#me when i finally get to write again at work instead of putting out fires

[radishaur]

ʚɞ butterflies ʚɞ

Warnings: slight spoilers Genre: fluff Characters: Luffy, Zoro, & Law Summary: How they realize they have feelings for you (touch edition) Author's Note: I have like 2 other longer works I should be writing for but instead I'm doing this, so enjoy! Might do the other love languages/senses(?) later if people want. masterlist

Luffy loves physical touch with everyone. He also never asks permission first, just sends himself flying into people, so you would definitely have to be used to him just wrapping himself around you.

As a result, I think there are so many opportunities for him to accidentally realize his feelings through touch because he's just always touching. However, I think that when it comes to a partner, Luffy would really value making you feel safe. We've seen how devastated he was after he wasn't able to keep his crew safe in Saboady and even worse after Ace, so I think his first aha moment would have to revolve around that.

~

Luffy always wound up on some wild adventure no matter what island they visited. This time, the crew had planned for it and assigned you to go with him. The idea was that you would keep him out of trouble, but who were they kidding. It's Luffy.

He's walking around with you when all of a sudden he sees something further into town that he has to see right this second. He doesn't even think twice about grabbing you closer with one arm and beginning to slingshot his other one to propel the two of you up.

"Hold on tight!"

He's expecting you to protest, as most of the crew usually does when they're about to get flung to god knows where on his whim, but instead, you simply wrap your arms around his neck and get as close as you possibly can.

He lets go and hears you laughing, of all things, so he looks down and he could swear his heart stuttered.

You were looking right at him as you giggled, high on the excitement of your predicament. You don't look even slightly scared as your approach gets closer and closer, instead, you're looking at him with so much adoration that he feels like he can't breathe. He wraps his arm around you tighter and he's extra careful as he lands to cushion the impact for you.

"You didn't complain," he finds himself saying, arm still tight around you.

"What good would that do?" you ask, the last of your giggles subsiding. You turn to him then, your smile growing as you add, "Besides, I know you'd never let me get hurt."

All of the places where his skin meets yours feel like it's on fire and his heart aches all of a sudden in a way he's not used to.

He lets you go, his body tingling where your body no longer presses against his and the two of you go on with your day, but he can't help thinking about it. The way you had curled into him, put your trust in him to keep you safe, it fills his heart with a pleasure he hasn't felt before and he finds himself wanting to feel it again.

Over the day, he finds every excuse he can to keep touching you like that. He finds more faraway places that look interesting. He grabs your hand to show you something cool he saw. He even insists on climbing onto the rooftops and using that as an excuse to hold you close, just so you don't fall. His heart still races each time and it eats at him well into the night when he's back on the Sunny.

He knows even from the first touch that something is different. He doesn't feel like this with his other crewmembers, but it takes a discussion with Robin to finally realize that he likes you. When he does, he's quick to find you and pull you close again, reveling in the feeling now that it has a name. He almost shouts it out right then and there, but he decides to give it some time.

He still has to become the Pirate King after all.

Zoro is not a touchy person, but he's not opposed to it either. He's become more comfortable with it, you kind of have to if you're on Luffy's crew in my opinion, but he still doesn't seek it out himself.

You'd probably be the one to touch him more than the other way around, but I think the places he lets you touch and how long is what would set his realization moment apart.

~

Zoro can feel the sweat dripping down his back as the sun beats down on him. He'd been training for hours now on the deck of the Sunny as everyone had some time to relax.

He stops when Sanji comes out to announce that lunch is ready. He sets down the weights he's using and everyone starts to eat. He's quick to join in, hungry after a hard workout, but his back is aching. It's something he's used to, but it hurts a little extra today.

He rubs his back a few times and readjusts his sitting position and the rest of lunch is uneventful. He's about to continue his workout when he hears you call his name.

"Zoro!"

He turns and you're right in front of him.

"Before you start, I couldn't help but notice it looks like your back hurts. Do you want a massage?" you ask, motioning to your own back as you mimic the movements he had made during lunch.

"She's very good at them," Robin calls, observing from her favorite spot under the orange trees.

He hesitates. He trusts the crew, especially you, but the thought of someone touching his back makes him grit his teeth. Scars on the back are a swordsman's shame, after all. He's always been cautious of letting anyone near his back and today is no exception. Thankfully, you seem to sense his turmoil because you smile politely and say, "It's no pressure. If you change your mind, just let me know."

He goes back to training until dinner and he can definitely feel the ache in his back now, but he's still insistent that this is the burden of the best. Becoming the greatest swordsman requires discipline and sometimes pain. He won't let Luffy down, won't let him bear his pain alone, so he shrugs it off and goes to bed.

Or, he tries at least. After a few hours with no luck, he finally relents. He knows that tonight is your turn to be on watch and he hasn't heard you come back down to switch out, so begrudgingly he makes his way up to the crow's nest where he knows you'll be. If he was going to let anyone touch his back, he would prefer it be you out of anyone.

"Oh, hi Zoro," you say, surprised to see him up but seemingly not annoyed by his presence, "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep," is all he says, closing the door behind him as he settles in next to you.

You smile, adjusting yourself so that you're facing him. "I've been there," you hum, letting your face rest on your knees as you look out the windows to the sea.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he works up the courage to say, "If the offer is still available, I wouldn't mind the massage."

He's surprised to see your face light up, grinning as you immediately agree and ask him to turn around. You tell him that you'll be careful and he tells you to do your worst.

The moment he feels your hands on his back, he begins to think that maybe he made a terrible mistake. It feels good and he can feel the ache in his back start to dissipate as you work out the stress in his muscles, but he also can't help the way his heart skips a beat and his mind starts to malfunction. He starts overthinking just why he felt so confident letting you touch him like this when he can't even imagine letting someone else touch his back for a fraction of the time you are. It stresses him out so much that he can feel his back tensing.

"Zoro, you're supposed to relax," you tease, and he can feel himself flush as he grumbles something under his breath about how it's not his fault that he's got so much stress worked up in him.

You laugh at him, which only makes his embarrassment worse, but you begin moving slower and taking more time to delicately work out the knots. You must think that you're helping but it only makes his heart flip more.

Eventually, he finds himself relaxing into your touch. Robin was right about your skill, your hands working out not only his physical stress but his mental stress as well.

He doesn't think he's ever felt so content.

You massage him for so long that he loses track of time. At some point, you begin making conversation with him and it helps him focus less on his erratic heartbeat and nerves. Eventually, there's a knock on the crow's nest door and Robin peeks her head in.

You stop at that point, smiling and greeting her warmly and Zoro is embarrassed at just how much he misses your hands on him. Robin looks over at him finally and he can feel his ears heat up as she smirks at him, as if she knows something he doesn't. You say goodbye to them both, telling Zoro that you hope he can get some sleep, and then he's alone with Robin.

"I see you changed your mind?" she mused, a tease in her voice that made him blush even harder.

When he was finally back in bed, his back was the loosest it had felt in a long time, but he still couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about your hands on his back, warm and gentle but firm, and he cursed silently into the room. He'd been in denial for too long and this had only opened the floodgates.

Law does not get touchy with his crew. Ever.

He loves his crew, don't get me wrong, but he keeps his cards close to his chest. The only time he would touch you or you him would be in some kind of emergency situation or something medically related. I think it would take a situation like that for Law to break his walls down a little bit and have to touch you, out of necessity, for him to realize his feelings.

