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reidmotif · 7 months

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For the Love of Lace

Summary: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend, Spencer, anymore, but still needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her upcoming date.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: breast and nipple play, fingering (r!receiving), lingerie talk, unprotected penetrative sex, no implied breast size, couch sex, best friends to lovers, possessive Spencer

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

Pining for your best friend definitely has its lows. There’s a certain sense of pathetic-ness that comes about when your friend is simply speaking, and your mind is occupied with the yearning to bridge the gap of distance between you two, and kiss them senseless. I think perhaps the biggest low that I’d hit, however, in the two years I’d been pining for Spencer Reid was the sexual frustration that came with being unable to see myself with anyone else.

I’d never meant for it to play out like this. I thought it was an innocent crush, a byproduct of all the time we’d managed to spend with each other divulging into our personal lives and sharing the ordinary comings of the day together. However, there came a point where I looked at him and could see my future laid out so perfectly with him. A future of love, and laughter, and God, so much sex. And no matter what I’d tried, the thought was too good to let go.

It didn’t help that not only was he oblivious, he clearly didn’t return my affections. There were no signs of longing that I could deduce from his actions, and I’d decided to be reasonable about this. His actions were always remnant of a good friend, but a lover? No. There were no longing stares. No stolen brushes of fingers, or hushed whispers. It seemed that anything romantic about our relationship only emanated from my fantasies of what I wish we could be.

And so here I was, unable to get past the mental block of wanting anyone as much, and it’d resulting in a long, exasperating two-year stint of celibacy. And Jesus, did it show. The tiniest thing Spencer did would set me off in a frenzy, and it left me feeling nearly perverted at a certain point. There’d been a day that he ran his finger down a page, attempting to locate a passage to display to me and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that finger in me. My mouth. Me. Anything. And then I realized I was lusting over my best friend’s hand, and considered the possibility of this being a serious problem on my end.

My only block to getting laid was my own self. And I certainly didn’t relish in the debauchery I’d clearly stooped low enough to indulge in, and so it was decided. This Valentine’s Day? I wasn’t going to watch rom-coms and wonder if Spencer and I could ever have a happy ending like them.

I was going to man up, and go on a date. Easier said than done.

I’d found the date, that bit was easy enough. Trying to find someone to hook-up with on Valentine’s Day is like trying to find sand on a beach. Plentiful and simple.

What wasn’t easy? Feeling ready for it. I hadn’t been like that with anyone for nearly two years, and found myself worrying that my sexual skills had deteriorated with lack of practice, even though the thought was rooted in some ridiculous notions about myself. I knew that logically the sex would be fine, and hopefully, exactly what I needed to get over Spencer, but still. I wanted to ensure the best possible experience.

I found myself going through the motions of date preparation. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. I even bought a fancier perfume to wear the night of. And of course, a trip to procure some new lingerie for the night.

I’d always been indecisive, and with the choices presented in the shop, I found myself overwhelmed. I’d decided and picked up 3 possible pieces, and instead of determining between them whilst buying, I bought all of them, with the intention that I’d be able to make a choice in the comfort of my own home.

Except now, it’d been a week, my date was tomorrow, and I still couldn’t figure out what would work for me. All three were equally as appealing, but which one was the best? The question haunted me, and continued to haunt me as Spencer and I hung out. Despite my date tomorrow, I’d promised to keep up our tradition of binging episodes of Star Trek on Friday night together, except my head was clearly elsewhere, which he quickly noticed.

Damn profiler best friend.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Spencer asks, reaching for the remote and pausing on some random frame of Spock’s face, the show taking less precedence than my lack of attention.

I sigh apologetically, quirking my mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, Spence.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Spencer tilts his head, his expression a little more worried. “Something important?”

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to disclose the reasoning for my distraction tonight. Especially to him, considering my date tonight had the sole purpose of me getting over the man currently sat to my right.

“No, no.” I say, softly. “Just.. stuff.” I voiced, quickly.

“Stuff?” Spencer inquires.

“Stuff.” I affirm.

Now it’s his turn to sigh, making a slight groaning noise whilst he did so. “Come on. I’ve known you for years. I know there’s something on your mind, and it’s clearly distracting you, so.. Please? Tell me?” He asks, giving me those eyes. A look that would make anyone weak in the knees.

I find myself hesitating, and bite my lip, and in the end, it’s the way he’s looking at me that does me in. I opt to stay vague, but give him a bit more insight into my wandering thoughts.

“My date tomorrow? I don’t know what to wear.” I say, shrugging. “It’s not very important, but I want to make it work, you know?” I continue.

“Why don’t you just show me your dress then?” Spencer inquires. “I’m not a fashion expert, but it’s not like I’m unable to have taste.”

I laugh a little self consciously, shaking my head quickly. “Oh no, no. It’s not a dress. It’s okay, Spencer. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Shoes? C’mon! I’m your best friend. I’d do anything for you.” He protests, coming closer to me now.

“Not shoes.” I say, still shaking my head. “And no! I mean, seriously. There are some things you can’t do for me, and it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Jewelry? Hair? Makeup?” He implores continuously. “I’m all ears.”

I realize there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to let this go, so I blurt out with little thought, “It’s lingerie!”

He goes a bit quiet in thought, and then raises an eyebrow. “And that poses a problem?” He asks, softly.

I blink a little. Yes. Of course that’s a problem. I love you so much that it makes me feel weak, and I can’t be even more vulnerable in front of you. Not like that.

But instead I shrug, running my hands through my hair.

“I just.. Wouldn’t that be weird?” I say, hesitantly.

“Not really.” Spencer replies, nonchalantly. “You’re my best friend. And I want to help you in any way I can. Nakedness doesn’t really bother me, and if it doesn’t bother you, I’d love to help you decide.”

“Spencer..” I mumbled, still incredibly hesitant.

“I’m your best friend!” Spencer articulates. “And logically, I can provide you with insight that only another guy could give.” He points out. “In a purely platonic, and logical sense.”

I had to give him credit for that. It’s true. Spencer did have insight that none of my friends could provide, and I’d always entrusted him in helping me make decisions for myself and my life. And honestly, it was starting to get suspicious with how much I’d been objecting to this. The man had helped me decide bikinis, clubbing dresses- this couldn’t be any more different, could it?

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” I give him a resigned nod, getting off the couch. “Alright. Wait here.”

He plants himself more firmly on the couch, his eyes trained on where I’d disappeared into my room, rummaging through the shopping bag until I’d found the first lingerie piece.

It was a simple black lace bra and matching panties. The bottoms were a bit cheekier than a normal pair of underwear, and my legs were on display in full. My hair framed my pushed-up breasts, and I looked at myself in the mirror, slightly self-conscious at the fact that I was about to present myself this way to Spencer.

How did I get into this mess?

I slowly twist the doorknob, calling out to him. “Spencer! I’m coming out with the first one.”

“I’m here.” is his reply, and I know he’s waiting, and so I slowly push open the door and come out in the light, a little more in his view. I give a half-hearted 360 degree turn, and look at him.

“So?” I ask, my eyes finally meeting his, but the sight I’m met with is a lot different than the one I’m expecting. He’s slightly red in the face, his hands fidgeting in his lap- quite different from the more composed version I’d seen of him.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, quickly, feeling even more vulnerable as I stood there, half naked in front of a blushing man.

“No, no!” He sputters. “I’m sorry. This is normal.” He gulps a bit and gives me a quick once over. “Sorry, I’ll be normal.” He clears his throat again and nods more definitively. “This one is nice. It’s simple.” He replies, as diplomatically as I’ve heard him. “Black works well with your skin and hair, and I feel like it brings out your eyes.”

I nod, biting my lip. “Anything I could do to make it.. more than nice?” I queried.

He narrows his eyes in thought. “It’s already really, really nice, but I feel like stockings, or even a garter would even the attention from your breasts, more to your legs- which already look really nice, by the way.”

It's my turn to blush and I nod quickly. “Stockings, got it.” I say. I blow out a breath of air. “One down, two to go.” I say, absentmindedly.

“Better go back and try the other two, then.” Spencer says, with a smile.

I attempt to return his smile and disappear back into my room, putting on the next piece. It was red, and a bit more showy than my previous piece. It was a criss-cross, cut-out lingerie. Lines of maroon fabric danced around my skin in a way that exposed the curve of my breasts, and connected to a simple, red thong. I walked out quicker than last time, a little less nervous now that the initial nervousness of appearing naked in front of him had faded.

Despite my nervousness fading, it seemed like his had only increased. I’d only caught a glimpse of it in my hurried departure from my room to his line of sight, but had he.. been adjusting his crotch area?

No. No. I mean, maybe he was turned on, but that was a completely normal reaction to a half-naked girl in front of a man. To my knowledge, Spencer hadn’t dated anyone in 2 years either, so it was completely possible he also had pent-up desires. This was normal. Spencer Reid did not feel the same way for me, not in the same way as I did for him.

He quickly looks up and his hands are by his side in record speed. “This one is.. Wow.” He marvels, his eyes boring into my body. “Your breasts. They look great.”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, a part of me secretly delighted that even if this was friendly, Spencer was enamored with my body in the way I’d always wished he would be.

“Was that too much?” Spencer questions, upon hearing my laugh. “I’m only being honest. Your breasts look nice in this one. My eyes immediately went there with this piece.”

I smile. “No, no. That’s what I need from you, anyway. That’s what I want my date to do too, anyway.” I say, dismissing his worries.

“Right. Your date.” He says, curtly.

I raise an eyebrow at the snippy reply, but don’t think much of it. “So.. the last one then?”

“Yep. The last one.”

“Right..” I mumble, going back to my room, slightly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but ready to get this over with nonetheless.

The last piece was a lot more revealing, in the sense that my nipples were exposed from the get-go with this one. A lavender slip, with transparent lace covering the breasts, and the silky fabric stopping right below my crotch. It was a bit more daring, but I still enjoyed the way it framed my curves, my hips, and my breasts. I wondered what Spencer would think, and out of modesty, I placed both my hands over my nipples, wanting to show the lingerie without fully exposing myself to him.

I walk out, and this time, his gaze is intense. More so than I’d ever seen him in our years of friendship.

“Spence..?” I ask, when he’s silent for a beat too long.

“Turn around.” He says, firmly, and I find myself listening instantly, baring my back to him, and no doubt he’s focusing on the way the fabric wrapped around my ass, leaving me slightly flustered and more on display than I’d ever felt tonight.

“Spencer? Come on. Say something. Feeling a bit like cattle right now.” I voice, laughing a little nervously.

When I hear his voice again, I nearly jump out of my skin because he’s right behind me, his hands ghosting across my bare shoulders.

“Don’t go.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning around my neck, sending shivers up my spine.

I’m too nervous to turn around, so I keep my hands planted firmly on my breasts and murmur out my confusion.

“What?”

“Don’t go.” He repeats, more firmly this time, and I can feel his hand moving to grip my hip, orienting me to face him. “Please.”

“Why not?” I ask, softly, my eyes wide as I try to read his expression. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, and I could feel his hands moving to cup my face, bringing us even closer.

“I’d be an idiot to have not at least tried.” He whispers. “I’m sorry for doing this now. I’m sorry if this ruins everything. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

I feel my confusion bubbling up, my eyebrows furrowing a little bit. “Why.. what is this? Is this because of the lingerie?” I ask, my lips parting slightly.

“No. God no.” I can see him emphatically shaking his head at my rumination. “This has been coming for a long time.” He murmurs. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t physically stand the thought of someone worshiping you the way I’d like to.” He rasps out, and I feel my heart jump, my breath coming out faster.

When I’m silent, unable to respond, his fingers run across my lips. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

I nod, and it’s like he’s been waiting all night, and then some. His grip on my face tightens and he brings me in for a searing, earth-shattering kiss. His lips move over mine desperately, and I feel his grip shifting to bring my hands off my breasts, and to replace them with his own, his hands now pawing and squeezing at the flesh, which draws a soft moan from me.

He throws his head back at the noise, leaning to kiss my neck. “Fuck yes.” He mumbles, seemingly goaded on by the noises slipping through my lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans out, to no one in particular, just wanting to get the words out there somehow.

I nod rapidly, and his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the couch and laying me down. I move easily in his grasp, a slight gasp escaping me as he climbs on top. His thumb goes to graze my jaw, leaning in for another kiss. It’s less rushed this time, slow and passionate. His tongue darts out to swipe over my bottom lip, and I open my mouth easily for him, reveling in the sweetness of how he tasted.

He breaks off the kiss and moves down, kissing my breast between the lace. His tongue goes out to wet the fabric, and I’m arching my back at the sensation of the rough lace and the warm wetness now rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“You taste so good.” He mumbles. “God. Why did I wait so long?”

“No clue.” I whimper out, desperately. “But don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping.” He says, gruffly, moving to bunch up the fabric of the slip until it pooled around my waist, exposing my dripping cunt to him.

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” He whispers, his finger running up and down my wet folds, causing me to moan out needily.

“Shh, shh, baby.” He murmurs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.”

Without warning, he easily slides two fingers inside me, and I can’t help but wonder if he was made for me. Given the way he effortlessly reached that spongy spot so deep inside me, I was compelled to say yes. The action prompted me to release a string of desperate moans and whimpers, increasing in octave with every second he pumped the digits in and out of me.

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, almost entranced with the way my cunt was sucking him in, tightening around his finger with each second he continued.

“Yes. Yes, oh God.” I moan out, my eyes squeezing shut.

“Open your eyes.” he demands, his thumb now darting out to rub harsh, tight circles on my clit. “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers.”

My eyes snap open, and I can’t help it when I release another moan and feel my orgasm absolutely shred through me. My hips raise in an attempt to move off Spencer’s fingers, but he manages to follow my movement, nursing me through my orgasm, and watching every second of it.

When it's over, he removes his finger and brings it up to his lips, sensually tasting my release right in front of me, never breaking eye contact- and the sight itself makes me need him all over again.

I pull him in by the collar of his shirt, and my hands move to remove his buttons, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He laughs a bit and admonishes me, removing my shaky fingers.

“Let me.” He mumbles, leaning back between my spread legs, and removing the clothing, before moving to his belt.

I bite my lip as he hovers over me, and kiss him again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s all I wanted for so long, and here he is- mirroring my desire in the way I’d always hoped he would.

“No man-” He breathes out, in between kisses, “could do this for you.”

I nod in affirmation, continuing to kiss him. No argument there.

“No man deserves to.” He adds, possessively, and it’s enough to make me clench around nothing, and I know at that point I’m more desperate for him than I had been the whole night.

“Spence, please.” I groan out. “Need you.”

He understands immediately and wastes no time, pulling himself out from his boxers, giving himself a few tugs before pushing inside of me, groaning as he feels my warm, wet walls grasp onto his cock.

He remains there for a second, allowing me to adjust to his size. When he looks at my face again, and I nod, he starts to move, pulling out until only his tip remains inside of me, before slamming in. My jaw drops in a silent scream, and my hands go to grip his shoulders, and with the confirmation I was enjoying myself, he set on a ruthless pace, snapping his hips over, and over again, until I was reduced to a babbling mess in front of the man.

He’s all I can feel at this point. His hands on my breasts, my hips, before he eventually rests both hands on either side of me and envelops me in his being. I can smell him, and the familiar scent only serves to tighten the coil in my stomach, reminding me that this was someone I’d loved so deeply for so long. Someone who was interwoven into the fiber of my being, and I know this is all I want, and all I’ll ever want.

As we both feel our releases coming on at an alarming pace, he leans up to kiss me one more time, moaning against my mouth. I feel myself whimper before I feel my walls contract around his cock, my orgasm causing my back to arch even closer to him. The clamping of my cunt seems to drive him to finish too, and a warmth fills my deepest point as he groans into my ear, pulling out and lying against me. The two of us are panting, sweat sticking to both of our bodies and hair, lost in the post-sex haze and enjoying the proximity.

He kisses my jaw and I giggle out and give a soft moan. “God.” I whisper.

“Yeah.” He murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “Are you canceling your date then?” He says, a slight bit of glee in his voice.

I giggle a little, finding his delight adorable and endearing. “Yes, Spencer. Obviously.” I murmur.

“Good.” He whispers, laying his head on my chest. There’s a lull of quiet as my hands stroke through his hair, smoothing it out from our illicit activities just a moment ago. I can hear his grin as he breaks the silence.

“Guess you could say I liked this piece the best.”

hiii!! omg. this took a while. yes this is more of a valentines day fic and its a bit late but hey!! got it out in february. this was actually written for @imagining-in-the-margins new beginnings challenge, so go ahead and check that out when you can. i hope you guys like this one. as usual, please reblog, like, comment, and show your support any way you can. thank you for reading, and i hope it was enjoyable <333 ty ty ty!!

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bloomzone · 4 months

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Ⳋ᧙ ⊹Embracing the Art of I don't chase I attract mindset :

"Best revenge? Smile, be happy and never let them know it hurt."

-goo hara from kara (rest in peace 🕊️)

The mindset of "I don't chase, I attract" revolves around the principles of self-confidence, self-worth, and the law of attraction. Instead of actively pursuing what we desire, this mindset encourages us to focus on personal growth and positivity, believing that by doing so, we naturally draw in the opportunities and experiences meant for us.

Here are 16 tips to adopt this mindset effectively:

by: 𖧷´ bloomzone 𝅄 ׂׅ

1.Focus on Self-Improvement: Invest in yourself by learning new skills, engaging in activities that fulfill you, and prioritizing your well-being. When you feel good about yourself, you radiate positive energy that attracts like-minded people and opportunities.

2. Set Clear Intentions: Be specific about what you want in life. Whether it's a new job, a meaningful relationship, or personal development, having clear intentions helps you stay focused and aligned with your goals.

