#linen stall
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A Linen Market with A Linen-Stall and Vegetable Seller in the West Indies
Artist: Agostino Brunias (Italian, 1728 - 1796)
Date: circa 1780
Medium: Oil on canvas
Collection: Yale Center for British Arts, New Haven, Connecticut
Description
The linen market was a recurrent theme in the work of Agostino Brunias. His detailed depictions of the buying and selling of textiles - manufactured in Britain for export to the Caribbean and Africa - were calculated to showcase the prosperity of the British-controlled West Indies, and the islands’ active participation in the global economy. Brunias’s careful depictions of dress and race draw on ethnological images of racial and social types that were popular in Europe, yet his figures also function as individuals actively negotiating their place in society. Dress was a form of resistance and means of establishing autonomy among the enslaved and free people of color. Brunias gave particular prominence to figures of women, who are often well dressed and stride confidently through the bustling chaos of the public marketplaces. Surrounded by people and goods from around the world, they are an integral part of the islands’ commercial and social life.
#oil on canvas painting#landscape#linen stall#vegetable seller#west indies#agostino brunias#italian painter#18th century painting#tropical island#caribbean#buildings#market#sellers#men#women#palms#tropics#oil on canvas#artwork#oil painting#fine art#tropical landscape#yale center for british art
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hey girlies how's your day going?
#i dilly dallied today (whats new)#went 2 the market and got some old books from a lil book stall#and then i went to the charity shops n found some linen trousers n a long black skirt !#also got this cute blue ceramic plate which is soo pretty :)#diary
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the same heart ☆ n.r
synopsis: navigating the beginning of your first relationship is proving to be most heartwarming, including the list of firsts - particularly, your first kiss. genre: established relationship au, slight angst, fluff. pairing: boyfriend!riki x fem!reader word count: 4.2k rating: pg-15. warnings: swearing, use of petnames (baby, pretty, pretty girl, babe, etc.), that's about it LOL. listen to: those eyes - new west ; yellow - coldplay ; heart - dawn ; sparks - coldplay ; i adore you, dear - dwen author's note: as per usual, we've got another birthday fic! figuring out what to write took me a few moments but i will always pull through. happiest birthday to our riki! i love you, little guy.
Things between you and your boyfriend were slightly awkward.
Granted, you'd only made it official a week and a half ago – but something about the way he didn't hold your hand made you feel a bit confused. The way he never got too close if you were over at his dorm for a movie night, the way he'd hug you loosely as he dropped you off at home after a date or just dropping by to check on you. The way he'd gently reject your advances at public affection, opting to smile apologetically as he ruffled your hair.
The way he hadn't kissed you yet, despite the amount of time you spent together, the many dates and what he thought were his unnoticed longing glances.
You were truly in no rush. You knew that this was something new for the two of you, the first relationship either of you had ever been in. You met a year ago, at a record shop shortly after your eighteenth birthday. He may not be into prolonged skinship or public displays of affection, but he flirted with you like it was nobody's business. He poked fun at you as you blushed at his compliments, eager to make you smile and eventually, you allowed his charms to make him a little spot in your heart.
So despite not being outwardly physically affectionate, he had a way with words that made your cheeks hot and your chest flutter. He never stopped flirting with you, even during the many dates he took you on – even with the onlookers, he never minded. Murmurs of pretty girl and gorgeous as he directed your attention to things or simply didn't feel like calling your name, careful maneuvers through crowded areas with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, playful pinches to your cheeks.
Your first date had been very different than you'd expected – the two of you simply perused a farmers market that was a few miles out of the city. He bought you flowers and lunch, and the two of you got to know each other better over stalls upon stalls of jewelry and fine linens, fresh fruit and chopped vegetables ready to be juiced. You'd fully expected him to want to kiss you as he dropped you home, but he only blushed as you made the move. His fingers pinched to your cheek as he stopped you with a soft shake of his head.
"Next time, promise." Next time lingered with a bit of tension, that date being the Christmas light show that came to town every year. He bought the tickets, he picked you up. The two of you opted to share a hot cocoa after seeing how big the cups were, and your lipstick stained his lips a muted berry color. You took pictures at a few trees, and this was the date that soft-launched your flourishing relationship on social media – him posting a picture of you staring at a pink tree with white lights and you posting a picture of a Polaroid a vendor took of you for a dollar.
But still, even after several perfect opportunities, there was no kiss. He dropped you off at home, letting you know he had a good time and wanted to see you again before the year ended. You nodded, and lingered at your door with a pointed look. He bid you a goodnight and you disappointedly said it back, slinking into your house with a dejected look.
The next date was unfortunately after the New Year – you'd gotten sick and he felt awful, stopping by several times to bring you soup and cold medicine. Your mother met him then, and told you that he'd make a great boyfriend – you'd huffed in response, muttering that he didn't even want to hold your hand. Your mother sighed and told you those things took time, to be patient, to be understanding. You slept on it, knowing it would be worth the wait but still feeling a bit undesired.
The date after your cold subsided was one inside – bowling and arcade games. You beat him by a landslide, your last roll a perfect strike. He complained the entire time the two of you wandered around the rest of the arcade, and only stopped when you pulled him into a photo booth. Your poses were of a shy couple just learning to be together, and you were honest with him – you wanted to kiss in one of the pictures. He looked hesitant, offering an alternative almost immediately and you reluctantly agreed – the last photo being of him kissing your cheek gently. He dropped you off that night with another press of his lips to your warmed skin, and a warm apology that you accepted quietly.
You felt your heart warm when you saw the photo strip hanging from his rearview mirror the next time he picked you up, a hole punched in the white border and a soft pink string looped through it. So much so, that you let it go. You stopped asking, but he continued to press gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead throughout the rest of your dates, accumulating to almost eighty dates within eleven months – you never went more than four days without seeing him in some way or another.
And yet, despite the flirty words, his touch remained reserved. Through eleven months, he swiped your hair out of your face, he continued to pinch your cheeks between his fingers. He kissed your cheeks occasionally, usually on the drop-off or spontaneously every once in a while. He upgraded slowly to ruffling your hair, tying your shoelaces, zipping up your coat. He was sweet, attentive, coy and he made it known he was deeply interested in you.
It'd been almost a year to the date of meeting when he asked you to be his girlfriend during the first snow of the season. The two of you had snuck out to a park late that night, and he was admiring the way you hung upside down from the monkey bars, before he offered to help you get down. You agreed, asking if he'd be willing to get something warm.
You wound up in a little hole-in-the-wall ramen shop the two of you had gone to during one of your first dates. You recounted it, remembering how you'd burned your tongue on the broth and he'd sprinkled sugar in your mouth, stating he'd seen it somewhere. It hadn't worked but it was funny and you shared a laugh, when he cleared his throat and said he had something serious to tell you.
"Are you okay?" Your worried tone startled him, the way your brows tugged down and your eyes grew filled with concern. He nodded quickly, "I'm fine, I just…sorry, this is hard for me." "It's okay. I'm here." You reached for his hand, but quickly retracted it. He shook his head, reaching for your hands and running his thumbs over your knuckles. "I really, really like you, Y/N." Oh no, you'd thought. He's going to dump me and we're not even together.
The very thought had made your eyes well with tears, his silence deafening as he stared at your hands. You wore a ring he'd bought you at a fair on one of your dates, the dragon egg-like stone shimmering in the low light of the shop when he finally looked back at you. His eyes widened at the sight of you blinking back tears, his hands quickly moving to cradle your face.
"Oh baby, don't cry. What's wrong?" His concern only made your heart sink deeper, the pet name he'd never used before flying over your head as your fingers circled his wrists, the metal of his watch cold against your fingertips.
"If you're going to dump me–"
"Dump you? No, no, pretty. I wanted to make this official, I just…I'm sorry, I'm so bad at this–"
Your cheeks heated beneath his fingers, your tears blurring your vision as you looked at him. You blinked, a few tears sliding down your face as he tried to wipe them away.
"You what?" He sighed, his cheeks coated in a bright pink blush as he cleared his throat. "I…want to be your boyfriend." You only looked at him, before letting out a shaky breath. "You are bad at this."
"Is that a no?" He asked meekly, and you swatted at his arms. "You're so bad at asking things! I'm crying, Riki!" "Baby, I'm sorry!" He laughed softly, holding your wrists in his hands. "I didn't know how to ask and I was too nervous to ask Jake. He's too involved in our relationship as it is." Riki rolled his eyes as you registered the pet name, your lip jutting out in a pout as you whined. "You called me baby."
His eyes widened, then narrowed as he thought about it. "Haven't I been calling you that? I swear I have."
You scoffed, "Must've been one of your other girls." He smirked, "Which one?" He didn't manage to dodge the soft smack you landed on his thigh, a pout on his lips as he rubbed his leg. "You want to be my boyfriend but you talk about other girls, we both know I'm the only one hitting your line up." "All the more reason to let me be your boyfriend! C'mon, pretty! I'll be the best boyfriend ever, I'll even buy your mom flowers like I did that one time when she was sick!" He folded his hands together as if praying, making you snort as you wiped your face of stray tears. "What took you so long?" He huffed, "I just wanted to make sure you wanted to be with me. Every time I see you I feel like I'm about to throw up." "Riki…did you just call me ugly?" You chided, and his eyes widened as he shook his head quickly, his hands cradling your face. "What? No! You're the prettiest girl ever, please–" "Calm down, you big baby. I guess you can be my boyfriend." You rolled your eyes, and his eyes widened as he leaned closer into your space. "Really?!" "Yes, really."
The night ended with him walking you home, practically vibrating out of his own skin as he held your hand tightly the entire way. It'd given you a lot of comfort, but you didn't mention it as he dropped you off at home, your mother waiting on the porch with her robe on and an angry look on her face. She ushered you inside and you were grounded for three days before she decided it wasn't the worst thing in the world – specifically when Riki appeared with the biggest bouquet of flowers you'd ever seen and the softest pout known to man.
She allowed him in and you had a movie night in your bedroom, before he promptly kissed your cheek goodnight and went home.
Fast forward a few days, the Christmas light show was back in town for the year. Riki bought the tickets, picked you up and you shared yet another comically large cup of hot cocoa, your lipstick a wine red this year. He held your hand gently, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin as he held you close to him. You scoured the different figurines this year, your eyes caught by the enormous lovebird display – two swans made by champagne-colored lights and formed into a heart by their necks.
You lingered a bit at it, letting go of Riki's hand to get a closer look. He took a few photos discreetly, before eventually joining your side and moving your hair carefully out of your face. "Something on your mind, baby?" He asked gently, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. You shook your head, smiling at him softly. "It's silly." "Mmh, nothing is silly if you're thinking so hard about it. Talk to me, pretty." He taps your temple, and you shrug. "It's okay. I'm in no rush." "No rush to what? Stop being so cryptic, you know it freaks me out. It's like you're plotting something." He pinches your cheek between his knuckles softly, and you roll your eyes as you swat his hand away. "You know, it's been almost a year since we met and you still haven't kissed me?" He doesn't meet your eyes as you say this, opting to look at the swans in front of you. "Mmh." He nods, before looking at his feet, nudging a bit of gravel with the tip of his boot. You calmly loop your arm with his, sliding your hand into his pocket and intertwining your fingers. He glances down at you, a soft blush on his cheeks that you want to attribute to the biting wind. "Why?" You ask, and he tongues his cheek before shrugging. "It makes me nervous, I guess." "Nervous?" Your voice is an echo of him, albeit slightly concerned. "Yeah. You make me nervous. I literally almost threw up the night I asked you to be my girlfriend." "Correction, you asked to be my boyfriend." You say pointedly, and he scoffs. "Me being your boyfriend makes you my girlfriend." "You sure like calling me your girlfriend, huh?" Your arm nudges him, and he huffs in embarrassment, looking away. You lean your head on his shoulder, staring back up at the swans. A cliché example of lovers, you know, but a lovely one nonetheless.
"You know I don't mind waiting, right? I'm sure we will eventually." You murmur, and he sighs.
"I know, I'm sorry. I want to, I promise. I just…"
You glance at him, the way he chews on his lip anxiously as he trails off makes your stomach sink.
"I'm sorry for bringing it up, we don't have to keep talking about this." You pat his chest, an apologetic smile on your lips as he meets your eyes. They're serious, a look you'd only ever seen on him a few times. You drop your hand from his chest and he moves the two of you down the path.
You see a few more displays, taking pictures within all the decorated trees and once more paying the same vendor from last year for a Polaroid. You both smile and it goes into Riki's wallet. "For safekeeping," He'd whispered into your hair as he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head.
The two of you wandered out of the show hand in hand, and Riki offers to stop somewhere for dinner before he drops you off at home. It's routine, the way he opens your door, the way he buckles your seatbelt in for you. The way he hands you the aux and you play jazz fusion, Tutu by Miles Davis filling his car the way it always has after a date.
"I've never kissed anyone." He murmurs as you reach the first stoplight out of the show. His fingers are wrapped loosely around the bottom of the steering wheel, and you nod, looking at him. "Me either, it's no big deal. We'll learn, when the time comes." "It's not that I don't want to. You know that, right?" His voice is shaky as he flicks on his turn signal, and you nod again. "I'm sure you want to, but there really is no rush. I'm not the only one who's waiting, you know? We went on eighty dates, Riki. We've got all the time in the world." Your fingers toy with his earrings, before you card your fingers through his hair. "It's just you and me, yeah?" "Yeah." He's quiet, and you know it's weighing on him as the two of you make the drive to your favorite diner. The two of you share an appetizer, his head resting on your shoulder as you talk about your new part-time job and how you'd miss popping by the record store to bring him lunch. He listened intently as the food came and went, only responding softly to any questions you asked him.
It weighed on you when he was quiet on the way to your house, and how softly he bid his goodbye with a kiss to your hairline and his arm around your shoulders. "Sleep well, baby." Your heart felt heavy in your chest as the next few days went by and he seemed distant. You both planned another date for the arcade, and agreed he'd pick you up after his shift at the record store. You dressed casually, one of his old t-shirts and a pair of black jeans. You wore heavy boots to brace the cold, and nearly tripped over your own feet when he knocked on your front door
"Coming!" You called, your mother poking her head out of the kitchen upon hearing you yell. "Leaving already, honey?" "Yeah, date night." You reply sheepishly, unlocking the door with fumbling fingers and your coat half off your body, and opening it to reveal your boyfriend holding yet another bouquet of flowers. Your eyes were wide, as you stopped pulling your coat on. "For my mom?" You nod, and he shakes his head.
"For you. I'm sorry for being distant these past few days, it wasn't my intention and I'm sure it made you feel some type of way. I should've spoken to you about my feelings, and I know flowers aren't nearly enough but I hope it's a start?" He said meekly, and you scoff out a soft laugh, nodding as you take the flowers.
"Riki, it's okay. I know it's a sensitive topic." You smile apologetically, taking the flowers and turning on your heel. "I'll put these in my room, I'll be right back. Come inside." He doesn't say anything, just gives you a curt nod as he steps inside your house, closing the door and greeting your mother warmly. You quickly walk up the stairs, taking the cellophane off the flowers and setting them carefully in the vase you had sitting on your dresser from past bouquets he'd given you. You'll fill them with water later, you think, as you barrel back down the stairs. You see your boyfriend deep in thought as he and your mother speak, and you don't eavesdrop as you clear your throat. She stops talking, before giving him a warm smile and bidding you a good date night. You thank her, tell her you'll be home before the streetlights come on and a quick love you, bye!
"Let's zip this up, don't want you to get sick." Riki doesn't let you off your porch without zipping your coat up, grabbing your hand as you both step off. "Do you think you'll kick my ass bowling this time, too?" "I'm sure of it." You grin.
And you do. You take the lead within three frames, your boyfriend clearly distracted as he watches you roll strike after strike. You play three full games, his pout only getting deeper and deeper as you win each one.
"This is so unfair, how'd you get so good anyway?" He pouts as he slides a few coins into an air hockey table, and you shrug as you score the first point within the first few seconds. He gapes, and you just laugh as he, once more, loses this game.
The night goes smoothly, both of you scoring your wins and cutting your losses sorely. You both make faces at each other the moment one of you loses, but all is fair in love and arcade games when the night ends in the photo booth, your legs across your boyfriend's lap as he rests his hands on your knees. You fix his hair out of his eyes, the shaggy bangs tickling the bridge of his nose as you coo.
"Okay, how does my hair look? Frizzy?" You run your fingers through it and he shakes his head, watching as you dig your lipstick out of your purse. It's another deep red, and he feels his stomach fill with butterflies as you wipe the corners of your lips. "You look pretty." "You always say that." You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat as he smiles, softly flicking your nose. "You always look pretty, baby." You huff, facing the camera and tucking your hair behind your ears before clearing your throat. "Smile first, right? That's what we did last time." "Yeah, that's cool. We can do….the cat thing? For the second one." He holds his fingers in two upside-down Vs over his hair, and you laugh, nodding. "Sure, sure." The camera begins to count down as you press the red button, and you smile as it flashes the two of you. You both scrunch your noses, blinking rapidly as you maneuver your hands to fit in the frame for the fifteen seconds it gives you. "Smile, babe." You say through gritted teeth, and he does just that as the camera flashes again.
"Shit, what now? Uh…" "Kiss me." He whispers, and you nearly snap your neck to face him. "What?!" "Kiss me." His hand moves to cradle your cheek, and you grab his wrist, hearing the camera start counting from ten. "Are you sure? We don't have to–" "I've wanted to kiss you for a year. Kiss. Me." He insists, and your heads both turn as the camera boasts five…four…
"I'm nervous." You admit, and he nods. "Me too. Just trust me, baby." Three…two…
You both breathe in shakily, before softly connecting your lips as the camera flashes brightly. You don't move away as the camera begins its last countdown from fifteen, instead you lean your forehead against his. His eyes peer up at you, and you feel a giggle erupt through you as you press your lips all over his face in chaste kisses. His cheeks grow hot under your lips, and the camera only continues it's countdown as your lipstick stamps all over his rosy cheeks.
"Smile for the camera." He mumbles, pressing his lips to your cheek as the camera reaches two, and smiles bashfully as it flashes one last time. The two of you watch the two strips pop out, and you reach for them. You hand him his, your other hand softly stroking his cheek as you stare at the pictures.
"We're cute." You nod, and he only smiles sheepishly. "Yeah. Was it okay? The kiss, I mean?" "Yeah. And we have it now, forever." You smile as you tuck the photo strip into your purse. He nods, clearing his throat, hoping you don't feel the way his heart skips a beat at the sound of you subconsciously admitting to a forever with him. "So…dinner? On me." "Shit, you have lipstick all over your face." You wince, and he shrugs. "Call it a perk, I guess. You can kiss me again to make up for it." "You're not slick, you know." You roll your eyes as the two of you exit the booth, and you thumb at the lipstick on his nose, only successful in smearing it. "I'm serious, I'm only taking payment in kisses now. So…pay up." "Shut up." You press your lips to his chastely, before shoving your purse over your shoulder as he grabs your hand, making you face him as you tug on your coat. "Seriously, we can stop by a pharmacy and get something to wipe your face." "No, these are my battle scars. I fought relentlessly against my urge to kiss you for a year, I deserve to celebrate this win." He scoffs as he zips up your coat, and you only scoff out a laugh, slipping your fingers in his. "Whatever, loser." And you don't say anything else about it. Not when your waitress stares at him a little too hard as she takes your order, not when your mother gapes at him and you as he drops you off, and certainly not when he kisses you goodnight, a murmur of I'll see you later against your lips before you slip inside your house.
You flop onto your bed after your shower, assuming your boyfriend has long been asleep as you reminisce about the events of the day. Your stomach fills with butterflies as you cover your face with a squeal, reaching for your phone – only to see a notification that your boyfriend posted something on his Instagram.
You open it, seeing a slideshow of photos – one of you in front of the champagne swans at the light show earlier that month, one of the new photo strip hanging alongside the old one in his car, and one of you at the beginning of the entire ordeal. You're sitting at the farmers market, your eyes casted away from the camera as you blushed, likely at something Riki had said. You don't remember him taking that photo, but it doesn't matter as you listen carefully to the song he'd put over it – the melodic sound of Heart by Dawn.