~

Law is no stranger to late nights doing work and tonight is no exception. There are only so many hours in the day and it's his job as Captain of the Heart Pirates to be prepared for any situation, so if he has to sacrifice some sleep to do that, then so be it.

What he's not used to is other people being up when he does.

He had worked well into the night, until his eyes could barely stay open, and had finally decided to head back to his room instead of falling asleep at his office desk. On the way there, he noticed a light still on in the library.

Thinking that someone had left it on, he muttered under his breath about it but went in to turn it off. He was about to make a mental note to remind his crew to not waste energy when he heard something shuffle.

He made his way over to the couch where he heard the noise and was surprised to find you curled up asleep, except you looked miserable. He called your name out as he knelt down to inspect you closer.

"Captain?" you asked, eyes cracking open as if you had felt his presence.

"You look awful," he said, his voice dry as he asked, "Are you sick?"

You had the decency to look sheepish at his question, which confirmed what he already knew: you were definitely sick. "I came to see you, but you looked so hard at work, I didn't want to disturb you...," you explained, your voice hoarse.

"You should have just come in," he scolded, frowning as he asked, "Why are you here and not back in your room?"

You avoided his eyes, seemingly embarrassed as you answered, "I tried. Couldn't make it back."

He sighed, all his exhaustion having left upon finding you in this state. "Can you sit up?" he asked, already assessing your symptoms as he watched you comply with his request.

You were shivering and even from his spot kneeling next to you, he could feel the warmth you were emitting. It also seemed like you were sweating slightly, so the most likely culprit was a fever. Normally, he would have just used his devil fruit powers to get you back to your room, but judging by the wince you did as you sat up, you also had a headache. Using his room would only amplify that pressure, even if only for a moment, and he didn't want to cause you any unnecessary discomfort or pain, so the old-fashioned method it was.

"I'm assuming you can't walk since you couldn't make it back to your room yourself, so I'll have to carry you," he explained, twisting so his back was facing you as he said, "Get on my back."

There were a few moments of silence where he almost repeated himself, thinking maybe you hadn't heard him before he felt your weight on his back and your arms loosely wrap around his shoulders. Your breath brushed against his ear and he almost shivered as he stood up, adjusting your body against himself so that you didn't have to hold yourself up.

"Sorry, Captain," you apologized, attempting to readjust some of your weight back to yourself. He easily shifted you back, his grip on your leg tightening slightly so you didn't fall. He didn't know why, but the adjustment made him all the more aware of just how much the two of you were touching. His face warmed just slightly as his heart skipped a fraction of a second.

"Just stay still," he scolded, but it didn't have anywhere near as much heat as he intended.

You didn't respond after that, seemingly content to let him carry you the rest of the way. At some point, you let your head rest on his shoulder. Your breath ghosted across his ear with each exhale and he couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

When he finally got you back to your room, he carefully dropped you off onto the bed with a promise that he would be right back. When he returned, he had his stethoscope, a thermometer, and some basic flu remedies.

"Take this," Law said, handing you some medicine and a glass of water to wash it down with. You sat up from your curled-up position in the bed and accepted it, swallowing the pill with only a little bit of a struggle.

"Is it bad?" you asked, your voice quiet.

"No, but I need to check your temperature and make sure there's no fluid in your lungs," he explained, holding up the thermometer first.

You leaned forward, letting him place the thermometer on your forehead. It blinked back at him and while you definitely were running a fever, it wasn't deadly. He told you as much and you smiled slightly at that.

"I need to check your lungs now, so I need to be able to access your chest," he said, doing his best to keep as professional as possible despite how irrationally his heart was beating.

You hummed, unbuttoning and unzipping your boiler suit just enough to expose the top of your chest to him. Law sat next to you on the bed, angling himself so that he was facing you, and began checking your chest for any odd breathing sounds.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he felt your fingers graze the skin just above his top where his tattoo peeks out.

He's not done checking your lungs yet, but he freezes. His first instinct is to pull away immediately but for some reason, he can't make himself move as he feels your fingers trace the top of his tattoo. He swallows thickly when your fingers drop down into your lap and you murmur, "They're so beautiful up close."

He knows that the fever is clouding your mind right now. He knows you're acting like this because you're sick and that you would never say that to him were you not, but his face goes so red he thinks he might have caught your fever and he can't seem to form the right words, so instead he just continues his check on your lungs.

There's nothing wrong with them and he finally finds the strength to move and stand up from the bed. His heart is still pumping a million miles a minute and he can feel the tips of his ears heating up, but he tells himself that he must be sick too. That's the only way to explain what he just felt.

As he's leaving you call out to him.

"Law?"

His heart stops again, hearing his name fall from your lips. He doesn't say anything, afraid he might not even be able to, but he stops and turns to look at you. You're still in your boiler suit, but you've curled back up into the bed. You're still looking at him though, and he can't seem to take his eyes off you as you smile at him and say, "Thank you. You're my hero."

He doesn't sleep at all that night. He checked periodically for any signs of a fever of his own and found nothing, even the next day. The feel of your fingers grazing his chest is still lingering even days later and he can't seem to meet your eyes the same way he used to. He realizes how absolutely fucked he was when he finds himself missing your breath on his neck and wanting your fingers to trace his other tattoos as well.

ღ radishaur — i do not own any of these characters. do not plagiarize. please enjoy and remember to be respectful! 

[ilovewomenfr]

just take your shit and go

click before reading

ex!abby, bottom!reader

men dni!!!! NSFW

cw: pretty vanilla, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), praise kink, make up sex, idk what else

a/n: yall i thought i would be done this on tuesday. ive been so busy this week w work and life ive barely had time to write. this one’s a bit short but i had to get this idea down. i might improve it some time in the future. not proofreading and i kind of dont like it but thats ok. also requests are open as always. AND THANK YOU FOR SM SUPPORT ON YOU ARE SUCH A NERD! I GENUINELY WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT. xx.

you and your ex broke up two weeks ago, a huge fight blew up between the two of you which is why abby is at the door of your apartment, backpack slung over her shoulder, to collect the rest of her things. when you answer the door, you see abby’s gaze rake over your body.

“seriously abs?” you scoff at her, looking down at your abby’s baggy t-shirt, “do i get my shirt back?” she asks as she rolls her eyes at you, gesturing to the band tee. “oh. uh. yeah. i guess” you respond in a quiet tone.

“do you want a drink or something?” you offer and abby shakes her head, her blonde braid moving along with. the braid she would only take out at home when she was with you. the braid you used to tug on when she was drunk off your pussy to see her half-lidded blue eyes. you lick your bottom lip at the thought before shaking it away.

“are you gonna let me come in?” abby asks in a slightly annoyed tone. you get out of the doorway and allow her to come into the apartment. “most of your stuff is on the couch,” you mumble as you point over to the piles of things you threw onto the couch in a blind rage the night she left.

“aw how sweet of you to put everything on the couch for me.” abby says sarcastically, resulting in an eye roll from you. “just take your shit and go.” you grab a couple boxes and put them on the coffee table. you watch as she starts packing away her clothes into the boxes, standing awkwardly. “so this is it then?” you ask,

“what do you mean?”