3. Practice Positive Affirmations: Reinforce your self-worth and confidence through daily affirmations. Statements like "I am worthy of success" or "I attract positive opportunities" can help shift your mindset and energy (the white swan affirmations)

4.Visualize Your Goals: Spend time each day imagining your goals as if they've already been achieved. This practice helps create a positive mental image and aligns your actions with your desires.

5. Trust the Process: Have faith that what is meant for you will come to you in its own time. Avoid forcing outcomes or chasing after things. Trust that by staying true to yourself and your goals, the right opportunities will present themselves naturally.

6. Surround Yourself with Positivity: Keep positive influences around you, whether it's people, environments, or content. Positivity fosters a high vibrational state that attracts good things into your life.

7. Cultivate Gratitude: Regularly express gratitude for what you already have. This practice helps you focus on the positive aspects of your life and creates an abundance mindset, which attracts more good things to you.

8. Let Go of Fear and Doubt: Work on releasing fears and doubts that hold you back. Fear and doubt create resistance and block the flow of positive energy. Embrace a mindset of faith and trust in the process.

9. Engage in Mindfulness and Meditation: Incorporate mindfulness practices and meditation into your routine. These practices help you stay present, reduce stress, and maintain a positive outlook, making you more receptive to opportunities.

10. Take Inspired Action: While attracting involves less chasing, it doesn't mean being passive. Take actions that feel right and aligned with your goals, but do so from a place of inspiration rather than desperation.

11. Embrace Change and Adaptability: Be open to change and willing to adapt. Sometimes, the path to what you desire requires adjustments and flexibility. Embracing change can lead to unexpected and rewarding opportunities.

12. Practice Self-Compassion: Be kind to yourself. Acknowledge your efforts and progress, and don't be too hard on yourself when things don't go as planned. Self-compassion fosters a positive and resilient mindset.

13. Seek Joy and Fun: Engage in activities that bring you joy and make you feel alive. Joyful experiences raise your vibrational energy and attract more positive situations and people into your life.

14. Learn to Listen to Your Intuition: Trust your inner voice and gut feelings. Your intuition can guide you toward opportunities that align with your true self and help you avoid situations that aren't right for you.

15. Develop a Growth Mindset: Embrace challenges as opportunities to learn and grow. A growth mindset helps you stay resilient and open to new possibilities, making it easier to attract what you desire.

16. Celebrate Small Wins: Recognize and celebrate your achievements, no matter how small. Celebrating progress keeps you motivated and reinforces the positive mindset needed to attract more success.

ıllı ⠀ : This mindset encourages u to trust in ur abilities . Remember that each step taken with mindfulness and resilience brings us closer to ur dreams.❛ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ !!

#𝜗𝜚 ── ⊹ ‧#becoming that girl #wonyoungism #glow up #wonyoung #dream life #it girl #creator of my reality #divine feminine #it girl affirmations #love affirmations #i attract #pink aesthetic #pink bows #soft pink #pink blog #mindset #self love #law of attraction

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florencemtrash · 10 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free.

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground.

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes.

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home.

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls.

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance.

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion?

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room.

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those…

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done?

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water.

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-”

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely.

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.”

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.”

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that.

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.”

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor.

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae.

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets.

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed.

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger.

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip.

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands.

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it.

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief.

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye.

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved.

“I made a mistake don’t-”

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather.

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic.

“No, no I didn’t.”

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple.

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman.

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said.

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side.

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.”

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…”

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.”

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice.

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed.

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea.

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly.

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.”

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood.

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.”

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night.

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.”

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him.

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for.

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.”

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x mate reader #inner circle #azriel acotar #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Winter's King 27

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I missed our delulu king.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Vesemir is stoic as he faces the king. The younger of the man cannot be described as the same. A tick in his jaw tugs as his eyes move between the Lord and yourself. Finally, the wander to the other woman in the room, a maid like yourself; Ezme.

“I am aware you have little time to spare before your departure, so you do best to let me speak plainly,” Lord Vesemir begins, “and so I will.”

King Geralt hooks his fingers in his belt. His overcoat is undone and his hair messy in its tie. He looks as worn as you’ve ever seen him. You feel much the same.

“There are whispers in my halls,” Vesemir continues, “they speak of the king and his queen. They stir with scandal and distaste alike. Summer lords are discontent and discontent is a virulent as a winter ague.”

“You said you would be plain,” Geralt demands.

“Ah, yes, but I hear less of king and queen than of king and maid, those whispers threaten to become a chatter,” Vesemir tilts his chin defiantly.

“Don’t,” the king warns.

“I must. You will not hear any others, even those speaking so venomously behind your very back,” the elder lord jabs his finger in the air, “you would risk your victory for what--”

“You have no place to reprimand me on this,” Geralt walks forward, planting his hands on the table as he glares across at the other man. You can only assume by his stance the dark expression on his chiseled features. “You sit here with your mistress and would scold me for the same--”

“I am no king. I am a forgotten soldier in his hold. No one might notice me. No, my liege, my lord, my king, I do not scold you, I warn you and I offer my assistance, not my defection,” the broad castle lord squares his shoulders as Ezme sidles towards you. You share with the maid an uncertain glance. “Let her stay. Go and settle your kingdom, balance your crown, sit the throne so all can see your right. When all is even, return, then yo might claim your pleasure but you need to attend your duty first.”

The king is silent. He takes a deep, gritty breath and drags his palms across the wood, standing slowly. He exhales in a winter draught. He dips his head slightly as you wallow in the frigid lull.

“I have put down a summer king, I have marched the lands from hinter to sunlight, I have overcome more than your fears, old man,” Geralt snarls, “I do not care for gossip on the tongues of foolish ladies and their thin-skinned husbands”

“Yet, you should,” Vesemir insists.

“Who are you to tell me what I should do? Lord Vesemir, you have served me well and loyal, I do not doubt you, but in this you have no place,” the king grits. “My wife has an heir in her womb, I have my victory, I have done my duty. I have bled, I have wept, I have given my very being for these people. Why should I be deprived of one sliver of selfishness?”

“It is treacherous--”

“My father had three mistresses at once. That was treacherous. He was clumsy and careless. I am not the same--”

“She wears your cloak. You would flaunt it in the faces of all. How is that not careless?”

“Your integrity stands by the hearth, watching us, and she will lay in your bed,” Geralt accuses, “why should I care what judgement you put upon me?”

“I am a lonely old man, not a king with a new bride--”

“Enough!” Geralt roars and grabs the table. He jerks it to the side, throwing it to the wall so it bounces and rolls onto its side, a split renting down the wood. “Lord Vesemir, we will leave your vulture’s nest and you will be sure that you shall not need to trouble yourself with your king ever again. Your dues are paid, keep your gold and your bedwarmer, and I will keep well my kingdom.”

You stare stunned from the corner. Ezme winces as the furor of the king’s fury lingers in the air. That horrid bang echoes over and over in your mind. You can’t help but whimper in surprise as suddenly you are seized around your sleeve. The king moves quicker than you can think.

He hauls you away from the wall and towards the door Vesemir’s sigh fans from his nose, “I tried, dove.”

The king swings the door inward and urges you without. He does not close it as he marches down the corridor, his grasp tight around your wrist. You scramble to keep up, soles scuffing, fingers throbbing as his grip threatens to crack your bones.

You whine, “your highness.”

He carries on as your toes flutter over the stone. You can’t keep up. You will surely fall and your hand should fall off for the swelling of blood. You grab at his sleeve and speak louder

“Your highness, please, I beg you, it hurts,” you plea.

He falters and spins back to you. He stares at you with his golden irises and the angles of his face soften. His gaze meets the vice of his hold on you and he releases you all at once, hovering his hand, turning it to examine his own palm. He drops his arm straight.

“My summer maid,” he breathes, “I apologise, I did not... I would never hurt you. Not with meaning. I was only...” He reaches sheepishly to pet your shoulder, “are you alright?”

“Your highness,” you rub your wrist, “I understand. I was only afraid--”

“Yes, yes, the lord does mean to sabotage us,” he growls, “I will not let him. You cannot stray. You will remain with me for the night and in the morning, we shall go.”

“As you wish, your highness,” you accede and dip your chin.

He sighs through his nose as he tickles your neck then slowly draws away, “would you stay? If he’d asked you and not me?”

You keep your eyes down. You cannot let him see your doubt. Truly you do not know the answer but that uncertainty is as wretched as disloyalty.

“I would go wherever you will have me,” you assure him.

“Yes, I know, treasure,” he brings both hands to cradle your face, raising it up, “it is fates that prized me with a creature so loyal as you. I would not squander this good fortune which has brought us together. I will not risk it, I will not risk you. I will protect you forever, my treasure.”

You try to smile but your cheeks tremor and your eyes glisten. Your heart is racing and you shiver for more than the corridor’s chill. You can sense the danger of his words and that very moment.

“You fear me?” He searches your face. “No, you needn’t. It is those who wish to oppose us, who should ever dare plot against me who should fear me.”

His thumbs run over your cheek bones as his lip curls and again, he pulls his touch away from you. He reaches for your hand, twining his finger through yours, and clings to you, firm, but much less painfully than before. He leads you onward and you can only follow. That is your only course from there on, to go where he bids.

He is intent on his path, he does not waver. He takes you to the tower and points you up the twisted stairs ahead of him. You climb up to the chamber that greets you with the same ominous air. It feels a cell even with its blazing hearth.

The king follows you in. The hinges whine, the hooped handle clangs on the wood, and you’re shut in once more. The winds wail outside the walls loudly.

“Where is your cloak?” The king asks as he trods the wooden floor.

“In... the chamber I slept--”

“I will have it brought in the morn,” he assures, “you won’t need it until then.”

He pulls his sleeves down his arms and sheds his overcoat. You linger by the door and watch him with dread. He is intent as he tugs the tail of his shirt free of his breeches, half of it is already untucked. He is dishevelled in his own way. You’ve always noted he is rather orderly in his appearance, even amid the dirt of the road.

He strips his shirt off and piles it in the seat of a chair with his coat. He strides to the table and the basin of clear water atop it. He scrubs his face and hands, then his chest. He is intent in the act as you teeter on your feet.

“Please, you will retire,” he insists without looking back, washing himself as fervently as he can. The noise of the water plucks in the air, “I will join you short, treasure. I only seek to scrub away the day’s filth.”

“Yes, your highness,” you acquiesce.

You sit to unlace your boots and peel off your stockings. Next, you remove your apron and loose the top of your dress. You fold it all neatly on the bench at the bottom of the bed. You approach the towering post in all but your shift and nestle under the blankets. You lay and listen to the king’s activity.

Despite it all, the bed is warm. You can’t help but bask in the welcome of the layers of wool and linen. You’re startled as the king’s silhouette appears at the bottom of the bed frame and he lifts the end of the heavy covers, slipping a warm shape beneath. The hot brick radiates from the foot of the mattress nicely.

He retreats and a sharp blow puts out the flame of the lantern. The hearth provides the only light as it flickers around his looming shadow. You stare at the door as you fold into yourself.

He circles around the other side, behind you, and his weight jostles the mattress as he crawls in behind you. He moves close to you, his hand grazing over your shift, lingering on your hip and creeping up your side. He pulls you onto your back as he slides his arm beneath your head.

You let him move you as he desires. He commands without words. The thick hair along his torso is still damp. He holds you against him, touching your cheeks, tracing your jaw and throat, admiring you in the dim glow. He purrs and presses his lips to yours.

When he pulls away, he lets his head rest on the pillow. You feel his gaze still as he plays with the strings of your shift. He moves even closer and nuzzles your hair.

“This is where you belong, treasure. Near to me,” he rasps, “I shall never let them take you from me.”

⚔️

Sleep is chased away by the wind. That without keeps you awake, along with the hot gust of the king’s breath. His snug hold on you, his constancy even in his slumber, the heat of his body adds to your restlessness.

You feel him stir and close your eyes. You feign the sleep you’re so desperate for. His breath rises from his nose like a wolf’s growl. He shifts cautiously, as if not to disturb you, and drags his arm out from around you. He leaves a doleful kiss on your cheek and sits up.

The bed groans with his weight. You dare to peek through the slits of your eyelids as he turns to sit with his back to you. His flesh is ridged with scars, rippled with the battles fought and won, the years marked into his very body. He hangs his head and holds it in his hands. You languish in his rumination.

The fire crackles softly. He looks over stiffly and stands with a heave. He is completely naked. You hadn’t realised. He goes to the hearth and feeds it. He groans at the effort and stands straight.

His figure is lit by the amber glow as he watches the flames. You can see why he has no fear. He is built unlike any man you’ve seen. He is power incarnate. He is the king of legends.

“I would lay down my crown in this very second for you, treasure,” he says.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Does he know you are awake? You don’t move for fear that he only speaks to himself.

“How cursed I am. I’ve won a kingdom I could not care for. Not if it would cost me you,” he murmurs to the fire. His voice is so low that he cannot possibly mean for you to hear. “How I dream of sweeping you away. We should steal a horse from the stables and secret our love away into the wilds.”

He sniffs, “we would find a place in the hinter. I could build a house, you could mind the hearth, and I would hunt the elk... we could be just husband and wife. Not king and maid. We could be... happy.”

He heaves as your heartbeat pulses behind your ears. You hear him moving, towards the bed, towards you. The mattress once more shifts and the blankets lift. He slips in next to you and lays back heavily.

“My treasure, what you cannot know. How deeply I love you. I long for you with my entire being,” he lays flat next to you, rigid and hot as his arm presses to yours. You will yourself to stone; still as a statue. “I ache for you... to hold you, to kiss you...”

His arm moves and the blanket ripples against you. You focus on your breaths, keeping them slow and deep, hiding beneath the facade of slumber. “...to have you under me...” the subtle brush of the blankets continues, tickling you, threatening to break your defence, “to have you touch me too...” his voice is strained as the bed shakes with the building tempo.

What is it he does? Why is he so breathless? It is only his long groans that assure you of his elicit act. That he touches himself as he speaks of his desire.

“I should like... to taste you...” he puts his hand on your thigh. You nearly flinch as he swirls his fingertips against your shift, “I should like to feel you around me. How delicate... how warm... how...”

He moans and bites down, carrying on as his fingertips curl into your thigh. His words fracture around his grunts and he pumps himself fervently. You shield yourself behind your eyelids. You try not to hear, not to feel, not to be.

When at last his voice piques and he spasms beside you, your name wafts from his mouth, silty and thick. His hand slips between your thighs and lays over your cunt. He lingers there, pressing down to feel you before he retracts his arm, rolling onto his side.

“I will wait,” he resigns, “but I shall claim you, my treasure.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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killerlookz · 1 month

Text

No Going Back | Joost Klein

this is *technically* a prequel to this fic (heartbeat) but should be read after!!!!! as the "lore" is explained in that fic.

description: joost klein x f! reader- after getting into a new relationship, you had decided it was high time to cut off your ex-with-benefits, joost, but an encounter at a mutual friend's birthday party leaves you wondering if it's going to be easier said than done.

content: 18+ explicit smut, MDNI, RPF dry humping, unprotected PiV/creampie, slight overstim(?), cheating, toxic relationships, angst, some fluff, hurt/comfort... probably like way too much comfort, smoking/alcohol, drug ment. but as a metaphor.

THIS WORK CONTAINS RPF, AND HAS BEEN TAGGED APPROPRIATELY. PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE IF THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, BLOCK ME, AND BLOCK THE RPF TAG-

DO NOT SHARE MY WORK EITHER IN ITS ENTIRETY OR AS SCREENSHOTS ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIAS,AGAIN I URGE YOU TO BLOCK ME AND THE RPF TAG INSTEAD OF EXPOSING THIS WORK TO A LARGER AUDIENCE THAT DID NOT ASK TO SEE IT.

THIS FIC IS ALSO SOLELY TAGGED IN THE X READER TAG, MEANING IF YOU'RE HERE YOU SEARCHED FOR IT... PLEASE CONSUME MEDIA RESPONSIBLY. (keep this in mind if you decide not to heed my warnings and continue reading or complain about it elsewhere)

word count: 10,728

fic soundtrack: Watercolor Eyes- Lana Del Rey, Blood on My Hands- The Sundays, Show Me the Real You- Moodring

"Now I find that I'm thigh deep, too young for the worst of my mind. You whisper behind me, "If I may make so bold". Call it young and wild, but I ran a mile in a minute... and there's no going back"

You should stop staring.

You're sure by now it's obvious, you're sure by now Joost can feel your eyes burning to him from where you sit directly across from him. The conversations around you are little distraction from your watchful gaze. Not even the feeling of your boyfriend, Michael's hand moving to rest on your thigh can pull you out of your trance.

Joost laughs at a joke Apson tells, one that you hadn't bothered to pay attention too. Instead your focus is fixated on the way Joost's face lights up at as his head tilts back slightly, amused by his friend's sense of humor. The dimples in his cheeks now prominent as his mouth opens, lips curling up into a wide grin. All the noise that surrounds you in the crowded restaurant is dampened by the sound of his laughter, a sweet music to your ears.

Joost's eyes meeting yours as his laughter subsides is finally enough to rip you from your stares. With a few quick blinks you're somewhat back to reality, tunnel vision disappearing. You pull your lips into a tight smile, unsure of if you should be embarrassed by your actions. Though embarrassment is hardly on your mind as Joost smiles back at you, which was more than you could hope for given the situation at hand.

It was probably naive of you to assume that getting into a new relationship would make things less complicated between you and Joost. But in your head, initially, it made perfect sense, a new relationship meant you could push your feelings into something different, perhaps finally get over what was supposed to be your ex-boyfriend.

But seeing Joost now, for the first time since you and Michael had started going out, you realize things aren't going to be so easy, that Joost, and the relationship that the two of you had wasn't something that you could just "get over". Especially not when instead of trying to move on after the breakup, the two of you would remain intimate. While intimacy now lacked the romance of your past relationship, your feelings lingered, unable to separate the Joost in front of you now from the Joost who was once your boyfriend.