You glance at the caption with a thundering heart, your eyes welling with tears as you read. @/nishimura05: two sides of the same heart, and mine that only beats for you. your patience is beyond me, but i am eternally grateful for the man you make me want to become. thinking of you, always.
BABEYUN © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.
#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enha x reader#enhypen fluff#enha fluff#riki x reader#riki angst#riki x you#nishimura riki x reader#riki imagine#riki fic#enhypen fic#enhypen series#nishimura riki fic#enhypen soft hours#niki imagines#niki x reader#enhypen niki#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen imagines#enhypen riki#enha#nishimura riki#enhypen scenarios#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop fanfic#kvanity
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waves of you | kmg
you're called to the ocean, like a sailor to a siren's song. kim mingyu's soul is made of the same stuff as yours.
pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader genres/themes: slow burn, pining, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, eventual fluff (suggestive bonus at the end!) tw: brief mentions of mental health and medication, unhealthy coping mechanisms a/n: my first fic ever posted! pls let me know if this is any good,, wc: 7.4k
You were born on an island, and although growing up, you rarely visited the beach once a year, in adulthood, something about the ocean calls you back to it and eases your nerves. The salt in the air that you taste with each breath, the fine sand hot between your toes, the waves that lap at your ankles, everything is familiar and puts your soul at peace.
It’s what enabled you to become friends with Mingyu, you think, because he’s also inevitably led to the coasts and the sands and the water. Because otherwise, the popular, well-loved sports junkie that he is would never have even looked your way back in freshman year, you tell yourself.
“Oh, how beautiful,” your friend, Yujin, breathes out a gasp as the car rounds the corner and turns onto a road that overlooks the beach that you’re headed towards. Minghao, her boyfriend and the current driver of the car, takes a peek and hums in agreement. It rouses you from your half-asleep daze, and you sit up a little to crane your neck to the side to look out the window.
She’s right. The cabin that your group of friends has rented for the weekend sits cozily along a row of other identical lodgings, dotting a beautiful shoreline that meets the eastern sea. The sunrises are gorgeous, Yujin had insisted, and that had been enough to convince you to come along. Of course, the mention of Kim Mingyu’s presence on the trip hadn’t been omitted either. The view, further solidifying the reality of this upcoming weekend, and the recollection of the conversation sends a flutter of anticipation in your stomach, which you try your best to swallow away.
Once Minghao pulls into the designated parking stalls for the campgrounds, you’re pulling at your belt buckle and all but scrambling out of the backseat. Instantly, you take a lungful of the salty air, feet surging forward and leading you towards the water. You barely hear and acknowledge Yujin’s amused murmur, “There she goes again.”
As you near the beach, you crouch to pull your sneakers and socks off, planting your bare feet into the sand and breathing a quiet sigh of relief. You almost feel instantly healed from the headache of work and life. There’s a few remaining minutes of the sun left, so a few stragglers saunter along the beach still. A family with two squealing children, a couple quietly sharing a blanket around their shoulders, and a singular, tall silhouette that you would recognize anywhere in the world.
Almost as if he’s been expecting you, the man turns his head over his shoulders at the same time that you distinguish him. The grin that splits Mingyu’s face takes your breath away, more than the purple and orange and blue of the twilight sky overhead.
“Hey,” he calls your name with a wave to accompany it, his own shoes dangling from his other hand. “About time you guys showed up!” He’s in a white linen cardigan, sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and his jean cuffs are folded up to his ankles neatly. A pair of sunglasses hang from the vee of his collar, and his hair is wind tossed and salt ruffled. He looks every part a resident of this sleepy, seaside town.
You will your racing heart to calm as you take each footstep towards him carefully and intentionally, so as not to rush and trip. Once you get close enough to see the moles on his nose, cheeks, and forehead that you love so much, you return his smile easily.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Mingyu just agrees and laughs.
When the sun finally disappears behind the mountains to the west, the two of you can’t linger any longer, especially as the wind picks up with a bite. Mingyu lets you take the lead as you trudge through the cold sand, barely satisfied with the glimpse of the ocean.
You enter the house first, kicking your shoes clean outside, and immediately, a warm body crashes into you forcefully and nearly knocks you clear off of your feet. Thankfully, you’re held upright by a sturdy surface behind you, as you grasp at your chest, where your heart lurches in surprise.
“Seokmin,” you hiss out, mid-complaint, but the man already apologizes at a million words per minute, arms looped around your shoulders.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Seokmin mumbles sheepishly, hugging you properly, as if it’s consolation for giving you the fright of a lifetime (it is). “I just missed you so much!”
A quiet rumble of a laugh breaks you out of the moment, and it’s with mild horror that you realize that the surface that caught you from crashing to the floor is actually Mingyu’s broad, firm chest. With a jolt, you straighten up under Seokmin’s hold and shuffle farther into the hallway, leaving the two men behind and pretending to huff as you go.
In the kitchen, Yujin and Minghao quietly tuck away the groceries and drinks into the fridge and freezer, and you study them for a moment, watching as they work effortlessly in tandem without saying a single word. Their movements come practiced and easy, through years of patience and work and fighting and loving. Despite the smile that curls onto your lips, you wonder cynically if you’ll ever find that sort of love for yourself.
“Oh!” Yujin has turned to place something onto the kitchen counter and has caught sight of you lingering. “And how’s your estranged lover doing?”
You snort out a laugh, broken from your reverie, just as Mingyu and Seokmin catch up to you and crowd around the counter.
“You have a lover?” Seokmin gapes innocently, eyes bright with confusion. He turns to glance at Mingyu, who responds with a shrug and a nibble along his bottom lip.
“Yeah, and his name is the ocean,” Yujin deadpans with a quick roll of her eyes. “Can’t get enough of him, really. Maybe that’s why she can’t seem to find a guy.” She bites playfully, knowingly shifting her gaze from you to Mingyu and back.
You wince, “Ouch.” Pretend not to notice the way Seokmin offers you a sympathetic smile nor the sag of Mingyu’s shoulders. Instead, you plaster on the brightest grin you can manage and change the subject.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
–
You sit on the deck railing, half-ignoring and half-laughing at Yujin’s shrill warnings for you to be careful because if you fall and break your leg, nobody’s taking you to the ER. Behind you, Mingyu mans the grill, and Minghao sets the table up for dinner. Seokmin, bless his heart, sidles up behind you and mumbles sweetly that he’ll drive you, if it comes to it. You thank him with a grin, popping open your can of seltzer and knocking a mouthful back.
The darkness that you stare into is dizzying, but there’s a certain calm that it brings. You swing your legs back and forth, balancing yourself on the wooden beam carefully, and sip away at the can, listening to the distant waves crash and break.
“Doin’ alright?”
The voice comes without warning, and you jump at its proximity which jostles you an inch forward, teetering a bit off balance. Before you have the chance to right yourself, an arm snakes around your waist, holding you back firmly.
“Mingyu,” you breathe. “You scared me.” The motion has made your drink spill all over your hand and pants, and you pull a face, bringing your arm up to lick away at the stray droplets clinging to your skin.
The man besides you giggles a little sheepishly, “Sorry. Dinner’s ready, but you seemed so peaceful and I didn’t want to bother you.” He pulls away once you twist around to come down from the rail, and you instantly mourn the loss of his warmth.
Nonsense, you quickly admonish yourself. As smitten as you may be with the man, you have to remind yourself constantly that he’s been seeing another girl for almost the better part of a year now. The day that epiphany had come, through a careless slip of Wonwoo’s tongue, had gone over rough. You had spent an entire weekend moping on the couch, as Yujin and Minghao, Seokmin and Soonyoung, and Chan and Seungkwan took rotating shifts to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely and do anything stupid.
You know that you’re pathetic, pining after the only person you know who comes close to being perfect, but you’re anything but weak so you tried to take it in stride, laughing easily at jokes and eating all of the sweet treats that your friends brought you to cheer you up. It was only after you shut the door behind Seungkwan and Chan taking off for the night with lingering hugs and quiet murmurs of comfort that you allowed yourself to unravel, heaving through dry sobs that shook your entire body until the tears followed.
You let yourself cry over Mingyu that one night and never again.
Now, as you trail along back inside to the dinner table, eyes glued to the wide expanse of his back, you wish you could cry. Mingyu’s perfect, you’re realizing all over again, as if the distance and time away from him had made you forget. Perfect, but not meant for you.
You gulp down the rest of your seltzer just as you sink into your designated chair to chase away the bitterness that pools in the back of your throat. Seokmin leans into you, bumping his shoulder against yours with a concerned furrow to his brow, but you wave him away with a smile.
“Eat up,” you urge him, nodding towards the piles of barbequed meats that Mingyu has grilled.
You quickly realize that the dining table, despite being long and wide enough to seat all five comfortably, is still too small because you can hear every word, giggle, grumble coming from Mingyu. It gets to the point where you’re just one more seltzer in, barely having nibbled on a short rib or two, and you’re all but sagging into Seokmin’s side, hanging off of every word that comes from Mingyu’s mouth as he recounts some funny story.
At one of the punchlines, you squeak out a giggle, unable to hold it in, and the whole table turns to glance at you, which then makes the others laugh too.
“Oh, man.” Mingyu grins, visibly pleased by the reaction to his story. “She’s gone.”
You snort a puff of air out, mumbling, “M’right here!” Your friends laugh again, and Seokmin snakes his arm around your back to hold you up in your seat, snickering as he does.
“Don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” he muses, chewing on his lip, before he dips his face close to yours to whisper. “You alright?”
You merely smile, head bobbing once. He’s so warm and gentle besides you, and you’ve been so starved for touch like this that you all but melt into him. “Never been better.”
By now, Minghao and Yujin have started up another one of their stories, and you listen along in a half-daze, eyes shut and cheek against Seokmin’s shoulder.
You don’t see Mingyu’s gaze lingering on where you’re pressed into Seokmin.
–
You wake before the sun, mouth dry as if you’ve eaten sand. Someone has carried you from the table to the room with the giant king-sized bed, tucked you into the sheets next to Yujin. Quietly, you slip out of bed, brush your teeth, and shower, and without even meaning to, your feet lead you out of the house, onto the shore.
It’s still too early for the sunrise, and the sky yawns above you, navy blue and speckled with stars. You crane your neck back, mouthing out the few names that you know. Orion’s Belt, Canis Major, Sirius. Once you’ve exhausted the constellations that you know, you find a dry spot in the sand, sit with your legs folded and knees hugged to your chest.
You finally let your guard down, breathing in through your nose, letting out a shuddering sigh through your teeth. Maybe this was a mistake, you ponder, running your fingers through the sand absently. It really is nice seeing your friends after so long, and the ocean welcomes you back home with open arms, but Mingyu’s presence, his beauty, his easy smiles leave the wound in your heart raw and open. Festering.
Another few moments pass by lost in thought, until you pick up your head and notice that the sky has started to lighten overhead. Just then, a short whistle catches your attention, and when you turn, you suppose you’re not even surprised to find Mingyu crossing over the beach towards you.
Your heart pulses and aches as you take him in. He’s in his checkered pajama pants still, a giant gray hoodie pulled on over his head. In the crook of his elbow are two water bottles, as if he knew you’d be here. Something about that thought unravels you even more.
“You’re up early,” you mumble in greeting, nodding your appreciation when he hands you one of the bottles.
Mingyu clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Wanted to see what the fuss about the sunrise was about. You?” He comes right beside you, planting himself into the sand and taking up the same position as you, elbows perched onto his knees.
“Woke up dehydrated as fuck,” you say around a mouthful of water, grinning when he laughs. The man doesn’t say anything else, tilting his head up to watch as the sun begins its ascent.
Despite the ache in your chest, it’s so easy to be Mingyu’s friend, to act like you don’t love him so much that you could die. It’s easy to sit here in silence with him, shoulder to shoulder, elbows brushing, pretending that the moment, and the world, belongs to the two of you.
You zone out, concentrating on keeping your breath steady and thoughts reigned in. It isn’t until a tiny gasp catches in Mingyu’s throat that you’re looking away from the waves, first to him and then up above. Overhead, the sun has risen just enough to send a million colors across the sky. It’s a different palette from yesterday’s sunset, as orange and pink and blue swirl around each other. You stare, enraptured by the sight, and for a second, everything is perfect.
“Okay,” Mingyu says softly. “I get the hype now.”
You glance at him, trace your gaze along the cheeky smile, the wonder in his eyes. Your heart squeezes, and you nod in agreement.
Being here in this moment with him alone loosens your tongue, or maybe you’re still not completely sober because the words are escaping before you even have the thought to stop them.
“Why did you come, Mingyu?” Your eyes widen in horror as you hear your own voice above the gentle push and pull of the waves, but it’s too late to take anything back now.
The man blinks in surprise once, twice, leaning his cheek against a knee to fully look at you. “For the sunrise, silly.”
No, you want to exclaim. Why did you come this weekend? Why did you come alone? But you’re a coward, and you always have been, so you swallow away the rest and hum in response.
–
“Hey, Tiny. Come say hi.”
If the rasp of Mingyu’s voice isn’t enough, that dumb, aggravating nickname that he insists on teasing you with sends your stomach tumbling. He peers over at you innocently as he sits on a stool at the kitchen counter, holding his phone in one hand, his chin in the other, elbow propped up. You cut him a glare, peeking at the screen that he turns to you to find Seungkwan and Chan’s faces peering back at you.
“Oh!” You smile, pleasantly surprised. “Hi, Kwannie, Channie.”
“Hi, Tiny,” comes their response in unison, Chan’s mouth quirking up into a smirk and Seungkwan’s eyes widening mockingly. Little shits.
You scowl immediately, turning away with a sigh. “Sorry, I don’t talk to mean people.”
Thankfully, Chan and Seungkwan know exactly when to indulge someone, and they paw at the screen, blasting the speakers out with incoherent shrieks of apology. You chuckle, dipping behind to put your face besides Mingyu’s.
“Much better,” you nod. “Miss you guys.”
Chan’s grin softens, and Seungkwan splutters at the sudden tenderness, lips jutting out into a pout. “Wish we could’ve come too,” he ends up murmuring, gaze swimming with affection. “It’s been a while since we all got together.”
You chat with the two, and Mingyu interjects occasionally with his own quips until a notification drops from the top of his screen. His thumb swipes it away before you can fully make out the contact, but you do catch the purple heart emoji tagged after the end and your heart drops. You must freeze because Chan pauses in the midst of his sentence and his brow creases a little.
Mingyu takes advantage of the lull in conversation to mumble out a quick excuse and apology, “Hey, guys, I gotta go make a call real quick. Can we call back later?”
You both hurriedly say your goodbyes, before Mingyu’s pushing himself up and away from the kitchen counter without another word. Left alone, you hover for a few seconds, disappointed, before shuffling through the house to find your other friends.
You’re not going to let your weekend getaway be ruined by something like this.
And that’s how you find yourself, clinging to Seokmin’s shoulders as he marches deeper and deeper into the water. His arms hold strong, looped under your knees, and he just giggles, skin warm beneath your fingertips. Just ahead, Yujin teeters precariously atop Minghao’s shoulders, teeth flashing as she shrieks giddily.
“You’re quiet,” Seokmin notes, tilting his head back to look at you. “Everything alright?”
You just hold tighter, hiding your face away into his shoulder. It’d be so much easier to love Seokmin. You already do love him, for his infinite joy and compassion for others, for his positive, sunny presence. But it’s not the same, and it never would be the same. You hate yourself for these thoughts.
“Is it Mingyu?”
You frown and mumble his question away, “No, it’s just my dumb head thinking too much.” With a ruffle of his damp hair and a quick kiss to the cheek, you assure, “I’m okay. Thanks for worrying about me.”
Seokmin merely shies away at the touch, cackling bashfully. He drops his voice to a whisper, “Let’s go dunk those two.” Tightening his hold on you, he surges forward to the unsuspecting couple, and you lunge for Yujin, toppling her off of Minghao and into the sea, which sets off a round of screaming and splashing that makes you forget about everything. It’s hard to be lovesick when your friends are around, grabbing you by the waist to throw you into the water.
–
I can see that you’re hurting.
Your thumbs hover over the phone screen, eyes roving everywhere, anywhere, but that particular gray bubble in the message log with Lee Chan. Lee Chan, who’s so perceptive that he can read you like an open book through a fifteen minute video call. Lee Chan, who’s so in tune with his own emotions that he’s not afraid to call you out on your own.
Breathing a defeated sigh, you type out a response.
I’m doing alright, Channie. I’d rather see him and hurt than never see him again.
His message back is instant: You’re torturing yourself.
You dig a knuckle into a temple, easing the sharp jab that arises from the conversation. With another halfhearted attempt of reassuring Chan, you shut your phone off and pocket it, switching it out for the two pill bottles you’ve carried out with you. You continue what you were doing before Chan’s concern interrupted you, reaching for a mug in the cabinets and filling it with water.
In the midst of shaking out a single pill from each bottle, a gentle voice quivers out from the hall, making you jump and tense. As your luck would have it, it’s Mingyu, forehead creasing as he looks from your face to the labeled orange prescription bottles to the tiny pills in your palm. He holds an empty glass, as if he���s also come out for a drink of water. His face, initially cautious and guarded, opens up, confused and worried and devastated.
“Hey, Tiny,” he mumbles, padding closer and closer. “Everything alright?”
No, no, no, no. You had purposefully crept out of bed once the house settled into a prolonged silence, afraid that you'd run into one of the others. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, pinned by Mingyu’s searching gaze on you.
When he gets close enough, you finally force yourself to move, hurriedly pocketing the bottles and tossing the pills into your mouth and swallowing them dry. In your panic, they get stuck halfway down your throat, and you have to gulp desperate mouthfuls of water down to dislodge them. Fuck, you’re making a mess of yourself.
Pull yourself together, you chide before urging a smile onto your face.
“Hey,” you murmur back, careful to keep your voice even. “I’m okay, just getting ready for bed. What are you doing up?”
He mutters a quiet reply, “Was on a call.” Right. He’s been on and off his phone all afternoon and night, ever since he scrambled away from the kitchen counter earlier in the morning. He had missed out on the entire beach session, only joining in with the group briefly for dinner, wearing a permanent furrow to his brow.
Despite your attempt at steering him away, Mingyu’s appraisal of your expression penetrates your soul, gaze slow and intentional. He doesn’t press, he never does, but his presence is firm and it’s clear that he’s not backing down without answers.
You shut your eyes in defeat, breathing through a few moments of working up the courage to vocalize something you haven’t told any of your friends. Not even Seokmin or Chan. Because saying it out loud, telling someone else, means that it’s real, means that you’re acknowledging that you are weak after all, despite all of your bravado.
As a last ditch attempt, you wince, “Do you have to know?”
“Yes,” Mingyu insists.
“Why?”
A long silence stretches between the two of you.
“Because you–” Mingyu cuts his words off abruptly, and when you glance up at him, his eyes widen imperceptibly, surprised. He hesitates, which is weird to see because Mingyu never dithers. He always, always barrels through things, whether he’s prepared for them or not. It’s one of the things you admire most about him, so when he falters, it’s your turn to give him a strange look. “Because I’m your friend,” he finally settles on, which makes your stomach sink in disappointment, “I’m worried about you, but you never let people worry about you, which frustrates me.”
Your chest could have been torn, ribs pulled apart to bare your aching, bleeding heart, and it would probably feel the same as you do now as you speak, throwing the words out into the cold, midnight air hollowly. “I take antidepressants. Helps with my anxiety.”
Mingyu exhales forcefully, as if his breath has been punched out from him. He moves automatically, reaching a hand up to cup your face, palm warm against your cheek. “How long?”
His touch is searing, and you ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from tearing yourself away from him or running or throwing up.
“Almost six months now.”
