two hours when you can be fucking me instead."

"Shit stop, " Yoongi orders stills one of your hands with his. "What are you doing __?" His voice is shaky yet trying so hard to remain firm.

"Isn't it obvious?" You move your body to one side of him to easily look him in the eye. Then you put a hand on the top of his laptop before closing it shut. Yoongi jolts forward when you do this but you grab his face with both hands and bring him into a kiss before he can sound a word.

You kiss him roughly, moving your lips fast against his. And what do you know, he opens his mouth just enough to let you slip your tongue inside. A hot sensation settles in your core upon realizing that you're taking the lead tonight. When it comes to you and Yoongi's sex life, it was never one of you who takes control. That was a shared venture ever since your first time together.

Yoongi lets out a couple of muffled groans when you move one of your hands to palm his bulge under the table. It's not fully hard yet but it will be soon. You then fiddle with the zipper of his jeans to which he stops with a free hand immediately.

You smirk when he pushes his chair back, to stand up. Yoongi then picks you up in sturdy arms, bridal style, and walks you both towards the bedroom.

"Not thinking about work now hm?" You tease and nibble at his neck. You're on the bed within moments, not so elegantly at that. "Yoon—" you start as he starts ripping his shirts off his body. He throws them on the ground before working on his jeans.

Your eyes wander across his smooth, tanned chest as you wait for him to say something. Starting at his collarbone where a thin silver chain hangs loosely around his neck and all the way down to his navel. You didn't know he was wearing a chain under his shirt until now.

"Yoongi?" You shift uncomfortably on the bed as you watch him push his jeans and underwear down his legs, breath hitching at the sight of his hardened length. But not a word comes out and it's making you crazy. When Yoongi chooses to give you the silent treatment in settings like these it typically means he's incredibly turned on.

He looks at you then at the ground between his feet.

You know what he's asking for.

And like his peachy sweetheart you stay put, biting down a smirk that he'd like to wipe off your face.

Yoongi cocks his head to the side and wets his lips at you. A long, impatient sigh leaves his lips. And when he grips his length in his hand you bolt off the bed and fall on your knees in front of him.

"Don't want to watch me get myself off do you?" He sneers and you reach to bat his hand off his length. You then spit in your palms and wrap your hands around the base of his cock. "Shit," he curses when you begin pumping him slowly.

"Let me do it," you say. You absolutely hate when he tries getting himself off in front of you. After all, that's your job, is it not? Eager to please you continue gliding your hands up and down his hardened member. You lean forward to lick the mushroom tip, just enough to have him shuddering.

"Fuck, put your mouth on me, baby. Show me how good you can suck." It's a plea for relief and you are happy to oblige. So with your hands still gripped firmly around his length you wrap your lips over the head of his cock. You let your tongue roll over the slit then underneath where all men are guaranteed to go weak on their knees. You then hollow out your cheeks and take him further until you can't anymore.

"Oh fuck me," he swears, immersed in the feeling of your mouth and hands working on him simultaneously. Your fiance' is pretty big so your hands needs to make up for where your mouth can't.

"Mph!" You moan a little when he thrusts into your mouth unexpectedly. He makes sure to get easy first, light gentle thrusts that make your panties stickier with arousal.

Yoongi watches as your cheeks get more hallowed out, eyes watering as his cock disappears between your lips. His own eyes are struggling to stay open as he wants to toss his head back in pleasure yet the temptation to see you taking him so well wins out in the end. "This feels so good baby. No one sucks cock like you can, goddamn it."

The thrusting gets rougher and faster with each push and pull. Your fiance' is evidently getting close to his release and you blink back any tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. You love seeing him like this—letting go of all inhibitions.

"Yoon!" You yelp when he suddenly pulls himself out of your mouth and hands. You're sure he was seconds from releasing on your tongue. Yoongi chuckles at your half-offended face. He gets down on his knees himself and pulls you into a passionate kiss with a hand behind your back.

This time it's his tongue in your mouth, licking as many places as he can. His hands trace up and down the lacy fabric of your lingerie at the same time.

"I love this on you," he says when he finally breaks from your lips. "I'd like to see you in it more often if I can." He then tugs at the laced-up ribbon on the back that's holding it together until it's loose enough to take off your body.

"God you're so gorgeous," he praises and tosses the corset on the ground beside you both. Yoongi cups both your bare breasts and circles his thumbs over the hardening peaks.

"Yoon," you moan as his lips find their way to the side of your neck. He leaves open-mouth kisses from the sweet spot behind your ear and down to your shoulder. "That feels so–shit I don't even have words."

" Good," he hums and lowers his head to your breasts and mouths at one gently. He's careful to lick the nub and suck it firmly. While he does this his fingers play with the hem of your lace panties. When you feel them slip underneath the thin string band you raise your knees for him to slowly push the material over your ass and down your legs.

Yoongi lets your breasts go to allow you to sit back down and kick the panties off your legs. You go back in for another kiss once they're off but he stops you by gripping your jaw with a firm hand.

"Uh not so fast," he says. "I want you on your hands and knees slut."

You're stomach flips from the degrading name. It's not something you and him do often but the coolness in his voice tells you he isn't taking no for an answer. And to be quite honest, you're a little turned on by the change.

"You want to fuck me here on this carpeted floor?" You ask once your ass is propped in front of him. You just know he's staring at it. Your fingers claw the ground as you wait for his response.

"You're still on birth control right?" He falls to his knees behind you and guides the tip of his cock over your folds teasingly.

"Y-yes," you say. The feeling on his head rubbing against you already has your core twisting in pleasure.

"Then we'll do it here. Your cunt is already dripping with your cum. Got my dick wet already." He brings a finger up to trace up your folds and you clench at the subtle touch.

"No more teasing Yoon," you beg. "Need you to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly and eases his finger in you, pushing until it sinks all the way in. "You're forgetting something..." he then moves forward to graze his lips near your ear. "Right now I own your orgasms which means I can easily edge you with my fingers all night and not give you any kind of release. So if I were you I'd try asking again, nicer."

You bite your lip and maul over his icy words. As you do Yoongi curls his finger to stimulate your G-spot. The moan that comes out of you in response has him groaning into your ear. "Please—," you say in a near whisper. "Fuck me Yoongi."

"What was that? I couldn't hear you." He knows it drives you mad to do this; begging for his cock with such desperation. Still, he likes making you do it once in a while and this happens to be one of those times. Keeps you humble, he thinks.

"Please fuck me Yoongi," your repeat louder. "I can't wait any longer, please."

Yoongi gives you a quick peck on your jaw in satisfaction and sits back up on his knees. He removes his finger from your cunt and positions his length at your entrance. Both hands come out to firmly grip the sides of your hips as he pushes him in, all at once.

"Fuck—" You moan when he bottoms out. Everything inside you screams with you in arousal. Yoongi gives you a moment to adjust to the size; he knows how big he is, and then he pulls himself all the way out to slam back into you. Your body jolts forward with the push, hands gripping as much of the carpet as they can. "Yoongi!" You moan and he clamps down on your hips harder.

"Screaming so soon baby? We're just getting started fuck," he rasps and thrusts into you again, harder than the last. It doesn't take long before he gets into a steady rhythm and your moaning over and over again. "This what you like? Interrupting my work to get fucked on your hands and knees?"

"You were taking so-fuck-long. Had to do something to get you to pay attention to me again." You can hear the chain around his neck jangling louder as he fucks into you. And if you could, you'd peer over your shoulder to take in the sight but he's snapping his hips so fast and hard in you that your only option is to stare in front of you at the blank wall or down at your hands.

"My attention? You thought I wasn't paying attention to you—fucking hell this pussy is so wet and tight it's making me even harder." He picks up his pace, thrusting into you with determination and pure lust. Each time his cock sinks into your pussy he feels a spark of electric pleasure surge through him, going straight to his cock. "I promise, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Do you wanna know what I was working on? I'll tell you if you want to know."

"I thought that was classified and I'd exploit your company if you told me." You mimic his voice from earlier.

Yoongi gives your butt a slap instantly and you moan at the contact. "Don't be a smart ass when I'm balls deep in you. Now as I was saying, do you want to know what I was working on?"

"A new song? Oh shit, right there!" Your eyes roll up when all the thrusting starts making your walls clench, nearing your high. "Fuck, fuck Yoongi, harder, please! So close."

"We're gonna need to go a second time if you're coming this fast baby," Yoongi says, beating into your pussy. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes off the four walls of the bedroom. "Want this cock Mrs. Min? Want it to make you come all over me?"

"Yes, yes I do Yoongi. Make me come with your big cock. Fuck!" You pant as he continues to move inside you. "But you did it again Yoon. Calling me Mrs."

"Just-fuck-go with it!"

"Oh god I'm gonna come. Any time now," you whine, the cord inside you so, so close to breaking. Yoongi gives you a few more full thrusts and with that, you have your first orgasm.

"You soaked me baby," he groans. "Fuck." He pulls himself out of you to your surprise and you whip your head around your shoulder.

"You didn't come," you say.

"I know, but as hot as your ass is I want to see the face of the woman I'm going to be marrying when I come. So how about rolling on your back for me while I'm still hard?"

"Okay," you nearly grin with sheer happiness when you hear how sentimental your finance' sounds. Yoongi can be a tough man but his he's got a heart of pure gold.

"I love you," you say before he wraps your legs around his waist and puts himself back into you.

"I love you too." Yoongi puts himself back into you and starts chasing his release with so much passion that it stirs another spark of arousal inside you. "Oh my god baby, feels so good. And your eyes are so beautiful, lips perfect for kissing, and wanna hold you like this forever. I love it when you cling onto my arm when we're out in public too and when you fall asleep on my chest when it's just us. Fuck, fuck gonna come soon."

Your mouth gapes open at how much is flooding from his lips right now. The combination of his length working you up to a second orgasm and his words making you on the verge of tears is too much to handle. "Come in me Yoon, I love you. Only you."