“all it took was a fight.”

abby walks over to you, crossing her arms and resting her weight on her hip, “you were the one who told me to get out and never talk to you again, if i remember correctly.”

“because i was mad. i didnt actually expect you to go.” you look up to her eyes, trying to find any trace of resentment, but you find none. instead you still find love, “why are you looking at me like that?” she puts her hands on your waist, instinctively your own arms wrap around her neck. “im not looking at you like anything.”

“you are.” you play with her braid, “you’re looking at me like you still care.” she leans in and kisses you, catching you by surprise. the kiss is full of longing and desire. the way she holds you makes you feel as though a fire is stirring within you. she pulls away and sighs, walking back to the couch and sitting down.

“youre so confusing. i mean you tell me to go then dont want me to go? then you dont even text me for two weeks and when you finally do its because you want my stuff out of the apartment.” you nod, knowing you’re in the wrong here. “but i still care about you y/n.” abby leans back on the couch, practically beckoning you to come and sit on her lap.

you make your way over to the couch, sitting in silence as the both of you look at each other, tension growing in the air. “im sorry. i shouldn’t have told you to go.” you apologize, breaking the silence. “i shouldn’t have left.” her voice is softer than before, her hand find its way to your knee and her thumb brushes soothingly along your skin. the apology hangs over the two of you, and once again your eyes meet. abby’s eyes have a look of desire in them, one you know all too well. that’s all it takes for you to climb over and straddle her.

her hands find your hips immediately, “i’ve missed you, ya know.” you say gently, “prove it.” your hands hold her face and you kiss her again, sensually and slowly. abby’s hands run up your back to your hair trying to deepen the kiss. you part you lips and your tongue meets hers. you almost moan at the familiar taste, but you pull away instead, “does that prove it?” she lowers you onto the couch so you’re below her, “haven’t proved it quite yet.” she murmurs as she captures your lips once more. her hands slide up under your shirt as your tongues dance together, palming and squeezing your breasts, the simple action resulting in arousal shooting down to your core. she captures your moans with her mouth, before planting kisses down your neck, suckling the sweet skin.

moments later both your clothes are on the floor as abby kisses your inner thighs, “abs please” you beg, “i need you.” she looks up at you, “mm look at you begging for me, so needy, huh?” she goes back to sucking and kissing your thighs and you push her head towards your soaked pussy, “abbyyyy please.” you beg, “hm? what do you need pretty girl? need me to eat your pussy?” she nudges your clit with her nose eliciting a needy whine from you. “fuck, just eat me out already! please!” your begs are desperate now, your aching cunt waiting for attention. she pulls your legs over her shoulders and laps your slick, the sensation drawing a shiver from you. your hands clutch her hair as she begins sucking your clit, “fuck abby yeah” the moan is involuntary and in response you feel the vibration of her own.

youre a complete mess under her by the time the knot in your stomach snaps, your release dripping out of you pussy and onto your thighs. abby just keeps going, lewd sounds leaving you and echoing around your living room. she slips her fingers into you and curls them, your back arches as she repeatedly hits your g-spot, “so fuckin pretty when you’re falling apart baby” she murmurs softly. she uses her thumb on your clit and it’s like you’re on top of the world, your cries are becoming pornographic at this point and it’s just egging her on, “yeah, you like my fingers filling you dont you?” she nips your hip, “mmhh yeahhh. fuck baby ‘m gonna cum!” she keeps hitting your g-spot and the pressure building up inside of you reaches its peak, you feel your legs shaking as you cum on her fingers, “youre doing so good for me baby.” she lets you ride out your high on her before sliding her fingers out, “fuck i missed you so much abby” you say, she kisses you, “i missed you too”

tags: @jamiesturniolo

[dandylovesturtles]

I'm trying to get myself back into writing by doing some little things here and there. This is the first one that is actually worth it to post here lol

Awhile back I asked on discord for suggestions of things I could write and then for a long time I didn't actually do anything lol BUT I finally did something. This ficlet is based on a suggestion @abbeyofcyn gave me about Donnie feeling anxiety over a having a new home post S2 (at least I remember it being Cyn but the message is so old now I can't find it orz I'm sorry if it was someone else)

I hope you enjoy it!

---

The subway station has been closed to the public since the nineties. Most of the ways in are already blocked off, and it will be trivial to finish that work to keep out any intruders. The tracks and maintenance station make an ideal garage and workspace for the tank. The old electrical wiring and water pipes are easily accessible. There’s still functioning toilets in the old bathrooms, and ventilated spaces ideal for cooking. There’s easy access to the street, the rest of the subway system, and the sewers. Splinter hums approvingly as he circles an old staff area with a tape measure. His brothers shout as they call dibs on rusted out train cars. April enthusiastically notes that the station is close to her new campus.

It checks all the boxes on their list, and then some.

So why has the sick feeling in the pit of Donnie’s stomach gotten worse instead of better?

There must be something wrong with it. Some flaw they aren’t seeing, some con they haven’t considered. He needs to go over his lists again; double check and triple check from every angle. They’ve only been here an hour - it would just be irresponsible to make a decision so quickly!

He desperately fires up his tablet again and pulls up his list, scrolling with hard taps as his eyes fly over the compiled criteria. There must be something… Something!

It’s structurally sound. There’s ample space for skateboard ramps and arcade machines. There’s plenty of lighting that will only need simple maintenance to be functional. There’s a big space that can be used for a new lab. It checks all the boxes, but there must be at least one it’s not checking, or why would Donnie’s blood curdle at the thought of actually living here?

The way the air moves through the space is wrong. The way the sounds echo off the walls and floors is unfamiliar. The smell is not the one he spent his whole life inhaling. It’s all wrong in a way that embeds itself in Donnie’s very skin, leaves him feeling slimy and nauseous and off kilter, like everything was just tilted at a dutch angle.

He scrolls to the bottom of the list and taps a few more times to be sure. “Air feels right” and “Echoes are normal” and “Smell is bad” are not boxes to be checked, so it can’t be any of those things. It has to be something else… It has to be something!

He scrolls back to the top of his list. Then he scrolls back to the bottom. He can’t find it. But it has to be there.

“Whoa,” says Leo, and Donnie jolts, his head snapping up. “I’ve never seen Donnie look like he wants to murder a computer before.”

“Please don’t tell Raph that something’s wrong with the structural checks or whatever,” says Raph, just behind Leo. They’re all coming up to him, probably wondering why he’s been standing in the same spot for… 

Donnie glances at his screen and jolts again. Twenty four minutes and thirty seven second!?

“Come on, Dee, this place has got to be perfect,” says Leo. “I already know exactly where I’m putting my action figures in my new digs!”

“And I’m already getting sooo many ideas for graffiti!” says Mikey excitedly, bouncing in place where he stands next to April. “And I can’t wait to design the kitchen layout! I can’t believe I get to start from scratch and do it just how I want!”

“Raph already knows exactly where the dojo is goin’,” Raph joins in. When Leo blows a raspberry, Raph pushes him forward and smirks when he has to catch himself.

“I think this is the best you guys are gonna get,” says April. “Unless you wanna move to the Hidden City.”

“We can’t, Raph still has a warrant for his arrest.”

“I keep tellin’ you guys, that ain’t Raph!”