A quick glance down at your lap leads you to finally notice Michael's hand on your thigh, the reminder that he in fact was the one here who was your boyfriend making your stomach sink. The uncomfortableness of the night was becoming too much to bare. Damn Julie for wanting to meet your new boyfriend on today of all days, and damn yourself for not being able to say no to your best friend on her birthday.

"So," You hear Julie start, looking toward you and Michael, "Michael, y/n tells me you're not from here, have you been in there Netherlands long?"

Michael furrows his eyebrows, you guess he's attempting to count the months since he left the states,

"Almost 8 months." He replies, his voice is flat, uninterested.

"That's nice," Julie smiles, "Do you plan on staying here for awhile?"

"Depends," He shrugs, his hand falling from your lap, a small wave of relief rushing over you. "I go wherever the money takes me. And right not the money is here."

"Well I guess that's not bad advice to live your life by," Julie nods, but she seems unsure of herself, Michael had that affect on people, making people question whether or not you were saying the right thing. You knew that well.

"It's the only advice to live your life by."

"Nah, nah, man," Joost shakes his head, "There's more to life than money. Where's the passion?"

You bite the inside of your cheeks, eyes flicking toward Michael. Michael chuckles, though, just like in everything else, there's a clear condescension in the way he laughs, making it more-so of a scoff.

"Don't be ridiculous," His dry, faux laughter continues, perhaps a little too long, "You're young, you'll find out soon enough. You don't really think you're going to be doing the music thing forever, do you? "

"Michael!" You place a firm hand down on the table, the silverware clattering slightly from the vibration of your hand.

"No, it's okay," Joost laughs uncomfortably. "Appreciate the honesty, Michael." An apparent bitterness in his voice, "But can't say I'll take your advice."

"Eh," Michael shrugs, "You say that now-"

"Alright!" Apson exclaims from beside Joost, clapping his hands together once, commanding the table's attention, "How about dessert?"

The tension is briefly lifted from the table as everyone looks at each other, nodding contently in agreement that it was, indeed, time for dessert.

You're nursing your second espresso martini while the table finishes up their dessert, combined with the glass-and-a-half of wine you had with dinner, you're certainly feeling, less tense.

You listen less than intently as Julie talks about a recent promotion that she got at work. Not that you're not proud enough of your friend to care, but you're not fully there. You inch your leg forward slightly, nudging your ankle against Joost's leg. You pretend not to notice as his gaze flicks towards you, instead you train your eyes on the plate on the table in front of you, moving around what remains of the food with your fork.

Julie is still explaining her new position as you bring your leg up higher, the top of your foot sliding up the fabric of Joost's pants until you reach his knee.

He's staring at you now, just as you had been staring at him before, you can feel it. Still attempting to keep an air of nonchalant you turn to try to focus on Julie's speech. At the same time you move forward slightly in your seat, extending your leg fully under the table, you press the ball of your foot to the inside of Joost's thigh.

You notice in your peripheral how his posture straightens as he sucks in a breath. You smile slightly, a light puff of air leaving your nostrils at his stifled reaction to your teasing.

Truthfully you weren't quite sure what you were doing, you full well had made plans to stay the night with Michael tonight. After all, your apartment was much farther away than his from the restaurant Julie had chosen for her birthday dinner, it was just much easier to stay with Michael and catch a train back home tomorrow during the daytime rather than traveling by yourself at night.

Despite your other plans, you press the point of your shoe a little higher up on Joost's thigh now, continuing to tease him. You have no real end goal in mind, and you really should be consumed with guilt at even thinking of touching a man other than Michael like this, but the alcohol has mellowed your inhibitions, and there's a certain thrill in doing something that you know you shouldn't be.

You feel Joost's hand against your leg, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, thumb gently caressing your skin. You fight back a smirk, after over a month of not seeing Joost you were ready to melt under his simple touch. His fingers tighten, then loosen around you again, and he continuously repeats the pattern, gently massaging you.

You're dangerously close to poking Joost's crotch with the tip of your shoe when Michael throws an arm around you, unexpectedly. You're startled, kicking forward slightly, forcing Joost's hand from your ankle. Joost presses a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat before pushing his seat back, causing your heel to fall to the ground.

"I need a cigarette," He mumbles as he stands up from the table, quickly hurrying away.

His abrupt exit halts the conversation, the table going silent with confusion.

"Um," You start, "I-uh- think I'm gonna have a smoke too." You nod quickly, untangling yourself from Michael's grasp, standing up, shuffling awkwardly from the table.

You quickly find your way outside, the air is brisk, a chill breeze blowing past you immediately making you realize you should have brought a jacket. Joost isn't too far out the door, an unlit cigarette pressed to his lips

"Can I get a cigarette?" Your heels clack loudly against the concrete as you step out onto the sidewalk.

Joost quickly whips his head toward you, ripping the cigarette from his mouth. Joost shakes his head, almost like he's in disbelief,

"What are you doing?" He's genuinely confused, a hint of interrogation in his voice.

You're taken aback by the force at which he asks, a tone he hadn't taken with you in awhile.

"Asking... for a cigarette?" It comes out more like a question, your eyebrows furrowed, words slow in equal confusion.

"No," He shakes his head again, "I mean in there- what was that about?" He raises a hand, vaguely gesturing towards the restaurant, "You have a boyfriend, remember?"

You do remember, unfortunately.

"So, I can't have a cigarette?" You ask slowly, your acute intoxication slipping its way into your words.

"Whatever," He scoffs, holding out his hand to give you the cigarette he was just about to smoke.

"Why are you being so weird?" You giggle, taking the cigarette from him, "Oh," You smile, "Can I get a light?"

"Jesus christ," His annoyance with the way you're playing dumb is apparent, and you know you won't be able to keep up the act forever. You bite the inside of your cheeks as he reaches his hands into his pockets, fumbling around for a lighter. It was naive of you to pretend like Joost wouldn't want to address the obvious elephant in the room.

You place the cigarette between your lips as Joost pulls out the lighter, his hand stretched out to pass it to you. You say nothing, only stick out your jaw slightly, the cigarette flicking upward. You want him to light it for you.

"You're evil," He clenches his jaw, his jaw line sharpening, cheeks hollowing, making the angular bones in his face more apparent. Still, Joost steps forward sightly, flicking the lighter against his thumb. A small orange flame erupts, and Joost lightly passes it to the end of your cigarette, holding the lighter there just long enough for it to light.

You inhale as Joost pulls the lighter back, you bring your hand to your lips, barely holding the cigarette between two fingers. The smoke fills your lungs, invading your senses as the warmth pricks at your throat.

You exhale, "That's not very nice." You frown.

"C'mon," Joost's expression suddenly changes, tilting his head to the side, he seems defeated, "Seriously, what are you doing?"

"I-" You think for a moment, "I don't know." You're equally as defeated now, the threat of having to cut things off with Joost is imminent. And it's what you should be doing, you should be giving Michael your undivided attention, its high time you should be leaving Joost in your past, where you know he belongs.

Your lips tremble as you push the cigarette back to them, the alcohol that once stripped you of your inhibitions suddenly making them so much worse.

"I don't understand you," Joost mutters, "You break up with me, you break my heart, decide you still want to fuck me for a year, then you run off, get a boyfriend, don't talk to me for over a month, and now all a sudden you're touching all over me under the dinner table like I'm the one you're going home with tonight, like you didn't break up with me a year ago."

It does sound bad when he puts it that way, your heart plummeting to your stomach under the heavy weight of guilt. You really fucked up this time.

"Joost-" You're cut off as the cigarette accidentally falls from your shaking hands. Shit. You force your gaze down to the pavement, unable to look at Joost as you crush the barely smoked cigarette under your shoe. "It's not that simple," Your voice is soft, barely returning the same confrontational tone he had given you.

Of course it isn't that simple. Why had he been acting like it was? As if you had broken up with him as a result of love lost between the two of you? As if you had just broken his heart for the fun of it? He of all people should know how hard it was for you to break up with him, what should have been a simple process turning into an hours long affair of you crying in each others arms, lamenting in how much you still loved him, and him desperately apologizing for not having given you everything you deserved.

"And you should know damn well how hard I tried to save our relationship, why else do you think I keep coming back?"

"Obviously you didn't try hard enough, or you wouldn't be here with another guy."

A strained laugh escapes your throat, amused by how absurd Joost is being now,

"No, Joost, you're the one who didn't try." You cross your arms across your chest, realizing just how cold the night air was, goosebumps littering your arms, "That's why we broke up in the first place, remember?" A year later and you still cannot escape the emotions of that night. You can't help but wonder if you'll ever be free from this feeling, or if you even want to be.

Emotions run high, and you can feel the tears brewing behind your eyes, threatening to spill with any sudden movement you make.

You blink once and a singular tear slips from your lash line, slowly caressing the curve of your cheek. Joost's expression suddenly changes, eyes widening, lips parting like he's about to speak.

"Hey, pumpkin," You hear a familiar voice call from behind you, the pet name makes your stomach churn, overwhelming you with such disgust you temporarily forget Joost in front of you. A hand against your back accompanies the voice, finally making you turn to face it.

With a sniffle and a few blinks you push back the emotions, a smile pulling at your lips with a chipper voice to match,

"Michael," You beam, "What's up?"

"I am so sorry honey, but I just remembered I have an early meeting tomorrow," His voice is barely apologetic, and you don't quite understand what he's getting at.

"Oh-uh-okay?" You furrow your eyebrows, unsure of why he's apologizing for having a meeting.

"So I'm going to head out now, I already left some money for the bill, I'll talk to you in the morning, okay?"

"But I thought I was going to come to your-" Michael doesn't let you finish your sentence,

"I know, pumpkin, I'm sorry, I just think it's best you don't stay over tonight." He nods.

"Oh, but it's dark I don't want to-" You're cut off again,

"Don't be ridiculous sweetheart, you'll be okay, see you soon, mkay?" He smiles.

You're hesitant to even speak again, knowing if you say too much he'll probably cut you off again. "Sure," You pull your lips into a tight smile, nodding in an attempt to hide your disappointment. There go your plans for the night. "Right, see you later." You try your best to bare a grin.

"Okay, bye pumpkin," He leans in for a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying off, on his walk away he throws up a hand towards Joost, "Nice to meet you, buddy."

"Yeah, you too." Joost speaks slowly, though you're sure Michael doesn't even hear with the speed at which he walks away. You flick your eyes to Joost for a brief moment before immediately looking away, opting to no longer brave the cold and head straight for the restaurant bathroom.

You rush past the table your friends still sit at in the dimly lit restaurant, making your way to the back of the building. You fling over the bathroom door, a small relief washing over you when you realize it's only a singular stall before you lock the door behind you.

You place your hand above your eyes, pressing tightly as the tears begin to flow, all of your stupid decisions slapping you in the face at once. Unfortunately, your actions have consequences; and here you were, in a restaurant bathroom forced to bear the brunt of all of them now.

You had broken up with Joost to begin with, in part, to stop the arguing between you two. But it seemed like you could never help yourself, desperate to get Joost to see your side of things, a subconscious urge to finally get him to change, to get him to be the perfect boyfriend you had always dreamed him to be. You can only push so much, tonight being a sign that you were reaching the point where you can't push much more without things breaking.

You lift your hands from your eyes, and lean forward against the bathroom counter. Your hands press into the edge of the marble that surrounds the sink as you stretch your body towards the mirror, inspecting your face.

You're stained with the distinct mark of sadness, eyes now red, your face slightly puffy. You huff, allowing yourself, for just a moment to be grateful you had put on waterproof eyeliner tonight, saving yourself from a potentially greater mess on your face.

You watch yourself in the mirror intently, the glass reflecting back to you how truly pathetic you feel now. But you'll have enough time to feel pathetic once you get home, now, tonight, was about Julie, and it would be selfish of you to spend the rest of the night hiding out, smothering yourself in your own despair instead of celebrating your best friend.

You blink away the remaining tears in your eyes and gently press your fingers to your cheeks to rid the droplets from your skin. The fact you had been crying was apparent, but the restaurant was dark, and you hoped that the low mood lighting would be enough to hide that fact.

With a few deep breaths you're ready to unlock the bathroom door. The metal handle is cool under your shaky touch, you turn it, pulling back the door.

You jump back slightly when you realize there's someone standing behind it, the figure startling you, making your whole body jolt.

"Oh," You inhale sharply, recognizing the person behind the door as Joost, "Sorry, were you waiting for the bathroom? I'm gonna head back-" You speak quickly, head down anxious to get out of his way.

"Nee, I-" He grabs your arm lightly, not allowing you to leave the small corridor the bathroom was located in. He's about to say something else- but you look up at him, and his tone changes, "Oh," He sighs, not releasing his grip on your arm, in fact, only using it to bring you closer to him, "Tell me you weren't crying in there."

You assume he finally got to have that cigarette he wanted after he had given the first one to you, the familiar lingering scent of smoke and his cologne overwhelming your senses as he pulls you closer. The smell, a reminder of his proximity, should upset you, knowing you probably won't be able to enjoy it much longer, but your instincts kick in, and it's nothing but comfort.

"Joost," You start, placing your hand over where his grips your arm, ready to peel it off of you, "I'm okay, I really should be getting back to Julie."

"No, really," He tilts his head, "Tell me." You loosen your hand from where it rests on his, suddenly no longer so willing to part with his touch.

"I'm okay." Your voice a whisper now.

Joost stares down at you, and even now, you can't help but stare back at him. His pretty blue eyes are deep with emotion.

"I'm always doing that, hm?" There's a certain disappointment in his voice, as he moves closer to you, pressing his free hand to your cheek, "Making you cry?"

He's not entirely wrong, but you'd hate to admit it, much less admitting it to his face.

"I know you don't mean to," Your voice is soft, apologetic, like you're sorry for even crying in the first place, "Don't worry about it."

"I worry about everything," He chuckles, a poor attempt at lightening the mood, but it earns a small smile from you, and that's really all he can hope for. "But I was um- thinking I'll take you home? Just, you know, take the train with you, and shit."

"Oh-uh-"

"You can say no." He's quick to speak, "But I heard what Michael said, and I don't really like thinking of you going home by yourself so late."

It's thoughtful, even if he did just almost tear your heart out. You think for a moment, though it's not really necessary to, you already have an answer.

"That would be nice," You nod, "I'd like that."

Joost swipes his thumb against your cheek while he nods back to you, his opposite hand moving from its spot on your arm to snake around your back. His touch only solidifies the cycle you had found yourself tangled in for far too long, you upsetting one another to a point you shouldn't be able to return from, only to fall back in each others arms.

You know you should ask Joost to let go, to just accept his offer to take you home and leave it at that, and not let things go any further. But you'd be a liar to say you didn't love the way it felt when he touched you, the way even after all this time the feeling of his skin against yours still gives you butterflies in your stomach.

The two of you stare at each other silently until you let out a small giggle, realizing how weird it was for you to be sharing such a moment right outside the bathroom.

"I think we should probably head back to the table."

By the time you leave dinner you had regained that slight alcoholic buzz that the emotions of before had taken from you, a smile pressed on your lips as you waved your final goodbyes to your friends.

You turn towards the direction you should be heading, "ugh" You groan, realizing the journey ahead of you, it'll be at least another 45 minutes until you get home.

Another brisk wind blows past you, the prospective 45 minutes ahead of you suddenly feeling so much longer once you realize you'll be shivering for most of it.

"Cold?" Joost chuckles, watching you fold your arms across your torso, attempting to provide yourself with some heat.

"A little," You mumble.

"Mmm, I'm sorry," Joost hums, "Here," He begins sliding the black Ed Hardy zip-up he had been wearing off of his shoulders, revealing he had been wearing nothing but a T-shirt under the hoodie.

You hadn't asked for the sweatshirt, though you still feel a little bad taking it from him when he stretches an arm toward you, handing off the bunched up fabric.

"Are you sure?" You ask, glancing between the hoodie in his hands, and him.

"Yeah, you need it more, at least I'm wearing pants." He smiles, seeming happy enough to let you wear his sweatshirt. He had a fair point anyway, with you having chosen to forego any tights under your skirt tonight.

You slip your arms through the thick fabric, its soft inside immediately enveloping you in at least a little warmth. Joost's own body heat still lingers slightly in the material, a feeling you attempt to savor even as it quickly dissipates.

You're grateful for the slight warmth Joost's sweatshirt provides you, but it's still not enough, still shivering by the time you're on the train back home.

"Still cold?" Joost asks, though it's apparent the way you're folded in on yourself, trying to provide yourself with some heat.

You just hum in response, jaw too tight to talk.

"Oh," Joost coos, "Poor baby," He laughs, "Come here." He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. Him calling you "baby" catches you off guard, though you're sure it's more mocking than it is meant to be romantic. Still, you don't dare to say anything about it.

"You're warm," You sigh as you rest your head on Joost's shoulder, face buried in his neck. His body gives off a good amount of heat, feeling more comfortable as his arms wrap around you.

You shouldn't enjoy this as much as you do, and no matter how cold you are you really shouldn't be doing this at all, not as long as Michael was in the picture. But the gentle smell of Joost's cologne is intoxicating, its familiar comfort enough to enjoy the moment without a care in the world.

You close your eyes and snuggle closer into Joost, wrapping your arms around his torso, allowing yourself to relax entirely in his embrace. You can feel his pulse gently thumping from your position against his neck, and truthfully you'd love nothing more than to press soft kisses to the pumping vein and stain his skin with your lipstick. You hate the way your mind betrays your morality, allowing yourself to get lost in these fantasies that you know are no good for you.

"Don't fall asleep on me here," Joost chuckles, lightly caressing your back.

"No promises," You mumble, feeling the vibrations of your speech against his neck.

Luckily for Joost, you hadn't fallen asleep, not leaving him with the burden of waking you up once you had arrived at your stop and dragging you home half asleep.