The day after you cried over Mingyu, you had promptly scheduled yourself a slot into a therapist’s office, who had been recommended to you by Yujin. About four months of therapy alone had proven insufficient, and your therapist had suggested medication, which you had greedily, almost desperately, accepted.
“Nobody else knows,” you start blabbing, stomach suddenly lurching with fear because now that one person knows, it’s only a matter of time before others do. Mingyu’s not a snitch, you know this somewhere deep inside your head, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll think that this is information that needs to be shared.
“Hey,” he rasps, but you barely acknowledge it, thoughts racing and dipping deeper and deeper into the swirl of dread and misery that exists constantly inside your head.
“Tiny.”
Only the slight irritation that spikes at the sound of the nickname rouses you from the spiral, and you return to the moment, frowning. Mingyu smiles, despite it all.
“I won’t tell a soul.”
He stays true to his word and doesn’t even bring it up the following morning, but he may as well be screaming at the top of his lungs that something is wrong, through his newfound devotion to hovering beside you at all times. You’ve been brushing past Yujin’s curious hums and dodging Minghao’s side eyeing all morning, but during lunch out at the beachside town, Mingyu pulls your salad away to manually cut the chicken breast into bite-sized pieces in front of everyone before handing the plate back over to you wordlessly. When Seokmin’s eyes appear to be bugging out of their sockets, you decide to intervene.
You have to catch him by the elbow, pulling him aside momentarily as the others step into a gift shop to hiss, “Okay, you’re freaking everyone out.”
Mingyu merely blinks his huge, guiltless eyes at you. “What do you mean?”
“You’re hovering. Stop that. I’m depressed, not dying.”
The man scratches at his neck sheepishly, swiveling his head from side to side to see if anyone has overheard. “Just trying to take care of you is all,” he shrugs.
You sigh. This is exactly why you’d chosen not to tell your friends anything. “I appreciate it,” you say, poking a fingertip against his chest (pretending that you don’t notice the way his firm skin barely gives way beneath the pressure). “But please, at least try to be subtle about it?”
Mingyu merely lets a grin split his face like an overjoyed puppy, as if he’s just glad you haven’t refused his special treatment.
You turn away and into the gift shop, ignoring the way the tips of your ears burn red-hot.
–
“So…”
You groan loudly, lifting an elbow out of the jacuzzi water to tuck your face into the crook of it.
“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Yujin protests as she quietly slips into the tub beside you, knees knocking against yours. She holds out a can of beer to you, which you politely refuse, having already had a moment of weakness on the first night.
“But!” She continues, gaze burning fierce with curiosity. “I think everyone has caught onto you guys, so spill.”
You blink owlishly, wondering what ideas your other friends have come up with. “Sorry to disappoint,” you say mildly, shrugging, “but nothing’s going on.”
Yujin gasps, scandalized. “Then why is Mingyu trailing after you like a lovesick puppy?”
Is that what it looks like? You want to laugh it off, but your friend’s words only lodge a tight knot in your throat that you can barely swallow around.
“He is not.”
“He totally is! Minghao told me that he saw you guys coming in together from the beach yesterday morning, so we assumed something happened then!”
You watch, pained, as Yujin excitedly spins a theory, and you must look pathetic enough because her own expression falls. “What?” Her voice lowers into a concerned whisper, and she reaches for your hand beneath the surface of the water.
“He’s definitely still with that girl.” You try not to sound bitter, squeezing at her fingers. “I saw her texting him, and they were calling the other day.”
“Oh,” she calls your name sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
You merely smile at her, wave away her concern. “Don’t be,” you insist, “It’s about time that I get over it anyway. I can’t keep living my life like this, right?”
“Right,” she affirms. “I’m proud of you.”
The two of you soak in the hot water for a few more minutes, chatting about everything and nothing at all, before Yujin complains about her wriggled fingertips. You’re just about covering up the jacuzzi, having sent your friend back inside the house ahead of you, when a patter of bare footsteps up the stairs to the deck from the beach catches your attention.
Mingyu has just climbed up from a night swim with the boys, hair drenched and tousled, water still clinging to his tan skin, shorts pressed to his strong thighs. His eyes are bright when he catches sight of you, and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of your own stare and quickly cast your gaze away.
“How’s the hot tub?” The man makes easy conversation, bending to pick up a towel from a stack that they’ve left conveniently on the deck. He roughly dries his hair, and you pointedly do not look at him as he does.
“Insanely nice,” you breathe honestly, pulling your own towel tightly around your shoulders to keep yourself concealed. “You and the boys should try it out.”
Mingyu hums in agreement, throwing his head over his shoulder to look towards the beach. Seokmin and Minghao are still chasing each other, kicking up sand as they go, voices pitched up in joy. “They don’t seem like they’ll be heading back anytime soon.” He shakes his head mirthfully.
Your stupid heart betrays you, mere minutes after you just told Yujin that you’d start trying to get over him. Defeated for now, you’re opening your mouth to bid him goodnight, when Mingyu speaks first.
“Listen,” he starts. Hesitates again. He crosses over the deck to tower right above you, standing so close that you can smell the salt on his skin. Mingyu reaches, hand resting heavy on your hip, and you’re beyond glad that your towel is wrapped tightly around your torso because if you felt his palm on your bare skin, you might have lost yourself completely.
Your breath catches, and you don’t take another, afraid that any movement will break the moment.
“I did some research,” Mingyu’s voice dips low, as if he’s sharing a secret with you. “Read somewhere that you shouldn’t mix alcohol and antidepressants, but you drank, didn’t you? The first night? That’s not good for your, Tiny.”
You freeze. This is the type of person that Mingyu is, you remind yourself. Someone whose physical touch comes as a natural instinct. Someone who notices and remembers things. Someone who looks things up out of concern.
The weight of his hand on your waist, the scent of his skin and the salt on it, the cloying uncertainty in his voice is all so dizzying that you might as well have been five drinks in now. He is your ruin, your undoing. So long as you are friends with him, you’ll never heal, you realize with dread.
Frightened, you take a few steps back, unable to look at him anymore. You manage a strangled squeak to wish him good night, before you’re all but running away.
When the next morning comes, you feign being sick, which isn’t completely a lie, since the incessant throb in your head is enough to keep you in bed. Yujin fusses over you, suggesting to call Minghao in and make him drive the three of you back to the city to take you home.
“No, no,” you insist, waving your hands up frantically. “It’s the last day that we’re here! Just enjoy yourselves without me. I think I just need to sleep in a little longer.” You even crack open your eyes to smile at her.
Yujin, thankfully, tucks you beneath the comforter tightly, leaving you with a soft kiss on the forehead and a promise that she’ll bring you back something to eat.
–
Mingyu’s very confused, and a little nervous, as his friends give him varying expressions of frustration and disbelief when he tells them that he broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago. Minghao holds his face in his hands, as if he doesn’t even want to look at him when he asks why.
He twists his lips from left to right as he ponders the question. What he told his ex were assorted excuses of “I just don’t see us being a long term thing” or “I think I just have too much on my plate right now”, but after this weekend, he’s not so sure anymore. Mingyu cautiously offers, “I don’t think she was the one. She keeps texting and calling me, though. I shouldn’t respond, but I feel so bad.”
Yujin cuts a glare at him, looking like she’s all but ready to kill him with nothing but the spoon clutched in her hand. She’s evidently a few mimosas in, and she hisses, “Kim Mingyu, you dumb, idiotic moron!”
He blinks in surprise. “Okay, you just called me stupid three different ways in one sentence.”
Seokmin sighs from beside him, poking his fork into the puddle of yolk leftover from his eggs benedict. “Well, you are pretty dumb,” is what his best friend tells him.
Mingyu pouts, a little hurt by the way his friends are treating him, especially when he just told them that he’s going through a breakup. “You guys are being mean,” he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tiny wouldn’t treat me like this.”
At the sound of his nickname for you, everyone at the table looks at him, and now they’re all glaring at him. His poor little heart shrivels up in his chest, and Mingyu finally lets out a cry, “Can you guys just tell me what’s going on?”
“You have no right.” Yujin slurs angrily, jabbing her spoon in his direction. “No right to treat my girl like that!” Her voice pitches up a bit too loudly at the end, which causes patrons at the surrounding tables to turn and look. Minghao reaches to clap a palm over her mouth, using his other hand to pull her into his side and calm her down.
Seokmin, gentle soul that he is, softly mutters, “Have you ever considered that you might mean more than just a friend to her?”
Mingyu’s mind goes blank, as he falters. A million thoughts run through his head at a million miles per hour.
You’re the only one in the world who understands what it’s like to be led to the water by the ocean’s siren song. He doesn’t have to use words to explain what he feels to you, when he lets himself wander and finds himself skirting the edge of the beach, where the waves lap at his feet and pull away, leaving nothing but foam and bubbles. You’re the one who confided in him first, all those years ago, that you found the city too suffocating and heavy, that you were considering moving back to the island you were born on, despite your entire life being on the mainland. He had smiled and murmured that he wished he could do the same, and would want nothing more in life than to do that.
You, who he can always count on finding at the beach, as if magnetized to one another because your souls are made of the same stuff.
Mingyu’s breathless because his friends are right. He is a dumb, idiotic moron.
He runs back to the campgrounds ahead of his friends, all the way from town. He doesn’t bother checking your room or even going into the cabin because in his heart of hearts, he knows exactly where you are. Sure enough, he’s just coming up the small dune towards the shore when he catches sight of you, sitting with your knees tucked to your chest, head lolled to the side as you watch the water.
He can only see your back from where you are, and you look so tiny. That’s why he had started calling you it in the first place, so fond of how little you are compared to him, how your nose would inevitably scrunch up in objection whenever you heard the name.
Mingyu cannot believe how stupidly blind he’s been.
–
You hear your name being called, but your heart limps along, immune to the sudden appearance of his voice. Tightening your arms around your bent legs, you wait until Mingyu comes by to sit beside you, just like that morning you watched the sunrise together. His back rises and falls rapidly, huffing as if he’s run all the way back from town. Even when his breath settles, he doesn’t say a word, as if waiting for you to speak first.
You inhale shakily and then unload everything before you have the chance to doubt yourself.
“I can’t be friends with you anymore, Mingyu.”
The man soaks in the words, before he says plainly, “Okay. Because I can’t either.” He then leans forward, to crane his head and peer right into your face. Mingyu grins, bright as the sun. Your heart cleaves in two and you’re grasping at the remnants of your sanity to hold it together, and he’s smiling.
“–The fuck?!”
You bite your tongue to prevent hurling more expletives because this is certainly not the Kim Mingyu that you know and love.
His smile only widens, and he’s suddenly talking, words spilling from his mouth and stumbling over his lisp, “I know, by the way. I know that you love me. I know that you’re trying hard to pretend that you’re fine, when you’re not. I know I’ve been so, so stupid, and I’m sorry for that.”
Mingyu reaches across the space that he’s politely left between the two of you, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other sweeping your hair back from your face gently. He holds and looks at you so tenderly, as if he’s scared of shattering you, and for the first time ever, you feel seen.
“What’s going on?” You manage to work out, but your voice comes out very small.
“I broke up with her months ago,” Mingyu says, as if that explains everything. “She didn’t understand who I was. But you…” A thumb delicately brushes over your cheekbone to catch a tear, and only then do you realize that you’re crying. The man’s smile crumples, and he dips to press his lips onto the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”
You gasp for a breath, forcefully trying to swallow away the sobs. All day, as you tossed and turned in bed alone, you had been working yourself up towards ending your friendship with Mingyu once and for all, to protect whatever pieces of your heart were left.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” you warble, finally holding onto him, fingers tightening around his shirt like it’s a lifeline.
Mingyu chortles, and it rumbles throughout his entire body.
“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”
–
“Um. What is that?”
Chan’s voice comes through, shrill and scandalized, from the other end of the line, and you can see the cogs turning in his head, as you quickly move to turn the collar of your shirt up and cover the burgeoning mark that Mingyu’s teeth have left on your skin. When Chan leaves the screen momentarily to frantically call Seungkwan over, you whip your head around to glare at Mingyu, who lounges in the armchair beside you lazily, a pleased grin curling onto his lips.
“I’m never hearing the end of this,” you mutter, just as Seungkwan enters the frame.
“What’s this about a hickey I’m hearing?” Seungkwan clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “What kind of low-grade, classless loser did you bring home with you?”
At that, Mingyu jolts up, straight as an arrow, brows furrowing. He starts whining his complaints as he comes over to your side.
You watch with amusement as the recognition of the voice registers in Seungkwan’s eyes first, then Chan’s. Then, Mingyu peeps his face into the camera. It’s actually quite comical, the way Chan and Seungkwan both slap their hands over their mouths, eyes stretching wide.
“What the–”
“–actual fuck?!”
You snicker a little, cheeks flushing as you catch sight of the little window on the phone screen that mirrors back your face pressed against Mingyu’s. He must notice it too because he catches your eye through the screen and leans in to smile against your mouth. A cacophony of groans and gags come from Chan and Seungkwan, but your heart swells, tight with love and affection.
bonus:
“Can’t believe I got called a ‘low-grade, classless loser’,” Mingyu mutters, laving his tongue over the mark on your throat. “Could a loser do this?” His voice drops low and raspy, deep inside of his chest, as his hands dip beneath your shirt and his fingers leave sinful trails along your stomach. As soon as Seungkwan and Chan had hung up the call, Mingyu had immediately pulled you onto the armchair, pinning you into the seat with his weight, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of your thighs.
You squirm, throwing your head back against the armchair in an attempt to create some space, but Mingyu just follows. His hooded gaze burns bright with affection, with desire, as he peers up at you.
Good lord, those eyes of his.
“H-Hey,” you stutter out when you feel the drag of his teeth against your clavicle, the sharp bite of his pointy canines. “Hey,” you repeat, pressing your hands firmly against his shoulders to push him back. “We never talked about the emoji.”
Mingyu’s half-listening, you can tell. He pretends that he’s looking at you, but he can barely meet your eyes, gaze dipping lower to your lips and then your throat. A tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth, just before he’s trying to lean back in.
You scowl, threading your fingers through the soft hair at the back of his skull and tugging to pin him in place. Head forced back, Mingyu finally focuses, chest heaving. A soft whine catches in his throat and the tips of his ears flare bright red, and you would find it endearing if you weren’t trying to get answers.
“Baby,” he purrs. “That was so hot.”
“Down, boy.” You roll your eyes, loosening your grip on his hair. “The emoji. Explain it.”
“What emoji?”
“The heart emoji, next to your ex’s name in your phone.”
Mingyu pulls his brows together in thought, before he nibbles at his bottom lip sheepishly. “Okay, you’re not gonna like the answer.”
Your stomach turns uneasily, but you shrug anyway. “Tell me.”
The man sighs. “She’s the one who put it there in the first place, and I honestly, swear on my life, forgot that it was there. But she’s since been blocked and deleted!”
You narrow your eyes, contemplating his words. “Hm,” you say, watching Mingyu squirm under your scrutiny.
“Can I show you what you’re saved as in my contacts? Maybe it’ll make up for it.”
You nod, waiting as he taps at his phone to pull it up. When he turns the screen around to show you, and your gaze focuses on “the littlest tiny” with five blue hearts next to it, you can’t decide if you should kick him or kiss him.
Balking at your silence and lack of reaction, Mingyu pushes himself off of the chair to fall to his knees at your feet. He clasps his hands together and places them in your lap, eyes wide and shining with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he whines pitifully. “It was a joke, I promise!”
You regard him coolly, thoroughly enjoying the way his bottom lip quivers into a pout. Before you can stop yourself, you’re pressing a thumb against the seam of his mouth, watching with acute interest as it parts and his tongue, warm and soft, peeks out to meet the pad of your finger. The image sends your stomach tumbling.
“I love you,” Mingyu mumbles, extending an olive branch. “Only you, baby.”
You bite. “Prove it.”
You barely catch the glimpse of the smirk curling across Mingyu’s lips, before his strong arms lift you up and out of the armchair, into his chest, and towards your bedroom.
#seventeen fic#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff#seventeen angst#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#mingyu x reader#mingyu x you#mingyu fluff#mingyu angst#mingyu fic#svt fluff#svt fanfic#svt x reader#svt x you#mingumis
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Sweet Relief
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader
Warnings: servant/master, possession, religious-ish themes, dom/sub, sex pollen, cockwarming, oral (female receiving), pain/discipline, fingering, p in v sex, language, 18+
Word Count: 5.0k
A/N: I’m rewatching the Marvel movies in order and my god. I forgot how absolutely diabolical and adorable young Loki is! I was inspired to make this VERY smutty, all-porn-no-plot fic. Takes place before the events of Thor 1. Hope you enjoy my first Loki fic!
Tags: @foxherder @lovingchoices14
The long linen fabric of your healer’s tunic brushed against the cold marble floor as you rushed past. Your steps were gentle and quick, trying to make next to no sound as you swept past the tall columns, and arched ceilings of the royal halls. Finally outside the gilded wood of the giant doors to his bed chambers, your breath seemed to stall in your lungs.
This simply was not done. You were approached, never doing the approaching yourself. Improper didn’t even begin to describe what you were doing.
Your gentle knock was virtually silent the first time, so you steeled yourself and tried again.
“Identify yourself.”
A lazy voice called from within, but his tone was laced with an undeniable authority.
You spoke your name, placed your title in front of it.
Healer.
You weren’t a lady, a warrior—hell, you weren’t even nobility.
You belonged to a class of healers in Asgardian society. Seen as a type of servant, but respected nonetheless. To serve in the court meant you had a sizable talent for basic magic, and for spiritual healing.
But, if you were a woman in this position, it also meant you were a glorified prostitute.
You and your healer sisters before you have served in the healing room for centuries, servicing warriors, tending to their injuries after battle. But Asgard has long been in a season of peace, so the healers needed to fill another role.
Asgard was now a land of paradise, a land of plenty. That is, plenty of food, drink, beauty, wealth, and of course, plenty of sex. The nobility needed a way to make this discreet. After all, the royal court could hardly be seen having frivolous dalliances with just anyone. They needed to marry for alliance, for power, and for proper bloodlines, of course.
That’s where the healers came in. Come to the healing room for a sleeping draught, or an ointment for a sore shoulder, and get a service on top of it. You and your sisters were carefully trained in the ways of pleasure, and secrecy.
But, here you were, in front of your Lord’s chambers, breaking every rule and propriety ingrained in you since you first worked in the court as a young girl.
“Enter.” He commanded.
With shaky hands, you pushed the heavy bedroom doors open with your slender muscles.
The sight was grand, and a bit unexpected. Thick, dark green drapes covered the walls from ceiling to floor, and deep cherry wood bookshelves lined an entire side of the bedroom. A fireplace and candles were lit, making the chambers seem warm, yet a tinge ominous. A sharp contrast to the golden pearly halls of the rest of Asgard’s royal chambers.
Loki sat at a massive wooden desk, cleaved from the center of an oak tree, and absolutely littered with a number of bottles and vials, books and scrolls. A lone curtain was left half open, letting in what little light was left of the setting summer sun.
He addressed you disinterestedly, not even bothering to lift his head up from his book.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Healer?” Loki called out quietly across the vast room.
Your back was pressed up against the door, unable to get your feet to move. Your body disobeyed what your mind wanted, forgetting to curtsey or even duck your head. Instead, your mouth opened, but no words came out.
Loki took a beat in your silence and chuckled lowly to himself.
“I must say, this is quite unexpected, and against the rules I might add.”
Amusement glittered in his eyes at the mention of breaking the rules.
After all, he was the God of Mischief. Breaking the rules was his bread and butter.
Loki finally gazed up and took you in more carefully, wondering why a healer such as yourself would dare incur the wrath of your order by entering a nobleman’s chambers without permission, let alone the prince of Asgard.
Second prince of Asgard, but a prince nonetheless.
Then he noticed you, really noticed you.
He took in your flushed face, the way you absentmindedly kept rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you hugged yourself, and your thighs pressing your legs together to seek any sort of relief you could.
Even from across the room, Loki’s god-eyes could see the steady thrumming of the vein on your neck, moving rapidly with your heartbeat. He wanted to taste your skin and feel your pulse under his hot tongue.