“I only wish I had known about this place earlier,” comes Splinter’s voice as he joins them. “So much square footage!”

They all start talking excitedly, so fast it blends into a whir in Donnie’s ears. They’ve all already decided, but don’t they see? They can’t live here, because it’s wrong!

“No.”

Donnie’s declaration kills the conversation in its tracks. Everyone stops to look at him, and the sudden attention doesn’t feel as good as it might otherwise.

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head and looking back at his list. “This won’t work.”

A chorus of “What!?” comes from everyone else. Donnie keeps his eyes on his list, scrolling frantically, looking for the problem that he knows is there.

“Is there something wrong with it?” asks April, tone measured.

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t know what it is yet and how can he answer if he doesn’t have any data?

It’s clear they aren’t going to wait for him to come up with the answer.

“Well what is it? Ventilation? Structural integrity? The wiring? Come on, Dee, give us somethin’.”

“It’s… it’s just wrong. I know it is.” Donnie looks up from his list then, and their skeptical expressions make him coil around his tablet in defense. “We’ve barely seen all of it! How can we know for certain that it will really suit our needs?”

He’s protesting too much, and it’s no surprise when Leo catches on, immediately narrowing his eyes as he hones in on Donnie’s uncertainty. 

“You’ve said no to every place we’ve looked at, dude! Are your standards that high, or do you just like living in Barry’s crappy apartment that much?”

“I obviously do not,” Donnie snaps, because he has made no secret of the fact that he hates it there. Sure, it was nice of Draxum to take them in now that they’re homeless and all that, but the apartment is too small, and the sheets are too scratchy, and the way the air conditioner sounds is all wrong, and the street noises bother Donnie at night…

Of course he doesn’t want to keep living there! He never wanted to live there in the first place!

“Then what’s the problem?” Leo asks, folding his arms, and Donnie scowls back.

“I just think we shouldn’t rush into such a big decision just because it sucks to live in Draxum’s apartment,” he reasons, reasonably because he’s being very reasonable!

“And what, wait for our realtor to find us a few more listings?” Leo says with heavy snark. 

“Leo,” says Raph with a warning tone, before looking back at Donnie. “Look, we can take tonight to think about it,” he suggests. “But if there’s nothing really wrong with it, I think this is gonna be the best we can do.”

Donnie shrinks back. “You say we’ll take tonight to think about it, but you’ve all already decided.” He shakes his head. “But I’m telling you, we can’t live here. It’s wrong.”

“Donnie…” Mikey’s hand touches Donnie’s elbow, and it takes everything in him not to jerk it away. “Is there an actual problem with the place, or is this a feelings problem?”

Donnie jerks away.

Then he turns and sprints away down the nearest subway tunnel.

…

He only makes it to the next condemned platform before he collapses against the wall, panting. Maybe he really should take up Raph’s advice to do more cardio… If he can ever face any of them again, that is.

He sinks to the ground and rests his chin on his knees, looking around at the unfamiliar scenery. He knew the old tunnels of his home like he knew the curves and grooves in his favorite wrench. But his favorite wrench is lost forever under an insurmountable amount of rubble, and the tunnels around him are foreign and imposing.

He doesn’t want to live in Draxum’s apartment anymore.

But he doesn’t want to live here.

He wants to go home.

The ugly, bitter feeling in his stomach twists again, and he groans and presses his face into his knees, covering his head with his arms. He knows exactly what would fix this, and it’s something he can’t have.

He did the tests himself, over and over again. He knows that their old home would take years, decades to make livable again. They simply can’t fix it. It’s too big to be fixed.

Which means he cannot be fixed.

The understanding that he’ll feel this way forever washes over Donnie, leaving him desolated. How is he ever supposed to function again?

How can the rest of his family move on so easily when he’s still like this?

Footsteps echo off the walls, and he tenses up, curling tighter into himself. It’s no surprise that one of them came after him. He’s just glad it’s only one set of footsteps, and not five.

He doesn’t look up as they draw close. He doesn’t have to. A barefooted tread, light and airy with a bit of a hop to it even when the mood is somber. He’d know it anywhere.

Mikey plops down next to him and says, “Ready to talk to Doctor Feelings?”

Donnie shakes his head without looking up.

Mikey hums. “Wanna talk to Doctor Delicate Touch?”

Donnie shakes his head harder.

There’s a shuffle, and then warmth against Donnie’s side. “Wanna talk to your favorite little brother in the whole wide world?”

Donnie finally lifts his head enough to look at Mikey with one eye. “Winning by default isn’t something to brag about,” he notes.

A huge grin crosses Mikey’s face. “Hey, there you are!”

“Here I am,” Donnie notes dryly, and it sounds miserable even to his own ears.

Mikey’s expression falls into something more soft. He scoots around to Donnie’s front, then says, “You’re homesick.”

Homesick feels too small for the dark feelings that are swallowing Donnie whole. It’s just not enough.

“...I don’t want to live somewhere new,” he says, and it sounds like, I don’t want everything to be different.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” says Mikey, even though Donnie knows he can’t be feeling it like this, or at least hopes his little brother isn’t. “You’ll get used to it, though!”

It almost makes Donnie laugh. He can’t begin to imagine it ever feeling anything but terrible. “How do you know?”

“Because I have experience,” says Mikey breezily, like it’s obvious. 

Donnie hopes the skepticism shows on his face. “Really? Micheal, we were both too young when Papa moved us to the lair.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember that. But I do remember when we all got our own rooms!”

Donnie considers that with some surprise. He vaguely remembers that… mostly because he was happy that Raph and Leo couldn’t put their stuff on his side anymore. “Ah yes. A joyous day for all of us.”

“Well it wasn’t too happy for me!” Mikey retorts, folding his arms. “I didn’t want any of us to get our own rooms. I… wasn’t ready to be without you guys.”

Actually, now that Mikey says that, Donnie does remember that part of it. “I also remember that you weren’t without us, because you slept in one of our rooms every night for two months.”

Mikey nods seriously. “Yeah! Because I wasn’t ready for change!”

“And we had to make a rotating chart so that each of us could get a full night of sleep once in a while.”

“Huh?” Mikey pouts. “What do you mean? I sleep like an angel!”

“Kicking and chewing on anything in grabbing distance seems more like demon behavior,” Donnie notes, and Mikey huffs and makes a big show of being offended. 

“The point, Donald,” he stresses, “is that it was a big change! And I wasn’t happy about it for a loooong time.” He leans back. “I didn’t get why you guys were so happy about moving out when I wasn’t. It felt like you were all leaving me behind.”

Donnie frowns. “But we were literally a few feet away,” he notes. “As you proved nightly.”

Mikey points at him excitedly. “Exactly! It was a big change, but I still had you guys. And eventually, you guys helped me get excited about it, too.”

Donnie tries to remember what exactly they did to accomplish that, but… “All I remember is that we helped you hang up your finger paintings and put glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling.”

“Yep!” Mikey nods sagely. “You helped make it my own. I got where I was excited to be in my room, because it was how I wanted it to be!” He falters, tapping his chin. “And also I remember Leo said something about all my toys being sad if they were alone in my room at night…”

“Ah. Manipulative tactics,” Donnie observes.