Instead, by the time you're unlocking your apartment door, you're wide awake, too overwhelmed with emotions to be anywhere near tired. As you turn the doorknob to enter your apartment you look back toward Joost who's standing behind you, looking a little unsure of himself.

"Do you want to come in?" You smile, "You can stay the night, it's kind of late." As soon as the offer leaves your tongue you know there's no going back now.

"You don't mind?" He asks.

"Of course not." The entrance to your apartment now stands as a door to probable bad decisions, ready to be opened. You push open the door, revealing your darkened living room.

Your hit with a wave of nerves as you step over the threshold and into the apartment, anxious for what the night has in store for you. The door lingers open for a few moments longer as Joost enters behind you.

You flick on some lights, illuminating the space around you in a pale yellow glow.

"I think I'm going to get ready for bed," You say lowly, still not tired, but you're unsure of what else to do, "Um," You start to speak again, "I won't make you sleep on the couch, I don't mind sharing the bed." You turn to Joost, shrugging. You secretly hope Joost doesn't decide to take the couch anyway.

"Cool," He grins, eyes scanning the apartment awkwardly.

"Good," Your voice just above a whisper, "Uh, you can make yourself comfortable then, I'll be back." You nod before heading to the bathroom, ready to get your makeup off of your face.

You unzip Joost's hoodie, hooking it on the back of the bathroom door, not wanting to get it wet while washing your face. You head toward the sink, turning the faucet, staring at yourself in the mirror while you wait for the water to warm up.

You sigh, using this alone time to think long and hard about how you want this night to end. Off the top of your head, you know how you want the night to end, the man you were once certain was the love of your life was most definitely making himself comfortable in your bed, it seemed like a no brainer of how you want this night to end.

But it's not so easy to throw away your morality completely, though maybe you've already made your bed by asking Joost to stay the night. Michael would be mad regardless, perhaps there's no point of turning back now. You clench your jaw, deciding you're willing to go however far Joost is.

Another fifteen minutes in the bathroom and you're stepping out feeling a little better, nerves quelled by your extensive nightly self-care routine. You breathe in as you open the bathroom door, your mouth tingling from your minty toothpaste as you take the air in. You exhale as you exit the bathroom, walking towards your bedroom.

The door is open, the room dimly lit by the glow of your TV, and the light that shines in from your balcony window.

Joost lays comfortably in your bed, his lower body resting beneath your thick comforter, it's like he belongs there, resting so casually as if it was his bed too.

"You can turn on a light you know," You smile, your voice pulling him away from whatever he had been watching on TV.

"Oh," He sits up from his position against the pillows, "I wasn't sure if you wanted it on." He rolls over slightly, stretching an arm out to turn on the lamp that sits on your bedside table.

With a faint click your room is cast in a soft orange hue. You take a look around the now illuminated space, realizing you had forgotten to straighten up before you left for the night, some clothes scattered around the floor from your frantic search for the "perfect" outfit.

"Sorry about the mess," An unnecessary shyness in your voice, as Joost had certainly seen your room in worse states.

"I didn't even notice," He chuckles, "Guess I added to it," His head cocking towards your dresser, the pants he had been wearing messily folded with the belt still in the loops sitting on top of it.

You don't respond, instead bending down to unbuckle the ankle strap on your shoes before sliding them off. There's a relief as your feet hit the floor, no longer stuck in the forced uncomfortable position from your high heels. You place your shoes off to the side and close your bedroom door behind you as you step further in.

You walk towards you dresser, thumbing through a mountain of clothes to find something to sleep in, pulling out a T-shirt that had no doubt belonged to Joost some time ago.

"You know, your boyfriend's kind of a dick." Joost speaks unprompted.

"What?" You laugh, shutting one of the drawers to the dresser before spinning around to face Joost.

"Sorry," He furrows his eyebrows, "That was uncalled for. I was- just thinking about tonight, what he said, about the music stuff- and leaving you at the restaurant."

"Oh," You frown, he's not wrong, but you should probably defend your boyfriend, "Michael is just-" Nothing comes to mind, you cannot muster any sort of actual defense, "Yeah, I guess he can be sort of a dick." Your tone becomes dejected, an unfortunate realization that maybe, once again, you had't picked the right man.

"Wow," Joost seems amused, "Never seen you so quick to admit I'm right."

"Shut up," You roll your eyes, playfully scolding him, "Anyways, it's his loss really that he didn't take me home tonight." You pause, taking the intrigue on Joost's face, the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise, eager to listen to your complaints, as he for once, was finally not the subject of them. "Bought some cute new lingerie, which I wore tonight, and now he doesn't get to see it." A careful smirk pulling at your lips, "What a waste."

Joost shakes his head, "Poor guy." despite his words it's clear he doesn't feel sorry for him, though, why would he, "But I mean-" He hesitates for a moment, "It doesn't have to be a waste."

"No?" You can feel your face grow hot, "What are you suggesting? That I go through the effort of posing for some pictures for him so he doesn't have to miss out?" You know he's not, but you need the confirmation.

Joost squints his eyes, shaking his head,

"I was actually, thinking of a different audience entirely."

"And that audience being..."

"Me."

"You?" The pair of you speak simultaneously

"Hmm," You pretend to think, as if this wasn't what you were hoping he'd say, "I'm sure you'll appreciate it more than he would anyway."

Joost nods fervently, as your hands fly to the hem of your shirt, quickly lifting the fabric over your head exposing the promised cute new bra. It was simple, black, lace, with a bow between the two cups, but you found it cute regardless, plus, it made your boobs look amazing.

A small smile on your face as you flick your eyes to Joost, who's now sitting up a little higher on the pillows, clearly amused, waiting on edge to see the matching panties. You continue to stare him down as you very slowly pull down the zipper on the back of your skirt.

"Need any help with that?" Joost raises an eyebrow, the question is purely rhetorical but you know he'd love nothing more right now than to get his hands on you.

"No, I think I got it." The zipper reaches as far down as it can go, the skirt loosening at your waist. You do the extra work to pull it over your thighs before letting it slip down past your knees to your ankles, kicking it off to the side.

The panties are just as simple as the bra, a plain black thong with a lacy trim, with a bow in the middle of the waist band to match.

Joost squints, "Oh, you know my eyesight is bad, come closer."

A slight giggle leaves your mouth as you scurry over to the bed in excited anticipation. You stand over where Joost lies now, biting down on your tongue so hard you're sure you'll draw blood. Joost's eager eyes swallow you whole, taking in every inch of your newly exposed body.

Joost sits up all the way, the comforter that once covered him slipping down his chest and into his lap. He swings his legs over so they hang off the bed before reaching out a hand, gently placing it on your hip,

"Oh, schatje," He mumbles, his thumb moving back and forth, gently caressing your skin. Every time Joost touched you like this it felt like the first, your muscles tensing under him. He slides his hand up your torso so it rests on your waist, groping your lightly. "Je bent zo mooi," (you look so beautiful) His eyes find yours, making sharp, and direct eye contact with each other as a smirk forms upon his lips, "I'll almost feel bad taking all this off of you."

"Taking it off me?" You gasp, pretending to be offended by his insinuation.

"No?" He asks, raising an eyebrow like it's a challenge.

"Yeah- I mean, It's kind of unfair, y'know, talking about getting me undressed when you're still pretty clothed."

"What?" He teases, "You want me naked, schatje?"

"Mmm," You purse your lips, "I didn't say that, just if I'm gonna stand here in nothing but my underwear, maybe you should have to take something off too."

"You don't drive much of a hard bargain." Joost smiles, his hands already eager to tear off his shirt, "But that's probably because I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?" You bite your lip, deep down you wish it was as true as he says it is now, just about anything seems like a more apt estimation. He'd do anything but be emotionally present when you need it, anything but listen to you when you say there's a problem in your relationship, anything but engage in healthy communication.

But now's not the time to worry about that, to worry about the past, or the future, not when Joost is undressing in front of you, pulling his black T-shirt over his head, messing up his already unruly blond hair.

The second his flesh is exposed you're already aching to put your hands all over him, yearning for the feeling of his soft skin below your hands.

"Better," The ends of your mouth pull upward in content,

"Don't think so," Joost pouts before looking down at himself, "I don't think we're even, I think... my chest is pretty exposed and you're still very... covered." He looks back at you, waving his hand in a circle as he gestures towards your bra.

"You're ridiculous," You let out a small laugh at the way Joost plays your game.

"No, just being fair," He grabs your hand, pulling you closer so you stand between his legs, "Like you say." He leans forward, placing a kiss just below your belly button, his hands moving to settle on the backs of your thighs, keeping you close to him.

"Right," You smile, "Fair." Your hands crawling up your sides, reading towards your back, quickly fumbling around with the clasp of your bra before unhooking it.

Joost looks up from where he's pressed against your stomach, watching with intent as you slide the straps down your arms, and eventually discarding the bra all together.

You're not as ashamed as you should be, standing in front of Joost like this, in fact, you rather like the way he drinks you in, wordlessly admiring you, devouring your frame with hungry eyes.

"C'mon," Joost pulls away from you, his hands leaving your thighs, "Lay down with me?"

You nod, stepping back from where you stand between his legs so he can crawl back into your bed, shifting to the middle of the mattress. You follow shortly after, crawling on top of the blankets, before making your way to Joost.

Immediately you're straddling him, your knees on either side of him as you sit on his thighs. You try to keep your eyes trained on his face, and pretend not to notice the rest of him, or the way he's beginning to strain against the tight confines of his underwear. But you'd be lying if you said you weren't feeling similarly to him now, a familiar pulsing in your inner thighs, thumping heavily, muscles tight.

"Here," Joost motions with both hands for you to come closer, to rest your bare chest against his. It's an offer you'd be stupid not to accept, leaning forward, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. As you lean down, Joost's lips meet yours, enveloping you in a kiss so soft if it hadn't been coming from your ex, it would be romantic.

Or perhaps that fact had made it more romantic. Regardless you were lost in the way his lips worked slowly against yours, the two of you in perfect rhythm. You straighten your legs so you're laying completely on top of him. Joost's hands move to your waist, helping to position your hips. Your mouth opens slightly, gasping against Joost's lips once you finally feel him put you in the perfect position, the growing bulge in his underwear now right under your crotch.

"Right there," He mumbles before his mouth melts back into yours. You push your hips forward finding some friction between yours and Joost's bodies. You're pathetic, pathetic for him, but it's hard to care, not when he slips his tongue past your lips, hungrily exploring your mouth. Not when he holds your hips so tight his fingertips are sure to bruise your flesh, pulling you down towards him, letting you feel the full extent to how badly he needed you.

You roll your hips forward, your clit grinding against, what you assume is the tip of his now hardened cock. Joost groans into the kiss, clearly enjoying the sensation. By now the two of you would usually be scrambling to get each other naked, but the extra clothing, and the lack of penetration almost makes things more intimate. Joost turns his head for a moment to pull back from the kiss,

"Tell me if we start to take things too far." His voice is strained, and the slow caress of his thumb against your lower back ensuring how genuine each word he spoke was, "Promise?"

"Promise," You whisper.

Truthfully you were long past the point of "taking things too far", having already crossed a line when you decided to tease him under the table at the restaurant. This, now, was borderline unacceptable, fuck that, it was unacceptable- but neither of you seem to mind, Joost almost eager to be a "home wrecker", and you denying that you and Michael even had a home to wreck.

Despite how immoral this may be, you need more of Joost, the death grip he has on your hips has you moving far too slow for your complete and utter desperation.

"Faster," You sigh against Joost's lips, hoping he'll listen rather than using your request to tease you. Joost's hands move just below your ass, his blunt fingernails ripping into the backs of your thighs, spreading them further apart. With his new position you're able move more on your own, able to stimulate yourself more. Pushing your knees into the soft mattress, you begin to rut your hips faster, increasing the friction between you.

As hard as you try to keep a consistent pace, the burning desire in your core and the slick of your arousal make it almost impossible, unable to keep up with your own need.

"You like it like this?" Joost asks, almost breathless, a cockiness in his voice that tells you he already knows the answer.

"Mmhm," You hum lazily, letting your head drop from where you had been holding it up above Joost's, down to his shoulder. You're impossibly drunk off the way you feel, the way with each roll of your hips your clit grinds so perfectly against the length of Joost's cock. It's mind numbing how perfect you fit together, even stifled through your remaining clothes, you're filled with such pleasure.

You dig your fingers into the sides of Joost's arms, fingernails sure to leave little crescent moon shaped markings in his skin. You wish you could pull him closer, still feeling like there is a distance that needs to be closed between the two of you despite your position on top of him.

You clench your jaw, muscles tight at the way your body strains for him. Joost lets one hand climb up your thigh, palm now resting on the curve of you ass, before his fingernails return to your flesh, groping harshly, forcing you to grind harder against his cock. It's apparent that being away from each other for as short as a month was far too long.

You want to hold out for as long as possible, not wanting this feeling to fade, for it to be over in as quick as a few seconds as your orgasm rains over you- but its not so easy as the tightness builds between your thighs, and your movements become even sloppier than they were before.

You're a complete mess the way you whimper into the side of Joost's neck, only egged on by his obvious pulse thumping against your swollen lips.

Joost's own groans don't help holding you off from your impending climax, knowing how good this feels for him too, and that he's just as desperate for you as you are from him is just all too much for your brain to handle.

You know you're close when your legs start to tremble, and its not so easy to push yourself back and forth anymore,

"Tired already?" Joost teases, "Need me to help you?" He wraps two strong arms around your lower back, taking it upon himself to replicate your movements. Joost also thrusts his hips forward in time with you, only making your stimulation more intense.

"So good," The full breadth of you vocabulary seems to disappear, only able to slur together a few measly words to let Joost know how you were feeling, "Feels so good."

"I know it does," He sighs, "You close, schatje? Your legs are shaking."

"Very close," You screw your eyes tight, the hot simmering in your core about to turn over and reach its boiling point. Each and every one of your muscles are incredibly tight, bracing for your impending orgasm.

Joost holds you tighter upon hearing how close you were, determined to work you through your orgasm.

"Whenever you're ready," He encourages.

You could almost break a tooth with how tight your jaw is clenched, nothing but strained whines clawing their way out of your throat as you approach your climax.

The idea of cumming in your panties is a little embarrassing, but in the way that instead of making you want to crawl inside of your self in shame, it makes you only that much closer to finishing. Especially when combined with the filthiness of the fact you'll be ruining those panties over a different man than the one you bought them for. Joost had a habit of brining out the worst in you in the best ways, and now was no different.

"Joost," Your jaw finally unclenches in order for you to get one final word desperate out before your orgasm strikes you. A hot pang of electricity cracks throughout your entire body.

Joost's grip on you does not let up as you ride out your high, his voice nothing but a dull mumble of praises, "Ja, dat is het" (yeah that's it)

You continue to thrust against Joost until you're throbbing with overstimulation, gasping for air against Joost's neck.

"Is that all you got for me?" Joost asks, his words are lighthearted, not minding if you're too tired to continue for the night.

But you're not ready for the night to end, not so abruptly, just like that.

"Just," You inhale, your chest rising against Joost's, "Catching my breath." Exhale.

"Yeah," Joost laughs, high, and light- almost a giggle, "You were working pretty hard."

"Hmm," You hum, "You helped, a little." Acknowledging your orgasm was mainly due to your own work.

"I don't think that's enough," Joost pauses to place a kiss to the crown of your head, "Why don't you lay on your back so I can give you some real effort."

You peel yourself off of Joost's chest, bodies lightly sticky with sweat. You roll over, lightly thumping onto the mattress, landing on your back. Joost wastes no time in getting on top of you, perched on his hands and knees above you. A sight you had gotten used to by now, but it had never gotten less thrilling.

His unruly blonde locks spill over his forehead, some strands sticking against his skin with perspiration. His pupils are blown wide, looking like he's been rolling on molly, but his drug of choice tonight is you, your mere presence getting him higher than the finest pills or powder money could buy.

A lazy smirk draws across his swollen pink lips, a chuckle falling from them as they part,

"Don't laugh if I don't last too long," He jokes, bending his arms to lean forward and kiss your forehead, "You got me a little worked up."

"A little?"

"Very," He sighs in feigned defeat, "You drive me fucking crazy."

"Yeah, both in and out of the bedroom I'm sure." You grin, allowing yourself for just a moment to laugh at the ridiculousness of the antics you often pulled with Joost.

"Mhm," He nods, "But I probably deserve it."

"At least you're self aware, acceptance is the first step to recovery."

"Shut up," He laughs

"Make me," So cliche, You giggle.

It's a challenge Joost takes seriously, immediately catching your lips in another passionate kiss, rendering you unable to speak. You lift your arms, wrapping them around Joost's neck, pulling him down closer to you as you return his kiss.

He pulls away for a split instant, your arms falling to your side with a gentle thud.

"You're sure you want this?" His words are cautious, "We don't have to-"

"I wanna," You cut him off, "I want you." Emphasizing how badly it's him you want.

"In that case," He lifts himself from you, propped up on his knees as his hands reach for the waistband of his underwear. His fingers hook into the elastic, stretching it out slightly before pulling them down his thighs. You watch in anticipation as his cock springs free from the confines of the fabric. You shift your gaze between Joost's face and his dick, the tip a throbbing shade of red, leaky with pre-cum.

You curl your pointer finger towards you, beckoning for Joost to come closer as you prop yourself up on the pillows.

"How about we get these out of the way," Joost suggests, his hands finding their way into the elastic waistband of your panties. You nod, urging him to take them off, which he wastes no time doing.

As your panties come off you bend your legs, putting yourself on complete display for Joost. He grips the base of his cock in his palm, stroking up and down its shaft a few times, stopping at the tip momentarily to spread the clear pearl of precum that leaks from his slit around the head.

"Am I just supposed to stare while you jerk yourself off, or are you going to fuck me?" You tease.