He finally releases at your word and you come for the second time that night. Yoongi gently places your legs on the ground and pulls himself out of you. "Are you okay?" He asks. "We should've done this on the bed. I'm sorry, I got carried away and wasn't thinking—"

"I liked it," you reassure. "Do you...uh do you want to take a bath now?" Yoongi smiles and nods.

"I'll run the water in a few minutes."

"No I can do it," you move to get up but he stops you with a hand on your arm.

"I'll do it baby. Stay with me a moment longer." You lay back down as he crawls next to you on his back.

"Uhm Yoon," you ask, leaning your head back on his chest. You're both in the tub now with the hot water soothing your muscles. "Did You mean everything you said a few minutes ago? All the stuff about my eyes and...stuff."

Yoongi hears the faintest insecurity in your voice and wraps his arms around your waist from under the water. "I meant every word of it. And you want to know something?"

"What?"

"We never got to finish this thought earlier. But the reason I've been so preoccupied with my music lately is because I've been trying to make a song to surprise you with at our wedding. I've been struggling to find the right beats and lyrics because, well it's you. And anything I've come up with isn't doing the trick." He pauses and you're lost for words. You had no idea his "new song" was for you the whole time. "I'm sorry I insisted I bring my equipment this weekend," he says.

"I don't even know what to say Yoongi. You wrote a song for our wedding. I feel so dumb for being mad about it." You wipe a few tears from your eyes, just small ones that manages to fall from your eyes.

"Hey, don't cry baby," he coos. "And don't call yourself dumb. You didn't know and I was more preoccupied than I should have been about it. It's not finished though since you know, we had sex in the middle of it all."

"I—I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I love having sex with you. In fact, if you wanted to have sex in this tub right now you wouldn't hear me complaining at all."

"Yoongi-"

"I'm serious __ so if this is you getting shy then there's only one way to cure it. I'll start listing everything I enjoy about being with you. Let's start with when I sink my fingers into your wet pussy. Your moans are so pretty, begging for me to add an—"

"Ah stop, stop stop stop!" It shouldn't embarrass you but it does. Yoongi laughs at your change of character and kisses the side of your head.

"I'm just saying you don't have to apologize for anything alright? I'm the one that should be doing that."

"No, I understand why you brought it with you. But from now on can you try leaving it at home more? At least when we go on our honeymoon?"

"I promise you I will not bring it on our honeymoon. That is a line I will not cross."

"You better not," you say, closing your eyes. "I'll really not have it with you then."

"I expect nothing less as my wife. I know we've said it a hundred times already but I do love you __. More than anything. Even my music."

You tell him that you love him too, complete calmness showering over you. To the happy couple, you hum to yourself.

a/n: Hoping you enjoyed as much as I did writing this. TY for reading and LMK your thoughts 💞

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hylianane · 4 months ago

Text

I’ve read Time Traveler Zoro AUS far more interesting than anything my feeble little mind could cook up on it’s own, but I’d still love try to play around with the premise and give it my own spin.

I’ve read two in which Zoro loses the crew in a great tragedy, so he goes back in time to save them, and the greatest source of tension in the story is the way he tries to hide all the future knowledge he maintains from the others, while still trying to rewrite history. It’s so good and thrilling. But. Yet. However.

I’m reminded of the scene in Sabaody in which Rayleigh offers to tell the crew about the One Piece, and Luffy furiously rejects him. Says he doesn’t want a boring adventure where he knows the ending. And though I don’t recall Zoro saying anything in that moment, I think he would agree. So in this Time Travel AU, when Zoro goes back in time, he does so with the idea that this second try isn’t for him. He wants to help, but if he gets on that boat, he won’t be able to keep himself from giving Luffy all the answers in hopes of saving his life, and that would ruin his Captain’s dream.

So let’s imagine Luffy. At seventeen years old, he sets out on a journey through the Grandline to become the King of the Pirates. He has his navigator, his sniper, his cook, his doctor- all his friends by his side. And things are challenging sometimes, but always fun. And he gets lucky.

He gets lucky a lot.

Sanjj tells him it’s a guardian angel, but Luffy’s not so sure. There’s something at the back of his mind, an itch behind his ear. He starts to notice signs of a certain presence everywhere he goes, a mysterious someone who seems to always want to beat him to the punch, but also seems to never finish the job.

Like back in Orange Town, when he met Nami and fought the Buggy guy, the Clown complained about his knife thrower being put out of commission by a bounty hunter right before the fight. Or in Syrup Village, when Captain Kuroo called for reinforcements two of his officers were a no-show, their crewmates reporting that it was as if the Nyaban Brothers had disappeared into the night. When Luffy met Sanji at the Baratie, he’d felt a tension build within him as he listened to all the rumors of the Greatest Swordsman in the World having been seen nearby. But then, the tension is cut abruptly when Don Kreig walks through the door instead, announcing that he’d escaped the Warlord when some suicidal swordsman intercepted his chase.

In Whiskey Peak, Nami tells him about how she saw a cloaked figure take down 100 hundred bounty hunters without making a sound, as if trying to not disturb the Strawhat’s sleep. Luffy thinks he might’ve seen such a figure from afar when taking a leak, but he can’t be sure. In Alabasta, Ace keeps throwing looks over his shoulder as if searching for someone, but always telling Luffy there’s nothing to worry about. Vivi is shocked to discover someone took down Baroque Work’s Number 1 in a duel a night before their arrival at Alubarna. When Robin joins them at the end of it, she seems shocked to find the crew only has five members, instead of six. But she doesn’t seem keen on elaborating why just yet.

The only place that they haven’t been followed to by this Mystery Guy (as Luffy has taken to calling him) is Skypeia. Almost like he couldn’t figure out how to get up there.

And still, the whole time Luffy’s there he can’t stop thinking about him. Looking left and right as if between the clouds and the trees he’ll catch a glimpse of Mystery Guy’s face. Nami says it’s ludicrous to think that all these instances can be chalked up to same guy. Usopp tells tall tales of how they’re being stalked by a man who fell madly love with the Great Sniper’s good looks, or sometimes he tells tales of how they’re being followed by the ancient God of Fortune, or sometimes it’s any other grandiose tale he’ll accept before he accepts that it’s just a guy, just a Mystery Guy, who is real and Luffy knows it.

He knows, and he’s a little obsessed with it. And it’s not always great. He loses sleep, wondering who are you and do you know me and do i know you and stop getting in my way and why don’t you do it more and do you want to join my crew and i need you to watch me and i need you on my crew.

(Meanwhile, on his end, Zoro is planning how to stop the tragedy that will befall his family. But in the meantime he doesn’t want to just be dead weight. He doesn’t want to be apart from them. He may not have a place on that boat anymore, but he can’t have his Captain fighting his battles. He can’t let his friends go unprotected. So he’ll protect them, protect him, in silence, from afar, always one day head, always knowing what’s coming next)

#one piece #zolu #time travel au #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #my post #strawhat pirates

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buried-l0cket · 4 months ago

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Polygun but it’s how they all see each other

i always really like in books with different narrators when how a character looks itself is unreliable narration bc they describe themself differently compared to how the other pov characters see them, and the dungeon meshi shapeshifter chart scratched that itch for me art wise and I got inspired ✨

To be more specific this is what they each picture when they think of each person 👉👈

Details under cut!!

Meryl clothing details aside because I think she’s just short and the boys aren’t looking at her traveling clothes too hard (and vash clearly likes making his own clothes with how much his overly intricate jacket design changes so ofc his version of her outfit just looks like another one of his designs 🙄) all of the clothes are based on specific parts of the manga!

A big thing with these designs was taking moments that were important regarding each characters relationship with the pov character and adding in visual nods to that to show what memories stuck with them to shape their image of that person.

The clearest example of this is everyone thinking of a different Vash coat, for Wolfwood it’s what he was wearing when he turned him over to Knives, to Meryl it’s his final fight coat, and for Milly it’s when she met him.

It may be Trimax but I will always have a soft spot for 98 millywood so those two’s impression of each other has been influenced by that, but more specifically just the idea of them both alone together, layers and walls down, hair messy from sleep. Their relationship is one I just see very clearly developing over a lot of late nights at inns and bars during traveling!

Vash is the trademarked inventor of Savior Martyr Victim complex supreme and when he thinks of everyone he sees times they’ve been let down by him. To me he’s the biggest broken gear in their dynamic because of the way he holds himself back and isolates, the ship really works in spite of him most of the time. But he also sees traces of times his desire to be by their side was cemented. His Meryl is heavily based on after she was kidnapped by the GHGs and he lost control in front of her, but her hair is longer + earrings are gone like when they saw each other again after Knives released the ark, and she has a black turtleneck peaking out from under her traveling clothes the way it did under her space suit during the final battle. His Milly has the hair and undershirt of the final battle but her outer clothes are from when they traveled together for the majority of Trimax. His wolfwood isn’t doing too well.

Meryl’s versions of Milly and Wolfwood are both pretty similar to how they looked when she first met them, wolfwoods hair is just a little longer like I imagine it being towards the end of Trimax and is very windswept, from their short first meeting in the original Trigun manga run I always got the impression she thought he looked very cool lol, she was staring up at him like ://0 the whole chapter.

I mentioned it before but honestly most of Wolfwood’s Vash is based on how he looked when he turned him over to Knives, not only do I think that moment stuck with him but I feel like it’s a good visual summary of all the mixed feelings he has towards Vash. He’s drawn to him and sees how sad he his but he also sees how inhuman he is and the threat he and knives pose for the people he cares about and prioritizes. At the end of the day Wolfwood chose the orphans over Vash twice and never went back on that, and a big part of why he broke Vash our of Knives prison was just so he could go fight Knives to the death for humanity’s sake, and I think that’s important to his character and their relationship.

Similarly, Meryl’s Vash is really just final arc Vash. She’d already developed a very strong impression of him before then but they would go weeks to even years without seeing each other and each time the way he looked and the way she felt about him would change drastically, it seemed to me like it wasn’t till she was on the ship advocating for him and the people living on gunsmoke that she knew how she felt about him and what kind of person she saw him to be. It was also a huge moment for her character wise with the way she faced her fears in the name of human connection and made the active choice to not be as apathetic and closed off as she realized she had been in the early manga.