Loki was a keen observer. Knowing how to read body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice was more important than any magical mischief he could get up to. Reading people was enough to get him most things that he wanted in life.
And right now, he decided he wanted you.
“You may approach, Healer.”
As if the spell had been broken, you swallowed to wet your dry throat and stepped towards the prince.
“How did you get past the guards?” Loki questioned.
“I said you needed a sleeping draught. You’ve been having trouble falling asleep for the past few days.” Your voice came out squeaky and feeble, a far cry from your usual tone.
Loki pursed his lips. This was not untrue.
“Leave it here.” He gestured casually to the desk and went back to his reading, while keeping half an eye on you.
Your trembling hands set down the small bottle of liquid with a bit of a clatter, and you quickly stepped back, just a few feet from where Loki sat.
“There’s something else.” Loki murmured lowly, eyes still flicking over the pages.
“Yes.” You breathed out.
Before you could begin to state your wild request, Loki said something else that you didn’t expect.
“I know you.”
You flitted your eyes up at his handsome face, and was startled by his piercing blue gaze. Quickly, you looked down at your feet.
The younger prince of Asgard had long since caught your eye. Every time he returned from battle you snatched the opportunity to treat him.
Rumor had it that he rarely asked for a healer's services, even when he was at the peak of adolescence. Some said he had a taste for the other sex. Others said he found his pleasure off-planet.
Whereas Thor openly indulged in excess, including women, drink, and violence, Loki was careful, calculated, and purposeful in all his actions. His mysterious, unreadable nature only served to make him more attractive to you.
“Yes, m’Lord. I have treated your injuries before, alongside other sisters.”
“You sang to me.”
You gasped, shocked that he remembered. It was a particularly gruesome battle and Loki was crushed badly in the side. You and your sisters forced him into a spell-induced sleep so that you could bind his broken bones. The Queen was distraught and ordered a round-the-clock watch to ensure he was healing well. You ended up on night watch, singing lullabies when he fought demons in his sleep.
“I did not know you heard me, m’ Lord.” You whispered, the heat inside of you coming out in waves off your hot skin.
“Speak freely. What is it that you request of me?” Loki schooled his tone to sound detached, but you could hear the curiosity in his words.
Sucking in a breath, you relayed a stuttered story of how a nobleman asked the healers to create a love potion that would increase ones libido, but it would only work against someone they were attracted to. Eventually, they would be like a dog in heat, and could only be relieved by intense pleasuring from a potential lover.
And you were the unlucky soul who got “volunteered” to take the experimental potion on a test run.
Although they tried their utmost, your sisters were unable to bring you relief and now, a few hours later, you sought after your long-time crush, Loki.
Hoping he’d do something to help relieve you of your suffering.
Although what, you didn’t dare dream of.
Ashamed, you bowed your head, looking at the marble floor and wishing a hole would open up and sink you into the dark waters below your realm.
At best, he’d let you go back to the healing room and never speak of this again. At worst, he’d have you arrested and banished for attempting such a lecherous act against a prince of Asgard.
“Sit.”
Your head jerked up, and you stared. Loki wasn’t looking at you though, he was back to his book, but his palm patted his muscular thigh.
Gods, was he asking you to sit in his lap?
You slowly brought a leg over his until your core straddled his hips. His cool body temperature immediately soothed your hot one, and you carefully brought your arms to clasp behind his neck.
Moving quickly before he changed his mind, you immediately put your training to use.
“Would my Lord like a massage?” You offered quietly.
“Yes, darling, that would be lovely.” Loki agreed nonchalantly, again, eyes still glued to his book.
Your strong fingers squeezed the tight knots on Loki’s shoulders, feeling the firm, yet lean muscles there. You pulled up his flesh, pressing deeply until the tension melted away in your hands.
Moving upwards, you combed your fingers through his jet-black hair, massaging his scalp, and temples.
The man gave no signs at all that he was affected by your touch, or by having an attractive young woman in his lap.
But then, he turned, exposing a pale neck underneath the raised leather collar of his garments. You took that as an invitation to press your lips to his smooth skin. Loki could feel your warm breath exhale in a contented sigh as your thumbs continued to knead circles, followed by soft kisses all over his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear.
Even with your face pressed to his, you almost missed what he whispered next.
“Warm my cock for me, dearest.”
An uncontrollable whimper escaped from your lips at his dirty words.
To be fully honest, you didn’t know how far Loki was going to let you take this. And the answer seemed to be…
All the way.
You pulled off your undergarments and undid the buttons of his leather trousers. His member was already half-erect, but it came to life fully as you gently rubbed him in both of your warm hands.
Your head fell onto his shoulder, and you could feel the breath catch in his chest as his cock breached your tight entrance.
Your eyes squeezed shut immediately at the contact, having not loosened your sensitive core beforehand, and Loki was large. His member wasn’t the thickest you’ve ever had, but it was slender, and long.
Slowly, carefully, you sank down, half-way at first, taking a pause to adjust, then further in until your ass rested on his lap once again.
The tip of his cock pushed up against your cervix, and you’ve never felt more full in your life.
Relaxing, you pressed your chest to his, leaning in as your core wrapped its hot, moist flesh around him. Loki for his part, was completely silent, reaching his arms behind your back to continue flipping through his book.
“What are you reading?” You murmur, content to just be filled for the time being. The initial stage of insatiable desire had been temporarily slaked by simply having his length inside of you.
“A spell-book on illusion magic. Could be useful for battle, or tricking my brother.” A soft chuckle rumbled through his body, the vibrations stimulating your center immediately.
You moaned, losing yourself in pleasure, but Loki shushed you gently.
“Be a good girl and sit quietly. I want to finish this section.”
So you did. After having spent the past few hours in heat, having any kind of relief now was enough to lull you into a daze. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the crinkle of pages of Loki’s book, and your quiet breath.
Every so often, he would shift his weight and it would push his cock in a different part of your core. You bit your lip each time to keep from making any noise, but the wetness that leaked from your pussy betrayed your arousal. You were sure that Loki’s thighs would be soaked by the time he finished reading.
Abruptly, Loki snapped his book shut with a bang. You flinched automatically at the loud sound.
“That’s enough, my dear.” He stated with finality.
You gingerly pulled yourself off, his still-hard member slipping out of your core, leaving you feeling empty and wanting. Legs wobbly from sitting straddled wide for so long, you tried your best to look put together, smoothing down your tunic, and taking a tentative step back.
“My Lord, thank you for—“ you attempted a statement of propriety, assuming that you were being dismissed.
Wordlessly, Loki grabbed you roughly by the neck and hauled you forward, an arm pulling your hips against his as he crushed you with a kiss.
Your body melted into his immediately, overwhelmed by the pressure of his lips against yours, his tongue forcing his way into your mouth, and —gods was that teeth?—nipping at your lower lip. You had no idea that a kiss could be so utterly demanding and violent.
Loki wasn’t just kissing you.
He was devouring you.
“It’s time for some discipline, healer. Do you know what a bad girl you’ve been tonight?” Loki growled against your neck, biting you not quite so gently there.
“No, tell me m’ Lord.” The response breathed out through bruised lips. Your pupils were blown out with lust and so were his.
“No? Then, I’ll help you count each disobedience.”
With that, Loki pulled your tunic and shift off, leaving you completely exposed before him.
“Exquisite,” he murmured, while licking his lips.
Roughly, he wrenched your arm and pulled you towards his generous bed, throwing you down the middle of the lush mattress.
Before you had a chance to sit up, he flipped you onto your stomach and smacked a hard slap to your ass.
“Fuck!” The expletive exploded out of you at the sharp sting.
“Number one: deceiving the guards.”
Another slap hit your other ass cheek.
“Number two: sneaking into the royal chambers.”
His hand met your bottom again.
“Number three: sneaking into my bedroom, a prince of Asgard no less.”
Another hit. The skin of your ass was already inflamed pink with the first few smacks.
Loki watched the color bloom before slowly raking his icy-blue eyes across your body. A sheen of sweat had broken out along your back and your face was buried in the sheets.
Loki’s never hurt a girl in the bedroom before, but seeing the redness of your ass, and feeling the tingling remnants of each slap on his own hand. Well, that awoke something sinister in his heart, and his loins.
“Number four: you were a fool to take the love potion. You are supposed to be a healer, not a witch.”
This next blow from Loki was even stronger than the last. The contact with your tender skin echoed off the high ceiling of his bedroom.
“Hells—Loki you are going to leave a mark!” The pain had you gritting your teeth, and temporarily forgetting your manners.
Hearing his name roll off your tongue made him laugh with delight. Who knew he would have so much fun punishing a troublesome little girl like you?
He leaned forward, pressing his erection into the swell of your ass, and spoke lowly into your ear.
“My darling, when I’m done with you, your body will be marked permanently.”
The threat made you shut your mouth and turn your burning face away from his, speechless.
“Number five: you were a fool to seek out me for relief.”
The final hit was the most painful. Loki lifted both of his hands and brought them down with so much force that you let out a scream of shock, pain, and pleasure all at once.
He immediately squeezed your pliant flesh in his palms, massaging the slap-warmed skin there.
After a moment of silence, he released his touch altogether and sat back on the bed, watching you.
Cautiously, you crawled up on your hands and knees and sat up, using your arms to hold up your weight rather than sitting on your tender bottom.
He studied your face in quiet contemplation as he watched a mixture of emotions course through you.
Pain, of course.
A bit of fear.
Apprehension, understandably.
But as you drew in shaky breaths, staring back at him, he saw what he was hoping for.
Attraction. Lust. Arousal. Greed.
Even after all of that, you still wanted him. Hells, even without the potion coursing through your veins you would have still wanted to fuck him.
The dominant, torturous streak was a surprise, but you never knew what Loki was capable of, to begin with.
Everything was a surprise with him.
And yet, you craved so much more.
Suddenly gentle, Loki guided you backwards until your head hit his soft pillows.
He settled in between your legs, prying them apart until his face was inches away from your puffy inner lips.
“How did that feel, my dear?” He pressed kisses against your inner thighs, loving how smooth and soft your skin was.
“It hurt.” You ground out, indignance lacing your tone, trying not to show how anything Loki did to you felt good.
Better than good. He was better than any nobleman you’ve ever had to service before. Sex with them was vanilla, predictable. Loki was anything but.
“Ah, but you liked it. Didn’t you, sweet girl?” He paused and looked up at you with those baby blues.
Underneath his steady gaze, you knew there was no point in lying. Loki could see through you in a heartbeat.
“Yes. It felt good.” You confessed.
Tutting with that silver tongue of his, endearments and praise continued to pour out of that sly mouth.
And kisses. Hot, wet, soft kisses to every part of your inner thighs, your mound, your puffy pussy lips.
“You naughty girl. Entering my chambers, asking me to give you relief.”
He pressed his lips to you.
“Sitting on my cock, letting me fill up that tight cunt of yours.”
A regal nose brushed against your slit, dragging wetness up your core.
“Enjoying pain with your pleasure. Letting me ravage your body. You’re a temptress, my sweet.”
A deep inhale. Gods, Loki was breathing in your sex right in front of you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your nails digging into your palms.
“Did you know, darling, that I could smell you the second you entered my chambers?” He exhaled, warm air tickling the moisture leaking out of you.
You didn’t dare reply, knowing that all that could come out of you now would be whines of lust.
“You, my dear, are ripe.”
With that, Loki dove head first into your cunt, licking and sucking like you were his favorite dessert.
The potion made your pussy swollen and sensitive, so everything he did felt ten times more pleasurable than anything your sisters tried.
Your hands gripped his wide shoulders and your knees fell apart as he ate you out.
“Loki—my Lord, I, I can’t!” You stammered out, head falling back as you enjoyed his worship of your pussy.
“Cat got your tongue, dear?” Loki joked, before taking your clit in between his perfect teeth.
“Fuck!” You positively screamed, which only made Loki double down.
Finally, he let go and you slowly loosened your grip, not realizing that you had been knuckle deep in his beautiful hair, tugging it, tangling it in your fingers. You saw pink half moons littered on the pale skin of his neck and face, evidence of your nails digging into his flesh.
Taking a beat to breathe, you smoothed his locks down on his head.
“Did I hurt you?” You inquired, feeling ashamed that you had lost yourself so completely in your lust.
“Yes. But I liked it, dearest. You can hurt me as much as you want to. Just as long as I can do the same.”
The dirty confession made your heart stutter in your chest, eyes wide. Seeing your expression, Loki laughed aloud, the sound blessing your ears.
He crawled up your body now, straightening your legs.
“Let’s see how ready you are for me, hmm?” Loki inserted one finger, then another into your pussy.
“Gods! That feels—!” You whined.
“Good, isn't it?” Loki finished for you. “Now, what about…here?”
He curled his digits upwards and put delicious pressure onto your spongy inner center.
Waves of stimulation shot through your limbs as your voice cried out in broken moans.
“Your knees are trembling, sweet girl.” Loki observed with amusement.
Indeed they were, and they continued to shake uncontrollably as Loki clamped down even harder, his fingers thrusting now.
“I-I can’t help it!” You cried out again, as Loki kissed your breasts, his hot mouth finding purchase on an erect nipple.
Your hands gripped his wrist and he couldn’t tell if you were trying to pull his hand out, or push it in deeper.
Regardless, he ground his palm against your clit, scissoring his digits inside of you, stretching you.
Preparing you.
“Oh my—I’m gonna cum!” You screamed out. Loki had already made you cum a few times. First, when his cock filled you up as you were sitting on his lap. Second, when he bit down on your clit.
And now, with his skilled fingers, he was making your pussy spasm and weep under his touch.
The orgasm was powerful, your whole body jerking up against his. With his free hand, Loki held you down, enjoying the wild ride.
Finally, as you relaxed, Loki released you and sat back. His forehead dappled with sweat, and his own breath coming in hard.
You couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Loki, your prince, was pleasuring, no—worshiping your body like it was his personal gift from Valhalla. He made you feel pleasure at heights you didn’t know existed. Somehow, he simply knew your body even though this was the first time he had ever touched you.
Lost in post-orgasm bliss, your eyes lazily traveled down to his still clothed erection, fighting to get out of his trousers. A thought crossed your mind.
“My Lord, can I undress you?” You murmured, locking eyes with him.
Loki didn’t reply, instead, he simply watched your naked body approach his clothed one as you slowly snaked your hands up his torso. You found each flap, each button, and slowly undid it all as his garments fell down in pieces on the bed.
You pulled his pants off his long legs, and his cock bounced up to greet you. With a gasp of joy, you pressed a soft kiss to his member and continued your kisses up the toned flesh of his chest until you got to his lips.
The action was intimate, like what lovers would do. And Loki let you touch him, admire him, without a word.
In the last bit of light of sunset, Loki’s skin glowed golden orange. He shone like the god he is.
“Beautiful.” You whispered in awe.
An arrogant smile curved along his face and he cradled a hand along the back of your head. He pressed a long, sensual kiss to your warm mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you now.” He murmured the dirty words against your smiling lips.
Stalking over you like a predator hunts its prey, Loki climbed over your prone body, lining up his engorged cock with your weeping slit.
He watched you watch him as he slid in, inch by inch, your eyes watering as he forced his way into your cunt.
A self-satisfied smirk emerged on his face, knowing just how full he could make you feel.
Gently, he lowered his weight on top of you, pressing down so that his toned flesh covered your supple breasts and soft curves.
As he started to slowly thrust in and out of your tight core, Loki found both of your hands and brought them next to your head, interlacing his fingers with yours. Your palms were hot and sweaty, overwhelmed with the intimacy of his actions.
Summoning all the boldness you had inside of you, you dared your gaze to meet his and he was staring back at you with a mixture of lust and affection.
And also, possession.
Fuck.
What have you gotten yourself into?
Without warning, he pushed faster, his hips smacking into yours with a vengeance. You instinctively brought your knees up to allow him deeper access. The wet slap of his cock into your pussy was sinfully loud in the cavernous bedroom.
All manner of helpless yelps and whines came out of your throat, your hands squeezed his as he fucked you raw.
“You need to be fucked, hard and often, healer.” The way he said your title could have been synonymous with whore.
The intensity of his look was almost too much, daring you to look away, but you found that you couldn’t. You were entirely addicted to this man, stronger than any drug you could have created in the healing room.
By Odin, he was the only one for you.
You pressed your forehead to his as he continued to slam his cock deep inside of your womb.
“I’m yours, my Lord.” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.
“Loki.” An unreadable expression crossed his face as Loki pushed himself up. He pulled your legs to wrap around his hips as he knelt on the bed. Your pussy was still clenched around his cock and you took the opportunity to suck in a few deep breaths.
“Wha-what?” You panted, confusion furrowing your brow.
“Say my name. Say that you belong to me.” Loki commanded. He rose up, pulling his shoulders back, looking every bit like the prince, the god that he is. His dark hair was pushed back on his forehead, sleek with sweat, framing his sharp features like a crown.
Automatically obedient, the declaration left your lips with sincerity and conviction.
“I belong to you, Loki.”
With a laugh of triumph, Loki grabbed the pliant flesh of your hips and slammed your body against his own. He railed your core with his cock, hitting deeper than you ever thought possible. Your ass slid along his strong thighs, the friction smarting your skin that was still tender from his earlier disciplining.
“Loki—it’s too much!” You cried out, losing yourself in pleasure.
“Cum for me, my sweet girl. Worship me with your cunt!” Loki growled out, thrusting impossibly harder, impossibly faster.
The sensation built and built, his name spilled out of your mouth in an endless stream of moans, until suddenly the pleasure peaked.
In that instance, time stopped. Your lips parted in a silent scream, and you saw him.
Veins bulged in his forearm as he pulled you flush against his hips. Nose scrunched up in effort as he fucked you deeply. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, wild in the throes of ecstasy.
Loki was your god.
And he was glorious.
Finally the air in your lungs released in a long-awaited scream and the orgasm crashed down. Nerve endings lit on fire, and your muscles jerked and spasmed underneath his strong grip. In the midst of your pleasure, you heard a faraway groan from your prince, and you could feel jets of hot cum coat the inside of your womb. He was marking you, claiming you as his.
You knew you would be his forever.
A few seconds later, Loki unceremoniously pulled out of your well-used pussy, and collapsed beside you, chest heaving with exertion.
Lying with one arm underneath his head, he lazily stroked your back as you curled up on his naked chest. Finally, the effect from the love potion had dissipated, leaving you with sweet relief.
Minutes passed in comfortable silence, but your mind started to swirl with insecure thoughts. You steeled your nerves to ask a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind.
“Why did you never use me?”
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“Why did you never take a lover? Or ask for a healer’s services? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, that you’re—“ Your mouth shut with an audible clack of your teeth.
Your clumsy tongue always got ahead of yourself. Worried you may have crossed a line, your cheeks burned with embarrassment.
But Loki answered honestly.
“You’re not my first. But I have long since known that I can’t fuck and forget like my ape of a brother.” He grimaces, and breathes in deeply before saying more.
“When I have sex, I need to own them. Possess them. I'm sure you noticed my dominant streak, my darling.”
“Then why’d you let me come in tonight? Why take the risk?” You wondered aloud.
“I’ve been watching you, my sweet little healer.”
You tensed automatically in surprise. Since when? What did he see? Why did he notice you?
Loki’s gentle voice brought you out of your thoughts as he confessed more.
“If you hadn’t approached me tonight, I would have snatched you from the healing room and made you mine before long.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating deep within his chest as you lay on his skin.
The revelation sank in slowly until finally, Loki pulled you up until your face was level with his.
“You just beat me to it, you naughty girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and your furrowed brow automatically relaxed.
“Tell me again. Will you belong to me, and only me?” He searched your eyes for any hint of deception, any trace of a lie.
You were certain that he would find none.
“Yes, Loki. I belong to you.”