"Patience is a virtue, schatje." He chastises, shaking his head back and forth.

"Fuck patience, I need you inside me." You whine, feeling your arousal growing once again at the anticipation of what's to come next.

"Fuck patience is right," He sighs, realizing what's in front of him.

Joost leans forward slowly to hover over you once more, his face close enough to you that the heat of his heavy breath is almost suffocating. You bite your lip, spreading your legs just a bit more, ready for him.

Joost's eyes trail down from your eyes to between your legs, ready to line himself up with your entrance, admiring every part of you along the way.

With the base of his cock held firmly in his hands, Joost sloppily pushes the tip through your soaked folds, collecting your arousal. You whine slightly, your whole body jerking as he passes your clit, still puffy and overstimulated from before.

Finally he lines himself up with your entrance, eyes flicking up towards you in search of a final nod of assurance, which you gladly give to him.

He pushes into you slowly, almost too slow, allowing you to feel all of him, every vein and curve as he enters you. You hold your breath as you wait for him to enter you completely, the way you stretch around him familiar yet incredibly overstimulating in your current state.

"You okay?" He exhales

"Y-yeah, keep going, please." You assure, nodding quickly.

Joost finally bottoms out, lingering fully inside of you before pulling most of the way out just as painfully slow,

It takes a few strokes for Joost to build up a pace, but once he does he's leaning over you once more. You raise both of your palms to his shoulders, gripping onto them for a split moment before sliding them down to his chest, running your hands over the tuft of dirty blonde hairs.

With each careful thrust into you, your breathing becomes heavier, your brain foggier, purely overwhelmed with the pleasure that is Joost.

"I missed this," Joost groans, "Fuck," He curses, pointed and sharp, "-'m'I gonna have to go another month without you after this? Don't know if I can handle that."

Having already crossed such a line in your relationship with Michael, it seemed unnecessary to deprive yourself of continuing to see Joost in this capacity again.

"Mmno," You slur, "Can have this whenever you want, whenever you want. Every day even."

"Every day, baby?" He raises an eyebrow, "What's the matter? Michael can't make you cum like I do?"

"Or at all," You sigh,

"Oh," Joost's expression is suddenly pained, "Not at all?"

"Barely." You clarify, not quite sure of why the topic of Michael is even being brought up during sex.

Joost lowers his head to your jaw, pressing open mouth kisses to your skin. His tongue is wet and warm, it's soothing, the sensation making you exhale in pure bliss.

"Just using me to cum then, hm?" His question not entirely serious.

"Oh shut up," You giggle, "That's what my fingers are for."

Joost places another sloppy kiss to your jaw before speaking again,

"And I don't suppose you're thinking of Michael when you're doing that?"

"Not exact-ly," You admit, the inflection of your voice raising on the last syllable as Joost begins to thrust into you harder.

"Care to enlighten me on what you do think about?" His voice leads you to believe he's confident that he's the one you think about when trying to get off, and of course, he's right.

"This, right here," You admit, breathing labored with Joost's sharp thrusts. "You," You swallow down a moan, "Fucking me." You bite your lip, "And when I don't feel like faking an orgasm, I imagine its you fucking me instead of Michael."

"Fuck, liefje," Joost lets out a low groan, "Gonna make me cum right now saying shit like that to me."

"Well it's true," You respond innocently, "Never gonna find anyone else like you." And part of you never wants to, Joost such a unique part of your life you'd never want to replace, no matter how rocky things have a habit of becoming between you.

Both of you cease to speak, no more sly remarks to make to each other, rather your bedroom filled only by the borderline pornographic noises you and Joost made together. The filthy wet slapping that bounced off the walls with each thrust, you whispered moans, and Joost's strained grunts instead filling the dead air.

You slide your hands towards Joost's neck, pressing down with your palms, careful not to choke him out, only wanting to feel him under you.

Joost seems like he's struggling to keep pace, his arms wavering on either side of you, signaling he was probably getting close, you're not far behind, but you can't help be disappointed, wishing this moment could last forever.

At this point, Joost knew your body by memory, knowing just where to thrust and at what pace to have you squirming and whimpering under him. And he was putting that knowledge to plenty good use now, the sound of your moans getting louder, and more unruly with each roll of his hips forward was music to his ears.

You feel your muscles tighten once more, already aching and sore from your prior activities, yet you don't let the strain distract you from your building climax. You know you won't be able to last much longer, not with the perfect angle Joost thrusts into you at, so deep with each stroke, and so delicately brushing over your sensitive clit every time he pulls out and subsequently dips back into you.

You keep your eyes trained on Joost for stability, watching the way his face contorts with each perfect thrust forward. He's pretty, almost impossibly so, in a way that makes it hard to care how frequently he seemed to make a mess of your life- it was all worth it, just to see that pretty face above you like this.

"You're staring," He can barely laugh, too out of breath, though he tries. Joost had always been amused by your infatuation with him, and even more so he loved to watch how shy you got when he called you out on it.

Your skin is hot, and not just from the obvious physical activity, it's a warmth that radiates from inside of you, burning every nerve. You let your head fall to the side, a sheepish smile stuck on your lips.

"Don't shy away from me, I'd like to stare at you too." He whines, coaxing you to look back at him.

Your eyes reach his once again, and you notice how his lips part in a deep gasp, ready to speak

"I'm close," His eyes screwing shut for a moment, "Do you want me to pull out?"

He'd never asked before, it had never been a problem, knowing full well you were on the pill.

"Huh-" You huff, "No"

"Just making sure," He speaks through gritted teeth, "Don't wanna be knocked up with another man's baby."

"Oh be quiet," You scold, realizing how badly you choosing to do this with him while you were with Michael had Joost reeling, obviously getting off on it. Getting off on the fact for what felt like for once in his life, he was the better man, and that he was obviously irreplaceable in your life.

"Fuck, schatje," He grunts, "You okay if I cum now?" Not like there was much of a choice, he didn't really have control over that sort of thing,

"Please," You plead, wanting nothing more than to take him to completion.

With a few sharp thrusts, ones that so deliciously hit that perfect spot inside of you, ones that leave you yelping so loud you're sure the neighbors will hear, Joost is spilling into you. His warm release coats your walls.

The feeling makes you clench, Joost sucking in a sharp breath at the way you grip him with his lingering thrusts. His hips sputter forward, sharply ramming into you, this one final move enough to set off your own expectant orgasm.

"Joost!" Your hands leave his neck, flying down to the bed to grab the comforter below you, gripping it harshly between your fingers for stability. Your whole body is overwhelmed by pleasure, and you begin to loose control, legs shaking, body squirming, noises you couldn't even know you could make leaving your lips. You're a complete mess, probably looking more like you're having an exorcism than having sex. But you can't help yourself, it's all too much, and feels all too good. "I'm-" You can't even finish your sentence before the walls of your pussy begin to flutter, your own release spilling out of you, mixing with Joost's to paint his cock with his few final lazy strokes.

Once your orgasm finally rolls over you, Joost is collapsing onto your chest, the pair of you desperate to catch your breaths. You release your grip from the comforter, fingers sore are you flex them, loosing them from their tightened position.

You know the impending wave of guilt is bound to crash into you at any moment, but at least for now you feel nice, Joost's hot, sweaty body atop you is a comforting weight, despite the way it slows your breathing.

You wrap your arms around his back, his skin sticky with perspiration, but you don't mind the way it feels, only wanting to be close to him. He's not quite ready to pull out of you yet, and you're not ready to let him go, instead both of you opt to enjoy the moment, letting your shallow breaths fill the room with eyes shut tight.

You press a kiss to Joost's forehead, unable to stop yourself from the mildly romantic gesture. It's clear Joost doesn't mind, placing a kiss to your shoulder from where his head lies on you.

After a few more minutes of embracing like this, Joost slowly begins to peel himself off of you. You watch intently as he lifts himself up, hair in every which direction, eyelids low, face heavy with lingering pleasure. You want nothing more than to pull him back down on you and stay like that, but you really need to catch your breath.

Carefully, Joost begins to pull out of you, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, a strangled whine leaving your throat.

"Sorry," Joost apologizes, finally pulling out of you completely. The way you can feel his release spilling out of you, onto your thighs makes you wince, a filthy reminder of what you had done. Joost most definitely notices the look on your face, backing off of the bed, "Hold on, I'll clean you up."

You assume Joost had run off to the bathroom, coming back a few moments later with a towel, gently patting it between your thighs, careful not to overstimulate you further.

"Gonna go onto the balcony for a smoke" He says, standing back up to redress himself in his underwear, "Want me to close the door behind me so it doesn't get cold in here?"

"It's okay," You sigh, finally having the strength to sit up. Your abdomen and legs are sore, letting you know tomorrow will be a challenge, "Just means you'll have to cuddle me when you get back in."

"Perfectly okay with that," He chuckles before heading to open up to the small balcony on the other side of your room.

A small breeze enters the room as the doors open, and soon the scent of smoke follows. The chill makes you want to hide under the covers, but something is pulling you to go out there with him. You quickly get up from the bed, fighting the cold as you scramble to put on the shirt you had picked out before and a new pair of underwear.

The cold of the outside fully hits you as you step onto the balcony, but it's hard to mind with Joost half-naked in front of you.

"You want a smoke?" He asks

"No, I'm good." You shake your head, "Just wanted to-" Your voice is soft as you wrap your arms around Joost's torso. He's still so warm despite the weather outside. He wraps his free arm behind you, pulling you close to him.

"That's alright," He mumbles into your hair, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. You find comfort in the slow thump of your heart, and this way his chest rises and falls each time he takes a drag of his cigarette. You wish things with Joost could be like this all the time, though really you knew this was the calm before the next storm.

It's nice to pretend, though, at least for now. Pretend he's still your boyfriend, and that everything had worked out between the two of you like it should have.

"You alright, liefje? You're being nicer to me than usual." His slight laughter vibrates against your cheek from where it's pressed to your chest, making you snuggle into him.

You know he's joking but it makes you feel a little bad, knowing you can be harsh on him over the smallest things sometimes.

"I don't know," You sigh, overwhelmed with emotion once more, "I think that- I don't know." You repeat, "Confused."

"I am too."

"I'm sorry." You know it's your fault just as much as it is his.

"Me too."

"I think I still love you." You don't think, you know, but you feign like you're unsure to make it less real.

"Schatje," He coos, rubbing his hand over your back.

"Am I crazy to think you might still love me too?"

"Not at all." He presses another kiss to your head, "I know I love you too."

You dread the moment when you'll have to return back to real life, the reality where Joost is nothing more than an ex boyfriend, and you're with Michael- but for now things are good. Joost will wake you up with head in the morning, and after you'll go to that breakfast place you like around the corner, still in your pajamas. The two of you will sit next to each other in the booth, and hold hands under the table before heading home to share a shower together. And inevitably as the day grows later, one of you will make the smallest slip up, say one wrong thing, and you'll be at each others throats again, ending the day crying, finally ignoring each other until its time to repeat the cycle over again.

But that was a problem for tomorrow, right now you're in his arms, and he's telling you how much he still loves you, and you can pretend for just a moment, that maybe, just maybe things will change.

a/n: weeee i wasn't expecting this to get so long XD......... <3 but im so excited to finally get this out... mwah mwah <3... if you're feeling kind, leave a comment or a reblog to let me know what you think! thank you :3

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x f! reader #joost klein smut #rpf #joost klein rpf #joost klein fic #heartbeat! au

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etclouie · 2 months

Text

pretty in a pink bow

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: on a supply run together and you find a bow, your previous flirtatious relationship with shane gives you an idea (Shane Walsh x !fem reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 setting: farm era

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: ooc shane, soft shane, allusions to previous sexual encounters, situationship basically??, shane doesn’t shave his head

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 490

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: originally was going to write this smutty, but there’s no point. also based off of the tiktok trend, example here

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 twd masterlist | main masterlist

everyone in the group knew you and Shane had a thing for each other, hell they even had an idea that you’d slept together too.

you were both too close for their minds to not get an idea of something happening, but neither of you admitted to anything. you simply didn’t know what you were, you had moments where it seemed as if you were dating and then others where you couldn’t stand each other.

so when they all unanimously decided on sending the both of you away out on a supply run, they all hoped for the best. that you’d both come back not at each others throats like the last run they sent you on.

the run had gone successful, you’d searched a block of houses and found food for the camp. just basic canned goods, stuff you could live off of while Hershel refuses to let you into his house.

even that felt silly, the end of the world and he wouldn’t let either you or Shane inside. your closeness with the ex-cop drawing his suspicions, and deeming it that he didn’t want you under his roof either.

to the both of you, that small feeling of the oldest Greene made your sneaking around easier. whilst everyone else was inside eating, you could both have alone time in your now shared tent.

now, however, on the way back to the farm. you sat idly in the passenger seat while Shane drove, his gaze flicking between you and the road.

one thing you never told Shane that you had found was a pink bow, or ribbon even. you’d found it lying on the top of a dresser and the idea came to mind, practically giggling as it played over in your mind.

pulling the ribbon from your pocket and glancing over at him, a knowing smirk making its way across his face before stopping the car. turning to face you while cradling your face in his hand, his voice low.

“what? need to tell me what you’re thinking or i can’t give it to ya”

rolling your eyes at him before pulling his hand away from your face, grabbing at his arm and wrapping the ribbon around his bicep. pushing up his sleeve to give yourself more room, watching as the muscle flexed under your touch while tying it into a bow.

glancing up to meet his amused gaze before admiring your work, pulling the ribbon into as perfect of a bow as you can. sitting back in your seat with a contented smile on your face, voice soft as you spoke.

“that’s better, don’t you think? you’re all pretty in a pink bow now Shane”

hearing him huff as he turned to face the road again, starting the car once more and continuing the drive back to the farm. his right hand held out to you, his thumb soothing across your knuckles.

“whatever makes you happy sweetheart”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

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transmascissues · 2 months

Note

I bet the transfem tag doesn’t have half as much transmasc porn deliberately tagged wrong as the transmasc tag has transfem porn

For every transmasc post I see there’s two porn accounts to block

Just pisses me off. I want to see posts about transmascs!!!

while i think you are probably right about the fact that there isn’t going to be as much transmasc porn in the transfem tag (though i can’t say i’m 100% certain, it’s not like i’ve ever scrolled through both tags and actually counted) and i do find the amount of porn in our tags frustrating, i want to talk a bit about the way this issue is being framed.

the thing you have to remember about porn bots is that you can’t think of them as real people. the whole point of them is to make money by pushing those links into popular tags so as many people see them as possible. they want people to click the link, so they show it to as many people as they can. so when you see these posts, you have to keep in mind that there’s not an individual person sitting behind a screen making specific decisions about whose tags to fuck over or what kind of porn to advertise, those decisions are most likely made based on some sort of algorithm designed to make as much money as possible.

so let’s think about it critically — why might we be seeing so much transfem porn in transmasc tags?

well, a lot of these bots are probably using our tag because tumblr has a lot of transmascs who use those tags. the trans communities on different sites are going to have different demographics, and if you’ve ever seen a poll going around with different choices for transmascs and transfems, you’ve seen just how dramatic the difference in numbers on here can be. these bots are targeting our tags because there are a lot of us here and we tend to be very active which means the bots have a better chance of getting clicks, not because an actual person decided they wanted to fuck over our tags specifically.

and why does the porn tend to be transfem porn? i can’t say for sure, but i’ll tell you my theories. first of all, i’m guessing these bots are using trans porn because tumblr has a lot of very active trans tags, and they probably take that into account — they assume that people in trans tags are more likely to want trans porn. the tag matches the link’s key words in that way, so that’s what their formula for getting clicks thinks we want to see. and i’m guessing it’s transfem porn specifically because there’s just more of that — transfem porn is much easier to find than transmasc porn, and it’s also probably seen as a better bet for these bots because being more popular means more people will want to click it. and that doesn’t stem from people preferring transfems over transmascs or anything like that, it stems from the rampant fetishization of transfems. these accounts aren’t actual transfem sex workers choosing to put their content in the transmasc tags, they’re bots doing what they think is going to make money. they don’t care how transfems feel about it being used and they don’t care how transmascs feel about seeing it instead of what we were actually looking for.

so while i absolutely share your frustration with our tags being overrun with porn, i don’t like how the issue has been framed by a lot of people as a transmasc vs transfem issue. i get how on the surface, it seems like our tags are having more of a problem with it and that must be for a reason, but the reason doesn’t actually have anything to do with our identities — it has everything to do with what bots think is the best way to get us to click their links.

this problem has nothing to do with transmasc vs transfem, and everything to do with the fact that tumblr won’t take care of its bot problem. if you want to get mad at someone for the fact that you can’t see the content you’re looking for without wading through countless porn bots, that’s where your anger should be going: toward the site that hasn’t done anything about it.

i wanted to lay this all out because while you didn’t explicitly blame transfems for this issue in your ask (you more so just said they don’t have to deal with it to the degree we do), i’ve seen posts with a similar tone that do imply that transfems are somehow behind this issue, and that honestly frustrates me more than the issue itself. blaming transfems for this isn’t fair to them — this is a bot issue, not an issue with real people on the site — and it also doesn’t do us any favors because it makes people less likely to take us seriously when we talk about things that are actually specifically targeting our community spaces.

and even though you didn’t take that explicit blaming stance in your ask, i think this issue being brought up as a “transmasc issue” at all reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of exactly why it happens the way it does. so i want this to serve as a reminder that when we have a conversation about something in our community, we have to think critically about the way we’re framing that conversation and make sure we have a good understanding of the root of the problem at hand.

because this really isn’t an issue that should be framed as transmasc vs transfem. i’m sure it’s not any less frustrating for transfems to see porn that fetishizes their bodies plastered all over the site than it is for us to have to dig through that porn to find the content we’re looking for. and it’s not really an issue that has anything to do with the fact that the tags are for transmascs at all. you say someone is deliberately mistagging into our tags, but it’s deliberate on a level that has nothing to do with the individual tags being used.

if we want to have conversations about the ways transmascs are uniquely mistreated, that comes with a responsibility to make sure the things we talk about are actually examples of a unique form of mistreatment and not symptoms of a totally different issue. we have to be careful not to pick the wrong battles, especially if doing so could artificially pit us against transfems who haven’t actually done anything wrong.

i worry that the struggles we’ve had in making our voices heard within our community have made some of us start to see our transfem sisters and siblings as the enemy by default, so i want to strongly caution everyone contributing to these conversations to think deeply about how you’re framing what you’re saying and if it’s actually appropriate before suggesting that any particular issue is a matter of transmascs vs transfems. there are definitely situations where the root of the issue is lateral aggression or intracommunity conflict, but this isn’t one of them and the fact that so many people have interpreted it that way really doesn’t reflect well on us.

i’m just as annoyed by the porn bots in our tags as the next guy, but this isn’t the way to go about having that conversation.