I think Milly’s first impression of Vash was strong and accurate enough to not change much, this nice guy is Vash the Stampede and there is definitely something weird about him.

I don’t know why Wolfwood doesn’t know what Meryl’s hair looks like, what’s wrong with that guy? In general his version of Meryl is very inaccurate now that I’m looking at it, I promise he likes her

+small details that are my personal headcanon and not the characters interpretations are Meryl and Wolfwoods hair being a bit more curly/textured than canon, Milly’s eyes being green, and Meryl’s earrings being silver (gold earrings with a white black and blue outfit and silver guns?? C’mon girl accessorize properly)

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crepezinhos · 1 month ago

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Last Minute Together

POV: How would some Anemo guys react if they found out you became a zombie / have been bitten by a zombie in an apocalypse?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a SFW piece, but it has some mentions about infections, blood, violence, organs and zombie nature, especially in the Xiao one. It is pretty graphic.

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Characters included: Wanderer and Xiao

— This happens in the Genshin universe, not Modern AU, so they all still have their abilities and vision.

— Angst with comfort

WANDERER: The apocalypse was simply something annoying to Wanderer, who is physically unable to be infected by the illness. Although his skin felt soft as human being’s, it was hard like his whole arm was a bone. No zombie bite and eat his skin, nor did the virus have place to reproduce inside his technical body. Because of that, Wanderer had almost all the responsibility for the protection of the village you two lived in, spending more than 12 hours a day every day working on it. He made 2 out of 3 patrol shifts, usually day and noon so he could spend the night with you, even if he didn’t need to sleep at all. The feeling of your embrace was too good and relaxing for him to deny just to spends more hours doing nothing but watching over monotonous deserts. He would also fight in the front line whenever conflict was happening since he was obviously very quick and good at killing zombies with his Anemo powers and saving people in dangerous situations with his flying abilities. He didn’t like those mundane jobs at all, although they did include protecting you too, but you insisted for him to do it, and even Buer, who claimed it could make him feel more humane and understand humanity more.

You were never a worry to him, tho. Wanderer was smart and would almost always predict conflict, so he’d keep you somewhere safe, like in a Pyramid’s old treasure spots that had many puzzles, traps and locks, before the danger even broke out.

Not until today.

The zombies outsmarted Wanderer’s predictions because of a ridiculous failure of the other human beings in the tribe you two were living in. One of the guards in the Pyramid Patrol left the gate open before running away to the West where conflict was going on to kill zombies. Wanderer only spotted the mistake while he was flying around, looking for any zombies that could potentially kill a human, and saw a hoard of zombies running into the Pyramid he put you in. He panicked for a while he flew back to you, but soon calmed down when he set you back to the ground, safe and untouched. He thought he had been lucky to have gotten you before the zombies could’ve eaten you alive, but you were already aware that maybe he didn’t get that lucky.

“Haven’t I told you to use that spear in case the zombies invaded?!” He scolded you while he walked you back to the village. That angry behavior was typical when Wanderer was worried, no matter if it was his fault or not.

“I’m sorry, my love, I really tried to but I just don’t have the power to—” You tried explaining yourself, but a sudden need to cough itched in the back of your throat, in which you complied to very quickly, putting a palm on top of your mouth to not disturb him with the sounds of it more than he already was disturbed.

You unexpectedly coughed 9 times in total with some breaks between them, which obviously made him raise an eyebrow.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stopping his walk to pay better attention in you. Since he was in front of you, you stopped walking too and leaned your chest down, allowing your coughs to come out easier from your mouth.

After making sure nothing was bothering your throat anymore, you got up again and wiped your mouth with the same palm you used to cover your coughs.

“Yeah, probably just allergies!” You smiled, trying to pretending you were sure baout it. After everything you’ve learned about the man, you would hate to be simply an addition to his traumas.

But, unlike what you expected, Wanderer looked at you back like he had just seen a ghost.

“Babe?” You asked, not understanding his horror, so you decided to check on the hand you used to cover your mouth, already thinking about the chance of you being infected.

And you hate when your pessimism is right.

“Human beings usually go through 4 noticeable stages before becoming a zombie according to how much they try to resist it or how much they’ve been bitten…

… The third one is usually noticeable by a sudden fatigue or an infection in the stomach that causes the victim to cough blood or other residues that remind vomit.”

Oh, that stupid scientific presentation you decided to watch with Wanderer! You were enjoying that moment of your boyfriend’s cute worried behavior so peacefully and now it was completely ruined...

“Y/N… were you bitten..?” He stepped a few times closer to you,like he was ready to confront you in case you lied right into his eyes.

“I… n-no—” You still tried to do it, which made Wanderer instantly launch his left arm into yours, pulling it so hard it could easily break your bones. “Ow!” You complained while Wanderer twisted it around.

He gasped.

You’d never heard that kind of noise coming from him and his usual stoic and nonchalant personality, so you immediately knew it was bad... really bad.

Wanderer breathed in and out, and then again, and again, and again... his eyebrows also frowning the more he breathed.

He was beginning to panic.

Your eyes decided to follow his, giving up on the possibility that you weren’t bitten, meeting a bite that had already turned some of your veins and skin into a dark, mossy green tone.

Oh, wow… you were really going to die in matter of minutes, weren’t you? What were you thinking when you decided to not tell him? You wouldn’t be able to cure it anyway, so why are you regretting it?

Your brain was still deciding whether it would act instinctually, trying to survive or make every second of your last moments useful, or philosophically, accepting your death like any other. You kept quiet, disappointed at yourself and unsure of what to tell him after betraying him so cruelly like that.

“No... No, no, no, no, no, no…” Wanderer started to let that growing panic out of his mouth, his heart finally beginning to burn with the realization of the the fact that you were really about to die and become a mockery of reincarnation, a zombie. “NO! NO!” He suddenly bursted, launching his both hands into you, making you flinch and close your eyes shut in fear of aggression.

In a blink, your arms were thankfully freed from his grip, but you weren’t feeling your feet in the ground anymore.

You opened your eyes insecurely, only to find yourself being held princess-style by Wanderer’s arms and flying forward in a tremendous speed.

“No, no, no, no… You’re not gonna die, YOU’RE NOT GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA SAVE YOU IN TIME AND EVERYTHING WILL FINE!” He screamed to himself, not even daring to look at you with teary eyes.

Flying with Wanderer used to be magic before the apocalypse. You two would do it for pure fun, enjoying the chilly wind or the beautiful views of Sumeru’s nature… but now it seemed a horrible, traumatic experience.

It truly hurt to know that Wanderer still had hopes even if he knew nothing would be able to cure you from the virus. He has actually already mocked other people’s miseries in private conversations with you, saying those tears and hopes for a cure were useless since they were far from being done with it. Seems like karma really is real, isn’t it? But you hated to have to be the victim of that karma… to have to leave him behind in such an ugly, unfair way, knowing everything about the miseries of his past life and how he had a lot of problems with coping.

Poor baby… he really wasn’t ready to lose you like this… not did he think he’s lose you like this.

Would you just be another ‘betrayal’ to him? You hated that possibility. You truly had no intentions of leaving him behind.

Would he get so angry at your death that he’d hurt other people, including you, or his own self? You also hated that possibility. All you wanted, instead of spending time with him, was to see everyone safe and well.

“I love you, Kuni.” You tried comforting him, using that sweet, blessed name the Traveler gave him after his redemption, causing his face to flinch away from yours in pure grief.

“SHUT UP! DO NOT TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE!” His voice broke multiple times, showing to you how his tears were already running through cheeks indeed and all that despair he was trying to hide.

Oh, how his heart was burning him alive… And he thought losing the Gonsis was the most painful thing he could feel… barely did he know.

But no how could you be so cruel to him? He already knew you weren’t immortal anyway, but he was ready to watch you grow old and die of something like a heart failure, not from a virus that made you some dangerous creature in a brutal way, especially when you were so young.

“Oh, Kuni… I was over the moment I was bit.” The man shook his head aggressively as he heard you say those negative words. “I didn’t want to leave you behind like this at all. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.” Your mouth was beginning to water in hunger of flesh while Wanderer just let his tears fall more and more. “No need to cry this much, my love… remember the scientists said they’re working in a cure? Maybe I can come back to you!” You tried cheering him up, using a hand to wipe one of his tears away, feeling your own heartbeat become slower. “Look at me, Kuni.” He immediately turned his head to you, admiring your pitiful gaze and the touch of your hands for the last time. “Remember, you will always have something or someone to love and live for! So many people are willing to fall in love with you…” He closed his eyes, feeling every single syllable of your words like a brutal stab in his heart.

“Please stop..!” He begged while taking his gaze away from yours and tightening the grip of his hands in your body, although it wouldn’t stop you.

“Don’t do anything stupid for me, okay..? I want you to cope about this without putting anyone’s lives in danger.” You hugged him by the neck. “Thank you for everything, Kuni, and once again… I’m sorry.” You mumbled as you felt your body weaken to a point you could barely keep yourself hard in your place.

You were happy that at least you were going to die in the hands of your lover, flying in the warm skies of the deserts of Sumeru while remembering the sweet memories of you two doing it in the past.

“No, please..! You promised me you’d stay with me until you grew old! You promised to be by my side every morning! You promised me you wouldn’t betray me! Please, hold on just a little bit more! I can’t afford to have you dying like this in front of me!” He found courage to look at you in the eye again, only to find your face fallen down with eyes closed and a little grin in your lips. “Y/N..?” His voice was as low as a whisper.

But you didn’t respond.

“… Stage 4 is the death of the victim and the process of reincarnation of the body thanks to the virus, noticeable by sudden twitches of the victim’s chest and limbs.”

Time seemed to have stopped for Wanderer miring that scene of you, no matter if he had managed to successfully land on the ground in his knees still with you in his arms.