“But that’s not the point! The point is that when I made it my own, change wasn’t so scary anymore.” He waves back down the tunnel. “And that’s what’s going to work for you, too! Because you’re going to build yourself a big new lab and decorate your room just how you want it, and you’re going to love it!”

Donnie feels absolutely no confidence in that. The idea of building a new lab, of decorating his room, of getting used to the new space, doesn’t fill him with excitement. There is only dread there, and exhaustion, and an insurmountable realization that nothing is ever going to be the same as it was before.

“That might work for you,” he says softly, tiredly. “But I don’t think it will for me. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling…” 

He still doesn’t know what to call this. 

“...Homesick.”

“But you will,” says Mikey, putting a hand on his arm. This time, Donnie doesn’t jerk away. “You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you went through it with the rooms too, Dee.”

Donnie scoffs, shaking his head. “I was glad to have my own room,” he asserts. “The rest of you kept getting your things into my space. It was annoying.”

“Sure, maybe you were happy about that part,” says Mikey simply, “but do you remember the big storm? The first one after we moved into our rooms, that was sooo loud we could hear it?”

Again, Donnie thinks he vaguely recalls something like that. It clearly didn’t leave as large an impression on him as it did on Mikey, though.

“I… might,” he says.

“I remember,” says Mikey, “that I was so scared, I ran straight to Raph’s room! And he was already awake, and he was under the covers, and we made a tent together.” He giggles. “And then you came in, and then Leo! And I realized then, maybe you guys weren’t really as happy about sleeping in separate rooms as I thought.”

He shifts around again, pressing himself into Donnie’s side.

“We went through that all together. And we’re gonna go through this together, too. And that’s how I know it’ll be okay!”

Donnie can’t help but make a skeptical noise. He’s not sure it will be. It just feels like too much.

“We’re all homesick, too,” Mikey confides. “We show it different than you… But we are. We’re going through it with you.”

Donnie knows they miss home, too. He knows that. But still…

“What if you’re wrong,” he says, “and it’s not okay?”

“Then…” Mikey trails off, thinking. “Then I’ll use the money I saved up to buy you that limited edition Atomic Lass figure you wanted!”

Donnie twists his head to stare at him. “That figure currently values at eight hundred and fifty dollars,” he says.

Mikey grimaces. “I will give you all the money I have saved up to help you buy it!” he amends.

Donnie snorts. Then he laughs. Then he leans into the warmth of his little brother.

He doesn’t want to live somewhere new… but it won’t be entirely new. His family will still be there. Just a few steps away.

“Does the laughing mean you’ll come back with me?” asks Mikey. “Because this tunnel is cold.”

Donnie snorts again. “I will go back with you,” he agrees, “because I actually don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Yes! I did it!” Mikey hops to his feet, extending a hand. “Another W for Doctor Feelings!”

“Winning by default is nothing to brag about,” says Donnie again. But he takes Mikey’s hand, and they go back to the station together.

[thaleleah]

𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓶

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark-ish!Billy (just the tiniest bit tho), Virgin!Reader, Dub-Con, P in V, Hate Fucking (kinda but not really lol i tried), Fingering, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Mentions of a gun shot graze, Talk of tying up/restraining/bondage, Slight Dirty Talk, Rough Touches (he grabs her face & throat), Use of the word “drawers” instead of panties cause I'm cringey like that lol

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Dedicated to my anon who sent in this ask and put the thought of hate fucking in my head. I tried, hun lol. Didn't turn out how I thought it would and it's not my best work, but it did help me get out of my writing slump a bit sooooo i hope you enjoy it.

A/N 2: Please accept this supposed to be drabble that turned into basically a fic length thing as compensation for not having Godless Part 2 out yet. Hoping to finish it up within the next couple of weeks 🤞🏻

Summary: Jesse's younger sister is a pretty problem for Billy.

He’s so pissed at you. 

Jesse’s little sister once again trying to prove herself useful, trying to prove that she’s ‘one of the boys’, but doing nothing except getting in the way and causing trouble. 

It was supposed to be a quick job. They’ve rustled cattle together enough to have their system down pat, everyone in their gang playing their part perfectly so that they can be in and out of their target’s territory in the shortest amount of time. Very rarely do they get caught in the act now - and if they do, they’re good enough to never suffer losses. 

But when there’s a sweet-voiced, overly driven Miss suddenly among their operation when there’s not supposed to be, things can go wrong. 

You must have followed them, just far enough behind that they didn’t see you during their final look around before starting their run. One minute, everything was fine. None of the ranch owner’s cowboys were in sight and the cattle were proving to be easy to corral, not a single one of them choosing to go rogue and trying to push out of the herd. 

And then the next minute, you were there. You were wearing a dress when they left, a pretty little thing that Billy thought made the color of your eyes pop. It’s not your normal outfit, but you own it now courtesy of Jesse who was tired of hearing you nag about how much you wanted to come with them, how ‘helpful’ you could be if he just gave you a chance, and told you that if you wanted to be helpful you would run down to the local liquor store and make sure he had something to drink when they got back. 

You had switched out of the dress and back into your shirt and overalls, the shoes on your feet traded for riding boots instead of those dainty lace up ones. The hat that sat on your head covered your hair and the first thing that Billy notices when you ride up next to him is how tightly your hands are gripping the reins. 

The sight of you there catches him off guard and his gallop turns into a canter as he stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hey!” Jesse shouts from a little farther out. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’ here?”

“I deserve to be here just as much as any of you,” You reply, head held high as you glare back at your brother. 

“Hell no! Get your ass ou–” 

The bullet whizzes past his head, cutting through the air with a near deadly precision. Everyone ducks, heads snapping to where the bullet came from as the sound of the gunshot rings in their ears. There’s a couple of the ranch owner’s cowboys standing at the top of the hill, firing shot after shot towards the gang and the compromised cattle. Another bullet just barely avoids digging itself into Billy’s arm, the hot lead grazing against his upper arm and tearing through his shirt. Your eyes are wide when Billy shouts in pain, your own yell echoing his as he instinctively clutches his arm. 

He can see in your face that you’re terrified. You don’t know what to do. You’re going to get hurt if he doesn’t do something. 

Without thinking, Billy jerks his horse towards yours, forcefully nudging your own horse in the direction of the nearby treeline while he pulls out his gun with his uninjured arm to help return fire. The gang scatters, most of the cattle is already out past the property line and able to be herded during the commotion. The gunshots continue but no one else gets hit, and the group hollers the entire way back to the house, adrenaline pumping from just the taste of a bit of dangerous contact. 

You stay silent the entire ride back home. So does Billy. And so does Jesse.

But the second your feet are back on the ground, you’re in trouble. 

Jesse lays into you.

“What the hell did you think you were doin’?”

“I just wanted to help!”

“Yeah? Some help you were. You distracted us! You could have gotten us all killed,”

“Them shootin’ at you had nothin’ to do with me! I deserved to be there!”

Billy sits on the top post of the paddock fence as he presses a clean cloth against the graze on his arm, watching you both as you tear at each other's throats. He’s glaring at you too, bright blue eyes piercing into the side of your face as you scream at your brother. He watches as the tears fall from your pretty eyes, twin streams cascading down your cheeks as your hands fly around you in frustration. 

A Pretty Problem. That’s what you are. 