#i was avoiding this conversation altogether bc it has nothing to do with the power dynamics and intracommunity dynamics i talk about here #but now that it made its way into my inbox i want to make *why* i wasn’t talking about it clear #i’m gonna put this in my usual tags not because i think they apply #but because i think it’s important for the people who use those tags to see this #i want yall to really take this to heart and think carefully about how we have these conversations in the future #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #ask answered

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featherandferns · 2 months

Text

daylight - eight

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 8 of the daylight series | read part 7 here

content warnings: sexual content (f receiving); drug use (weed)

word count: 2.5k.

blurb: whilst watching cheesy eighties horror, you and JJ somehow end up in a fight as all the mess from the past two months finally comes to a head.

“This is the dumbest fucking movie I’ve ever seen,” you snort, passing JJ back his joint.

“Shut up, this is the best part,” JJ mutters.

He takes a hit and the cloud of vapour clouds your vision. It temporarily blocks the view of the screen, showing Lauren Daniels, permed blonde hair and pink-sweater clad, quivering in fear atop of a shelf in her apartment. The slimy, green-toned cannibalistic monster lingers below, snarling with its fang-like teeth and beady eyes. In the light of modern C.G.I and with the humour from the high you’re on, the whole movie is ludicrous and hilarious. JJ had begged for you guys to watch it. Your vote was Legally Blonde but he turned his nose up. So, here you were, sat side by side, your feet in his lap, dazily watching C.H.U.D as you pass a joint back and forth. You’re at JJ’s house. It had the lingering household smell of weed and booze. Untidy and unkempt, there were empty beer cans and unclean laundry strewn about all over. Intermixed was mechanical parts which you assume are from his dad’s handy-man jobs. His dad was out somewhere: JJ hadn’t said and you didn’t ask.

As Lauren tosses a bucket of developer on the monster, one of JJ’s hands absentmindedly massages your left foot. It shoots tingles up your legs. It’s weirdly domestic, this entanglement. Something about it feels more than friendly. I mean, you can’t imagine JJ messing with Kiara’s feet whilst watching a movie. Tuning out of the movie and taking another hit of the joint, your mind starts to wander.

Things between you and JJ had gotten more and more complicated. Most conversations started with teasing jabs and ended with his dick in your mouth. Hang-outs came with the unspoken agreement of making-out at some stage. But things were deeper than sex. The conversations were deeper than those shared between fuck buddies. The touching felt more sensual than a rush to get off. There were these times you’d catch JJ looking at you, and there’d be this longing in his gaze. You knew it because you saw it in your own eyes. Catch it in the reflection of a mirror or window, or spot it in a photo taken by one of the Pogues at whatever hang. You always kept the focus on him, though. It felt easier to pleasure him than to have his hands on you. Everytime he tried to, you’d tense up and internally freak out, and spiral into thoughts and anxieties that stemmed from Tyler. In short: it scared the shit out of you to let JJ have you. You knew that the moment you’d give yourself to him would be the moment you were in too deep.

But every time you think about bringing it up or cutting it off, you remember how relaxed you feel in JJ’s company. How seen. The two of you shared a language that didn’t require trivial things like words. The thought of JJ being the impending meteorite circling your orbit lost its weight in worry with the notion that you got to have him near. That you got to gaze upon and marvel at him when he wasn’t looking, and wonder how on earth something so pure and perfect was handed such a shitty deal in life. How someone like him wanted to spend time with someone like you.

JJ’s knuckle hitting a pressure point in your foot has you twitching, coming back to the present. He chuckles quietly. Does it again just to get a reaction. You lightly kick at him.

“Knock it off,” you mumble.

“Can’t help it. S’funny,” he replies. “You hear from Mimsy recently?”

“A little. I think she’s really into Darren,” you say.

It’s weird that JJ knows about that. About Mimsy and her livelihood, and was interested enough to ask about it. He had a habit of checking up on you. Asking you about how you were feeling about Kildare, and how your parents were, how the photography was going, how Mimsy was doing. He coaxed anecdotes about Vancouver out of you whenever you felt homesick simply because he knew how much you liked talking about your home.

“Didn’t you say he was a trust fund baby?” JJ sniggers.

“Yeah, well, there’s worse people for her to hook up with,” you shrug, requesting the joint back with wiggling fingers.

“What? Like Lloyd?”

You glance at him, mildly bewildered. “How do you remember that?”

“Hm?”

“How do you remember Lloyd?”

You don’t even remember mentioning him. JJ shrugs.

“I dunno. I remember most things you tell me,” he says, looking back to the TV screen. His fingers continue rubbing the palm of your foot. You’re practically desensitised to it now. “I like hearing you talk.”

And you fucking hate it when he says things like that: passes compliments to you like it’s Monopoly currency. You hate how easy it is for him to do it, seemingly unaware of the effect it has on you.

When JJ turns to you again, likely seeking out the joint, he finds your stare set on his profile. Smiling, he asks, “what?”

Your lips twitch upwards at the deja vu. “Nothing. It’s just that you’re really fucking pretty.”

JJ eyes light up. His smile turns bashful. It's taken out of view when he dips his head, turning it away from you. You giggle and prod at his chest with your toes, teeth sinking into your lips to try and keep your cheesy grin at bay.

JJ's fingers wrap around your ankle. He drags you to him, across the sofa, making you yelp out with a laugh. Those very fingers slide up your bare legs, slipping under your pyjama shorts to cup your ass, and he tugs you into his lap. You loop your arms around his neck with a giggle, blunt still balanced precariously between two fingers, and accidentally bump his forehead in the process. The two of you laugh, doped up and dizzy, and his nose brushes yours as he calms. The two of you sit like that - you in JJ’s lap - passing Eskimo kisses, eyes closed, smiles steady. When he finally presses his lips to yours, the kiss feels different to all the other times. Less frenzied. It almost feels like he’s trying to tell you something as he brushes your lips against his. His tongue that slips into your mouth carries messages you can’t seem to decipher, as the two of you fall into one another. One of your hands strokes along his jaw, angling his head to deepen the kiss. He’s growing hard beneath you, making your cunt throb with the thought. He flinches away suddenly with a hiss.

“What? What’s wrong?” you mumble, leaning back in his strong hold.

He chuckles. “Fucking ash hit the back of my neck.”

Giggling, you take the joint away and carelessly put it on the coffee table behind you. Turning back to him, you find yourself taken aback by the look on his face. It makes your heart stop still in your chest before it plummets down your ribcage. You know that look. You’ve seen it on your own face, when you stare into the mirror.

“JJ…” you whisper.

His lips on yours silence you with a fiery kiss. You gasp against them as he picks you up and practically tosses you on your back on the sofa, with something between a grunt and growl. He scrambles to be atop of you, unapologetic as he kisses down your jawline and neck. You hurry to take off your shirt the moment his fingers tease at the hem of it. He’s back on you in a minute. Your body feels like it’s on fire. Like you might combust if someone were to light a match. And, God, do you want him to.

You rut your hips instinctively at the feel of JJ’s lips on your nipple through your thin bralette. Eyes slipping closed, head tilting back, your fingers latch into his scraggly hair. You hum out a moan.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” JJ mumbles against your heaving stomach. “So fuckin’ needy too.”

Your fingers fiddle with the back of his collar, tugging at it until he takes the hint. He grabs it by the back and pulls it off his head. Tosses it to the side, chuckling with a horny grin as he reconnects his lips to your bare skin. Your bralette joins the pile, much to JJ’s pleasure. His hands fondle at your breast; the pad of his thumb tenderly brushes over your hardening nipple before pinching it between his forefinger. You gasp out a soundless moan.

Kissing just above the waistband of your shorts, his fingers find purchase on your hipbones. They dip below the fabric and try to coax them down.

You feel like gravity hits. You come plummeting back down to earth. Palming at his shoulder and jaw, you try and coax his face back to yours.

“Lemme suck you off,” you mumble, looking down at him. He looks so pretty, between your legs.

He shakes his head with a smile. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. You try to bring him back up to you again but JJ doesn’t relent. It takes you physically shifting out of his hold to stop him from pulling your short down. When he looks up at you, his smile is fading. You try to bring it back with one of your own. “I just wanna get you off.”

JJ pauses. Physically stills. Then, he sits back on his knees. Your smile vanishes. After knowing JJ for as long as you have, you can recognise the telltale signs of his frustration and anger. JJ looks to the TV screen, attention elsewhere, and begins to shake his head. Slow at first, then fast. All you can do is watch. Finally, he makes a sound. It’s a humourless scoff.

“Why won’t you let me touch you?” JJ asks, looking back to you.

Your stomach twists nervously. “I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“JJ, I literally just let you feel me up,” you return with a failing laugh, brows furrowing.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” JJ quickly returns, tone turning short.

You blink at him, faux smile gone, and your lips bumble to find some sort of response. JJ’s irritation momentarily subsides and is instead replaced with hurt.

You hate the vulnerable insecurity in JJ’s voice when he asks, “do you not trust me or something?”

“No, of course I do–”

“Then why do you never let me near you?” JJ snaps. He tosses out his arms. “I mean, am I not good enough for you or something?”

“What?”

“Not fucking worthy enough to see you naked, is that it?”

“Of course not,” you breathe, bewildered by the thought.

“Then what? I don’t fucking turn you on, is that it? I just don’t do it for you and you wanna spare my fucking feelings?”

Your eyes narrow at his words. “Are you throwing what happened in the chateau in my face right now?”

“No, I just–” JJ cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, clenching his eyes shut. He clenches his fist to try and restrain his anger. His knuckles slowly lift to his lips. “I just want to know why.”

“Why the fuck do you think you deserve to?” you snap. Sitting up, you grab for your shirt and tug it on. “What? You think every person you’ve ever known owes you an explanation for why they’re not falling at your feet?”

“Oh, fuck off,” JJ mutters, shaking his head. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I don’t need to avoid it,” you sharply return. “Cause I don’t need to fucking answer it.”

“You don’t need to answer it?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t think I deserve to know why, after two months of us doing this fucking thing, you don’t let me go down on you?”

Your eyes clench shut.

“Why you don’t let me fuck you?”

You laugh out a humourless laugh. Gape at him, eyes mean. “Oh! So that’s what this is! You’re fucking bitter cause a girl won’t let you fuck her? You know, there’s this wonderful thing in the world, JJ - you should learn about it sometime. It’s called women having rights.”

“Oh my fucking God,” JJ spits, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers as his eyes shut. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re an entitled prick. Guess we both have each other’s number now,” you quickly retort.

You get to your feet and search for JJ’s shirt, finding it on the other side of the coffee table. The drivel coming out of the television only pisses you off more, so you shut it off.

“What aren’t you telling me?” JJ asks. His voice is calmer, though still strung tight. With your back to him, he can’t see the look on your face. He can’t see the physical pain that question causes you. “I thought things were good between us.”

You look down and your eyes close. Fist scrunching JJ’s t-shirt in your hold, your lips purse to keep from quivering. You knew this was a bad idea. Most things are, when it comes to romance. Somebody always gets hurt.

“Well? Aren’t they?”

You take a shaking intake of air and finally find enough courage to turn. JJ’s not angry anymore. He looks just as dejected as you feel. You shake your head weakly.

“What are we doing, JJ?”

“I…” His mouth moves but no words come out. Until they do. “We’re just messing around.”

It feels like that’s the final shot to your stomach that sends your whole world crashing. As if laying down to rest, your eyes slip shut.

“Yeah, well, it’s certainly a fucking mess now, isn’t it?” you whisper.

You throw him his shirt with no conviction. He only just catches it as it slides down his chest. For once in his life, JJ doesn’t seem to have anything to say. Shaking your head, breaking his stare, you run your fingers through your hair.

“I’ll see you around, JJ.”

As you walk past him, towards the door, you hear JJ call out your name. You don’t stop. Don’t turn. Don’t think about anything but Vancouver the entire way home, as if it’s some escapist daydream. Halfway to your house, you try to call Mimsy but she doesn't pick up. You try again as you walk through the door. Home alone, the house feels just as lonely as yourself. With one final attempt, you go to voicemail for a third time. You leave her a mess of a voicemail. And then, you crawl into bed.

part nine coming soon!

taglist:

#jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #outerbanks fic #outer banks fic #obx fic #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #fem!reader x jj #fem!reader x jj maybank

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eoieopda · 1 year

Text

all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully.

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble.

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself.

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest.

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?”

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully.

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives.

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain.

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh.

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation.

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over.

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers.

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads.

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them.

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter.

How could you not?

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard.

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response.

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel:

“I l-love it when you do that.”

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

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kikyoupdates · 19 days

Text

Leave Your Mark ⭑˚🧪⭑ 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑠

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

You didn’t accomplish anything in your previous life. Looking back on it, you feel nothing but regret, and you yearn for the chance to do things differently. As it turns out, your wish is answered, and you are reborn into your favorite fictional world. This time, you resolve to make a change, and you have the means to do it. You won’t be content with just sitting on the sidelines and letting life pass you by. You will live boldly and vibrantly, as if every moment is your last. No matter what it takes, you are going to leave your mark.

story masterlist | next

Death has a tendency to sneak up on people when they least expect it.

In your case, it happens when you are only sixteen years old, riding the bus on the way back from school. You’re scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, earbuds pushed in so deep that they block out all the noise in the background. The music on your playlist is blasting at full-force, perhaps too loudly, but you prefer it this way. You prefer to be able to focus on your own thoughts.

Your eyes close, and you allow your mind to drift off. You pretend that you’re inside your room, protected by the four walls you’ve come to cherish and rely on. It’s easier to be alone. It’s what you’re used to, what comes naturally to you, and in all your years of living, you’ve never once thought to venture outside of your comfort zone.

When a car suddenly skids from the oncoming traffic lane and crashes into the bus, you are forced to rethink your life choices.

The bus lurches from the impact. You can feel your body being flung out of the seat, and you swear it doesn’t make sense, because everything is happening too fast. Your body doesn’t feel as if it’s your own. It’s as if it’s weightless, and there’s a pit in your stomach that wasn’t there just a moment ago.

You can’t really make sense of how everything unfolds. All you know is that you’re lying on the floor of the bus, and your earbuds have fallen out, despite your best efforts to bury them snug. Your eyes are wide, disbelieving, as you stare ahead at the countless other civilians that have been caught up in the crash. From what you can tell, some of them are gravely injured. Others are lucky enough to have gotten away with some bruising and a bump on their head.

That’s the most you can piece together, because your vision is slowly fading. The side of your head feels awfully slick for some reason. You don’t really understand why, not until one of the injured kids on the bus points to you and starts wailing.

Ah.

Your skull has been cracked open, and you’re about to die.

Someone rushes towards you. They look like they’ve sprained their wrist, but otherwise, they’re in relatively good shape. You can only watch, unable to move or muster up a sound, as they pull out a napkin and use it to try and put pressure on your wound.

Based on how quickly everything is turning dark, you can tell that it’s a futile effort.

I’m dying. I’m really dying.

You’re afraid. Of course you are. Is there anyone who doesn’t fear death? Not that it makes any difference. Once death has set its sights on someone, it’s impossible to escape.

There’s another emotion weighing you down though, and compared to fear, you would argue that it’s much more overwhelming.

Regret. More than anything else, you feel regret. What did you spend these last sixteen years doing? You hardly have anyone you can call a friend, you put little effort into maintaining a good relationship with your family, and you’ve never accomplished or done anything that you can feel genuinely proud of.

You’ve wasted your entire life, and it’s too late to do a damn thing about it.

“It’s going to be okay,” the person tending to you mumbles. They press down on your head, trying to staunch the wound, but you know it’s a lost cause.

You are going to die here, and no matter how desperately you try to make peace with that fact, you just can't.

If only you could get another chance at life. You wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice. You promise yourself that you’ll appreciate every moment, reach out to others and share whatever emotions they’re feeling. Anger, joy, apprehension—it doesn’t matter. The point is that you’ll do better. You’ll be better. You won’t isolate yourself or waste away the precious moments of your life.

All you need is another opportunity. Please?

Right. As if that would happen.

Your breathing grows shallower, weaker, and you can just vaguely hear the nice civilian crying out to you in desperation. Eventually, even the sound fades. It’s getting terribly and unspeakably dark. Fuck. You’re afraid. You’re so afraid.

But even as you’re about to cross over to the other side, your belief holds firm.

Nothing is worse than having regrets.

The darkness, which you presumed to be vast and endless, eventually clears.

Suddenly, you can hear again, but the sound is so loud and ear-grating that you almost wish you couldn’t.

“What’s wrong with her?” a woman sighs tiredly. “She’s been crying nonstop.”

There are two people in the room. One of them is the woman, who just spoke up, and the other is a man, a doctor, by the looks of things.

Oh, actually, scratch that. There are three people in the room, because some baby is wailing out at the top of their lungs.