“Y/N..?! Y/N?! Y/N, ANSWER ME!!” He screamed at the top of his lungs to your corpse, causing everyone around to curve their heads in his direction.

“Hat Guy..?” The archon’s voice suddenly echoed by his side, but he couldn’t care any less about her.

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” He hugged your body like he was about to break every bone of it, feeling that warmth of your skin fly away from it so easily while the archon stepped closer to the scene, soon realizing what had happened due to all the blood around your mouth and all the greenish tones in the veins of your body.

Wanderer started weeping in your shoulders, trying to hide it from everyone else although it was pretty obvious he was crying. Everything was so quiet around him he could even hear whispers.

Everyone around was whispering instead of doing something truly useful.

Nahida hugged his neck from behind, ignoring the fact that that was a really dangerous move. If she doesn’t say something perfect to him at this brutal moment and state, she knows he’ll explode.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Hat Guy.” She whispered in his ear.

“No, no, no… I can’t lose her too..!” He shook his head to the sides, still not daring to take his forehead out of your wet shoulder like that would somehow keep your soul in your body.

The Archon deeply admired you too, so she was feeling the blues of your death with Wanderer. She thought you were a brave soul for accepting being the lover and companion of someone so difficult like Hat Guy, and a very kind person overall, so she knew that losing you would break his heart. Nahida decoded to simply embrace the man’s emotions in that hug, wanting to avoid any anger trigger. It was working as expected since his cries were only getting louder and uglier.

He cried and cried, no matter if hours had passed, or if Nahida left him there, or if you had already woke up and become a green savage who was trying your best to bite his porcelain skin apart. He simply hugged you in place and cried while you didn’t do any effort to embrace him back or stop trying to eat him and everyone around you. He hated how you were somewhere he couldn’t reach, because he would’ve brought you back in an instant. That’s why he kept hugging you. He just wanted to feel every bit of you before it all drifted away. He just wanted to die there by your side in hope that would you two would somehow reconnect.

The sunset was so beautiful despite the ugly scene he was creating. He knew you’d be commenting about it right now if you were alive and he imagined it, trying his best to make himself feel better, but honestly, creating and remembering memories was really just making him sadder.

“Why..? Why..?!” He whimpered under your neck, no matter if you were pulling his hair, attempting to bite his neck.

“Hat Guy.” The Archon appeared behind him once again, this he could hear more steps of other people that seemed to be wearing armor. Guards. “I really do understand you’re going through a tough moment, but we cannot keep Y/N unrestrained in the village.” Nahida begun her negotiation.

“No… please don’t take her away from me… anything but her..!” He answered, still burying himself in your cold body, even harder now that there was a threat.

“We do not intend to take her away from you or terminate her life. We intend to keep her in a safe room inside the laboratory where she’ll be well-treated and prioritized in case a cure to the virus is real.” She continued trying to convince him peacefully, but deep down she knew those guards weren’t ‘just in case’. Wanderer would act aggressive if someone annoyed him in that state.

At least she managed to make him raise his face up to her again. Nahida was a little taken aback with the amount of red he had in his eyes because of all the gallons of tears he shed during those hours and just how sore they were.

“A cure..? There is a cure..?!” He looked at her with desperate, pitiful eyes which made Nahida feel bad about being forced to destroy that hope.

“No, although we’re working in one, we can’t guarantee that—”

“Wait.” His whole chest suddenly turned to her and the guards behind her, still holding you still, but his tone sounded completely serious and rough. “Are you… from the Pyramid Patrol..?” Wanderer stared deep down at one of the guard’s eyes like he was seeking for blood. His bipolarity was still something impressive to many people.

At the same time… Nahida knew he’d let you go if he found someone to point, blame and kill. The guard wasn’t even from the Pyramid Patrol, or any patrol, he was an elder who worked for her as an assistant. She didn’t want to possibly harm real soldiers, although she did punish the ones that were guilty for your death with obligatory extra hours at night shift.

“Yes.” The man answered very anxiously about his role in that situation. Thankfully his helmet covered most of his face, so Wanderer couldn’t identify his cowardness.

But that stop him from scoffing once, then twice, then from laughing like a maniac.

Laughing in anger and sadness, laughing like he was trying to fight against his own thirst for blood, laughing at human stupidity.

“I work… 16 hours per day every day… saving and recruiting everyone’s ass from their own useless, powerless bodies… just because I can’t get infected or reproduce. If I wanted to do nothing or throw zombies at this village, I could, but I decided to not to because that would’ve made her disappointed. I sacrificed all of my time to have some quality time with her just because she wanted me to help everyone who needed help… and I did my job perfectly.” He shook your body sometimes, trying to show him what he had done. “DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! SHE ACCEPTED THE FACT I WOULDN’T HAVE TIME FOR HER AT ALL JUST BECAUSE SHE WANTED EVERYONE TO BE SAFE AND HEALTHY IN THIS SHIT OF A VILLAGE! ALL YOU THREE HAD TO DO WAS TO TAKE CARE OF SOME STUPID PYRAMIDS FOR SOME HOURS ANS YOU COLDN’T EVEN DO THAT! AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR THIS HELLHOLE, YOU COULDN’T KEEO THE ONLY THING I ASKED FOR!” He vented, already sounding violent enough as Nahida expected, inches away from leaving your body behind.

“We’re… very sorry for—” The man tried fitting into his character nicely, but that was the worst decision he could’ve made.

“I’M GONNA SHOW YOU JUST HOW SORRY YOU SHOULD BE, YOU SON OF A—!”

Blink!

It all happened in less than a second, but Wanderer indeed let go of your body just to fuel his fists with Anemo energy and try jumping on the man to try hurting him with his charged punch. Since Nahida predicted he’d do that, she immediately turned on the Dendro shields she had been creating this whole time while he vented, taking advantage of the fact that he was too unstable to pay attention to her fingers doing the magic and used her manipulation powers to make him pass out. He’d probably hurt her too if he saw her attempting to separate you from him or defending the man so she had to act in silence.

Wanderer fell in ground immediately and you obviously tried to take the opportunity to flee and eat people. Fortunately, you’d never be able to break the shield she made around you, so you were banging and scratching the shiny, transparent green wall while drooling with the view of some scares kids who were watching the scene.

After some days, Wanderer woke up feeling very dizzy and lost. Nahida knew he’d need some good rest with some good dreams for him to not wake up and immediately go for the kill he had almost committed, so she made sure her finality on him was more brutal than usual and that he wasn’t having any nightmares meanwhile. That’s also why she also arranged most people in the town to bring him gifts and cards to possibly cheer him up and apologize for nothing.

“I don’t care about this, Buer. Stop trying to waste your time trying to make me smile or something stupid like that.” He scoffed at her while ripping a card in half of one the guards that failed to protect you.

“That’s not what she would want tho, would it?” Wanderer’s eyes avoided her gaze, knowing she was right and that his tough and unreasonable behavior wouldn’t scare her off.

“You know nothing about her.” Since the topic still triggered him a lot, he tried to put Nahida back to her place.

“You tried doing something stupid, and she told you to not do it, am I wrong?” She smiled at him, pretending she wasn’t acting like a tough therapist.

Wanderer went quiet for some seconds. He hated to be wrong, he hated when Nahida peeked his mind, he hated the gods… but he hated your death more than anything.

“You peeked through my mind again..?” Wanderer asked in embarrassment of his own failure to keep a promise to you and honoring you.

“Yes, I did. I want to help you cope with Y/N’s death just like she wants you to too. That’s why I think you should accept all these letters and gifts. This is just a small percentage of how much everyone in the city feels bad for you or that they owe you something! You have no idea how much they’re trying to redeem their mistakes so it doesn’t happen again with you or anyone else, Hat Guy. Y/N is in the laboratory as I promised, but I wouldn’t recommend you to go and see her… You don’t want to see her in such horrible state, do you? Anyway, the scientists are trying their best to work on a vaccine and a cure for the ones that are already infected, prioritizing you as their number 1 patient. The guards are already patrolling extra 4 hours in their shifts every single day, you are allowed to never work again for the village, it’s too many things for me to list…” She watched his face slowly turn calm and relaxed, although he was still grumpy.

“That’s… the bare minimum.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, trying his best to deny his defeat against Nahida’s logic.

“Although you are hurt and want Y/N to come back, I don’t want your hopes for a cure to hurt you even more in case it can’t be done. There is a considerable chance that this really isn’t possible, but we’re really trying to make sure it is possible, okay?” She gently floated until she was kneeing by his side in the comfy sheets of the bed.

“… Sure.” He felt his heart ache thinking about the possibility of never having the chance to see you again, his mouth beginning to tremble a little in need to cry just some more tears.

The thought of going to Irminsul again and changing the past again just to make sure you’d survive all of that unnecessary drama went even through his mind, but he knew Nahida would give him serious consequences for it, including fixing the present.

“But please… make sure those scientists are working on it..! I’ll do anything for the chance of her coming back! I’ll work, I’ll pay, I’ll study everything I need to understand the process of—!” He finally stared back at the Archon with many tears in his glossy eyes.

But Nahida simply hugged him by the neck and stopped his begging.

And Wanderer— no… Kuni broke down again.

XIAO: Although Xiao technically has a human body and can get infected, it would be pretty much impossible for that to happen. He’s just that good at fighting, especially when he’s using his powers. He has to be careful tho. Zombies are a curse, and whenever you take the life of something cursed its soul their souls curse him back in form of karmic debt. Xiao has enough of that curse annoying his routine and ruining his physique, so he usually leaves the kill itself for the humans that work with him in the front line. But you… he’d always leave you in the Jade Chamber with Ningguang and the other Adepti when there was an emergency, taking advantage of the privilege he had of being an Adeptus too, but you still insisted in spending most of your time in the few parts of the city that were restored by humanity and not surrounded by zombies. That remaining humanity is definitely therapeutic to you, so he couldn’t blame you for being so annoying about it… or being there in the wrong time.