…
#marvel#loki#loki laufeyson#Loki x reader#Loki laufeyson x reader#Thor#Thor 1#Loki fic#Loki smut#Loki fanfic#marvel fic#marvel smut
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What about one where the small folk of winterfell and the people of the castle make friendly, suggestive gossip from giggly women and knowing men about cregan and targ!reader. Their lord and lady are close with one another and it is often talked about and seen that they frequent the bed chamber (if yk what I mean 👀)
the folk of Winterfell feel at ease knowing their lord and lady seem to be in love, similar to the honeymoon period and young love.
You don’t have to use this quote i came up with, but it inspired me to ask for this idea “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty”
— 🐠
Winterfell's Warmth
- Summary: Cregan takes you to be his wife, a fire to his ice. And it's not long until smallfolk notice just how much Lord Stark is devoted to his Targaryen bride.
- Pairing: targ!reader/Cregan Stark
- Note: This entire scene is from the perspective of the smallfolk.
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess
- A/N: This is the last request that I'll be posting today.
Winterfell bustles with the hum of daily life, as it always does—iron clanging in the forges, boots scuffing over the ancient stones, and the soft murmurs of the smallfolk as they go about their duties. But today, there's a special kind of lightness in the air, a sense of warmth despite the looming chill that clings to the North. The hearths burn brighter, and even the winds seem to whisper with a mischievous grin.
The reason for this subtle shift? You, Y/N, the new Lady of Winterfell, and your lord husband, Cregan Stark. Since your arrival, the inhabitants of the castle have grown accustomed to your frequent disappearances with their lord—disappearances that always lead back to your shared bedchamber. The smallfolk know, of course, as do the courtiers. They know very well what goes on behind those thick stone walls, and the knowledge brings them no small amount of amusement.
In the courtyard, a group of washerwomen gossip while scrubbing linens in the cold, frothy water of a trough. Their fingers are red from the chill, but their spirits remain high.
“Have you heard?” one of them, a round-faced woman named Ellyn, leans in, lowering her voice despite the fact that no one important is nearby. “Our lady was seen entering the lord’s chambers again this morning, not long after the first bell rang.”
A younger girl, barely past sixteen, giggles and covers her mouth. “She didn’t leave until just before the midday meal yesterday, either!”
Another woman, older and seasoned from years of service, cocks an eyebrow but smiles knowingly. “Winterfell hasn’t been this alive since…well, since Lord Cregan’s own parents. I’d wager the bedchambers have seen more use in the past fortnight than in the last decade combined.”
The women burst into laughter, their voices carrying through the open courtyard. Ellyn smirks, leaning in even closer. “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty.”
The young girl flushes a little but can’t help but join in the giggling. "It's true, isn't it? They’ve only been married a moon’s turn, and yet I’ve never seen a man so... devoted to his wife."
“Well,” the older woman says with a playful shrug, “the Starks may be wolves, but it seems our Lord’s heart is well and truly claimed by a dragon.”
Across the courtyard, a pair of stable boys are equally enthralled with the ongoing rumors. One of them, tall and lanky, leans against the stall door, shaking his head.
"I swear by the old gods, I’ve never seen Lord Stark smile so much," the boy says, eyes wide with the incredulity of it all. "He used to be all serious, always about duty, honor, the needs of Winterfell. But now? Every time I see him, he’s got that daft look on his face, like he’s already back in the Lady’s arms."
The other stable boy, shorter and stockier, chuckles. "Aye, I noticed that too. You'd think a man so cold in demeanor wouldn’t be so… warm in his private affairs." He glances around, as if Lord Cregan himself might be lurking behind a pillar. "But gods, can you blame him? Our lady is like a flame. She’s got the blood of dragons in her veins, and it’s like he can’t resist her."
The tall boy laughs loudly. "Well, Winterfell is colder than the South, and a bit of fire in his bed can’t hurt, can it?"
Their laughter echoes through the stables, joining the chorus of quiet gossip that fills the castle.
In the kitchens, the cooks are no less entertained. An older man, grizzled and stern-faced, chops onions with a practiced hand. "It's a good thing they’re so taken with each other," he grumbles to a nearby scullery maid. "Winterfell needs strong heirs, and soon. Better they start early."
The maid, a cheerful woman with flushed cheeks from the heat of the ovens, snickers. "Aye, I doubt that'll be a problem. They’re always together, locked away for hours. If they keep at it, we’ll have a new little Stark running about before winter comes."
"I’ve heard they’re inseparable," another cook chimes in, stirring a pot of stew. "Lord Cregan hardly lets her out of his sight. It’s almost sweet, really."
"Sweet?" the old man scoffs, though there’s no real bite in his voice. "It’s practical, is what it is. They’re doing their duty, ensuring the Stark line continues. But," he adds with a chuckle, "it doesn’t hurt that they seem to enjoy it so much."
The scullery maid laughs. "Oh, they more than enjoy it! I was passing by their chamber the other night, and, well…" She lets the sentence hang, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let’s just say, they were not quiet."
The group erupts into laughter, and even the old man can’t suppress a grin.
And so it goes throughout Winterfell. From the servants who clean your chambers to the guards posted outside the great hall, everyone in the castle is aware of the affection that flows so freely between you and Cregan. Even in the great hall during the evening feasts, there are stolen glances and soft touches between you, enough for the smallfolk to notice.
At one such feast, a group of bannermen seated at a lower table murmur amongst themselves, casting knowing looks up at the high table where you sit beside your husband. Lord Cregan’s hand rests casually on your thigh beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles through the fabric of your gown. You lean toward him, whispering something that makes him laugh softly—a sound rare enough in these halls that it turns heads.
One of the bannermen, a grizzled old warrior with silver streaking his beard, nudges the man beside him. "See how he looks at her? Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters."
The younger man nods. "Aye, I’ve noticed. Seems our Lord is well and truly smitten."
"Better that than cold and distant, I say," the older man replies. "Winterfell’s seen enough hardship. It’s good for the people to know their Lord is happy. And with the lady he’s taken to bed, I’d say we’ll be seeing Stark children sooner rather than later."
The younger man grins. "Aye, and they’re certainly not opposed to practicing their duty."
As laughter ripples through the hall, you catch Cregan’s gaze, and in that moment, the world seems to fade away. His eyes, as grey as the Northern skies, are filled with a warmth reserved only for you. And though you are surrounded by the murmurs and laughter of your people, all you feel is the pull of his love, binding you to him as surely as the ancient stones of Winterfell bind the North.
The smallfolk can whisper all they like. Let them. Winterfell is at ease, and your love for Cregan is as fierce and unyielding as the North itself.
#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#hotd#hotd x y/n#hotd x you#cregan x y/n#hotd cregan#cregan x you#cregan x reader#cregan stark
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educational
a/n: I still have so many asks for this man, and I have not forgotten them! Thank you to everyone who voted, to everyone who takes the time to comment and reblog on my posts. You have no idea how you all have reinvigorated my love for writing, a million hugs and cuddles for all of you. I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! This isn't beta'd, barely proofread. Hope you enjoy 💕xo
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 2.3k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series masterlist
The sun was oppressive. It beat down with a vengeance and the fan in your hand did nothing to alleviate the waves of heat permeating the market. You had half a mind to head right back to the villa, to ask Marcus to bring you on another day when you could focus on anything other than the drops of sweat sliding down your spine, making your new robes stick to your skin. Or the way the stiff leather sandals on your feet rubbed your ankles raw.
Running back to the villa didn’t seem right however, it tasted too much of defeat, of a refusal to accept your new place in this world and the thought of your General, your husband being disappointed in your inability to shop for yourself put eels into your belly. Gritting your teeth, you continued your hunt for the things you needed.
“What about this Domina?” Your new attendant, a girl a few years younger than you had been when you’d first joined his house pointed at a blessedly covered stall, golden trinkets glittering where the sun poked through gaps in the covering catching your eye.
“Let us look.” You smiled, making your way over. There you found a lovely perfumed oil for your skin, at a fairly reasonable price. You also found some of the incense Marcus liked, and a new brush for his hair. You bought them, even though he had sent you with the intent to buy things for yourself. With your purchases made and in the hands of your guards you decided to finally return home, when another stall caught your eye. Gauzy sheer linens covered most of it but when the warm breeze blew them aside, glittering jewels flashed.
The woman running the stall smiled when you entered, she had streaks of grey in her hair, lovely oiled skin and eyes as dark as night.
Opals with fire caught inside them hung on golden racks, rubies the size of walnuts, emeralds as green as fresh laurel leaves glittered, all of them entrancing you enough to pull your hands out to touch them.
“With your skin, those would look lovely.” She walked over, pulling dark blue sapphire earrings from their place on her wall and holding them to your ears. “Beautiful.”
“They are gorgeous, I must admit.” Marcus had told you to buy whatever you wanted, had given you enough coin to splurge but you hesitated. Your eyes fell to a small book on a shelf, a picture of a man and a woman on the cover.
“That is… very educational. Especially for a married woman.” She pulled the book off the shelf, placing it into your hands for you to peruse. The contents made you gasp. It was a guide book, a guide for the art of love. The art of copulation. There were diagrams, positions to try, all manner of things you’d never even thought of.
Heat rushed to your face, the thought of showing Marcus, of trying them with him made the heat grow and spread to the place between your thighs.
“You must have it, I have no doubt your husband will enjoy it, you as well.” She winked and you laughed a nervous little laugh, nodding conspiratorially.
“You should adorn yourself for him, something glittering, something precious.” She gestured to the jewels once more and you bit your lip, wondering what to choose until you saw what looked to be a belt of different coloured gems.
“I like this–is it for my waist?” You slid your fingers across it.
“That would be perfect, not just your waist my lady.” She undid the clasps and arranged it, draping it onto your body. “Usually the ladies wear them over a simple robe to elevate it, but I think it would look just as beautiful against the skin, if you take my meaning.” You could see it, the top part of it like a necklace, with a long line of gems between your breasts leading down to connect with another line of it like a belt.
With an ache for him, and a considerably lighter purse, you left with your purchases and made your way home once more.
-
He was occupied, held up in his study with representatives from the Emperor, a senator and a whole host of others taking up his time with important matters. You left him to it, and busied yourself with your own preparations.
The tub was steaming and fragrant when you submerged yourself. Dried flowers and sweet smelling oils swirling with every movement, all manner of different elements coming together to soften your skin and make you shine for him. Thoughts of what he would think of your book fill your mind as you cleanse yourself of the day, musings about what he might choose pull at the corners of your lips as you run the clean washcloth across the expanse of your chest and thighs.
You oil your skin once out of the tub, arrange your hair and adorn yourself with jewels. Golden bracelets and anklets he’d gifted you on your wedding night, an armband shaped like a snake, earrings that dangle and trap the light when you move, the special body chain from the stand. You feel like a goddess, like a priestess readying yourself for worship.
By the time he comes to bed the need, the arousal is fierce enough to make your hands shake.
“Apologies my love, I was hoping to have been done sooner but—“ he catches sight of you then, sprawled out on the bed, an airy robe leaving nothing to the imagination, the small book in your hands. His eyes devour you, robbing him of his words, making your heart race.
“I have something for you, something for us.” You rise, exaggerating the swing in your hips with every step you take towards him. Your adornments jingle, a pleasant sound rings with every stride.
“Do you now?” He licks his lips, and presses his palm to his growing bulge at the sight of you. “I have something for you too, growing stiff and aching.” His hand reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you into his embrace.
“I do not doubt that.” You laugh, pressing your palms to his chest to keep him from pushing you onto your bed.
“I would very much like to give it to you, nice and deep.” His eyes are so lust blown that the warm brown is now a cold black. A moan escapes at his words, at the feel of his kiss on your throat.
“First, I would like you to look through the book I bought today.” He frowns, confused at the apparent shift. “I believe it could be very educational for us.”
If you weren’t so aroused, so excited to experiment you might have laughed at his expression. Naked shock was all you could see on his face. Never, in all your years within the villa, within his presence had you ever rendered him speechless before. The effect is titillating.
Wordlessly he peruses the pages, cheeks flushing, attention rapt at the diagrams and instructions shown within.
“Gods above.” Your smile deepens at the low whisper of his voice, nerves fraying with anticipation.
“I am particularly curious about this one.” With trembling hands, you flip the pages to a certain diagram, where the woman is sitting on the man's lap but facing away, her legs closed tightly between his legs underneath her. The thought of Marcus having you that way floods your body with heat. His mouth at your ear, his hands free to slip between your legs or hold onto the weight of your breasts.
Silently he studies the book, eyes intent. His quiet intensity fills the air between you, it makes you wring your hands with nervous anticipation, almost makes you wonder if you’ve gone too far. Your nerves fray the longer he stares, the old fear of disappointing or upsetting him creeps up your spine, until he smiles and licks his lip.
“You, my love, continue to surprise me.” He closes the book and sets it aside.
“Do I?” You take his hand in yours, and press it to your lips, desperate for his approval and for his love.
“Oh yes. Just when I think I cannot be any more fortunate, you spoil me and show me another facet of your love.” He pulls you forward, guiding you to stand between his spread legs at the edge of your bed, pulling the robe off to expose your nakedness.
“Look at you.” His palms slide from the sides of your thighs past your hips where they touch the jewels that adorn your waist. Up, up, up until his thumbs flick at your nipples.
“You are yourself, my most precious jewel. So beautiful–” He presses his face to your breast, his lips gliding across your skin between words, “-kind, adventurous and brave, sweet as summer fruit,” he skims his nose over the top of your breast before licking at the stiff peak. With a sigh you hold him close, fingernails scratching at his neck, slipping through the fine grey waves, cradling his head close.
Your heart races as he pours his love onto you, any and all fears are quieted to nothing under the silky slip of his palms against your back. His mouth forms a tight seal around your nipple, enough that it makes you gasp. His smile is predatory, confident and it makes you laugh; half nervous, half exhilarated.
Your breasts shine with the oil, and his spit when he lets go. You take the opportunity to pull his robes up and off. Your mouth waters at the sight of his manhood, hard and leaking for you.
“Turn around.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, deep and commanding, irrefutable. His lips press to your shoulder, moving down to your lower back, you squeal in shock and delight to feel his teeth on the meat of your ass.
“I could devour you whole, do you know that?” You can hear the smile in his voice.
The arousal is enough to choke you, enough to ease the glide of himself against your sex. Butterflies swarm as he pulls you back, guiding his own weeping tip to the tight fist of your cunt until you sink, slowly onto him. You gasp at just how deep, just how full you feel like this.
“Gods above, woman.” His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, his voice strangled in your ear.
It is so much better than you had imagined.
His thighs bracket yours as you adjust to the fullness, slick dribbles out of you and drenches his lap when his hands do exactly as you hoped they might. With deft fingers he pinches and pulls at your sensitive nipples, teasing the peaks mercilessly as you begin a tentative bounce on his lap.
“Is this how you wanted it?” His breath tickles your neck, painting your skin in gooseflesh.
“Yes, yes Marcus, just like this-“ your head falls back onto his shoulder, the arousal so fierce it burns through you, sets your heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, trapped in the cage of your ribs.
“Take it, take your pleasure from me my love, ride this cock—“ he bucks up, pulling a pained moan from somewhere inside you.
“That’s it, you can do it, milk my fucking cock.” His arm tightens around your middle and you can feel the jewels pinching at your skin, the edge of pain only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins, ripping a swathe through your body in the shape of him, always him.
Thick fingers force their way between the tight press of your thighs, pinching at your swollen clit and it’s almost too much. Sweat beads in your hairline, slips between your bodies as you roll your hips harder, clenching around him with every tight bounce.
There are no more words, only the harsh pant of his breath in your ear, the slick, vulgar sound of your wet arousal; the whimpering heralding your climax.
His fingers leave your clit and you whine, the demand for them to return on the tip of your tongue but he quells it, pressing those same fingers into your mouth. He takes the saliva from your mouth, and returns his fingers to their task. The slip is just right and with a silent scream you freeze, squeezing him tight enough for him to hiss, tight enough to do just as he wanted and milk him for all he’s worth.
His grip around your middle softens, the jewels have left indents in his skin as well as yours, you pull his arm up to press your lips to it.
Once the blood has settled and you’ve caught your breath, you pull away from him, turning to settle in his lap again only this time facing him.
His expression is pure bliss, flushed with exertion and smiling with the ghost of his climax still painting his features.
“I must send you to the market more often, spoil you as you spoil me.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck just as his wrap tightly around your waist.
“So you are pleased with my purchase then?” Your lips press to his mouth, his cheek, the little hairless spot on his chin, your favourite constellation to map out.
“I am more than pleased with it, but I must study it in depth. So many things to try, so many lessons for us to learn from this book, hmm?” He skims his nose across the column of your throat, smiling into your skin as your heart races for him even with your pleasure still coursing through you.
“…And you know that I am a quick learner, my love.”
-
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#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#marcus acacius#general acacius#general marcus acacius#gladiator ll#gladiator 2#gladiator ii#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x you#marcus acacius fanfiction#marcus acacius x female reader#marcus acacius smut
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MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru
⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?
includes: mentions of food, mentions of murder, talks of death, predator/prey dynamic, sword to neck trope, reader gets restrained, mentions of injuries, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo, princess!reader, reader is referred to as 'cerena', princess cerena has pink hair and feminine features, reader is in cerena's body, isekai-ed reader
⟡ masterlist
ACT 1, SCENE 3: THE VILLAGE
Life at this little village offered you a gentle respite from the fears eating at your soul, putting the memory of Satoru's bloodthirsty desires momentarily out of your mind.
Whilst under Aeva’s care, you learned how to use an old fire stove, sweep the floors with a broom made of brambles, and prepare some of Northern Haleway’s most famous fare—pigeon mince pies.
In return, she offered you the room in her attic, a quaint, cozy space that did not perturb you with its lack of size but instead, reminded you fondly of your own bedroom back in your real world.
When you weren’t busy with chores and cooking, Aeva gave you free rein to roam about the village with the condition that you were to never reveal your true identity to the poor villagers. You took her worries in stride, always leaving her home with your hood and cloak on; Cerena’s signature pink hair plaited neatly and wrapped under the scratchy hood.
The reason for your excursions to town were simple: you wanted to find out the truth about why you were here in the first place.
You struck up conversations with various healers, visited the village shaman, and even spent an hour talking to the friendly barman on the merits of body swapping and waking up in a different life.
But, your research barely yielded anything fruitful.
It only served to increase your worries, driving you to the brink of a mental breakdown at the fact that you may never go back to your real world again.
That you may never see your mother or listen to her laugh as you both drank rice wine on a veranda; happy memories illuminated by the sun setting over the paddy fields. You may never roll your eyes at your best friend’s piss poor attempts at setting you up on blind dates, or enjoy your morning commute with a cup of turmeric latte.
Every single thought drew you deeper into a pit of despair.
But, you knew you had to be strong.
This was a temporary setback and you have to believe that you will return home. You have to believe that life would not be so cruel as to leave you stranded here, in a place where you were despised and ridiculed. You had to keep the faith; had to hold onto the hope that you would make it home in one piece.
There was no other option.
-
Satoru slowed his horse to a trot once he arrived in the market square, the guards flanking his sides dispersing to find you at his terse nod.
Those unyielding blue eyes swept across the square, noting the various sellers and stalls surrounding him. The smell of horse dung and rotten food scraps burned through his nose with the force of a thousand fires, and he made a face, wanting nothing more than to get this search party over, find you and take you back to the King.
For a man used to the trenches of war, peasant life will always astound him with its stink and squalor. Children with dirt-packed faces and blackened hands chase after each other. A skinny, malnourished dog feebly lifts its head when his horse trots by and a heavily pregnant woman with scars running down her arms gives him a scrutinizing look while she hangs up her linens to dry.
Satoru intended to keep this visit brief, and he is no more looking forward to the reality of finding you than he is at the thought of how you would react.
It was obvious that this was one of your usual tantrums in retaliation for not getting what you want; an act of rebellion made to paint him in a bad light.
His jaw ticks and his mood darkens at the thought of what he would do if he ever saw you again.