Is this a dream?

You died, and you know that for a fact, so you assume you must be watching some random scene play out. But even if that’s the case, something is... strange. You’re not quite sure how to explain it, but there’s this overwhelming sense of discomfort that’s tearing through your whole body.

“She is perfectly healthy,” the doctor reassures. He must be referring to the baby. He takes a moment to adjust his glasses, then frowns. “Have you reconsidered, by any chance?”

“No,” the woman replies. She says it bluntly; coldly, even. “I already told you this before. I’m not keeping her. I just wanted to make sure she was healthy, but that’s it. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’m going to leave. One of the nurses will take her away, right?”

“Yes, miss. Of course. We just wanted to give you one last chance to rethink your decision.”

“I’m not keeping her,” she says again, and she bites down on her lip to keep from trembling. You’re not sure why you’re seeing such a heavy scene play out, but you suppose it’s better than being trapped in a void for all eternity. You’re thankful to have retained your sentience.

Up until this moment, you are convinced that you’re dead.

But when the woman moves closer, and she reaches a hand out, it finally clicks.

“Bye-bye, baby,” she whispers. You can feel her hand squeezing down on yours. The sensation of being touched is painfully familiar, and you know you’re not imagining it.

This woman is your mother, and she’s in the process of giving you away.

Just like that, the crying stops. It stops because you realize you’re the baby, and it means that your dying wish has been answered.

One way or another, you’ve been reborn.

“Ah,” the doctor hums. He cracks a smile and gently pokes your chubby cheek. “Are you happy that your mommy touched you? You must be, since you’ve finally stopped crying. She has to leave, but don’t worry. We’ll find you a new family soon. I’m sure you’ll love them, whoever they are.”

You blink up at him, not making a sound. It’s hard to believe that you’re actually alive again, and while the body of an infant doesn’t allow for much freedom, in the grand scheme of things, it’s a trifling matter.

You just want to live.

“Get some rest, little one,” the doctor encourages. Of course, he can’t possibly know that you actually understand him, but since there’s not much else you can do in your present state, you close your eyes and try to drift off to sleep.

Some time passes, and unlike what the doctor promised, you have yet to find a loving home.

It turns out that adoption is a rather tricky process, and it takes a while just to find suitable parental candidates. You appreciate that there is a lot of planning and contemplation that goes into this, because children shouldn’t just be handed off without a second thought. They need to be diligently cared for, looked after and appreciated.

You realize just how true this line of reasoning holds when you are finally introduced to your ‘forever family’, as the doctor puts it.

“You’re going to love them,” he grins. “They’re so excited to have you!”

For a moment, you wonder if he means that, or if he’s the one who’s excited to finally get rid of you and free up a bed for another soon-to-be baby. There isn’t really any way to know for sure, and if your infantile body allowed for it, you would probably shrug as a show of your indifference.

Anyways, you finally have a home now, and you suppose that has to count for something.

It doesn’t take long for you to wish you were back in the hospital.

“She keeps crying,” the mother whines, almost as if she’s the child, not you.

“Well, no shit,” the father cuts back impatiently. “It’s because you’re always forgetting to feed her on time. You told me you were ready for this. You told me you wanted a kid, so it’s too late to start pulling these stunts.”

“I’m just so tired. I really don’t know if I can do this...”

Fucking hell. What does a baby have to do around here to get a goddamn bottle of milk?

They aren’t good parents. That much is abundantly clear. You wish they would’ve sorted out these matters ahead of time, but some people find out the hard way that they just aren’t ready to take care of a child.

Nonetheless, they make an effort to improve. They try to rise to the occasion and shoulder this huge responsibility they’ve decided to take on.

During the time you spend living under their roof, you come face-to-face with a dizzying realization.

It happens so fast that, at first, you swear you’re just imagining things. Your adoptive mother is vacuuming around the house, when suddenly, a stray object falls under the couch. She lets out her usual trademark sigh, then adjusts her stance as if she’s about to crouch down and retrieve it.

As it turns out, she doesn’t need to crouch, because her arm extends—as if it’s elastic—and she picks up the object with ease.

The pacifier in your mouth instantly falls out.

What... the fuck?

You wonder if your tiny baby eyes are deceiving you, or if this is some sort of side effect of being reincarnated. How else would you explain what you’ve just seen? It’s freaking absurd. People’s arms don’t just do that.

Since you’re incapable of communicating normally, you just cry. Your adoptive mother seems to become increasingly irritable whenever you cry for long periods of time, but there’s not much you can do to help it, especially when you’re so confused.

“Hush now, [Name],” she demands, and to your horror, stretches her arm out again so that she can reach over to you and place the pacifier back in your mouth.

Then she carries on with her vacuuming, as if nothing ever happened.

To no one’s surprise, you keep crying, and it continues this way until you overhear a conversation between the two of them during dinner.

“She hates it whenever I use my Quirk,” your mother scowls. “I feel like she’s judging me every single time. Is it possible for babies to be so judgy?”

Hold up. What the hell did she just say?

“You must be imagining it,” your father sighs. Both of them sure like to sigh a lot. You hate to admit it, but they don’t seem particularly happy with their lives. “She’s just a baby. She doesn’t even know what’s going on around her, let alone how Quirks work.”

They keep on using that word, and your chest feels tight when you remember exactly where you’ve heard it before.

But that can’t be. My Hero Academia is a fictional world. Superheroes, Quirks... none of that is real.

Yet here you are, living and breathing, proof that all of this is actually happening to you.

Even so... it’s just too far-fetched. You can’t possibly have been reborn into a world that doesn’t really exist. No matter how much manga and anime you’ve consumed, it still doesn’t make this situation any more plausible.

You need evidence. Real, concrete evidence. Until then, you refuse to draw any conclusions.

A week later, you catch your parents watching an interview of All Might on TV.

...well, shit.

Shortly after your second birthday, your parents put you up for adoption again.

You wonder if something must be wrong with you, because no one seems to want to have you as their kid. It’s getting a bit hard not to take personally.

The worst part of it is that they didn’t even bother to put you up for adoption somewhere nice. You’re convinced that they chose the shittiest orphanage that ever existed, just as one last middle finger for all the stress and trouble you’ve caused them.

You are two years old now, you are almost certainly living in the world of My Hero Academia, and you’re an orphan. Admittedly, it's a lot to handle.

Even so, you manage. For obvious reasons, you’re a lot smarter than you look. Your body limits a lot of what you can do, so you choose to keep your brain engaged mostly by reading books and solving puzzles.

“That girl’s always going through those books,” one of the caregiver mumbles to her colleague. “Do you think she really understands what’s going on?”

“No way,” the other waves off. “She must just like looking at the pictures.”

“But that book doesn’t have any pictures.”

“She’s two years old. Of course she can’t read. Nothing that complicated, at least. Don’t be silly.”

They eventually shrug and decide that they must be overthinking things, and you carry on reading your book—yes, actually reading it.

It’s another normal, mundane day, until suddenly, everything changes.

“We have someone new staying with us starting from today,” the head caregiver proudly announces. He gestures beside him, where a boy is standing with his arms wrapped around his body. He is consciously keeping a good distance between him and the other kids, as well as the caregiver, and you swear you spot a grimace on his lips.

For some reason... he looks really familiar.

“Go on,” the caregiver encourages. “Introduce yourself to the others.”

You hear him mutter something under his breath, although you don’t quite catch it, and then he sighs before briefly glancing your way.

“Chisaki Kai,” he says, and in that moment, your heart stops. “But stay away from me,” he adds, grimacing yet again. “I don’t like it when people get too close.”

Chisaki Kai.

You know this kid. Well, he’s only a kid now, but you’re abundantly aware of what he’ll become, and the horrible things he’ll go on to do.

At this point, you can’t keep making excuses anymore. You’re living in the world of My Hero Academia, and it’s as simple as that.

Chisaki walks away before the caregiver can say anything else. He sits down in the corner of the room, all by himself, keeping his golden eyes narrowed so that nobody thinks of getting too close to him. He’s several years older than you, so that puts him at about maybe eight or nine? The details don’t really matter, though.

What matters is that for the first time, you’ve met a character that plays a hand in how the story will unfold.

You remember your dying wish. You wanted to have a second chance at life, to prove that you can make something of it, rather than letting each day pass you by. You decided long ago that regardless of when you die, or how you die, you want to be able to say that you’ve lived a full life. You want to know that your actions have impacted others, impacted the world.

And now you’ve just realized that your actions carry a lot more weight than you first thought.

You know how this story goes. Well, not all of it, because you died before it came to an end, but you have knowledge in spades, and who’s to say that you can’t use that knowledge to create a permanent, positive shift?

Chisaki is still gritting his teeth, staying far away from everyone else. Seeing him like this, knowing that he’s just an orphan like you, makes it difficult to fear or resent him. He’s frail and vulnerable, and even if he won’t admit it, he needs to be protected, just like any other kid would.

You are going to live. You are going to live boldly and vibrantly, knowing that the choices you make can shape others’ lives. You’re done spending your days as a recluse and wasting away. You don’t want things to end like they did in your last life, where even in death, nobody knew who you were or what you’d done.

Here, your potential is limitless, and you’ll be damned if you take it for granted.

And so, you stand up. On shaky toddler legs, but you stand up nonetheless. Your steps are slow, deliberate, and even though it takes a while, you eventually stop in front of Chisaki.

He glares at you. “What do you want?”

You know exactly what you want, and it’s to leave your mark on this world, so that you’ll never be forgotten. You want to be someone who can move and inspire others. You want to become the kind of person you can take pride in.

You’ve been given a new chance at life, and it’s in a world you’re familiar with, of all things. This is the best deal you’ll ever get.

It takes you a while to form your words, so you return Chisaki’s stare with one of your own. He’s still so young, but he already resents the world. He feels like an outsider, like someone who doesn’t belong. Because of that, he will eventually spin out of control. He will resort to drastic means to manipulate the world around him—to make it make sense.

If left unchecked, he will certainly become a villain. But what if, all these years, he had someone by his side to steer him on the right path? What if he found solace some other way, instead of twisting society in the palm of his hand?

You don’t know the answer to that question, but you think you’d like to find out.

“I’m here for you.”

Those are the words you decide on, and despite how childish your two-year-old voice sounds, there’s a maturity to it that Chisaki can’t seem to comprehend.

He looks at you in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you that, no matter what happens... it’s going to be okay. Because I’ll be here to help.”

You grin widely, unintentionally revealing several missing teeth. Chisaki looks disgusted at first, and he even shrinks away, but against all odds, he still hasn’t told you to get lost.

The two of you just stare at each other in silence for a while. He must think you’re a bit strange, especially for a two-year-old, but you can’t help but be mesmerized by the fact that he’s actually in front of you right now.

Eventually, his patience runs thin.

“Go away,” he mutters, then outright shoos you. “Dirty little kid. Mind your own business.”

You don’t take any offense at his words. You realize it’ll take a while to get closer to him, and knowing what you do about his character, there are a lot of obstacles standing in your way.

But it’s fine. If maybe, just maybe, you can prevent him from becoming a villain... if your actions help someone, in some way...

You’ll be happier than you can put into words.

“Okie-dokie,” you smile, then turn to leave, mindful of giving him space.

You must have forgotten, because mentally, your brain is still your own, but your body has become that of a child.

Needless to say, you fall over while trying to walk away.

“Ouch!” you whine, rubbing at your tender toddler body. Everything hurts. Little kids are so goddamn fragile. You suppose you’ll have to be more careful from now on.

It takes a few seconds, but you manage to pick yourself up, smile proudly at the feat, then retreat back to your side of the room and carry on reading your book.

The whole time, Chisaki stares at you, unblinking. He already thinks you’re incredibly strange.

It’s a clumsy start, but it’s a start nonetheless.

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livelaughlovekny · 2 months

Text

You bake with him

Notes: Modern AU, Gender neutral reader, 2nd person POV, Streamer!Reader, OOC!Muichirou

Summary: You try to bake a cake while Muichirou just watches.

a/n: ohmygod y'all its the way i tried writing muichirou as he was before he got his memories back and then halfway decided to try and write him after he got his memories back and changed it but the thing is I cant write EITHER personality well SO ITS LIKE HIM BUT NOT HIM CRIES also this is like really long and written without any er proofreading so IMSOSORRY

“Hello everyone! Welcome back to ‘Can I Cook It? Yes I Can!’, a series in which I try to create all sorts of foods, ranging from a bowl of chicken soup to macarons! Today’s objective is to bake a simple one-tier cake. Oh and, we have a guest today! Everyone, do welcome my beloved, Muichirou! He’s just here to observe, haha.” Stepping to the side, you allow your audience a view of your lover. Muichirou looks at the camera before glancing down at the comments section. It became extremely active the moment you moved aside.

You were by no means the most viewed streamer, though you did have a dedicated fanbase of your own. On normal days, there would be a steady stream of comments. Occasionally, there would be a large influx of comments and views, but that only happens when you’re celebrating festivals by creating challenging foods. (The last time you tried, you ended up spending the entire next day cleaning up your kitchen.) So, it was quite surprising to see the number of viewers suddenly increase. You looked at the comments section too.

————

gluedcheeks: OMG?? THATS YOUR BF ??

antidepressants98: HUHUHUH IM SUDENLY GAY

InADitch247: ahhh you two look so cute tgt!!! ><

allthingsblack: how does it feel to be gods bias?

EATINGRAMEN: @ allthingsblack right, GOD I SEE WHAT YOU DO FOR OTHERS

————

The rest of the comments that followed had similar contents. You were stupefied. You were under no such impressions that Muichirou was anything less than gorgeous, but after being with him for so long, you naturally got used to it a little. Seeing the reactions of people who never had the chance to be graced by such a beauty for, you couldn’t help but a little smug and sneak a glance at your boyfriend. Surprisingly, he was already looking at you, having lost interest in the reactions of others earlier. Smiling a little, you moved back to block your audience’s view of him. Ignoring the flood of dismayed comments, you resumed your talk. “Now, let us get started! I’ll be sharing the link to recipe I’ll be following later. After last month’s baking incident, I decided to pick an easier recipe to follow today.”

————

OKOKOKOKOKOK: understandable as you should

LALALALALALALA: its a surprise youre still willing to bake

————

What could you and the comments possibly be talking about? Muichirou was mystified. Still, he silently watched you curiously as you grabbed the necessary ingredients and preheated the oven. Once you were done adjusting the settings on the oven and lining the baking pan with parchment paper, you moved on to the next step. You grabbed a bowl that you deemed big enough and dumped in some flour, baking powder and salt. Seeing this, Muichirou couldn’t help but blurt out “How do you know how much to add?” He did not see you measure the ingredients beforehand and the amount of each ingredient you poured in seemed questionable.

“I don’t.” Ah what a simple response, but it gave Muichirou a better idea and guess of how “last month’s baking incident” could’ve happened. He mentally prepared himself for a “today’s baking incident”. Perhaps he should’ve worn a raincoat? He wasn’t familiar with baking but he was familiar with your uncanny ability to mess things up ridiculously so. He watched with new found interest as you whisked the ingredients before moving on to turning on your stand mixer. After fumbling with the switch and buttons a little, you managed to turn on it and waited a few minutes for it to beat the butter and sugar.

Muichirou moved closer to you and looked over your shoulder. The butter and sugar now looked pale and creamy, which (to Muichirou’s surprise) matched what the recipe stated. Oh, maybe you weren’t that bad at baking? Unaware of your boyfriend’s skepticism, you continued with the next steps: adding two eggs. Now this was easy. You’ve cracked many eggs before. However, it seems that today wasn’t your day. You must’ve used too much force because the moment you tried cracking the egg apart, it burst open. The slimy egg whites and yolk now stained the front of your shirt and kitchen walls. Some of it already began to drip down your kitchen counter too. Muichirou silently concluded that you couldn’t bake.

Without hesitation, he shook his head at you, sighed, and reached over to crack both eggs for you. He then proceeded to help you wipe off the egg remains from the walls and counter. Pointing at your stained shirt, he asked, “Are you not going to change? If you don’t wash it soon, it’s going to stain forever.” You wave a hand and laughed. “Of course not, I’m too lazy. This is my streaming shirt, no matter what happens, I’ll until I’m done to wash it.” That explained why this originally-purely-white shirt had all sorts of weird patches of colours on it.

————

imachicken: AHHHHH HE LEANED OVER TO HELP YOU AJHHH

xstrxnxut: that’s literally the hottest thing i’ve ever witnessed

EATINGRAMEN: HOW TO BE EGG

whywouldiknow: taking a bath with my hairdryer rn !! :D

EATINGRAMEN: HOWTOBEEGG

allthingsblack: HOWTOBEEGG

————

Unlike your extremely active comments section, Muichirou decided to keep his thoughts to himself and chose to observe what else would happen.

After adding milk, oil and vanilla into the bowl (all volumes were eyeballed obviously) and mixing it, you added the entire mixture of dry flour in and beat it until all ingredients were combined. (you were supposed to add half first, beat it, then add the other half but you wanted to “save time”). You then poured the batter into the baking pan. The recipe stated that you should use a spatula to smooth out the top. You could not find yours and decided to just move on to stuffing it into the oven. The recipe stated that you had to wait a minimum of thirty minutes. No troubles arose so far, impressive! Keep up the good work!

Proud of yourself, you grinned before turning to the camera. “Haha, guess today’s baking session will be a success! I’ll now be making the cake’s frosting.” Grabbing the bowl used to beat the butter previously, you placed more butter into it and dumped some sugar in and allowed your stand mixer to beat the mixture. With a soft smile on his face, Muichirou leaned against the counter as he watched you dump more sugar (?), milk and vanilla into the bowl.