Xiao was patrolling on his own in the top of a mountain when the problem happened. He liked to be solitary and he used those patrolling hours to be his own self too. Xianyun had to fly all the way from South to North to tell him to tell what happened and that they needed his help. Some kids decided to play with danger and go out of the bounds they had set in those safe spots in the Liyue Port, and when they met themselves with the obvious danger, they ran back to the city, but they couldn’t hold the enormous hoard of the zombies that followed them. They had lost a chunk of the town and many survivors already, but Xiao, after hearing about the invasion of zombies in the city, was only focusing on his own memories of that same morning.

“I’m gonna go to the town to get some groceries for us, okay? Good luck on your patrol today!”

You were there, weren’t you?

Xiao teleported in a blink, leaving Xianyun behind mid-talk in a very rude manner.

He was running in the streets like he was running for his life. The zombies that saw him there started running towards his direction, but quick slashes of his blade were enough to shut them all down. He even recognized some of the faces of the merchants and kids he’d seen in the few times when he took a break from work, which was disturbing, but not more than the thought of your own face distorted like that.

He quickly opened the door of the market you were probably referring to and locked it shut so no zombie would get in, no matter how loud and annoying their bangs on the door were.

“Y/N?!” Xiao screamed. “Y/N?!?!” He screamed again, a little more nervous.

“Xiao..?” He heard a spark of your muffled voice.

His hearing was precise, so he immediately figured out where it came from, behind a door with a big sign with the word ‘Deposit’ on it. He rushed to open it, only to find out that the handle was locked in its place.

“Break it.” Your voice sounded more clear now that he was closer to you, but your tone was still very weak and low.

Were you still trying to be silent so no zombie would hear you? What an absurd, he was right there to protect you… he thought.

He nodded, although you couldn’t see him doing it, and slashed the door in half with his spear, jumping through the lower part of it as soon as he could. The first things his eyes saw was a dead zombie sitting in the left corner of the room, which made him relieved.

“Thank god you are okay..! Nice job killing the zom—” He genuinely smiled at you for your achievement as a mere weak female, but looking at you completely replaced his pride with horror.

You were sat down with your legs spread apart, your mouth covered in blood and an enormous bite in your chest.

He felt like his heart has skipped multiple beats.

“W-Wh… you…” Xiao tried to say something, but he didn’t want to describe what he saw at all.

“I’m sorry, Xiao… I couldn’t do it.” You sounded sad and disappointed at yourself. “At least I got to see you before I died here..!” You shed a tear, which made Xiao immediately rush to you.

“No… no, no, no, no…” Xiao repeated while trying to take a closer look at your bite, hoping it maybe hadn’t spread around you yet.

He was too late, way too late.

He began to hyperventilate in pure stress.

“Come here…” You reached a hand out to his face, gently trying to pull it closer to you.

He immediately accepted it and helped you do it. No matter how much blood you had around your mouth or how bad you smelled, it was still you and your consciousness behind that corpse, one that was about to die right in front of his eyes.

He didn’t want to accept that he failed you so horribly like that. He didn’t want to accept that your soul was already drifting away from you and that you were really going to die right there and now. He was more angry at himself than anything. He thought he was so powerful but he couldn’t even keep a stupid, microscopic virus from killing you.

“Please… take care of the people , okay..?” You wiped a tear was running down his cheek, finally reaching your other hand into his other cheek. “For me.” Xiao got the message immediately and smacked his mouth against yours, no matter how much you tasted like flesh and rotten blood.

He wouldn’t kiss you so frequently, only doing so in moments he considered intimate or special, but this was far from being intimate or special… it was dread and painful. He would’ve kissed you for the rest of eternity, but your oxygen storage had been too reduced, so after some minimum seconds, you broke it off, launching your head backwards to breathe while Xiao tried his best to keep his senses in place when he realized your eyes were having to make effort to keep themselves open.

“Hey… at least I managed to kill a zombie! I’m not as weak you thought I was..!” You joked, trying to cheer him up a little bit, giggling somehow.

You weren’t the kind of person to keep their body fit, so you’d usually struggle with things that required strength, even with opening bottles, which was why Xiao would jokingly call you weak. Although he did believe humans were really weak, he never meant to genuinely insult you with those puns.

“You were never weak… never.” He shed many tears seeing you stare and smile at him no matter how much energy that cost you. “You did so well…” He whimpered, his voice beginning to break.

“I love you Xiao.” You initiated, pausing for a moment to swallow some blood that you felt like coughing. “I’ll be watching you from above… okay..? Now go, please… Lock me up here so I won’t hurt anyone, okay..? I’m sorry for having to leave you behind so pathetically and easily like this. If I could stay alive for you, I would anything for it right now.” You said your final words, your hands finally becoming too weak to hold his face anymore, falling in your chest peacefully.

“I would too… I love you too…” He shoved his face in your shoulder begun to whimper.

And you finally stopped moving.

Xiao’s tears were all falling over your body mercilessly although he swore he was trying to hold them back.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

You were the fifth person he’d lost because of this sort of illness that kills and turns into something horrible for others and the first one he saw the moment of death of. They were all different by literal meaning, but all the tears shed for the grief were the same.

But this time, he lost the only person who had ever given him a chance to love more than in a friendly way. The only person who had been intimate him, emotionally or sexually. That’s why he almost turned your bones into dust while hugging you with all his force, feeling your soul fade away to a place he couldn’t reach. He hates that feeling, he hates it badly. He hates it so much he would allow himself to become a person you’d never seen for the moment.

A side of himself he personally hasn’t seen in centuries.

He slashed the doors of the market away from him, breaking them into tens of pieces, opening passage quickly like he was some sort of king. The zombies immediately jumped on his direction, but with another slash he cut all of them in half, blood and pieces of organs flying everywhere.

Xiao was red. His eyes desired red and they were red from being sore. His body was already half covered in that dark red tone that pleasured him, but the disgusting pieces of green skin ruined some of his fun. He didn’t care if some of those zombies weren’t supposed to be killed, he wanted to see blood come out of them all, just for the sake of revenge for the tragedy of your desth.

It’s just a fair trade isn’t it?

One by one, he slashed each zombie until they fell still in the ground, no matter if he cut their heads off or not. He was screaming and growling in anger, exhaustion, agony, grief, and pain. He needed to let those emotions out of him, as tears or screams. In a matter of a few minutes, the ground he stepped on had become a pool of blood on it with some parts of zombies here and there, his boots making squishy noises of flesh, broken bones or blood coming out whenever he stepped. It’s like he wanted to make sure the stones of the streets got forever stained with that color, marking his anger attack on that day and the consequences of your death. He would’ve found it a beautiful scene if there was a statue of you right in the middle of all that pool.

He was only done when he had successfully eradicated all the zombies the area, restoring the area all by himself like what he had done was a common daily chore. He ended where he started, in front of the market. Some humans even watched him do his work, but most couldn’t handle the amount of blood and organs that were shed. Now that is was done, they were all coming in to close the gates of the area again and dispose of the cadavers, praising Xiao for his work every time they passed through him, who was simply standing and staring at nothing. He knew he had just made an enormous task for the city, at the cost of some chunk of his soul, but he didn’t care about it. He did all that because of you, because he wanted you, or at least to keep your promise done.

“Euuurgghhh…” Something growled behind him, which Xiao immediately figured it was a zombie that somehow hadn’t died yet.

“M-Mr. Adeptus, behind you!” Some human called him out, reaching out a hand to call his attention better.

The human’s annoying voice triggered Xiao into immediately piercing the zombie from behind, without even looking at it, too focused on the pleasure he got from miring his own massacre.

But he was curious. How did that zombie manage to survive him? He decided to turn his face around to see what mistake he had committed.

Oh, if the only mistake was the way he had slashed the zombie…

It was you.

Xiao gasped in silence, too afraid to move another inch of that spear that was crossing your heart all the way to your back. Some humans looked at the scene confused, some looked shocked and worried, recognizing you and exactly what you were to Xiao.

Oh… why did he have to pierce your heart so perfectly? Why was he so intrigued in the bloodbath and triggered some random human’s words rather than being the precise Adeptus he was? The only thing you asked him to do was to leave you locked in that room… and he successfully broke it in minutes for something that wasn’t even worth it.

You were screaming in pain and agony savagely as expected of a zombie and Xiao just stood paralyzed, feeling new tears form in his eyes and his hands trembling. If you were really watching him from the sky, you would be witnessing that hypocritical view of his own hands taking your life away and he felt like he wanted to vomit because of it.

The more energy you wasted trying to get out of his hook and eating him, the quicker it took you to lose consciousness and life once again. The only second chance of life that Tevyat gave you in form of a zombie.

“Y/N..?” He whimpered your name.

If he thought he had already shed enough tears when you died in his arms as a human being, now that he was the murderer of your possible second chance, who was going to be cursed by the person he loved the most, cried until he lost his voice for days.

“Do you wish me to set the lantern in the water for you, Mr. Adeptus?” The woman asked to Xiao, going in front of him just to offer her hands to hold the lantern in his hands.

“No, thank you. Just hold me in my chair.” He replied, leaning down close to the floor although he could easily fall from his wheelchair.

The woman quickly reached Xiao’s waist and held him from falling, very worried about his lack of preoccupation for his health. Xiao hated what had become of him over the years, so he always tried to act independent of medicines or his wheelchair. He used to be the one to take care of everyone’s burdens and now he was a burden to everyone.

How did he get so worse to a point he couldn’t even walk anymore? You. After watching you die twice, the grief and regret possessed him with the help of his karmic debt. All those curses he held in chest every day were finally out of their cage and they only went back to it when he couldn’t even make use of it anymore. It was ugly, really ugly. He hunted down zombies every single hour and day of his life to somehow compensate what he had done to you like you were really watching him from afar although it didn’t make him feel any better deep down in his heart. It quickly consumed most of his soul, including his legs, so now he’s finally just a citizen trying to live in peace with himself.