First things first, Satoru wouldn’t hesitate to threaten you by sword point to return back to the castle. Then, he will interrogate you on where you had been, who you spoke to, how you escaped in the first place so he can put anyone and everyone who aided you in this resistance to the sword.
Those flinty cerulean eyes shift across the market square, hoping to find a glimpse of the hooded and cloaked figure Miri had informed him about. But, all his gaze does is meet more exhausted faces; the villager’s blackened, fatigued air drawing his lips downward into a grimace.
He was close to redirecting the search party into the forest where he believed you would be hiding, when he sees the figure of his hunt.
A waifish, hooded and cloaked woman made her way past the fruit stalls, stopping to purchase an apple.
Satoru doesn’t spare another second. He threw his horse into a gallop, reaching for his sword and drawing it out of the scabbard.
The hooded woman seemed to sense his murderous intent for her all the way across the square and lifted her head.
Satoru’s eyes widened when he noticed the familiar slope of your nose; the parting of your cherubic lips frozen in a silent scream.
“Cerena!”
The blasted woman takes off, running as fast as she could straight to the forest’s edge. Satoru doesn’t know what compelled him to disembark off his horse, hastily tying the reins around an apple tree and tearing after you with his longer, stronger legs.
Your terrified expression seared through his brain when you turn around to flash him a pleading look. Satoru gritted his teeth, his larger lung capacity and fitter body making it easier for him to sweep past the trees, darting under the brushes and jumping over fallen logs to chase after you.
There is nothing but the thought of escape in your mind.
As you weaved through the trees, bounding across brooks and fell logs, your breath came out in icy pants, crystalizing right in front of your face.
You wanted to turn around and plead and beg with him to spare you, the sight of the broadsword in his hand pumping your veins full of adrenaline and the need to escape. Like a hounded prey, the predator behind you was closing in, near enough that you could hear his jagged breaths.
“Cerena—stop running!”
You pushed yourself harder, ignoring his words, forcing your legs to bring you towards a gnarly apple tree. Using muscles you haven’t utilized since you were four when you were wildly swinging from jungle bars, you expertly swung your body up the tree, clambering the thick trunk and using the spruces as your support—trying to get off the ground and hide in the foliage so he would give up and leave you alone.
But, luck was never on your side, especially when it came head-to-head with Satoru’s determination.
He circled the tree you were hiding in, those frantic blue eyes darting through the thick leaves, trying to get a glimpse of you.
“Cerena, stop this madness at once and come back home!” Satoru bellowed, cheeks splotched red with anger and frustration. “You mad woman! Get down and face your repercussions, dammit!”
A slight movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you rush to unleash your dagger, cutting through the stem of the hornet’s nest just a few inches from you.
Sensing danger, they hummed, digging their stingers into your vulnerable hand, but you paid the bites of pain no mind—focused completely on evading Satoru.
The prince’s keen ears catch a rustle, like the sound of something being sawed and he looks up into the trees, jaw clenched and icy blue eyes wild.
“Cerena! What are you doing up there? Come down, dammit!”
Without warning, a lump of something brown and scraggly falls right at his feet.
Satoru barely had time to react before he’s surrounded by a swarm of nasty wasps, stinger-triggered and ready to attack him. The sight of him swinging his broadsword to ward off the wasps would’ve been hilarious, if you didn’t use this as an opportunity to scamper down the apple tree and take off like your life depended on it.
“—Cerena!”
Your stomach sank to your feet as you quickly whipped your head back to catch him speeding up to you, the mottled flesh of his face from the wasp stings and those raging blue eyes shocking you through the core with pure, unadulterated fear.
“Please!”
You screamed, needing to run back to Aeva’s hut. She will protect you; she has to.
Sliding into the clearing, you’re almost to the home run when you feel a hard tug around your neck. Your head jerks back and you go crashing to the ground, Satoru’s bigger body enveloping yours.
“No—no!”
The shine of his sword nicks your neck, and you’re both breathing hard.
Satoru’s fiery icy azure eyes bore right into you with such potent hatred, you throw your hands to your face, bracing for the blade to slice through your neck hotly.
One second turned into two. His heavy breathing becomes a grunt, and he yanks you unceremoniously to your feet.
His arm tightened around your trembling body, face a few inches from yours as he sneered.
“You will pay for what you did to me.” Those reddened lesions from the wasps littering his neck and cheeks strike terror into your numbed heart.
“If only you hadn’t ran away from me,” he clicked his tongue as if in disappointment, and to your mortification, brought out a coil of rope from his jacket. “Then, your punishment would not be so severe.”
A hushed sob slips from between your gritted teeth as he lashed your hands together with the rope, tying it tightly enough so you wouldn’t think of running away from him again.
“Please,” you started to cry. “Please, do not hurt me. Do not harm me.”
He grunted, looping the tie into a double knot. “What in the devil are you blubbering about, woman? I have no intention of hurting you.”
Your tears trickled your cheeks like fragments of icy shards, slipping down your neck as you attempted to resist, pressing your bound palms to his broad chest and trying to push him away.
Satoru growled: “Cerena! Behave.”
The flash of disgust and anger in his eyes instantly brought to mind how he had held the sword to your bare neck—how he had wanted to kill you.
Terror seized your lungs, your scream shattering the calm quiet of the forest.
“Help me! Somebody help me! Please!”
You sobbed loudly and with full abandonment, balking whenever he tried to reach out for you, batting your useless hands against his chest and neck to try and buy yourself some time for someone to help.
In the midst of the struggle with Satoru, you missed a wizened figure stepping out of the hut, her bow and arrow pointed right at the crowned prince.
Gojo, noticing the intruder in this scene, raised his eyes, sneering at the lowly woman who dared believe she can take him on with a flimsy weapon.
“You dare point that at me? The crowned prince of the region?”
Aeva steadied her aim, the tip of the arrow quivering. The expression on her face was of fierce protectiveness, surging from seeing you being manhandled like a sack of potatoes by a man who was supposed to honor you as his fiancé.
For a brief moment, you felt a shining sense of hope—that you were going to be safe.
But, he does not yield. Despite not saying a word, his frigid glare is all the loathing he needs to dissuade Aeva from releasing the arrow. Her rheumy eyes shifted from your tear-streaked face to his furious glare and to your dismay, she slowly lowered the weapon, letting it dangle by her side.
Your gasp rang with betrayal and alarm. “Aeva… please…”
Smug that he was let off without much of a fight, Gojo used his raw strength to lift you over his shoulder, your bound hands dangling across his back, your slippered feet kicking in mid-air.
“Please! Don’t let him harm me! Aeva! Aeva—” you choke off a broken sob, unable to bear her devastated expression through your tears.
With every jarring step he took, you get further and further away from the safe house; from finding your answers and plotting your return back to your world.
Satoru didn't just tear your hopes of returning home from your hands, he also stomped them to the ground with the impending dread of his promise to Miri.
The promise to kill you should he see you again.
Crippling agony washed over you, enough to make you bitterly wail, your cries weaving through the trees as fearful images of your mangled body flashed through your mind, the end of your life brought about by this cruel prince's hand.
“Enough with the dramatics,” Satoru muttered frostily as he trudged through the thick snow, reaching his behemoth of a stallion. With barely an iota of effort, he heaped you onto the saddle, giving your thigh a hard squeeze in warning not to do anything funny.
Mounting behind you, he used his sturdier build to keep you caged in between his arms. Gripping the reins and snapping it once, his great white horse whinnies, moving to a trot as the forest and the safe house you spent these three blissful days in disappeared from your view.
You never thought your fate would end up like this: bound atop a horse like fresh game being brought back after a hunt, while a sadistic man who wants nothing more than your demise sat behind you, stoic and silent despite your hushed cries.
Anguish welled deep in your soul, manifesting as endless tears streaming down your face which you tried desperately to hide from him.
His voice broke through your frantic thoughts as a low, baritone warning.
“I told you I will force you take accountability for your actions,” Satoru muttered darkly, slowing his horse to a cant.
Without any warning, he grasped your chin and tugged hard, eliciting a gasp of fear from you, forcing your teary eyes to meet his enraged ones.
“And your punishment has only just begun, Princess.”
mtt fun fact: minced pigeon pies were brought to northern haleway by merchants from the south who introduced this alternative meat source during one of the country's harshest famines
dawn says: what kind of 'punishment' do you think satoru meant? 👀
!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3
©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.
#🦢 writes#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#isekai#yandere gojo#gojo angst#gojo x reader#gojo x you#satoru x reader#satoru x you#jjk x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen angst#royalty au#arranged marriage#jujutsu kaisen#series: marry the traitor
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MY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE | MV1
an: let me preface this by the fact that I AM STILL ON A BREAK!!! this is just something i promised to get written for our blog fav anon! happy birthday sweetheart, thank you for all your requests i hope you have a great day and get everything you wished for! this is short, but its my gift from me to you.
wc: 1.9k
THE MORNING SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the curtains, warm and golden against the white linen sheets. She stirred, reaching out instinctively for Max, only to be met with the cool expanse of an empty mattress. Her fingers lingered there for a moment, tracing the absence with a small sigh.
It wasn’t unusual. He kept odd hours—training, traveling, racing. The life of a Formula One driver wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five. She’d grown used to it over the years, though it never stopped the quiet ache of missing him when he wasn’t there. Still, today was her birthday, and a part of her had hoped to wake up to his sleepy smile, his whispered “Happy birthday” against her hair.
Instead, the house was silent, save for the faint hum of the wind outside. She glanced at the clock: 6:13 a.m. Too early to expect much, even for him. He was probably at the gym or out running laps around the back roads.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood and stretched, brushing off the hint of disappointment. She had plans anyway—dressage always helped to clear her mind. A birthday ride through the fields, the crisp winter air biting against her cheeks, was just what she needed to set the day off right.
She pulled on her breeches and boots, tying her hair back into a loose braid. Out at the ranch, the horses would already be awake, tails flicking in anticipation of breakfast. The thought made her smile as she grabbed an apple from the kitchen on her way out.
The crisp morning air hit her cheeks as she stepped into the yard, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Everything was calm, the only sound the occasional whicker of a horse from the stables. But as she approached the barn, something caught her eye: movement.
“Hello?” she called out, confused. It wasn’t like her staff to be here this early without telling her. She stepped inside, blinking against the dim light.
And there he was.
Her heart stalled. Max stood in the center of the stable aisle, dressed in jeans and an old sweater, looking adorably out of place. His light hair was slightly messy, as if he hadn’t slept much, and in his hands, he held a cake—lopsided, candles crooked, but undeniably homemade.
“Happy birthday,” he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth.
She gaped at him, her gaze darting between the cake, the awkward way he shifted on his feet, and the shy smile tugging at his lips.
“I, uh... I thought we could spend the day together,” he continued, glancing around at the horses. “Maybe you could teach me how to ride?”
Her breath caught. No one had ever taken her passion seriously before, not really. It had always been her thing—something separate from the fast-paced, high-octane world he lived in. And yet, here he was, asking to share it with her, standing in her world like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It wasn’t just a gesture. It was everything.
For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t string together the right words to match the whirlwind of emotions swirling in her chest. Instead, she took a slow step forward, her eyes never leaving his.
“You... want me to teach you?” she finally managed, her voice soft, almost disbelieving.
Max nodded, his smile turning sheepish. “I know it’s not really my thing, but it’s yours. And, well... you put up with my world all the time. I figured it’s about time I tried stepping into yours.”
She felt her heart clench, a mixture of affection and disbelief washing over her. This was the man who navigated the sharpest turns at breakneck speeds, who thrived under the pressure of roaring crowds and flashing cameras. Yet here he was, standing in her stable, with no clue how to handle a horse but every intention of trying.
“Besides,” he added with a wink, “I’m told I’m a quick learner.”
Her lips twitched into a smile despite herself. “We’ll see about that.”
Setting the cake aside carefully on a hay bale, she turned back to him and folded her arms. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. Do you even know which end of the horse is which?”
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and she couldn’t help but join in.
“Hey, I’m not that clueless,” Max protested, though his glance toward the stalls betrayed a flicker of doubt. “That one’s the... front, right?”
She shook her head, amused, and led him toward her favorite horse, a sleek bay mare named Willow. As they approached, the horse stretched her neck over the stall door, ears flicking curiously toward him.
“This is Willow,” she said, reaching up to stroke the mare’s nose. “She’s gentle and patient—exactly what you need.”
He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering mid-air. “What if she doesn’t like me?”
“She’ll like you,” she said firmly, guiding his hand to rest against Willow’s nose. “Horses can sense people. Just be calm and steady, and she’ll trust you.”
He nodded, his expression serious as he let Willow sniff his hand. When the mare nudged him gently, his face lit up with boyish delight, and she couldn’t suppress her grin.
“See? You’re a natural.”
“Or she’s just being polite,” Max quipped, but there was warmth in his voice as he scratched behind Willow’s ears.
Over the next hour, she guided him through the basics. From leading Willow out of her stall to saddling her, he fumbled with the stirrups and asked a million questions, but his enthusiasm never wavered. She found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, his clumsy attempts and earnest determination filling the barn with a lightness she hadn’t realized she needed.
Finally, it was time to ride. She helped him mount, suppressing a giggle as he wobbled awkwardly in the saddle.
“This feels... weird,” he said, gripping the reins a little too tightly.
“You’ll get used to it,” she assured him, adjusting his posture. “Now, remember what I said—light pressure with your legs, and keep the reins steady. Willow will do the rest.”
He took a deep breath, nodding. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
As Willow began to move in a slow, steady walk, he let out a surprised laugh.
“I’m doing it!”
“You’re doing it,” she echoed, her heart swelling as she watched him. He looked ridiculous—too tall, too tense—but also completely and utterly endearing.
For the first time in a long time, she felt like they weren’t just navigating two separate worlds, trying to make them fit. In this moment, they were here together, in hers, and it felt like magic.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the barnyard in shades of orange and gold, they were both worn out but blissfully happy. He had survived his first riding lesson with only a couple of near tumbles, and she had laughed more in one afternoon than she had in months.
“You’re officially better at this than I expected,” she teased as they walked hand in hand back to the house, their boots crunching softly against the gravel.
“Well, I had a great teacher,” he said, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Although I think Willow deserves some of the credit for not throwing me off.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll let her know you’re grateful.”
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, they headed out for dinner at her favorite little countryside restaurant. The cosy atmosphere, filled with the hum of soft conversation and the scent of freshly baked bread, felt like the perfect end to the day. He held her hand across the table, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her skin as they shared stories, memories, and plans for the future.
When they stepped outside, the air was crisp, the stars glittering in the clear night sky. She tilted her head back, taking a deep breath of the cool air, when Max nudged her gently.
“Walk home with me?” he asked, his eyes warm and soft in the moonlight.
“Of course,” she said, lacing her fingers with his.
They strolled down the quiet country road, their laughter blending with the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. It felt peaceful, perfect—just the two of them, away from the chaos of schedules and flashing cameras.
But then he slowed, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “Hey,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I’ve got one more surprise for you. Do you trust me?”
She raised a brow but nodded. “Always.”
A smile tugged at his lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys, dangling them with a little jingle. “Let’s go for a drive.”
Intrigued, she followed him to his sleek black car. As they sped down the empty road, the hum of the engine a low and soothing backdrop, she stole glances at him, trying to read the subtle curve of his smile.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he said cryptically, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
After about twenty minutes, Max turned onto a smaller, winding lane, flanked by towering trees that cast shadows across the headlights. When the car finally came to a stop, she glanced out the window, her breath catching.
They were parked in front of a stunning patch of land, framed by rolling hills and dotted with wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. At the center of it all stood a newly built stable, its wooden beams glowing softly under the moonlight.
“Wow,” she murmured, stepping out of the car and taking in the scene. “Whoever owns this must really love their horses.”
He walked up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Yeah, she does.”
Her brow furrowed, and she turned to look at him. “You’ve met her?”
His expression softened, and without a word, Max reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small set of keys. He held them up, the faint clink of metal echoing in the quiet.
“She’s standing right in front of me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
She froze, the words sinking in as she looked back at the stable, then at him, then back again.
“You... you bought this for me?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He nodded, his own eyes shining. “It’s yours. The land, the stable, everything. I know how much this means to you, how much you’ve dreamed of having a place like this to call your own. I wanted to make it happen.”
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she let out a choked laugh of disbelief. “You’re insane,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning, “but it’s worth it to see you like this.”
She didn’t say another word. Instead, she threw her arms around him, jumping up so he had to catch her, his laughter muffled against her shoulder as she buried her face in his neck.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she murmured through her tears.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”
She kissed him then, pouring every ounce of gratitude, love, and joy into the moment. When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, a tearful smile still playing on her lips.
“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she said softly.
“And it’s only the beginning,” he promised.
the end.
taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore
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w/c: 750 Part I - A drabble - headcanon thingy of our favorite king of red flags curses, set in a Heian-era village. i dunno anymore. | Part 2 here
Childhood!FriendSukuna who first met you as he stood at the brink of death.
"Mom, hey, mom." You tugged at her sleeve, directing her gaze at a frail boy, about seven or eight, on the verge of collapse behind the village market stall, "Can I give him an apple?" It's a bad month, she thought, glancing at the contents of her basket; this kindness might cost an empty stomach later on.
"No dear, he'll be fine." But you already ran off with an apple, your tiny legs making their way to the sickly boy.
"Here," you held the apple in front of his face, to which he narrowed his eyes, extending a scrawny arm to smack it away.
"I don't need your trash." He barked, his voice harsh as he gathered saliva in his mouth, spitting at your feet, “Peasant.”
As soon as your mother dragged you away, he picked up the apple, eating it whole.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who didn’t mind the insults the villagers threw at him while he was knee-deep in mud, plowing the fields for a cup of stale rice in the evenings.
"That brat is cursed," the whispers would grow amidst the village's council meetings, "If we stop feeding him, he'll leave."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, whose malnourished limbs betrayed him as he fell face first on the rice terrace with the hot sun still ablaze on his back.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who woke up almost a day later under an unknown ceiling, fever gnawing at his head under a wet cloth.
"Mom! Mom!" You shrieked from the corner of the room, "He's awake!" and a woman came in with a warm cup of tea, the taste of which lingered on his tongue as he drifted back to sleep.
"Let me die, brat." His hoarse voice was still weak when he came back to his senses as you placed a fresh, dampened cloth over his forehead.
"My name's not 'brat,'" you informed with a scoff, "It's (Name); what's yours?"
Too ashamed to admit he didn’t know the answer, he turned away and closed his eyes.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, whose mouth hung agape when you pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead one night while muttering, 'mother told me that a kiss can heal any sickness'.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, who disappeared as soon as he found the strength to walk again, returning to the fields only to find that the farmer's wife would no longer spare him dried-out rice when he finished a day's work.
"They should have let him die," he heard the farmer's wife proclaim through the thin walls of the cabin, "That self-righteous linen maker and her irritating daughter. That brat probably cursed them, too."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who killed the farmer and his wife, unleashing a torrent of power he never knew resided within him; some kind of strange magic, he thought, wondering if the whispers of curses were more than the village gossip. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood, and for the first time, he could breathe.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who disappeared after the crime, only to emerge a decade later, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake as he razed and burned each village in his path - laughing as he watched the terror-stricken villagers bow at his feet, crying and begging and dubbing him devil.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who spared you as the village you once called home turned to ashes around you.
"I owe no debt to you now." He announced.
Tears pooled in your eyes, and a scream escaped your lips as you broke down on your knees before him, "I should have listened," you wailed, fingers clawing at the dry dirt beneath you, "They said you were cursed," you hurled a mass of dirt at him, hitting his chest, "They said the devil came to the village the day you were born."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who passed through the village again the next day, just to see you lying between the rubble, limbs sprawled on the dirt and ashes.
"I've extended you kindness." He said, covering the sun with his frame as he loomed over you, "Leave."
And you laughed, shaking and howling until the sides of your body started stinging, and the words came out as mere gasps; "And go where?"
"Wherever you wish."
"Home," You declared, locking eyes with his confused expression, "I want to go home."