You’re a problem when you’re shooting. Your aim is always off, missing targets by an inch and somehow never able to fix yourself enough to hit them the next time. It’s a problem how you ask him for help, your back pressing against his chest and he guides you to adjust your position. Those are the only times your bullets hit the standing cans. When he steps back and you try again, you’re back to missing, and Billy just refrains from rolling his eyes even as his body feels like it’s been touched with a live wire just from the smallest bit of contact with you.  

You’re a problem when they’re drinking, a bottle in your hand as you try your best to match their intake. The others would leave you on the floor, stepping over you when you inevitably drop from too much alcohol. It’s Billy that picks you up, wrapping his arm around your waist and carrying you to your bed. 

You’re a problem when you’re laying there, sprawled out along the sheets somewhere between sleep and forcing yourself to stay awake. The way you look up at him is a problem, eyes glassy and half-lidded as you mumble a soft ‘thanks, Billy,”. He knows he’s not a good person, no matter how hard he tries convince himself he is, but fuck - he deserves some extra points for the self restraint he has to leave you there like that. 

You’re a problem when you’re being a brat. The constant butting into conversations, volunteering for jobs and then throwing fits when you’re turned down. You’ve taken to pleading with him for support, asking him to speak on your behalf just to make your brother and the other men see sense. 

“You’re the youngest,” You say, and your eyes are wide and nearly watering as you beg. “That’s why they call you The Kid. Doesn’t that bother you? Imagine how I feel!”

And how can you even ask him to do that? You can’t even shoot right on your own. Ain’t no way he’s speaking up for you so you can go on dangerous jobs and get killed. 

No. 

You fight just as harshly as Jesse does, spewing out insults and arguing your points until you’re both blue in the face. Neither of you notice when Billy jumps off the fence and heads into the house. You make him so angry - so naive and so willing to put yourself in danger just to try to prove yourself. Jesse is right. You could have gotten them all killed today with your little stunt. If you hadn’t been there, then their attention wouldn’t have been divided. Maybe he or Jesse could have seen the cowboys up on the hill a few seconds earlier and gotten out of there without even so much as a graze. In this world, every second is important and being distracted for even a moment can cost you your life. 

He’s still stewing when you follow him into the house only a few minutes later. Your eyes are rimmed red, lips puffy from where you’ve clearly been biting them. Bad girl, he thinks as he glares at them. It’s a nervous habit you have and he’s constantly telling you to stop. The sight of your teeth biting into your bottom lip always makes him go crazy. It should be his teeth digging into it instead. 

“What?” He mumbles gruffly.

“Are you okay?”

“Got grazed by a bullet,” He says, his eyes never leaving yours even as he hooks a thumb under one of his suspenders and pulls it off his shoulder. “You think I’m okay?”

He watches you as you watch him pull the other one off too, your eyes following the fallen straps as they hang around his waist. They follow his hands back up as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, one after the other after the other until the thin material separates in the middle and he can push it off his shoulders. 

His skin feels hot under your intense gaze, and the darker more primal part of his brain wishes you would follow his lead. Undo your own suspenders, unbutton your shirt but make it slow - tease him a little bit cause that’s what you are.

A tease and a brat. And he should treat you like one. 

Instead, you’re stepping up to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Your fingers trace just below the thankfully shallow wound of the graze. “You should let me wrap this for you. So it doesn’t get infected,”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” He says in return, and his anger flares as he watches you roll your eyes. 

“God, Billy. Come on. Didn’t I get enough of this from Jesse?”

“You could have- hey!” Billy’s hand snaps out to grip your jaw, stopping you in your tracks as you turn to walk away from him. He holds you still, forcing your face to stay turned towards him as he growls. “You could have been killed today with your little stunt. You had no place there,”

Your hands clamp around his wrist trying to pry his hand off of your face and your words are determined despite the small flicker of fear present in your eyes. “I deserve to be there just as much as any of you,” 

“Oh yeah? Is that why I had to save you today?”

“You nudged me in a direction I was already goin’ to pull my horse in. I wouldn’t call that savin’,”

He pushes forward, making you shuffle back even as his hand stays firm around your chin. Your back hits the opposite wall, a pretty gasp falling from your lips from the rough movement.

“Brat,” Billy hisses as he presses his body against yours, pinning you to the wall. “You’re a troublemaker. I should tie you to your bed, keep you there - bound and out of harm’s way.”

Your breathing hitches at his words and he can feel the way your fingers clamp tighter around his wrist, those big wide eyes that torment him in his dreams staring up at him. 

“Billy,” You whisper, but he just continues his thought. 

“I’ll take care of you,” He says, voice low and quiet between the two of you but it somehow sounds deafening in the silence of the house. “Keep you fed and safe. Give you a nice blanket to keep you comfortable while you wait for me to get home.”

Billy’s hand releases your chin, calloused palms sliding down your jaw and wrapping around your throat. He can feel how you swallow thickly under his hold. 

“And you can take care of me in return,” He continues, his words almost a growl in your face as his warm breath fans across your skin. “As a reward for keeping you out of trouble.”

Even with only centimeters apart, he can barely hear you as you whisper. “Reward you how?”

And fuck, if you knew all the dirty things that play in his mind at night…

“On your knees,” He says, the hand not currently wrapped around your throat reaches up to flick off the suspender strap around your shoulder. It falls around your waist much like his did just minutes before. “On your back.” The other suspender falls like its twin. 

The sound of your heavy breathing echoes in his ears. His eyes drop to your parted lips and he’s sure that his pupils are just as large as yours are. His breathing stops in anticipation despite the fact that it's him who leans in, closing the distance between the two of you as he presses his lips against yours for the first time. 

He wants to be embarrassed by the sound he makes when he tastes you, so soft and sweet and somehow so much better than he ever imagined. Your breathing shudders when his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, but it cuts off in a soft gasp when he presses in again to kiss you harder. Need curls tightly in his gut, anger burning through his veins at you for making him feel this way. 

So on edge all the time, so unhinged. So desperate. 

The hand around your throat tightens a bit and the little squeak you let out in response has him swelling in his trousers.

“Troublemakers like you need to be put in their place,” He says, voice raw and gravely with lust. “You wanna be a big girl and ride horses all day on dangerous trips?” His nose bumps against yours, lips just barely brushing against your own as he speaks. “You can ride me instead.”

His hand leaves your throat to pull at the button on your overalls, and your own hands grip onto the tight muscles of his biceps. 

“Billy, wait,” You say, hand moving down to cover his as he pops open the buttons, but he grabs your chin in his hold again. 

Wait? Wait? You want him to fucking wait? No, you’ve already made him wait long enough. 

“Shut up!” He growls. “I’ve heard enough from you.”

His other hand manages to push down your overalls and they fall to the ground, pooling around your ankles. You whimper as his hand slides across your belly, his long fingers tracing over your soft skin as they travel down and down until they slip under the thin material of your drawers. 

“Good girls do what they’re told,” He whispers, breathing hot and heavy as he presses his mouth against your cheek, and you can feel the stubble that’s started to grow back already on his jaw scratch at your face. “I’ll have to teach you better.”

You gasp when his fingers first touch you, the gentle caress of his fingertips on your clit that has you jumping against the wall but unable to go anywhere with how he has you pinned. He groans against your cheek when he feels how wet you are already, soaking into the pads of his fingers as he circles the bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Billy,” You moan, and he kisses you harshly, cutting off the rest of your sentence if there even was more because he can’t bear the thought of you trying to get him to stop again.