He also started therapy. Morax and all of his Adepti companions kept insisting him to do it, so he decided to give up resisting it. It doesn’t fully help him, but it does make him feel more peaceful about your death. That’s also how he found out about setting lanterns in the Lantern Rite to honor your spirit. It was a better and healthier way to cope and honor you, so every year he counted the days until he could do it again.

The lantern finally managed to touch the water after doing a lot of effort to do it, watching it gently sway away from him, going back and forth multiple times, just like he watched your life sway away too.

He jumped back to his chair, still watching it in pure silence and in his own little world.

“Can I ask who was she again, Mr. Adeptus?” The caretaker asked.

She was kind, as expected from one and very curious about the almighty man she took care of. Since the tradition of setting a lamp in the sky or sea was about honoring something or someone, she knew it was probably someone important to him that had died in battle.

“You wanna hear me talk about her again for the third time?” He asked, a little grin showing up on his face.

He couldn’t tell if therapy was the one who helped him become more gentle and sweet with other people, or if it was just what his memories of you did to his tough shell.

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

Taglist: @amoyanderes @alatusorrow @kindofshyent @kindofscenic @the-stinky-winky @luminieee

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avianyuh · 1 month ago

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Boring | Min Yoongi

{Chapter One} {Chapter Two} {Chapter Three} {Chapter Four} Chapter Five

Summary: Your love life is going great, but you start to feel bad leaving out such an important part of your life from friends. You want to come clean about your relationship, but Yoongi seems hesitant to let anyone know.

Though your relationship with Yoongi was basically all you had ever hoped it’d be (and more), you had one little problem. The two of you had been in a serious relationship for about three months. In that time, you had told only one person, your mother. And though she had seemed excited for you as you spoke over the phone about a month into the relationship, she expressed her concern for you considering you were in a relationship with your boss.

“What if you get in a fight? Or worse, what if you break up? Will you have to find a new job?”, she questioned. And though she had every right to ask you these tough questions, they were simply things that you just didn’t want to think about. But, you had to admit that in the very back of your mind, there were those little doubtful questions that kept you up at night sometimes.

“Mom, I don’t even want to think about that. Even if things didn’t work out, I would hope we’d be in a good enough place where we could just be friends…”, you trailed off as you leaned against the kitchen counter in your apartment. Yoongi was away on a business trip for the week, and even though he offered you his apartment, you declined, preferring your own smaller place. You peered over towards the front entrance of your apartment, looking down at the shoe rack. You stared at Yoongi’s sneakers, neatly tucked in on the rack, sitting next to a pair of your own shoes, specifically a pair of your flats you like to wear to work. Things were good. You were happy, Yoongi was becoming more “tolerable” according to your coworkers and the best part was that no one knew what had caused the switch. The irony was, people kept asking you if you had any ideas as to what caused the change, yet they were looking right at “the cause” the whole time. You always played it off, shrugging your shoulders and taking a sip of your coffee, or scribbling something down on your notepad to avoid discussing it further. You didn’t want to test your luck.

But other than the occasional existential thought provoking sleepless nights, you had another conundrum. Specifically, it was the increasingly difficult task of trying to hide your relationship from your coworkers. Especially your two friends, Gina and Hana, who you used to frequently gossip about Yoongi with. And though you continued to eat lunch with them and go out for the occasional weekend outing with them, when time for small talk came about your lives outside of work, you began to start feeling increasingly guilty about the massive portion of your life you were purposefully leaving out. After all, Gina and Hana were your friends, not just your coworkers. And to be completely honest, you were really itching to tell someone other than your mother about your boyfriend. It was weird, feeling the happiest you’d ever been, yet you couldn’t share it with your friends. Two people you saw five days out of the week, sometimes six.

So one night, after Yoongi came back from his trip, as you were laying in bed, drifting off to sleep in his arms, you decided now would be the best time to breach the subject of soft-launching your relationship with your friends. “Yoongi, you know how I told my Mom about our relationship, right?”, you started as you placed your hand on Yoongi’s bare chest. His arm was wrapped around you as his fingers traced the curve of your waist, his movements went up and down. You had to fight the urge to close your eyes, as he was basically putting you to sleep with how calm he made you feel.

“Mhm”, was all you got in response as Yoongi continued his hand movements. His eyes were closed. You debated if you should even ask, considering the fact that he was seemingly minutes away from falling asleep. But, the other side of you seemed to be telling yourself that it was now or never.

“Um, I won’t be here around 12 tomorrow, I’m going for lunch with Gina and Hana, remember?”, you questioned. Yoongi hummed again, his eyes still closed. “They keep asking about why I’m not around as much on the weekends…I keep wanting to tell them but I know you don’t really want to tell anyone”, you trailed off. You looked over at Yoongi, noticing that his eyes were now fully open.

“What? Do they suspect anything?”, he questioned, slightly sitting up, his grip around your waist becoming a little looser. Your heart started to race a bit. You didn’t want to upset Yoongi. You were still in the honeymoon phase and wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“No, no, not at all. I just feel kinda bad because I’m sort of lying to them.”, Yoongi furrowed his brows, giving you a confused look.

“How are you lying to them? Have they asked if you’re single?” Yoongi didn’t seem to understand that leaving out something as massive as a new boyfriend could really hurt your friendship with someone.

“Well, they haven’t asked but they’re under the impression that I’m single and I’m obviously not.”, you explained as you gestured with your hand between the two of you. “I just wish I could tell them, they’re people I see almost every day, that’s all…”, you stated, laying on your back as you turned the TV on.

“You know telling people would look really bad. People would think you’re getting special treatment. And I have a board of people who wouldn’t be okay with the CEO dating an employee.”, Yoongi explained.

“They wouldn’t say anything. They’re more than my coworkers.”, you said, a little disappointed. Even though you really wanted to tell your friends about your relationship with Yoongi, you knew that you had to respect Yoongi’s wishes. He did have a point, an office relationship would be a huge problem. When Taehyung found out that you helped Yoongi with the file instead of him, he was pissed at you. If it came out that you guys were dating, he’d definitely say that you got special treatment, which in your defense, wasn’t true because you weren’t dating when you worked with Yoongi.

“Listen”, Yoongi sighed, “If you really want to tell them, then that’s your call…I don’t know them as well as you do.” You tried to conceal your smile as you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s neck.

“Thank you Yoongi”, you whispered, “But”, you pulled out of the embrace, “Are you sure? I won’t say anything unless we’re both okay with telling people?”You searched Yoongi’s eyes for hesitation. He did look worried, which made you feel conflicted about telling your friends.

“Like I said, it’s your call. If you really think they won’t say anything about our relationship to anyone else in the office, go ahead, I trust you.”, he explained, pulling you on top of him and closing his eyes again. “Now, can we go to sleep?”, he whined.

“So dramatic”, you rolled your eyes, a smile on your face as you got comfortable in your boyfriend's arms. You gave Yoongi a chaste kiss as you rested your head on his chest, almost immediately closing your eyes and feeling relieved. No more hiding.

You were sat across from Gina and Hana the next day at your monthly weekend “brunch”. In a way, you were nervous to tell them, mostly because you had been leaving out the fact that you had a boyfriend the past three months. But also that the said boyfriend is your boss. You played with your food as you pretended to pay attention to Hana’s story about the party she went to last week.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you look like you’re not even paying attention!”, you looked up from your plate to find Gina and Hana both staring at you.

“No, I am, I promise.”, you pleaded. Hana crossed her arms over her chest as she made a disappointed face at you.

“Really? Then who was trying to give me a palm reading in the kitchen?”, you couldn’t believe it, she was giving you a pop quiz. You tried to answer as fast as you could to not raise any more suspicion, so you tried to recall who you remember being mentioned at the party.

“Erica.”, you stated. Gina laughed as Hana groaned in frustration.

“Whatever, I still know you weren’t paying attention.”, she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Then what was the point in testing me? I got it right”, you grinned at her. As Hana continued to act over dramatic, Gina tapped on your shoulder.

“You know, you have been sort of quiet. Is everything okay?”, she questioned. Concern evident on her features.

“Um, actually, yeah there is something I wanted to tell you guys. But first of all, you can’t tell anyone, okay? This stays between the three of us.”, You explained, sitting up in your seat. Your friends stared at you in confusion as you started to catch them up on everything you had left out the past three months. “So, I have a boyfriend.”, you said. Gina gasped as Hana looked at you in confusion.

“What! When did this happen, you hadn’t mentioned anyone…”, Hana asked as Gina nodded in agreement.

“I know, that’s why when I tell you, you have to understand that this is a pretty unique situation.” you said, giving them a serious look.

“Geez, who are you dating? The president?”Gina questioned.

“No, I’ve been seeing Min Yoongi for the past three months.” There, the bomb was dropped. You watched as their faces went pale. Gina claspedher hand over her mouth, Hana dropped her fork. You, on the other hand, felt a giant wave of relief wash over you. “I know it sounds bad because I didn’t tell you, but he sort of swore me to secrecy. I just had a talk with him yesterday and he agreed with me that it’s okay to tell a few people. The only other person that knows is my Mom since I told her.” you said.

“But, why did you wait so long? Do you not trust us? Three months is a long time to leave something like that out.” Gina said, seemingly hurt by the news.

“Gina, I wanted to tell you, but Yoongi didn’t feel comfortable because you guys work with him. He’s really paranoid that people from the office are going to find out and the news will make its way to the other board members of the company.”, you tried to explain. “I was just trying to respect his wishes.”

“Well, when were you planning on telling us? When you got engaged or something?”, Hana asked, also sounding upset.

“No, guys please, it wasn’t up to me alone. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…” By now you were starting to get nervous. You didn’t expect them to be so upset, shocked for a few minutes sure, but not genuinely hurt by the news.

“Y/N, we’re not mad, it’s just a long time to go without sharing something so major. Forget that he’s our boss, we just know how hard it was for you to find someone in the first place, so hearing that you’ve been seeing someone is great, we just wish we could’ve known since day one.” Gina said, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. Hana nodded in agreement. You started to feel better. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to be mad at you over your relationship. “Well…tell us about him. Around us he’s always so quiet and emotionless.” Gina giggled. “Oh wait, can I not say that in front of you anymore? Like, is it offensive now that he’s your boyfriend?” she questioned. You playfully nudged her arm as you laughed.