You weren’t sure what sick thoughts ran through his mind when he leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your forehead, so you smiled, his face still a mere inch away from yours; "It's my fault." you confessed, "So, the next time we meet, I'll fix it, okay?" A deadpan expression took over as you added, "I'll kill you myself."
-
#jjk x reader#sukuna X reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna X you#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x y/n#ryoumen sukuna X reader#ryoumen sukuna X you#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk X you#jjk x y/n#jjk headcanons#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk sukuna
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Nanami gets a tad bit possessive whenever you go out dancing together.
At first, everything is fine. You wear your ring proudly on your finger with your husband draped around you, claiming you as his for the entire room to see. A few drinks in, jealously consumes him. After just a few minutes away to use the bathroom, he returns to find a man chatting with you, eyes lingering up and down your figure. He pushes past the crowd, taking unusually big strides to reach you. The stranger is startled by his demanding presence, especially at the scowl on his face, towering over him.
Nanami hangs his arm on your shoulders, to which you interlace your fingers with his, smiling. “This is my husband, the one I was telling you about.”
The man eyes him nervously. “Ah, so it is. Sorry about that. I’ll leave you alone now.” He slinks away, dejected.
You giggle, facing Nanami. “I tried to tell him that my very handsome husband would be coming back soon, but he didn’t believe me.”
“Idiot,” he mutters, kissing your forehead. He notices the man return to his group of friends, sneaking glances with frustration etched on his face.
Nanami decides to have a little fun at this imbecile’s expense. His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist firmly, pulling you close to him, grinding his hips against you. He reaches over to tip your chin towards him, slipping his tongue inside your mouth for a wet, passionate kiss. You move in sync with him to the beat of the music thumping in your ears, wiggling yourself against his hardening cock. His fingers tease the elastic of your mini skirt, inching dangerously close to slipping beneath the fabric. He peeks one eye open, catching the bastard grimace at the little show you’re putting on for him.
You moan into Nanami’s mouth, arousal seeping into your panties. “Want more, Kento. I can’t wait.”
He chuckles, sucking on your bottom lip. “Yeah? Come on, then.”
He leads you into an empty stall of the men’s restroom, which is always notoriously empty compared to the women’s. He kneels in front of you, tugging your skirt and underwear off simultaneously, revealing your glistening cunt. Licking his lips, he guides you to his mouth, slurping up your arousal, middle finger teasing your entrance until it finally slides in, curled at the tip to stimulate your G-spot. You come quickly like this, his mouth hot and messy on your swollen clit.
He stands up, bending you over with your hands flat against the stall door, undoing his pants hastily, shrugging them off until they’re pooled around his ankles. You back your ass up against his erection bulging in his briefs, watching you tease his shaft until precum oozes from the tip into the linen, forming a wet spot. “Fuck,” he groans, grinding himself between your ass cheeks. “I could come just like this. But I won’t. Not when this cunt is so needy for my cock.”
You whine his name, knees shaking with anticipation, aching to be fucked already. He slaps your ass, the smack echoing off the walls of the empty bathroom, before sliding himself slowly inside you. You moan loudly when he bottoms out, addicted to being filled to the brim like this. He thrusts into you smoothly, pace gradually increasing the closer and closer you get to your second climax. Eventually, the whole framework of the connected bathroom stalls rattle with each pump of his cock. “Fuck,” he mutters, slamming his hips against your ass, loving the way your flesh jiggles upon contact. “Taking it so good, sweetheart. So good for me.”
You throw your ass back on him, using the stall door to push off in tandem with his thrusts. He’s so fucking close now; he won’t stop for anything until he spills his load inside your pretty pussy. He ignores the sound of footsteps entering the room. He disregards the appearance of shoes at the next stall over, hearing every single lewd sound of your blatant fuckfest. He doesn’t care; he spills his seed inside you, shooting his hot load deep into your womb, not stopping until every single drop is milked out of him. “Take my cum. That’s my good girl,” he purrs, pulling out to watch it drip down your legs. He collects it on his fingers, pushing it back inside your cunt, pulling your panties and skirt up to secure it. He kisses your temple softly, wiping the drool off the side of your lip with his thumb. You smile at him, spent and satiated, kissing him on the mouth before you exit the stall.
Like icing on the cake, when the two of you step out, disheveled with blissful grins on your faces, you catch Mr. So-It-Is washing his hands at the sink, blushing all the way down to his neck with his fly still open.
#mdni divider by @/cafekitsune#nanami smut#nanami drabbles#kento nanami smut#nanami kento smut#nanami x you#nanami x reader#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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Oooh, what about BuckTommy and Missing Them from the intimacy prompt list ���
40. missing them
"I miss you," Buck murmurs, quiet in the barren cavern of his hotel room. It's fine - nice, even - but the impersonality of the beige walls and stark white linens only serve to remind him that he isn't where he wants to be. On the other end of the line, Tommy hums softly, and Buck can hear the rustle of his sheets.
"I miss you too," Tommy says. Buck presses his phone tight against his ear - holding Tommy's voice as close as he can. "We've already gotten through one week, we can do one more."
Buck sighs. When he'd signed up for this workshop eight months ago, he'd been single, and two weeks of union-paid travel to Pasadena had seemed like fun.
"You're in bed?" he asks. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling from on top of his king-size hotel bed and tries to ignore the drag of loneliness through the centre of his chest.
"Yeah, finally. Feels like I barely got to sit down all day."
Buck licks his lips. "What are you wearing?"
"Seriously?" Tommy laughs and Buck closes his eyes to better picture the smile he knows is scrunched into Tommy's face. He can't help smiling in return at the thought.
"Well," he says, dragging the word out, "I have missed you..."
Tommy laughs again. "Or certain parts of me, it sounds like."
"Hey, don't sell yourself short. It just so happens that I miss many parts of you."
They giggle together for a moment - and in that bubble, it's almost like Tommy's right there beside him.
"How about this," Tommy says after a beat of silence. "You tell me what you're wearing, and we'll go from there." He drops his voice a little as he flirts and Buck's body responds automatically, his dick giving an interested twitch in his shorts.
"I'm wearing boxers, and- and your sweater," Buck says. Tommy's next exhale is heavy.
"Which one?"
"It's a grey zip-up."
"Hmm." Just that noise from Tommy's throat makes Buck squirm in place, his dick filling out as he thinks about how Tommy's imagining him. "Unzip it."
Buck complies. As he loses the cold, heavy line of the zipper down his torso, air-conditioned hotel air rushes in over his chest and stomach. His nipples pebble and his abs clench at the sudden chill. He keeps his eyes closed, his face pressed to the side with his phone tucked between his cheek and the pillow. He has both hands free like this, and he trails his fingertips lightly up and down - through his chest hair, down, following his happy trail to the waistband of his boxers, then back up and over again.
"It's open," he says, a little breathless. He knows Tommy likes when he sounds like this, and hopes it's affecting him.
"Good. Pinch your nipples for me." Buck follows the direction, and can't help the gasp that pushes into his lungs.
"That's good, sweetheart," Tommy continues. "Take your shorts off."
Buck pushes his boxers down to his knees and kicks them off and away. His cock rests hard and full against his stomach, framed by the open sides of Tommy's sweater. He licks his palm and takes himself in hand, closing his eyes again, the better to focus on the whisper of Tommy's breathing on the other end of the line.
"So what are you wearing," he asks again, smiling when Tommy snorts. He hears the familiar snick of the lube cap and stalls his hand for a moment, building a picture of what Tommy could be doing - getting his big hand slick before wrapping it around himself, maybe.
"I'm not wearing a thing, baby."
And that - he can see it so clearly in his mind's eye, the way Tommy must look right now, reclined in his soft blue-striped sheets, stroking himself, holding the phone up to his ear. Buck squeezes his cock and groans, starts moving his hand again, with purpose, when Tommy chuckles.
"What are you thinking about?"
"You," Buck says, gasping when he presses his thumb under the head of his dick the way Tommy likes to do. "What you look like right now, what- ah- how you're touching yourself." He presses harder against his phone with his cheek, pushing it down into the pillow and bringing his face close to the bunched-up hood of the sweater he's wearing. It smells like Tommy - like his shampoo, his laundry detergent, his aftershave, all spun together to overwhelm Buck's senses. He moves his hand faster.
Tommy groans and Buck could swear he feels it, through the phone, into his ear, down his throat. "I'm-" Tommy pauses. Grunts. "I'm fucking myself with the dildo you bought, wishing it was you."
And that- that's- Buck can't help the sound that pulls - from deep in his chest, low, needy, shaped vaguely like Tommy's name. He inhales and takes in a lungful of Tommy. He exhales and puts some sound into it for Tommy's benefit. He moves his left hand, unclenching it from where he'd been clutching the sheets, and he cradles his balls, tugs them just the way he likes.
"God, Tommy-" All he can think about is the last time he fucked Tommy, almost two weeks ago now, how Tommy looked with his legs spread, curled around Buck's waist; how he took it and took it until he came, untouched, how he clenched around Buck's cock and moaned when Buck came inside him. Buck moves his hand faster again, everything gone slick with the amount of pre-come he's leaking, dripping down his hand and stomach. He's getting close, he can feel it like a rising tide, like a wave just about to crest.
"I'm gonna-" he says, breathing heavily into his phone. "Tommy, you're- I'm-"
"Evan," Tommy rasps, and that does it. Buck comes with a stuttered moan - the wave crests, breaks, flushes to shore and he loses himself, for just a moment. His brain catches back up to the present just in time to hear Tommy gasp his name one more time, followed by a drawn-out moan, then finally heavy breathing. They sit in the quiet, catching their breath together.
"How much longer did you say?"
Tommy chuckles, and Buck knows he's smiling by how he sounds when he says, "Just a little while. I'll keep the bed warm for you."
Buck's heart swoops in his chest at the thought. He can get through this week. On the other side of it, there's a bed with blue-striped sheets, and a gorgeous man waiting for him in it.
#bucktommy#my fic#thatmexisaurusrex#thanks for the prompt!!#there's a dire lack of phone sex for these two so i hope this is a satisfactory offering#this.... kind of got away from me#ask tag#prompted fic
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BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - aemond targaryen, (Part 1/3)
Story 3 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.3k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: is this releasing a month after the cregan story? yes, sorry for the delay.
The sound of running water acted as a backdrop to the environment of a small and quaint village. A stream ran through the village, with little bridges allowing people to cross. Each cottage looked like the other, with shingled roofs and white walls outlined with wood beams. At the centre of the town lay its well, surrounded by small vendor stalls. Travellers passed by the town often as it was situated on a main road, but they seldom stayed longer than two days. The populace was little, as low as a hundred. Everyone knew one another, giving you very little privacy.
If you had a say, you would be living somewhere else. However, this was the place your father had chosen to settle when he met your mother. His dream was to be a well-known inventor, but so far his biggest success was modifying some farming equipment for some of the villagers. You believed in him, truly, but had hoped he would try and land a more stable job to help support the house. The only spare money you had been able to make was on account of your sewing skills by mending dresses. Customers were few, as not many people lived in your area. However, the occasional wandering traveller was far more generous in compensation for your work.
Despite the suffocation, you had no idea of where else to live. You were caught in a sort of purgatory; incredibly willing to leave your current circumstances but incapable of imagining another life. It was not a life you thought you would lead as a child. Dreams of adventure - of finding more in the world - clouded your memories. More often than not you would be caught daydreaming. Your mind would be lost in the fantasies you would conjure to distract from anything else but your reality.
Fantasies, eventually, can drown someone.
You continued in your routine, with your hands brushing the familiar spines of books in the quaint library. There were only a few shelves full and you had read each volume no less than three times, some more than others. It was the only supply of reading for what you expected was a few hundred miles. Nobody in your town shared an interest in reading except for the kind old lady who lends out her collection.
One of the spines, a blue clothbound tome, caught your attention. You had obviously read it before, but it had been a while since your last go-through. You plucked it from the shelf and added it to your wicker basket full of food from the market. You waved goodbye to the lady and exited her home. The warm breeze brushed through your linen clothes and carried further in the air. It was part of the last vestige of summer, with autumn approaching steadily. Leaves had just a wisp of darkening on their edges, growing gradually daily.
You made your way down the paths, passing each cottage and waving to the residents. You had just stepped onto the street towards your home when a presence came up behind you. The figure snatched the book from your basket and let out a sigh of disappointment. It startled you for a moment. You turned and were not surprised to see Jason Lannister holding the tome in his hands.
“Reading again? What a waste of time…” His voice, a tone which sparked a tense annoyance in your body, drolled on. You crossed your arms and gave him an unimpressed look.
Jason was a man who did not fit the status of a ‘man’. Foul is the one word you are sure perfectly encapsulates his personality. He was a hunter, though you doubted any of his kills were done with honour. He carried around a gaudy-looking spear with an oversized tassel on the end and claimed to be a fierce warrior, yet would never go against any of the strong travellers that passed through. He would pick fights with the men, but devise a surprising excuse as to why he could not fight.
‘I have honour.’
‘It would be unkind to kill a man.’
‘My skills far surpass yours, a fight is not necessary.’
‘It is not appropriate for the women in this village to see such bloodshed.’
To you, it was all a load of horseshit.
“Give it back, Jason.” You were in no mood to converse with him. For years now, he had tried tirelessly to get your attention. Time after time you had said no, yet it has all fallen on deaf ears.
“Come to the tavern with me,” he did not ask, but demanded, “My recent hunt has been added to the other trophies. I can tell you all about it.”
There was no better way to ruin your day than to be trapped in a stuffy tavern with countless mounted heads of hunted animals. You reached out and snatched your book back from his grip. The market stall next to you displayed various shiny pots and pans. An idea of escape came to mind.
“Could I finish looking at these pans, Jason?” You reached out and grabbed one, flipping it over to the flat side. You saw your reflection in the polished silver metal and you moved it to face him.
“Does this look good?” You questioned. Jason took the pot in his hands but did not seem to register your words. He held it in one hand and used to other to tousle his hair.
If there was one trait of Jason’s that could be depended upon, it is his vanity. He got caught up in adjusting his appearance and you used that distraction to quickly move away. You jogged across a small stone bridge and down a dirt path to your home.
It was only in the safety of your home, with the door shut and locked, that you felt the tension leave your shoulders. You could not keep betting on momentary distractions to continue working. Jason was relentless in his pursuit of your hand. You had lost count of the number of times you had to come up with a plan to get away from his presence, and it was beginning to weigh down on you.
The sound of falling items, clanking and clashing, startled you from your thinking. You placed your basket on the kitchen table and rushed down the stairs to the basement to see your father picking up miscellaneous fallen items. He was on his knees on the ground, mumbling with frustration.
“Father?” You questioned.
He was startled and moved with a frantic nature to turn to you, “Ah! Do not worry, everything is alright. I just knocked over some things…” He rubbed his forehead and observed the mess around him.
“Well,” You began while you reached out to help him stand up, “You seem to be in far better happiness than I today.”
“What happened, dear?” He gave you his full attention. When he read your face, he could tell it was the same expression you had made many times in the past, “It’s that Jason lad again? Oh, if only I could kick that man in the-”
“Father,” You scolded, but secretly would not mind for him to continue, “We are above that.”
“I only wish for you to be safe in my absence.” He spoke while he fiddled with one of his newer inventions. A weird wooden and metal box that served some function you were not entirely sure of.
You leaned against one of the wooden tables and raised a single eyebrow, “Absence?”
He sighed and set down a tool he was using. You could see that he closed his eyes and waited patiently for an answer. He turned around and cleaned some grease off of his hands with a discarded rag.
“There is a fair a few towns over. I will be going over to see what I can sell.” He informed you. You nodded and looked at the ground. While you were proud of his work and encouraged him as much as you could, there was still a big burden on your shoulders. The majority of the financials fell on you, as your meagre funds raised through sewing still surpassed his. Money had never mattered to you, but its burden has.
“How long will you be gone?” You asked him.
“A few days at most,” He approached and patted you on the shoulder. You returned a tired smile and dismissed yourself from the room to begin making dinner.
That night was quieter than usual. Your father and you ate in relative silence, only occasionally muttering short topics between one another. It was awkward and undercut by tension. Your father was largely oblivious to it, his mind too focused on the upcoming fair. You pushed the meat around on your plate with your fork while your other hand was propped up and holding your chin.
After the two of you ate, you cleaned up while he packed his things onto his wagon and prepped his horse. You exited your home and walked down the steps to your father. In your hands was a basket of food of some baked goods that would keep him fed during his short travel. You placed it up on the bench at the front of the wagon, making sure the cover was on tight.
Your father had hugged you goodbye and cheerfully gotten on his horse. He waved to you before pulling on the reins to get the horse to move. You stood outside for a while, watching as his figure slowly disappeared in the distance. When he was out of sight and the sun had begun to set, you made your way back inside and got ready for bed.
Despite the frustration of your father's abrupt leaving, you had managed to go to bed with little strife.
⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅
Sunlight streamed in from the windows and hit you as you sat perched in a plush chair in your living space. The morning had been uneventful as you worked on some recent sewing projects and returned fixed clothes to some customers. It earned you a meagre amount of coins, but you supposed it was better than nothing.
You had taken a break and curled up on the chair with some tea and biscuits. Truthfully, these moments were your only moments of reprieve before you would go back to scouring for more sewing projects from those in the village. You had just reached a pivotal moment in the book, one which you knew well because you had read every book there at least once. It was your favourite moment, yet you had to resist slamming it closed after the echoes of someone pounding on your doors shook through the space.
The book had been placed on the small table next to you and you shrugged off the blanket you had been under. You got up from the seat and walked across the creaking floorboards. The iron hand on your front door was cool as you gripped it. When you opened the door, the grating presence of Jason greeted you.
Immediately, you wondered if it was too late to close the door and ignore him, however now he knew you were home and would not stop knocking until he got your attention. You kept the door only slightly open, enough so that you could see him.
“What is it, Jason?” You did not attempt to disguise your displeasure. A few years ago, when he began making his advances, you had tried to be civil. Yet his relentless pursuit had soured you over the years. Even when being foul, it was as if he did not notice or had some weird case of selective hearing.
He wore a sleazy smile, “You know, I was up all night thinking.”
“You were thinking?” You did not know he could do that. Jason did not indicate picking up on your casual insult.
“Of my future. I picture a house, with children running around and my wife taking care of them. I would come home from hunting to dinner and watch the children as they played in front of the hearth. My wife would be there to aid me after a long day.” Jason went on his tangent. You did not look at him and chose to peek past him. It was a wonder how he never noticed how little you cared. Perhaps he did but chose to ignore it. Either way, there was no possible scenario where he was a good hunter with observational skills like that.
“Sounds like quite the picture.” You spoke with a tone of disbelief.
“Yes, that is why I am here.” Jason stepped forward and you moved to close the door more but his hand reached up and stopped you. You grunted slightly as your strength was not enough to rival his.
He left no time to respond, “You are to be my wife.”
Those words, those dreaded words cut through your ears like a sharp knife. You winced and took a step back. Jason took that as an invitation to come in, so he opened the door more and stepped just past the threshold. You were stuck in a moment of frozen horror. That fear soon melted into anger, largely posed by his sheer audacity.
“Jason, in what bloody realm does that make sense?” You scolded him. He then finally caught on to your attitude and put a hand up to his chest as if he were the one offended in this situation.
“Well, obviously, you will be my wife.” He reiterated.
“Well, obviously you have misread this situation. I mean, for years I have insulted you endlessly, yet I am ceaselessly tormented by your presence.” You were exasperated but also had an inkling of fear. Your father was not here to defend you. This house was positioned further from the other in the village and you worried that nobody would hear and come to your aid.
“What do you mean?” Jason was still clueless. You did not know if it was intentional, but regardless it managed to anger you further.
“What do I mean?” You begin to push on his chest, moving his body across the threshold and back outside. “I mean that you are a foul, uncharismatic, and downright vile being with enough patience and perception to fill a thimble!” You grabbed the door and went to slam it, but stopped it to leave a sliver of space.