No waiting. No stopping. You’re his. 

“Just be a good girl for me, okay?”

His fingers slide through your wetness, trailing slowly over your slit as his arm pushes deeper into your drawers. The tip of his finger nudges at your entrance, rubbing and teasing against your dripping hole for a moment before pushing inside you, and fuck - you feel so tight around him already. Your pussy clenches around his finger as he moves it inside of you, sweet cries ripping from your throat when he adds another, stretching you more as he curls his fingers against your slick walls. 

He muffles your moans with his lips, and he can’t help but push his hips against you, pressing the thick bulge in his pants against your thigh for some relief. 

Damn you, he thinks. Damn you and your driven attitude, bad shooting, sweet demeanor, and pretty face. Jesse could kill him for this. Jesse would, and he would deserve it. But this is your fault. Your. Fault. You tempted him like this. Threw him off his game and destroyed his self control just by being you and he hates you for it. 

Your moans are a constant now, turning into desperate whines of “Billy, please! Oh, god, please!” as he watches you greedily hump his hand. He’s throbbing in his pants, cock pulsing with need and heavy as he presses harder against your thigh. He’s not going to last long - not with the way you look right now and the way he knows you're going to feel wrapped around his cock just from how you feel clamping around his fingers right now. 

You’re not going to last much longer either, and his fingers thrust inside you faster, thumb rolling over your clit as he pushes you closer and closer towards that edge.

Come on, pretty girl. Be good for me.

He’s never touched you this way before, but it’s like he knows your body inside and out already. The look on your face tells him you’re about to cum, and he wants to see it - wants to see it so badly to see if it matches the same look you have when he makes you cum in his dreams - but he wants to make you suffer. Just a little bit more. Like you make him suffer. 

The cry of protest you make when he pulls his hand away is beautiful, as is the way your eyes widen when he brings the soaked digits to his mouth, sucking your taste from them and fuuuuckkk you taste so good. Of course, you taste this good. 

He kisses you again, sliding his tongue inside your mouth against yours just to make you taste yourself too as he undoes the buttons on his own pants. The restricting material is gone in seconds along with both of your underwear. His hand grips your hip, squeezing the flesh between his fingers before dragging his hand along the curve of your ass and down the back of your thigh.

In one swift movement, he has your leg hooked around his hip and his cock positioned at your entrance. 

“Wait,” You whimper, looking up at him with those beautiful big eyes of yours. “I’ve never–”

“I’ll take care of you,” He says, slowly pushing himself forward. The clench of your pussy as he works his cock inside you feels like heaven, slick walls squeezing him tight as he fills you up. 

Your arms wrap tightly around his neck as he sinks in, face digging into his neck to muffle your soft cry. A pang of guilt shoots through him at your pain. He doesn’t want you hurt. You’re a brat and a troublemaker, but he’s only ever wanted to keep you safe. But the more primal part of his brain keens at the idea. 

It’s your first time. He’s your first. You’re his. Only his.

His good girl.

His pretty problem.

He wants to fuck you hard, wants his hips snapping against yours so hard they leave bruises. Wants you crying against his mouth, moans and whimpers so uncontrollable that your brother and the rest of the gang hears them from outside from how loud you’re being. He’s not going to last long, he was right about that. His hips move slowly against yours, cock dragging against your walls as he pulls out until just the tip is left buried in your cunt. 

Your small whines of pain quickly turn into pleasure as he rocks into you, your warmth hugging his cock so tightly he thinks you might be trying to keep him buried inside you forever. He fucks you faster, pressing you harder against the wall as he claims your lips again. His fingers find the sensitive nub between your legs, rough fingertips circling your clit relentlessly until your panting against his mouth. He greedily swallows your squeal when you cum around him, cunt forming a tight and unforgiving blissful prison around his cock as you drench him and his fingers. 

He moans with you, hips stuttering and inconsistent as your orgasm triggers his. He holds your face against his, his other hand clutching your hip as he holds you still, not letting you run away from him even if you try as he spills himself inside you, painting your walls white.

It’s quiet in the room as you both come down from your high, just the sounds of panting as you both try to catch your breath. He should pull out. Anyone could just walk in at any moment and catch you, but he grits his teeth at the thought of having to move away from you. He’d die happily inside you if he could. So, he takes another moment, letting himself revel in the feel of your still pulsing walls around his length as he lays his forehead against yours.

“You’re goin’ to keep being my good girl, right?” He says softly into the space between you. “Stay out of trouble?”

And despite the exhausted look on your face, when your eyes meet his, all he sees is that strong-willed defiance.

A pretty problem indeed.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

POWER CURES

tashi donaldson x fem!reader, word count 4.2k. NSFW!

your career in sports journalism has made you one of the most successful women in your field — a career you built on your own after you broke up with tashi donaldson at stanford. yet rivalry still burns between you, and whenever given the opportunity you can't help but add fuel to the fire. requested by @elaci who also writes for challengers so go follow :)

“It’s a miracle he’s still playing,” you say. “Art showed so much passion today, I could feel it. Maybe next time he could focus on hitting the ball instead of smashing ants on the court with his racket – it just sends the wrong message I think, not very eco-friendly.” 

Tashi shakes her head, attempting to brush off your comment, but you can feel the silent fury you’ve stirred up in her. Her expression is partially hidden by her sunglasses as the two of you stand at the edge of the court, her only guard from your scrutiny. It’s been nine years since you’ve spoken to her, but the four years you dedicated to her before that taught you every one of her tells. She’s different now – she wears her hair short, her makeup darker, age and experience have made her seem solemn. But you can feel it, that under all of the change she is still the same. 

“At least he still plays,” she says sharply. “You’re the critic, the journalist, but you would get on the court and get yourself knocked the fuck out. Art works, he doesn’t lock himself in the basement to write pity-party bullshit for money.” 

“Neither do I,” you smile. “I don’t write anything for money, though I do enjoy the benefits.” 

“You’ve always been greedy,” Tashi accuses. “You enjoy taking what isn’t yours, and destroying what you can’t reach.” 

You shrug. You won’t attempt to deny it – greed is what got you into this profession, and greed is what has held you up to survive it. Greed is what got you a million dollar mansion and the audience that paid for it, and greed is what has you standing at the side of Tashi Donaldson as you watch her husband step off the tennis court after losing another match to add to his streak this year. 

“If you write anything about this match, I will end your career,” Tashi says casually, because power means nothing to her, and using it is easy. She takes off her sunglasses, puts them in her purse that costs more money than your car. When she meets your eyes, there’s stoic sureness in her gaze. 

“It’s sweet that you think I only came here for you.” 

She gives you a hard look, searching you for the truth if she couldn’t trust it to come from your words. Whatever conclusion she would come up with was none of your concern – it’s true that you hadn’t come here for her, not completely. You’re here for another set of competitors, the headliners of the women’s division. If there was one thing you could use to define your career, it wouldn’t be the Donaldsons, or the Duncans – it would be your influence on women’s tennis. Your journalism through the years has put women in the spotlight of the sport, and for as long as you could you would continue the mission of keeping them there. 

But when you had seen Tashi’s husband playing in the final match of the day, and when you had seen her watching him alone at the sidelines, you couldn’t help but take advantage of it. Your comments and motives were petty, but deserved. 