“No, please don’t censor yourself around me. Trust me, I know what you mean by emotionless. That’s how he usually acts at work, he even admits to that.”

“Oh okay, so anyways, what’s he like when you're not at work?” Gina asked as you contemplated what to say to your friends. See, certain details about your relationship, you wanted to keep private.

“He’s actually really funny. He makes me laugh, which I think you guys would find surprising. Oh, and he loves basketball and he plays piano. He’s really talented. But, he was a little closed off at first, but now he can get really clingy”, you giggled as you thought back to just this morning when you tried to leave Yoongi’s apartment. He blocked the door and kept saying, “One more kiss”, which turned into maybe 100 kisses before he actually let you leave.

“Interesting”, Hana said as she waved her hand in a ‘Go on’, type of motion.

“He’s very romantic. He told me he was committed to me completely.” you said as they both made surprised faces.

“Sounds serious,” Gina stated. You nodded as you tried to hide the growing smile on your face. “Realistically, what would happen if you did make your relationship public? Would he get in trouble?” Gina questioned.

“I think the rest of the board would try to make him look bad. Basically try to say that he’s unprofessional for having a relationship with someone in the company. You know he’s the youngest CEO the company’s even had. He told me that a lot of the other board members don’t like that about him.

“Aren’t you afraid that other people would say you have special treatment?”, Hana asked, now looking concerned.

“Yeah, but I’d be more concerned if the board went over Yoongi’s head and got me fired. That would be way worse.” you responded nervously.

“Um, not worse, that would be illegal for them to do unless it’s in your work contract. They, along with anyone else with an unwanted opinion would just have to get used to the fact that the CEO has a girlfriend in the company.” Gina snapped, which made you raise your eyebrows in surprise at how worked up she was. Gina had always been protective over you. “If you do get fired, I’m quitting too.” she finished. You both looked at Hana, waiting for her response.

“I love you guys, but good luck on your job search. I on the other hand, like money so I’d probably stay.”, Gina swatted at Hana, and you laughed as all three of you moved on to a different subject. You feeling relieved but at the same time, trying to ignore the fears of your relationship being outed from creeping to the forefront of your mind.

#bts #suga #min yoongi #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts writing #yoongi fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic

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enhaheeseung · 8 months ago

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Here to stay - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warning: mentions of sex, angst, heartbreak, fluff, crying.

Genre: fuck buddies, smut, mdni!

WC: 2,881k maybe a little more

Continuation of “Come & Go”

It's been one month since heeseung blocked you.

One whole month.

It was weird not hearing from you. It felt even more weird not getting up at two in the morning to run to your place and pleasure you.

Because he had cut all ties with you, he was sleeping earlier these days, but funny enough. His body was still waking him up at 2 in the morning, the time you'd usually call for him.

He felt pathetic cause his body was betraying his willpower to move on from you. Even if he was fighting for his mind to be occupied elsewhere, his heart still ached for you.

He was currently lying in bed, his phone clutched in his hand tightly, thumb itching to unblock your number.

"Fuck” he curses out loud and shuts his phone off, trying his best to respect the deal he made with Jay and ultimately trying to get over you, but it was so damn hard.

After nearly a year of being with you, it felt impossible to forget you. It felt impossible to move on with his life and find someone who would respect and love him for who he is and not just his body.

But fuck if he had to choose between you and true love, he's definitely picking you. Yeah, it hurt to be cast aside after being used by you, but it hurt so good that he'd always go back for more and more until you finally had your way and were done with him.

"Laying in bed all day isn't going to help" Jay opens his bedroom door without even knocking.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out after the first week." heeseung rolls his eyes and sits up against his bed frame.

"The guys and I are going out. Do you want to come?" Jay fiddles with the lock on the doorknob.

"I'll pass." heeseung runs his fingers through his messy hair, sighing deeply.

"Well, the guys were hoping you could come so…" Jay murmurs.

"I'll make it up to all of you later. I still just need some time," Jay nods in understanding.

"Take your time." Jay slowly backs out of heeseung's room and closes the door silently.

"I just need some time," Heeseung quietly repeats to convince himself that all he needs is time, but even when he says it out loud, something in the pit of his stomach just doesn't feel right.

You sighed as you sat down at your desk at work, completely stressed out of your mind.

You could already tell you were going to have a headache when you got home tonight cause today has been nothing but a shit day.

It's one of those days where, just a month ago, you'd already be planning to call heeseung over so he could work his magic on your body and take all your stress away.

But no, because he blocked you cause he wanted more from you, and when he saw he wasn't getting it, he knew when to walk away.

You hate how you took him for granted. He was a great guy, amazing at sex and even better at cuddling you, and he also wasn't shy about making his like for you known.

You were just a piece of shit that disregarded him as a person with feelings and only saw him for what he could give to you, which was mind-blowing sex.

If you could have a do-over, then you surely would, one where you confessed to him and realized your feelings for him a whole hell of a lot sooner.

But you let your fear of being lied to and cheated on get in the way of your true happiness.

But could you even be blamed? Every man you were with did that to you, hence why you gave up on relationships and only had sexual transactions now.

But even you have to admit that Lee heeseung wasn't like Every Man. unfortunately, it took you too long to figure that out, and now here you are, heartbroken again because you let the past ruin your future. You did your best to stop that from happening and it still wasn't enough.

At least now a great guy like him could find someone who cared about him and loved him the way he deserved instead of someone like you who hid your feelings and was only going to confess after a whole year of practically using his body.

It hurt, but you hope he's happy with someone that's his equal and not a total piece of shit like you.

Who are you kidding?

It's not that simple; you wish it was, but you were going to be feeling this pain for days, if not months. Yeah, it was selfish of you to still want him around even after you played with his feelings for years, but it couldn't be helped.

If only you could have realized that he was worth taking a chance on months ago, maybe he'd be your boyfriend, maybe you'd be living together, maybe you'd be married and planning to have a family and live happily ever after.

The thought brings tears to your eyes, so you push your fairytale ideas to the side, focusing back on work before all your co-workers notice you shedding a few tears.

Another week had gone by, and heeseung felt the same. He knows they say it takes three months to get over someone, but how could he stay away from you that long? It was impossible, and that's why he's sneaking out of his and Jay's shared apartment to go to your place; being away from you was killing him inside. Even if you'd only use his body for sex and kick him out, it was still better than not being able to see or touch you at all.

He arrived some odd minutes later and jogged up the stairs to your building, heart racing in his chest, and he just hoped you wouldn't turn him away. He hopes you still at least just want him for sex. That'd be enough for him. Just knowing that you wanted something from him would be enough. He knows it's pathetic. He knows he deserves better, but he wants you, and he doesn't care if that makes him a loser. All he cares about is you.

The clock had just hit 2 in the morning, and you didn't know why you were holding your phone as if you could call him still, but you were. Maybe it was muscle memory, or maybe it was the only thing holding your emotions in check.

You laughed at yourself pathetically, but deep down, a part of you felt like you deserved this pain, and with that thought, you set your phone aside as the silence crept up on you, and instead of wallowing in self pity you were just going to go to sleep and wait for tomorrow so you could feel all these emotions again just this time it'd be a new time and a new date.

The knock on your door stops you in your tracks on your way to your bedroom you shake your head in disbelief because now you were even hallucinating the familiar sound of his knock.

You continued to walk to your bedroom until you heard it again and again, and there was no way that was just a hallucination, especially when the knocks became more frequent.

Heeseung was relentless outside your door. He wasn't going to stop until you let him in. He's sure you probably saw him outside the peephole by now, and he's not sure if you still even care to answer since he was the one who blocked you but fuck it, he was here now, and he wasn't taking no for an answer he needed you, and he needed you tonight.

He heard a soft click, the same one he always heard when you unlocked the door for him. His knocks came to a halt when he saw a faint light peaking through the crack of your door, and within a second, he stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind him, closing any type of personal space you once had. "Heeseun-" he doesn't even let you speak before he's jumping your bones, hands squeezing your waist as his lips met yours in a rushed kiss.

"Sorry I blocked you," he breathes out against your lips, still holding you tightly so you can't slip through his fingers. "Sorry I stopped coming, sorry I didn't answer," you moan into the kiss, hands strongly gripping his shoulders as you try to grasp what's happening.

You were shocked to see him, but you couldn't comprehend anything before you were making out with him, and right now, nothing else mattered but your lips working in perfect sync with each others.

"It was my friend's idea" he started trailing kisses down your neck, his large veiny hands cupping your tits roughly, causing you to arch your back and press yourself closer to him. "Said I should stop seeing you." he nibbled the skin of your neck as you moaned quietly. "But I couldn't. No matter how much you use me, I still want you," he whispers in your ear, his hot breath leaving a tingle running down your spine.

"Wait," you tell him breathlessly and push his shoulders, creating some distance between the two of you.

"Can't." he steps closer, lips pressing roughly against yours until you push him back again. "Please, I'll do anything. Please, just don't kick me out," he begs in a whiny voice. "I don't care if you only want me for sex. As long as you want me, that's enough."

"Heeseu-" he leans into you, his voice wobbly as he says the words he's been wanting to say for what feels like forever.

"I love you." he presses his face against your neck, inhaling your scent as his arms naturally wrap around you.

You hear him sniffle softly, and your heart breaks because none of what he was saying was how you felt, maybe in the very beginning, but definitely not now. "Hey," you cup his cheeks, making him look up at you, his watery eyes boring into your own. "I don't just want you for sex, okay, you're so much more than that, and I can't believe I'm saying this cause I never thought I'd utter the words again but fuck heeseung, I love you too. I love you so much," you whisper, hands running along his neck soothingly.