“And by the way, there is no force in this realm to ever get me to consider your offer. I’d sooner jump into a boiling cauldron. Now leave me alone before I get the town guard!” You slammed the door in his face and locked it quickly; both the bolt of the handle and a wooden plank to block it.
Yet Jason did not seem done and yelled through the door, “You worked today and I assume your womanly mind is overwhelmed. I’ll let this slide.” He then stomped away. His words angered you further. If it was not an egregious crime, you would surely open the door, grab the nearest solid metal object, and give his head a good thwack.
For a long time after he left, you ruminated on your words. You were so caught up in the moment, that you had no control over your speach. You wished you had been harsher, perhaps thrown in a few curses to drive home your points. Nevertheless, you had managed to get him off of your trail for the day.
This home felt too stifling and you needed to leave. A hill just outside of the village boundaries, with a tree on top, was calling to you. It had been a particularly favourite spot of yours, as most people did not wander there. So you grabbed the book you had been reading, donned a cloak to protect from the approaching cool of the late day, and marched out of your house.
Through the village, past the baker's house, over a hill and across the stones of a shallow stream was the place you always gravitated towards. It was calm. The light breeze shook the willow branches. The leaves brushed against one another, providing a relaxing soundscape for you to read with.
You had begun to settle down when the crushing of hooves over grass disrupted your moment of peace. There was underlying worry that it was perhaps Jason, but the horse in the distance had no rider. When it got closer, you realized it was your fathers. A sinking feeling made its way into your stomach.
The horse was grunting with distress. His head swung back and forth and you had to grab the cheekpiece of the bridle and start humming gently to calm him down. You looked around the expanse of the field for any sight of your father but saw none. There was nothing but worry that coursed through you.
“What is, bud?” You questioned the horse. You decided to climb onto the saddle and get comfortable. You leaned down to his ears and whispered, “Take me to him.”
Your father's horse did not wait a second longer before immediately running off in the direction he came from. By the time you made it to the treeline, the sun had begun to set. You hugged the cloak tighter around your form. The horse did not show any signs of fatigue as he trotted carefully and skillfully through the woods.
Time passed very slowly as worry for your father grew. You were scared that something grave had happened to him. Surely this was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he had set up camp for the night and his horse got free and decided to go home. You had begun to become weary and tired. The horse had eventually slowed down and now you were riding through the woods slowly.
It was late, incredibly late, and you regret not having stopped at home to pick up food. Your stomach rumbled every few minutes and the exhaustion in your body had picked up. The trees stopped and you entered an open space at the bottom of sharp jagged mountains. You had ridden to a large wrought iron gate that had vines, mostly dead, crawling up the spokes. The ground had turned to a stone brick path that was overgrown with grass and weeds.
Just a while down the path was a large mansion that looked like a castle. It was built from the same stone as the path and appeared derelict. There was no way people lived here, as it looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. You hopped off the horse and grabbed the reins to guide him. You walked to the gate and saw that there was no lock on it. You pushed it open and with a horrifying creak, the gate doors moved.
You walked down the path and towards the castle doors. They were large double wooden doors reinforced by the same style of iron as the gate. A knocker was located on both of the doors where a handle would be. It was iron cast and shaped like the head of a dragon. In its closed jaw sat a ring that you would use to bang against the wood. You grabbed it gingerly and banged it against the wood. The thumping sound reverberated through the door. You wanted to make sure that no person was living here in case you happened to be intruding.
“Hello? Does anybody live here?” You waited a moment, but no response came. You looked back at your horse that was tied off to a tree before braving it and pushing on the door. Surprisingly, like the iron gate, it opened.
Like prey falling into a trap, you walked into the dark corridors of the castle.
There was no source of light save the moon as it fluttered in through the stained glass windows. The faint colours of the glass cast a gossamer veil of light over the thick antique rugs that ran the length of the entryway. It was a vast entry space that had two staircases that wrapped around the outer edge of the circle room. The stairs led up to a platform and joined into one and led to the upper levels of the castle. Ahead of you, between the two stairs, was another set of double wooden doors. To the left and right were large archways leading to more areas of the castle.
“Hello?” You asked again but achieved no response. There was, by the door you had entered, a standing storage desk. You walked to it and saw the thick coat of dust that covered the top. To your luck, there was a bronze chamberstick candle holder with a candle. You looked around for anything to light it with and found two pieces of flint and steel. There was no hearth around to transfer the flame, so you struggled for a moment to light the candle with the flint and steel.
With a few nicks, you were able to light the candle. You put the tools down and picked up the handle. You felt just a little better knowing you had a source of light with you. There was no reason behind where you chose to walk other than a gut feeling. You ascended the stairwell and to the next floor, wandering through corridor after corridor. The entire castle was still decorated with elaborate furniture and interesting paintings and tapestries.
Your trip had gone across an expanse of the castle and you wondered just how large it was. You reached a tower area and decided to go up the stone steps. The dark was occasionally broken up by a stained glass window; reds, blues, greens, and yellows of all shades would be cast against the stone of the centre winding wall.
At the top of the stairs was a door. You grabbed the iron handle and pushed it open. Inside was a caged area, but it was too dark to see past it. You inched in and held the candle out in front of you. At the far wall was a figure hunched down and shaking in the cold. They moved their cloak away from their face and you instantly recognized it.
“Father?”
He looked at you for a moment before moving to the bars of the cell, “Darling, what are you doing here? You must go!” You approached where he was and knelt. The candle was placed beside you. Your hands grasped his that were on the bars. His face was pale and hair sweaty; sickness had taken hold of him.
“What do you mean? Father, why are you here?” You questioned. Your father opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of the door slamming shut disrupted you two. The force from the slam blew the candle out and the room was shrouded in darkness. A small window cast a single ray of white light that hit the centre of the room. You turned around and looked into the shadows, but were unable to find anything except the sound of shuffled movements.
A voice, deep and imposing, boomed from the shadows, “Who are you? How dare you trespass on these grounds?” It sent a shiver up your spine and swirled at the base of your neck where some sweat had begun to form. You sucked in a breath for a moment and steeled yourself to answer.
You spoke your name, then hardened your voice, “Why is my father locked up?” In the darkness, you could barely see a wisp of movement, but the figure appeared tall. Their voice came out rough and did not entirely sound human.
“He trespassed on these grounds.” The figure moved about the darkness and you could hear the sounds they made on the stones.
“Surely that warrants something other than being locked up? Don't you see that he is sick?” You tried to reason. Your heart rate had shot up and you could feel the fear and adrenaline course through your veins.
“Then he should not have stepped foot on land that is not his.” The deep tones of the voice could be felt in your bones.
“But he’ll die. Please, I’ll do anything.” You turned your body away from your father to face the direction of the voice.
“There is nothing you can do to change his status as my prisoner.” It was a cold response, laced with malice. You know you should not say it, but an idea had come to your head; one that just may grant your father freedom to leave and get help for whatever sickness he contracted.
“Take me.” You were almost hesitant, but there was an underlying strength in the way you carried yourself.
The figure did not respond for a moment, letting a lull insert itself into your conversation, “...You would take his place?” They sounded almost surprised at your declaration; caught off guard by the unfettered love and loyalty displayed towards your father.
“Will you let him go?” You punctuated every word to get the point across. If there was a guarantee for your father’s freedom, you would make the deal in a heartbeat.
“You must stay here.” The figure affirmed.
“Come into the light.” You would not swear until you saw who you were speaking to; who would ultimately be your captor. The dark figure moved swiftly, lumbering into the stream of white moonlight.
The whole time, with the monstrous voice and lurking shadow, you believed it would be a gnarly creature, but became surprised. He was tall and had a lithe but built form shrouded in black and dark greys. His features were as sharp as the cut frames of the stained glass you saw while wandering the castle. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that came down to a point. His lips were pursed into a sort of snarl.
What frightened you most of all was the jagged scar that cut through the left side of his face. His eye was covered with an eyepatch that sat on the crown of his head and brushed over the long silver hair that glowed in the moonlight. The animosity that reflected in his one eye, strangely violet, made your breath hitch.
He was not a monster, just a man.
Though, you supposed there may not have been much of a difference in those two things.
Now that you have seen your captor, you relinquished your freedom, “I’ll stay here.” At your words, your father began to protest, but you paid no mind. All you were trying to do was memorize what little of your father's face you could see and stop the tears that came running down your face, leaving the skin red and raw.
The man moved forward and pulled out a metal circle filled with countless different-sized keys. He unlocked the cage with a harsh shudder. Your father surged forward and wrapped you in a hug, both of your bodies sitting on the cold stone floor.
“Why did you do that? Darling, why?” He held your face between his hands. The man reached forth and seized the collar of your father's shirt and pulled him along. You were subsequently pushed into the cell and forced to hear the door lock.
“Wait, can’t I say goodbye?” You yelled from behind the bars. Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal and you could do nothing but watch on helplessly as you heard your father be dragged down the steps. At this point, your gentle cries had been reduced to sobs.
You did not know how much time had passed until the man came back again. You sat in the centre of the cell, barely able to move. That was the last time you would ever see your father, the last time you would be a free woman. The silver haired man came forward with a large candle, though his hand made the holder look small.
When he approached the cell, you instantly backed away. In your eyes was both apprehension and fear. You did not know what he would do next. Would he hurt you? Mock you in your permanent isolation? Or simply come to the conclusion that it was not worth keeping you and throw you from the top of the tower?
He unlocked the door and gave you an expectant look, “Are you coming or not?”
“So you could hurt me?” Your voiced was laced with venom. He rolled his eye at your attitude and moved forward to grab your upper arm. His grip was tight as he pulled you out of the cell. His back was to you and you hit it multiple times to try and get him to let you go, but his strength far surpassed yours. You gave up quickly after recognizing there would be no way out.
He led you back down a familiar path to the front entrance to the castle, but went across the landing of the stairs and to another wing. You looked around and spotted the same decor as the other wing. This time, the wing was lit with candles and looked lived in. The light provided some warmth as well since the rest of the castle retained all the cold air from outside.
“You will have your own room. You may go wherever you please, but the west wing is strictly off limits.” He informed you. This whole time you had yet to learn his name. Would you ever? He seems too elusive to offer answers to anything and in the short time you had known him, he only ever answered questions with as little words as possible. He forced them out like socializing was a heavy burden or deeply hurt.
“Why is the west wing off limits?” You asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. His hold squeezed for a moment and he looked to be holding back rage. You shrinked in your spot. The two of you had stopped in front of some doors and he used his free arm to open it. He all but shoved you in.
The room was large. A four poster bed, carved from dark wood, had a canopy of sheer black silk curtains. The floor was covered in layered antique rugs, all mostly red and black; a colour theme that you had noticed littered the entire castle. A fire was roaring in the hearth, intricate stone carvings decorated the arch of it. The whole room was luxurious, but it was your prison.
“Dinner will be ready shortly.” He informed you as you stood there. Your gaze then went back to him. He stood by the door and had his forearm resting on the wood of the door and leaned against it. He was regarding you with an inquisitive gaze; analyzing your every move. He seemed content in the information he shared and went to leave.
“Wait,” You called out and he returned to watching you, “I’ve told you my name.”
“That you have,” He spoke. You nearly huffed, but it was difficult to speak or moved the muscles in your face as the crying you had done no longer hurt, but left a numb tingling feeling behind that was awkward to deal with.
“What’s yours?” You questioned. Your hands joined behind your back and you did not know why a sudden feeling of bashfullness washed over you. He judged you for a moment, as if contemplating his words.
With a tone of reluctance, he answered, “Aemond.”
He swiftly left the room and closed the door behind him. Here was where you were left and forced to stomach the reality of your situation. You looked around the room, a place you will likely be in until the moment you died. The place all looked warm and inviting, but you were full of constant fear.
This room had become the hallowed shell of your new life, but you would not sit and cry anymore; many things can grow strong in darkness. A newfound determination built within you. You would not let Aemond crush your spirit.
⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅
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#hotd imagine#hotd fanfiction#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#fairy tale au#fairy tale retelling
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Winter's King 21
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 am very tired.
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.
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As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.
You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience.
You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder.
He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios.
You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane.
“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air.
“You remember,” he comments gently.
“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood.
“Let the animal see you,” the king advises.
You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears.
“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.”
“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?”
“She,” he corrects you.
“Oh, apologies.”
“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.”
He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back.
“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.”
The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge.
The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle.
“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response.
“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.”
You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip.
“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.”
“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver.
“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.”
You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you.
You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness.
The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits.
The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along.
“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.”
He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step.
You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going?
Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without.
He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip.
“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.”
He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice!
“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further.
“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you.
You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space.
“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.”
You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.”
“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.”
You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king.
You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses.
The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will.
“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame.
He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own.
He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?”
Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves.
“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.”
“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.”
You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours.
“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept.
“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.”
He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you.
“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.”
You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all.
“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?”
You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily.
“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur.
“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?”
“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...”
He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling.
“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks.
“Please, your highness--”
“I bid you call me by my name.”
“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.”
“Did you have parents? Siblings--”
“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.”
He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--”
“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.”
His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.”
“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?”
“Anything,” he says.
“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.
He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.”
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#medieval au#the witcher#winter's king
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Falling into Sin with the Black Tiger ~ Gilbert's 4th Birthday
▪︎ Chapter 1
This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!
CW- smut, mentions of blood
As the end of the year approached, a significant day was about to arrive.
Gilbert: What do I want to do?
Emma: That’s right. Can you please tell me anything?
I was sitting on my knees on the bed, wiping Gilbert’s hair with linen after his bath.
I wanted to give the impression that I was only casually probing….at least that’s what I thought.
Gilbert: Hehe, you’re a man of your word, that’s impressive, isn’t it?
Gilbert: You’re celebrating me again this year.
(I was found out in an instant.)
Emma: I promised you last year.
----*flashback*----
Emma: I’ll definitely celebrate with you again next year.
Gilbert: Hehe, I get it. As long as you’re you, I’ll celebrate.
----*flashback ends*----
Emma: I think it’s going to be an annual event from now on.
Gilbert: Ahaha, I never thought you would say something like that after I came home covered in blood.
(….I guess it wasn’t just my imagination after all.)
A little while ago, when Gilbert returned, he smelled of blood and gunpowder.
There were no visible bloodstains because his clothes were all black, but that couldn’t fool my nose, which has become capable of detecting such ominous scents.
(Gilbert always warns me.)
(So I don’t commit a sin unconsciously.)
Emma: …I always think about it.
Emma: Every time you come home covered in blood, I feel glad that you are safe.
Emma: ….I think about that before I even start thinking about whose blood you shed.
(Controlling evil with evil. I understand that this is Prince Gilbert’s way….)
(And yet, I pray every single day for his safety.)
Gilbert: Hehe, sorry. I was being mean again. I was just happy to be celebrated by you.
Gilbert, who had been facing forward, turned around and kissed me lightly on my cheeks.
Gilbert: I won’t say it again.
Gilbert: But I think asking me about what I want to do is stupid.
Gilbert: I love you a lot, so just being able to be with you like this fulfills most of my wishes.
Emma: Please be more greedy and villainous.
Gilbert: Am I not greedy enough?
Emma: It’s not enough at all. I want you to wish for something that’s different than usual since it’s a special day.
Gilbert: ..mmmm…
Gilbert: ….I feel like I’m facing the biggest challenge of my life.
(Is it that much!?)
Gilbert, while groaning as if in deep thought, wraps his hand around my head and gently pulls me closer.
He playfully pecks my lips several times, and before I knew it, I was pushed down onto the bed.
(…..Huh?)
Gilbert: What’s wrong?
Even though his words sound thoughtful, Gilbert pulls down my negligee and kisses my exposed skin, and I don’t get an answer to my question.
Emma: A..are you really thinking about it?
Gilbert: I am thinking about it. I am thinking about it harder than ever.
Gilbert: Are you questioning my sincerity, little rabbit? That’s cruel.
Gilbert smiles as he gently bites my collarbone. My breasts are played with by the tip of his tongue, and my hot and sweet breaths, melt away.
Gilbert: What do I really want?
(Maybe Gilbert isn’t used to these kind of things.)
When I touch his slightly damp hair, he snuggles up to me, like he wants to be petted.
I get carried away and ruffle his hair, and then our lips meet again.
(…Let’s wait patiently.)
(There’s still a lot of things to do for the day.)
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
In Obsidian, which is known as the land of minerals, gems can be found all over the city.
There seems to be a particularly strong sales campaign going on before Christmas, with special stalls lined up before the stores.
In Rhodolite, gemstones are something that only the aristocratic people have access to. But here, they are familiar to all the people, regardless of their social status.
(This is troublesome….)
(I wanted to give Gilbert some stones, but with this many varieties it is difficult.)
To Gilbert, who is a member of the royal family, jewels are not valuable at all.
However, he had told me about it some time back, on my birthday.
In Obsidian, it is customary to gift jewels on special occasions. The more loved you are, the more jewels you’ll have around you in your final moments.
(I’m the only one who can gift a jewel to Gilbert.)
(I’ve decided that I will definitely give this to him, regardless of his wishes.)
(…..I did decide that but…..)
Sapphires, topaz, diamonds, rubies, emeralds….
Even when I look at these beautiful gemstones, I can’t find anything I associate with Gilbert.
(Rather than worrying about it alone, I should ask an expert. Maybe they can give me some advice.)
Emma: Excuse me. I’m looking for a birthday gift and I want to know what’s popular right now.
Jeweller: Oh, in that case----
Jeweller: ….ngh…
(……)
(….I’ve gotten used to this reaction.)
The pale eyes of the jeweller stare deep into mine.
He might be sensing an unusual murderous intent.
Emma: …..I’m sorry. I’ll think about it myself.
I quickly left the store and went down an unseen ally.
Emma: Gil, are you there?
Gilbert: Ahaha, I was found right away.
[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]
#ikepri gilbert#gilbert von obsidian#ikemen prince#ikepri jp#ikepri translations#ikepri#ikemen prince translations#cybird ikemen#ikemen series#cybird otome#otome games#d: cafekitsune#d: enchanthings
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hi honey!! if you’re still taking requests for your holiday event, can I get ⟼ Cranberry and Peppermint Honey cake with shy!reader and jake seresin pls? love u sm x
Hi baby! They’re still very open!! I hope this is okay, it’s been a while since I wrote for Jake!
“Darlin’ you gonna come out so I can see it?” Jake’s on the other side of your changing stall, a couple of pants options thrown over his forearm as he waits.
You’ve been in there trying on a pair of thick linen blue trousers- something that you’d been eyeing on the stores website.
“I’m not sure if I like it,” you say through the door, though you know Jake is gonna want to see it for himself.
“Can i be the judge of that, pretty thing?” He flirts, listening to the door unlatch and then stepping back so he can see you fully.
The pants look amazing on you and Jake doesn’t hold back from letting you know.
“Babydoll, are these painted on?” He hangs the rest of the pants on the rack of the door and lets his hands hover over the curve and dip of your hips. “Gimme a spin, god damn you look good.”
When you spin, Jake does a low whistle that has you hitting his chest before hiding your face between the muscles of his chest.
“Stop it,” you murmur, completely embarrassed as you clench your eyes shut.
“But these look amazing on you, little lady.” He’s busting out all his southern charm and it’s hard to stay mad when his Texan accent gets all the more thicker for it.
“Jake,” you try for stern but he knows you’re just getting more and more flustered.
“Babydoll,” he says with less ‘vitriol’ and more fondness. “Do you think I’d lie to ya? No I wouldn’t, now go try it with this low cut top,” he produces a top from the selection hanging on the door. “Its gonna be perfect.”
He stamps a kiss to your lips before you can close the door and chuckles when he hears you muttering about ‘southern charm’ and ‘that damn dimple.”
#jakeseresin#jake seresin#jake seresin one shot#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin imagine#jake seresin fluff#jake seresin blurb#jake seresin drabble#jake seresin fic#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin x black!reader#jake seresin x black!reader#jake seresin x you#jake hangman seresin x you#jake seresin x yn#jake hangman seresin x yn
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