————

OKOKOKOKOKOK: i didnt know frosting had salt in them

LALALALALALALA: thye don’t

————

There was still a lot of time left so you decided to interact with your audience. A quick glance at your viewership left you shocked. The numbers were nearly triple of your usual viewership and it was still steadily rising! Was having a new face really that effective in gaining more viewers? Of course not, the effectiveness depended on how attractive that face was! Perhaps you should invite Muichirou to join your streams more often, it seemed your fans really liked him and were extremely interested in him.

————

coconut_972: how did you guys meet????????

user4356892: how long have you guys been tgt

lovelove: YOU TWO ARE SO CUTE WHO CONFESSED FIRST

WEEVHJ: WHATS YOUR BFS SKINCARE ROUTINE

dontclickonmyname: YEAH WHAT PROCUCTS DPES HE USW

EATINGRAMEN: what kind of ritual did you perform to be so lucky

allthingsblack: none, if youre not gods fav you obv wont get someone liek that

EATINGRAMEN: 😔

allthingsblack: 😔

————

Wow, you were certainly not expecting so many questions. You glanced over at your lover, silently asking if he was okay with all the attention. Muichirou simply smiled at you before answering a question at random, “Everyday, I made sure to stand on my head for three minutes while reciting the following line aloud ‘I have no doubt that even if everyone in the world opposes us we will get together because our love for each other is so great that it’s greater than the universe itself’ two hundred and ninety seven times. You have to make sure that you say it two hundred and ninety seven times within three minutes. You will definitely get your soulmate if you do this. I’m living proof.” He said all that with a nonchalant look. For a moment, you couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious. In the end, you decided not to dwell on it. After all, who cares? (Your audience certainly did. The comments section exploded with multiple users commenting that line along with the cartwheel emoji repeatedly.)

Looking through the comments, you found a question to answer. “Oh, what’s our love languages? Well, mine is all of them, HAHA. And his is probably acts of service and words of affirmation. He used to be bad with his words but he’s getting better now!” You smiled lovingly at your boyfriend and he couldn’t help but smile back. Indeed, when the two of you first met, he was cold and aloof and held great disdain for anyone who wasn’t part of his family. But slowly and surely, he warmed up to you and now, the both of you have been together for quite some time and he has learnt to express his feelings a little better.

The two of you spent quite some time together answering the questions. It was mostly you going through the comments, picking out questions out of the sea of “🤸 I have no doubt that even if everyone in the world opposes us we will get together because our love for each other is so great that it’s greater than the universe itself 🤸”. You answered most of the questions, with Muichirou occasionally chiming in to provide some tidbits about the both of you. He didn’t talk much but whenever he had something to say, it would either be to praise you or an affectionate insult (which was actually still clearly a compliment for you!!). He did not look at the camera or the screen but rather at you. He loved watching you excitedly talk about stuff.

It was a while until you saw the following comments:

————

OKOKOKOKOKOK: hey how long has the cake been in there already

LALALALALALALA: HAHA I THINK AN HOUR. AT LEAST.

————

Oh no, you completely forgot about the cake! Rushing to the oven, you put on your gloves before opening it, reaching into it, and pulling out the pan. It did not look like the golden brown it should be. And while the recipe stated you wait for the cake to cool before adding frosting, you decided that at the point, time did not matter. Haphazardly, you used a large spoon to scoop out the frosting and spread it on the cake.

The frosting looked very uneven no matter how many times you tried to smooth it out. Oh well, who cares? Definitely not you! Using the same spoon, you scooped out a large chunk of the cake and turned around to offer it to Muichirou. He saw how the cake looked when it came out the oven. In fact, he could still see black peeking out of the uneven layers of frosting. How could he deny you though? Resigned to his fate, he opened his mouth and ate the cake obediently. He paused after the first bite. He slowly chewed again.

You watched his reaction intently but could not tell what he was thinking. Finally, you asked, “Well?” Muichirou swallowed before answering. He smiled brightly. “Really good. In fact, you should let me finish the rest.” A beautiful bright smile blossomed on your face as you excitedly took a bite for yourself. Your blossomed smile immediately wilted. It. Was. Salty. And So. Very. Very. Burnt. Really good my foot! You had added large amounts of salt into the frosting instead of sugar and the cake tasted like charcoal (you did not know how charcoal tasted like but you were positive that this was how it must taste like)!

You couldn’t even swallow the bite and spat it out into the bin. Looks like this baking session was a fail too! How disappointing, maybe better luck next time!

————

EATINGRAMEN: im so jealous he could still smile and offer praises

allthingsblack: OHMYGOD RIGHT ?? like he even tried to make sure that only he would have to suffer

OKOKOKOKOKOK: I KNEW IT IT WAS SALT NOT SUGAR

LALALALALALALA: at least today wasn’t exactly a baking incident like last time

————

a/n: ill really do anything just so I can avoid revising omfg

#kny #kny fanfic #kny x reader #muichiro x reader #demon slayer #kny muichiro #fluff #kimetsu no yaiba #wow this is like really long #muichiro x yn

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louroth · 1 year

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IT IS UPDATE TIME! For those of you who missed the dirty draft in the discord, the original play link has now been updated with 35 thousand words and two chapters sizzling with exposition, and heated rivalry. I'm so excited!

Here's what's new:

Before we start, it took some honest critique for something to click for me, plot wise. I have been meandering with the plot, partly because I had no idea what I was even doing, and part because I really wanted to meander around in this new medium. But, the plot I have planned is very high octane and epic in scale so I don’t want to bore you to death before we get to the good stuff.

So, don’t hunt me for sport when I tell you that (for the time being) I have removed the entire section of RO 101’s. I was so stubborn with shoehorning them in for the better part of a year, leading to writer's block and utter despair since it just wouldn’t fit; it wasn’t how you were supposed to learn about the RO’s. I have put them aside for now and tweaked Lenas scene once more so that it flows better- I am hemming and hawing over Id’s 101 because that one actually makes sense to have there, plotwise. It might go back in where it was, but I am still thinking about it.

Ok, for real this time though:

The scenes where you scream and your RO busts down the door Kool-Aid man style are there now.

A meeting with Oma and a blast from your [origin] past!

A whole chapter of lies and deceit, but it could literally be anyone lying. Careful who to trust.

Is that… [REDACTED]?? Surely not.

Another chapter where you get to choose your weapons and the way the Surge manifests with your hunter.

On topic of the surge, the magic in Ouro, it is now a default for all players; you can choose from 4 different classes. The Battlefrenzied Zealot, The Beastmaster, The Etherweaver or The Vox Psion. I had a terrible time writing the codexes for these classes, so some are partial and others missing, but if you continue you will experience them in actual action-scenes instead, weaponized. Don't forget to save! For now, each class comes with its own weapon, but I will add more whenever extra time strikes, or when the draft is done. I am going to remind you as I remind myself: This draft will get rougher around the edges, a little bit messy, as I am going to try to just draft the whole thing without even looking back. It will make my life so much easier when it comes to figuring out key scenes and motivations. While I wrote quite slowly as I treated OUROBOROS as a hobby, now I am working on it, which means skipping content I cannot think of on the spot just to keep the ball rolling. If you don't want to read the alpha draft, please wait with reading until the edited twine demo is out. Thank you!!

Now, ENJOY!

#OUROBOROS #ouroboros-if #interactive fiction #demo update #choicescript #dashingdon #I AM THROWING MYSELF ON THE COUCH SUPERMAN STYLE #I DID IT #I am going to make a post on discord asking for some specific feedback tomorrow so if you feel keen on helping me :> come join!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

All In 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Happy weekend.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The car comes to a stop. It takes you a minute to notice as you reel yourself back to reality. You blink through the tinted window as Merv turns the music down; a song about glory days or something.

“Here we are,” he announces and cranes to look back at you, “have fun, miss.”

“Have fun...” you whisper to yourself in confusion, “what? Where do I go?”

He laughs, not mockingly, and he points through the window, “well, you’ll want to go into that restaurant and give them Mr. Barnes’ name. They’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

“Oh,” your brows draw together. A restaurant. What?

You undo your seatbelt hesitantly and peer out through the glass again. This is strange. You’ve only had a few interviews and most of them were in cramped backrooms or closets. You pull the handle and let yourself out, thanking Merv before you step up on the curb.

You shut the car door and hook your bag over your shoulder. You stare up at the restaurant’s marquee. It’s a bistro of some sort. Upscale by your measure, thought you have little experience beyond chain joints and fast food. The white facade with its tall windows is intimidating as you approach the entrance.

As you step inside, you’re all but assured that you don’t belong. A woman greets you with a pearly smile, her hair in a wispy bun, as she sports a flowery white dress. You look back and forth as she cradles a tablet in one arm.

“Do you have a reservation?” She asks.

You look down at yourself. That’s a generous assumption. You don’t know how she’s not telling you to leave.

“Erm, I... I think I’m looking for someone,” you say, “Mr. Barnes?”

“Barnes, yes, party for two,” she taps the screen, “he’s waiting. Won’t you follow me?”

She spins on her heels and strolls away. She’s tall and gorgeous, just like the woman at the casino. You peer around and find no less finery and beauty among the staff and diners. The table are all white and polished and the walls are hung with abstract paintings of heaping fruit and bright cocktails. You’ve never seen brunch done so extravagantly.

You nearly trip as you look ahead just before you reach the stairs. The hostess climbs ahead of you. You envy her modelesque figure. How is she stuck here? She’s breathtaking. She could be in magazines.

More importantly, where are you going?

Several flights and you emerge into the open air. You've never been on a rooftop. You’ve seen things like these in movies. There’s a bar center to the space and tables beneath umbrellas set all about. There is only one diner despite the sunshine. It is strangely desolate for such a warm scene.

You’re led to the only occupied table. Mr. Barnes stands as you near. He wears a pair of teal slacks and a patterned shirt with an open collar. Casual but just as refined as before. It hardly seems like job interview.

“Doll,” he greets you with a kiss on the cheek to your surprise. You don’t comment on it, it might just be his way. “You made it.”

“I...” you check your watch, “it was before noon when I got to the casino.”

“That’s on me,” he insists as he pulls out the chair for you, “I got restless. Changed my mind. Please.”

He gestures to the seat and you accept stiffly, moving your bag into your lap as he tucks the chair in under you. He resumes his seat and looks up at the woman patiently standing to the side, “Melody,” he says, “she’ll have a vodka cran, give me my usual. Thanks.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she replies eagerly.

“Oh, and the lunch menu,” he returns.

She clacks off in her heels as you squirm and clutch your purse. You peer around the rooftop and finally at Bucky. You give a sheepish smile.

“This is a nice place.”

“Sure is,” he sits back carelessly. There is no tension in him but your wound tight as a spring.

“Never been anywhere like this...” your eyes drift over and you stare at the city skyline.

“Made sure we weren’t near the edge, doll,” he assures, “I remember you’re not a fan.” He rests a hand on the table, rubbing his index and thumb. “And I wanted to have this time alone so my pal did me a favour and cleared the roof.”

“Oh, wow.”

“He owns this place,” he shrugs. “Never got into the restaurant business. It’s fickle.”

You nod, not knowing what to say. He knows about these things. Obviously, a lot. You’ve never even worked a full-time week of work.

“How’s your sister?” He asks, “I assume you got home safe.”

“Yes, er, thank you, again, for doing all that,” you bite your lip and his blue eyes catch the gesture as his eyebrow tweaks. “I’m really sorry she did that.”

“Doll, you’re real sweet apologising for her,” he inclines his head slightly, “but you gotta worry about yourself, don’t ya? That’s why you’re here.”

The hostess, Melody, reappears and sets down two glasses. Yours is bright red with a lime on the rim and his is dark, no ice. She lays down a menu in front of each of you and straightens her posture.

“I have to get back to the door but Hailee will be up to help you shortly. Our specials today are a goat cheese and beet salad or a brown sugar salmon with seasonal veggies.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he taps the menu.

Melody leaves you again and you bend your neck to read the menu. You look for a price beneath the dishes and find none. That can’t be good.

“I’m not very hungry,” you sit up straight.

“Doll, don’t worry about it. It’s on me,” he circles his hand around his glass, “why don’t you try your drink? Make sure it’s up to snuff.” He sits forward and lifts his own, “cheers.”

Your hand slips up the condensating glass before you get a grasp on it. You raise it and clink it against his. You bring it to your lips slowly as he does the same, mirroring you as he watches you intently. You gulp and set down the glass as your cheeks strain.

“You don’t like it?” He wonders.

“No, I... well, I don’t drink much,” you take the cloth napkin and dab your lips.

“Ah, if that’s too tart, you can have a look at the cocktails. Some of them are so sweet, you wouldn’t know the difference.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him, “so...” you swallow and force out your breath, “about the job--”

“Damn, doll, I’m so all over the place lately, I didn’t even tell you how good you look.”

“I...” your eyes widen but you quickly wipe away your shock, “that’s nice. I mean, thank you.” Your voice shakes as you struggle to comprehend the compliment. What do you say? “You too.”

He smirks, “yeah, you think so?”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

“You think I look good?” He combs his fingers through his long hair. Oh god.

“Yes,” you answer cautiously, “I like your shirt.”

“You’re adorable,” he snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward once more, bending his arms against the table.

“Uh...” you peek down at the table and back to him. You can’t even blame the sun that you’re about to melt. The umbrella blocks out the bright beacon though a glare comes over the edge. “Bucky, sir, Mr. Barnes,” you shuffle through his titles, “the job. What would that be?”

His brows rise and he brings a hand up to drag over his mouth and beard, his fingers brushing along the trim of his jaw.

“The job,” he repeats as he narrows his eyes, “ah,” he lowers his head and presses a fingertip to the menu, “let’s order before we get into all that.”

You look over the menu again then raise your chin, “I appreciate it, but it’s too much, Bucky. I wouldn��t want to... waste your money.”

“It’s my money,” he looks at you, “so I’ll decide how I waste it.”

“Oh,” your cheeks set alight, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tilts his head again, “you’re just that type of girl. You don’t know what it is to be treated so allow me to show you.”

You’re confused. This is the oddest encounter you’ve ever had. You almost feel like it’s a joke. You’re this poor helpless girl and he’s flaunting how rich and powerful he is. Is there even a job?

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t eat, so doll, don’t step on my toes.”

You chew your cheek and look down again. That’s it. You’ll have the cucumber sandwich. That’s not too much. It can’t be.

The waitress arrives, a different woman but just as stunning. She introduces herself as Hailee. Bucky prompts you to order first before he gives his own. As she leaves, you rock slightly in your chair, stilling yourself before you can look weird.

“So... I could clean or... I could learn something--”

“Let me stop your there, doll,” he puts a large hand up, his palm rough and lined. “It’s my turn to apologise. I... haven’t been honest with you.”

Your heart drops and you can’t help the glimmer in your vision. No. You’re going to have to go home and tell your mother you failed again. That you wasted her time and gas. You close your eyes and frown.

“Doll, doll,” he says and you hear his chair scrape. You open your eyes as he pulls his chair around to sit closer to you, “hey, let me finish here.”

You look him in the eye. Big mistake. You could drown in the blueness. He smirks and rubs your arm.

“I’m not... it’s not a job I have to offer you,” he says deliberately, his other hand fluttering on your knee, “I would call it an arrangement. Mutually beneficial.”

You stare at him. You’re entire being is on fire. You don’t understand what he’s saying, more so, you can barely think with him touching you.

“But... I need a job,” you sniffle.

He scoffs, not unkindly, “you’ll have money. I know you got a family, your sister, maybe your parents? Economy’s tough, I know it.”

“Money? For what?”

He squeezes your knee and sits up, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he leans even closer, “for your company. For yourself.”

“What?” Your voice piques sharply. “I don’t...”

“Look, let’s take it slow here, alright? Today is the taster. We spend some time together, see how we vibe, and go from there. Now I know you went to a whole lot of trouble to get so nice and pretty for me today,” he coaxes, “and I’m not gonna waste your time so you won’t go home empty handed. One thousand.”

“Thousand?” You breathe.

“Just for lunch,” he says, “I’d pay a lot more so I’m open to bartering.”

“That’s... a lot...” you mutter.

“Nothing’s too much for a girl like you,” his fingers dance along your shoulder.

“I... I...” you heave each word.

“Now don’t you freak out,” he’s on the edge of laughing, “doll, I mean it. Just lunch. You and me. Nothing...” he pulls away from you and puts his hands up, “untoward.”

He stands and moves his chair back across from you. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, “I mean it. Let’s get to know each other. I want to know all about you, doll.”

“Me?” You gulp.

“You,” he points over the table, “you must like music. You went to that concert, didn’t ya?”

You nod and curl your shoulders.

“What kinda music you like?”

“Oh, I... old stuff, I guess. Destiny’s Child?” You give a sheepish cringe.

“Old school,” he remarks, “I like it. Spice girls too?”

“Yeah,” you clamp your lips together.

“I’m not teasing ya. I can’t lie and say I never turned the radio up when I heard them,” he chuckles, “no judgment. That goes for you too, alright? When you find out how much I like ABBA, you can’t giggle.”

Your cheeks dimple as you try not to smile. It’s hard to imagine him listening to Dancing Queen. You push your shoulders higher and look away.

“Don’t laugh,” he chides.

“I didn’t,” you turn back to him.

“Yeah, you’re too nice, that’s why,” he purrs, “you gotta tell me your fave ABBA song.”

You shrug and he squints cynically, “everyone has one. Come on. Fernando?” You shake your head at his guess. “Waterloo?” Again, no. “Mamma Mia?” Nope. “Take a Chance on Me?” No. “Alright, I surrender, tell me.”

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” you eke out.

“Hm, not what I would guess but interesting,” he muses as his eyes wander from your face and back up, “but I at least knew you had taste.”

He winks and you let out a giggle. Whether your nervous or something else, you can’t untangle all your emotions from one another. Yet you do feel a little better, a little lighter. It’s an unexpected situation but not as bad as you foresaw.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #mcu #marvel #casino au #winter soldier #avengers #captain america #all in

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