That's it. Lee heeseung had finally broken all your walls and infiltrated your heart. You thought they were impenetrable, but it turns out all you needed was someone who actually truly cared about you and not someone who was just using you for their own satisfaction.

He looks back and forth between your eyes, obviously confused by your words, and you laugh lightly because of his cute expression. "You don't have to say that just because I di-" You shut him up with one long-awaited meaningful kiss.

He was beyond happy to hear you saying those words to him, but this couldn't be real, could it? He must still be back at his apartment, dreaming of this moment that he had dreamt of a million times.

But your next words proved otherwise. "I know it's sudden, baby, I know, but I love you," You peck his cute pouted lips. "I just couldn't bring myself to tell you how I truly felt. I've been hurt so many times in the past, and I was just scared to move on with you, but I should have seen you were different from the start. I should have never strung you along and played with your feelings. I'm so sorry for everything, and I'm just so happy you're here now, and I can tell you how much you mean to me. You're so perfect, Lee Heeseung," you told him sincerely while stroking his soft cheek with your thumb, eyes full of nothing but love. "And I would be the luckiest girl on the planet to have all your love, and if you're willing to give me another chance, I want to give that same love back to you."

He's grinning from ear to ear, elated by the three words you just confessed to him.

He expected this to go so much differently than it has, but he wouldn't want it any other way. He can't believe you loved him back, like you actually felt the same way for him as he felt about you, and that was absolutely mind-blowing. And now that he thinks about it, he needs to have more than just a few words with Jay, but that could wait till later. Right now, he's gonna enjoy this surreal moment with you, the love of his life.

"Can you say all that again? You lost me at I love you," he chuckles, squeezing you in his arms tightly.

You giggle while nodding and repeating every single thing you said, and he listens very, very intently, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you with so much love.

"So maybe you can prove it to me in your room on your bed. How does that sound?" He scrunched his face up, laughing softly as you nodded your head shyly. "Yeah?" He grins.

"Yeah, I'll prove that and so much more, my love," you whisper seductively, and he visibly goes red, causing you to bite down on your lip to hold back your smile, and you can't help but think he looks so good all shy like that.

How did you ever get so lucky for him to give you another chance?

"God, I'm so happy," he sighs dreamily, staring at you with nothing but pure love in his eyes, and you felt so full knowing that he cared about you so much and was never shy to express it.

He picks you up in his arms, carrying you to bed. "I love you." he pecks the tip of your pretty nose, laying you down gently on your bed and hovering above you. "So much," he adds while leaning down and connecting your lips with his.

"I love you more." You smile so hard your cheeks start to hurt. "And for the record, you make me happier."

"Hey!" He whines cutely. "You make me the most happy."

And who were you to argue with that? Especially when his soft pink lips were colliding so perfectly with yours.

It was the morning after you and heeseung were lying down in bed together, his arm around you while your head rested on his bare chest. "Morning," you whisper, looking out the window and tickling his chest with your fingertips.

"Hmm, morning lovely," he chuckles and wraps his other arm around you. "Love you," he says with his raspy morning voice.

"Love you too." You kissed his chest all over, hearing him giggle from below you.

It's funny how it had been years since you said those words to a love interest, but with him, it just came so naturally, like you had been saying it for years.

"I gotta make it up to you, hee," you pout, tracing the faint line between his pecs.

"No baby, this is enough. Just you and me here now is all that matters," he assures you, but that's not good enough. He deserves the world.

"I know, but I want to do something for you," you tell him seriously.

"You don't take no for an answer, hmm?" He smiles.

"Not this time," you say matter-of-factly.

"Tell me what you want to do for me, baby. You were already amazing last night; I don't know what more I could ask for." You blush, hearing his words and feeling little butterflies erupt in your stomach. No one has ever talked to you as sweetly as he has. "Plus, you told me your side, and I understand it's hard, but I promise you I'll treat you right love, be the man you deserve."

"Oh, hee." You looked up at him, and your eyes started to water.

"It's only what you deserve" he taps your nose, making you smile, and now you want to give this man the whole world.

"That's it get ready," you tell him and hop off the bed. You were going to take him anywhere he wanted, buy him whatever he wanted, wine, and dine him the whole nine yards. Whatever he wanted, it was his, no questions asked.

"Okay, baby, but first, come take a picture with me so I can send it to Jay." You hop back in bed and take a cute picture of you both hiding under the sheets, with only your eye smile showing he sent it. Caption it: my girlfriend and me.

"Girlfriend?" You ask him.

"Don't act surprised. You know it was coming sooner or later," he laughs.

"Boyfriend!" You cheer after a few moments of letting this set in and tackle him in the biggest hug ever.

"I like the sound of that. Say it again, baby." you both smile, looking at each other completely lovestruck.

Heartbreak comes and goes, but this love is here to stay.

[END]

Thanks so much for reading! Please leave feedback. I love you all and hope you enjoyed it since everyone was asking for a lot.2 lol🖤

Anyone who wants to be on the perm tag list or regular just lmk cause I keep forgetting.

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung angst #lee heeseung smut #heeseung angst #heeseung fic #heeseung fluff #heeseung x reader #heeseung fanfic

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colourstreakgryffin · 9 months ago

Note

Hello!

Could I request some hc's for platonic Alastor and Reader where he treats Reader like a little sister?

Y E S! LET’S GOOOOOO! I LOVE ALASTOR! MY DEEREST— sorry. Sorry… I am so excited to finally have a Hazbin Hotel request. Thank you soooooo much, infinite amount of love and support to you, darling! Thank you!

Platonic! Alastor- Hopping Little Heart

“Al… can you just stop it”

You grumble out loud enough to be heard with sharp eyes glaring over your shoulder, annoyed by the constant babying and half-condescending treatment the Radio Demon himself gives you

Alastor, ever since he met you and managed to trick you into giving up your soul to him, treats you like you’re a child under his care. Like you’re an incompetent incapable little girl that he has to take care of as your older brother. It’s annoying, you’re 25 and been in Hell since 1985. Yeah, he’s 33 and been in Hell since 1933 but still. These whole behaviours of his is driving you more crazy than you already are

“Hmm… Let me think over it… I don’t think I will stop brushing your hair, my dear” Alastor hums out in a snarky yet dapper fashion, his transatlantic-accented voice echoey and menacing with the usual radio lace as he continues to brush your hair humming out a old-timey tune under his breath, long sharp fingers holding nice silky strands over his palm. You’re getting ready for a special party Princess Charlie Morningstar is arranging as a celebration for the first client, Sir Pentious, being redeemed. Here is Alastor behaving like you can’t doll yourself up on your own

Sometimes, you seriously think Alastor views you as an eight year old and he’s adopted you as to act like your surrogate older brother-caretaker. He’s overprotective, he shoves you away from arguments as to ‘protect your little ears’, he is quite favouritistic over you that it’s obvious, he gives you all kinds of cute gifts, he lets you touch him when nobody else can. As compared to how he treats Husk and Niffty, the overpowered Overlord treats you much more civil. He does act like a clingy loving boundary-stepping brother, it’s weird…

Even Charlie notices it but nobody really wants to point out, other than Vaggie, how weird it is to see Alastor baby and babytalk you in the Hotel Lobby, with no shame, like you’re five years old. Who would ever think a narcissistic, violent but yet charismatic demon like Alastor could express genuine affection to anybody else? Alastor, in a rather impressively fast pace, ties up your hair in a cute fluffy bun for this upcoming party. As if he’s tied up women’s hair many times over

How about himself? Will he attend this party? No but he’ll go to watch over you, that’s it. He isn’t going to participate in the event, he isn’t on the side of redemption. He’s here for his own amusement and he especially isn’t a fan of get-togethers, even if he behaves and dresses like he attends the most lavish rich parties all the time. He isn’t much of a party man and he just wants to make sure his surrogate little sister isn’t being creeped on

“Look at that, darling. Simple magnificent” You can’t help but roll your eyes at Alastor’s half-praise whilst putting in a nice pair of diamond earrings, himself readjusting your dress so it’s comfortably hugging your body. Hearing the Radio Demon speak in usual half-talking down, babying manner to you, he always does it. On his end, he was admiring how pretty you look when he finished fixing you up. You’re the most pretty girl in this shitty Hotel and he’d love to rub into Vaggie’s face, he is still very annoyed at the Hotel Manager insulting his relationship with you. However, this is too risky, getting into a fight with Vaggie at the party will cause his murderous itch bubble over

And he doesn’t want to be violent or monstrous around his little sister

“Thank you, Al… you know, you can go now. I can walk to the Lobby on my own, I am not five” You’re not very good at expressing your desire for space with this demon, nobody has the confidence to tell Alastor what to do or to fuck off, and Alastor himself has absolutely no grasp on personal space so even when you spell it out for him, he just ignores it. Picking you up from your chair in front of the makeup mirror with zero effort and placing you down before him

All ready, pampered and sparkly to a degree he thought you were outshining the Hotel room’s light, Alastor’s wide sharp toothy grin almost feels less of power and dominance, and more genuine and prideful over… what? Over you?

“My dear. I can’t just let such a precious princess go out there all on her own. Allow me to escort you, as a family member. It’s the least a brother can do” Your suspicions over this Overlord’s intentions towards his brotherly-like affections to you has been confirmed. He does view you as a little sister and whilst his treatment of you, though trying his best to be affectionate and caring that comes off as belittling and bothersome, he doesn’t just view you as another soul to be exploited as to serve him and the Hotel he’s investing in

It’s kinda flattering and you just think for a bit whilst Alastor offers out his arm for you with patient silence and his grin never dying out, blood red eyes still locked on you like a proud older brother. Maybe, you’ve been a bit too harsh to this possibly really lonely deer-featured sinner. Maybe, you can just give him a chance and let this whole surrogate older brother-younger sister bond he is trying to develop with you actually blossom

“Careful of your heels. Don’t want you slipping on the floor. Niffty just waxed them”

A/N: Lmao. Fuck, didn’t read the HCs until after I finished writing. Sorry, hope this is okay!

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

Text

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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