You see Art begin to approach the two of you with his gym bag. “That’s my cue, isn’t it?” you ask. You try to avoid Art at all cost even after all these years, it creates a situation more awkward for you than for him. “I don’t think he needs me to lecture him, not again.” 

You begin to depart from Tashi’s side, but then you pause and turn back to her. “I’ll be in New Rochelle for the Challengers tournament in a few weeks,” you tell her. “Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat, for a change.” 

Tashi scoffs, and you take your chance to leave before you can be joined by Art or any of the reporters or journalists following in his wake. You’ve done your work for the day, your air-conditioned hotel room is calling to you and you’re all too prepared to run to it. 

When you stand at the exit to the tennis court, you spare a look back in the direction of the Donaldsons. Tashi is immersed in giving feedback to Art as he stands in childlike submission. Her hands are planted on his shoulders, she’s looking into his eyes, and when she spares a look at the court a sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember how it felt to watch her play. How she used to win every game she signed to compete in, how effortless her victories were. 

In a way, you miss it. You miss her. The promise of her victories that would pull you through in college, that you could look forward to watching and writing about. The memory of it sparks a flare of anger within you – four years, erased, yet still so potent in your memory. 

You turn away from the court. You push through the crowd, in your pride you stand a little taller than the rest. Against you is the only match Tashi Duncan could never win. 

You pass by the doors of the locker rooms on your way out. You know Tashi must have waited with Art in his locker room before the match started – a private locker room, you would suspect, or one they bought out for the day in a grand show of money.

You frown. How many times had you waited with Tashi in locker rooms until tournaments began, how many times had you come in after her matches to listen to her talk through them while she got ready to leave? Enough times to know you weren’t alone in reminiscing, that Tashi could escape the memories with no more ease than you could. 

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, STANFORD. 

You resist a smile – you can’t let her win, though you can see she’s trying inexplicably hard to. She never takes it seriously when you try to interview her for assignments for your classes at Stanford. 

“I can’t put that in my paper,” you tell Tashi. “I’d get us kicked out.” 

Tashi shrugs, stepping toward you as you stand in the locker room alone together after her match. “You asked what I was thinking about during the game. I was thinking about you.” 

You roll your eyes. You lean back against the lockers, and Tashi takes advantage of it, coming up in front of you to box you in. Her eyes meet yours – her intensity is unmatched, even after she’s won every game of tennis this season that’s been thrown at her by the university. Power means nothing to her, because using it is easy. 

“You don’t believe me?” Tashi asks. Nothing goes unnoticed by her, it was brave to roll your eyes. “You’re all I think about.” 

“Tennis is all you think about.” 

Instead of correcting you, she kisses you. Your hands find her waist, and wrap around her back when you pull her closer. She consumes your thoughts, your mind, and you’re happy to keep it that way with disregard to the price you might pay for it. 

Tashi’s hands slip under your shirt. One travels up your side, under your bra. You arch into her touch, senses clouded with her – until you hear voices outside the locker room, people leaving the building. 

You pull out of the kiss as the voices fade, and immediately she’s kissing your neck. “This is a terrible idea,” you murmur half-heartedly. You want her to prove you wrong. 

“No one’s coming in, I was the last match.” 

“But they could come in.” 

“They won’t.” 

You don’t seem convinced. Tashi moves to look at you, and tilts her head. 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she demands. You see how she craves you, she’s willing to indulge herself after her latest victory. It wouldn’t be the first time you would find yourself here, against the lockers with every intention of letting her use you in the way she wishes. She sees through your words – she knows you want this just as much as she does. 

“No,” you say, because you do want this. You’ve wanted her all morning, since you saw her warming up for her match. And even if someone were to come in and find you with her, pressed up against the lockers and at her will, it would only prove a fact you dream of everyone knowing anyway: that in every way, Tashi Duncan is yours. Audiences may celebrate her, anyone might desire her, but at the end of every day it’s you she comes home to. It’s you she wants. 

“Good,” she mutters, and presses you harder against the locker, pressing space between your legs with her knee. She kisses down your neck, and one of her hands travels below the waistband of your shorts while the other is still at your chest. Her hands are cold against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill rippling down your back. 

“Be quiet,” Tashi orders, and you nod. An empty promise, but you’ll try your best. “Good girl.” 

Her praise has you biting back a moan as her knee moves away and her hand slides between your thighs. You can’t hold her gaze, the gravity it holds. 

Your hips chase her hand as she circles your clit – your hips buck back against the lockers, and the sound echoes through the room, and your moan would accompany the noise if not muffled by Tashi’s hand over your mouth. A quick reaction on her end, she knows your body better than you do. 

“Quiet,” Tashi whispers. She presses a kiss to the edge of your jaw, below your ear. You try for a deep breath, but it’s shaky. “I’m fucking you here, and you’re moaning? Anyone could hear you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod again, her hand still over your mouth. Your eyes fall closed, her touch burns through you like fire. It’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s everything you need and more. 

Tashi feels the pleasure building in you – it inspires her to interrupt it, to pull both of her hands from you. 

You whine in protest, watching her in curious alarm. You need this, she knows you do. 

Tashi’s hands find your hips, and she watches you closely. A sadistic sort of smile pulls at her lips, one that has you squirming, reaching for her again. Your attempts are futile, your yearning feeds her desire to starve you, push you to your limits. “You have to be patient,” she says. 

And you will be, though everything in you aches for her. You will let her win, let her pick your cards and cheat the game to end in her favor. You’re content with it – a side that is not without reward to you as Tashi lowers to her knees in front of you, and when she looks up at you, she already knows she’s won. 

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER, NEW ROCHELLE.

The sun glares down at you through the windshield, but despite its best efforts, it cannot reach you. It’s cool in your car – it combats the sweltering heat of the morning in New Rochelle as you sit waiting for the final matches to start on the second day of the Challengers tournament. You don’t want to go sit down too early, there’s no point in submitting yourself to the discomfort of hot metal seats amongst the swarm of the audience until you have to. You’re content to sit here with your eyes closed for as long as you can, you finally have a moment to yourself after the chaos of traveling to New Rochelle. 

Tapping on your window makes you jump. Your eyes snap open, and when you see who waits on the other side of your car window, you wish you’d never traveled to the tournament at all. You knew he would be here, you saw him competing yesterday, but you had successfully avoided him and had left early after the first few matches.  

You roll your window down. Patrick Zweig stares at you with the most dumbass fucking smile you’ve witnessed in years. 

“Well, look who it is!” He exclaims. He leans an arm against the top of your car, but you shove him off of it through the window. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap. He frowns, and you sigh. It’s been nine years since you’ve seen him in person – since you broke up with Tashi – and not a day has passed in which you can decisively say you have missed him. 

“I’m competing,” he says. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I know that. Why are you here, talking to me?” 

Patrick shrugs. “Can’t I take a second to reconnect with an old friend?” 

“An old friend?” you ask. “I don’t think we were ever friends.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you’ll be hoping I win instead of Art this afternoon.” 

You pause. “Art Donaldson? He’s here, competing?” 

“Yeah. You know, I was told you invited him and Tashi. It’s everywhere online. That’s why I came over here, to say thank you for setting up the match. Art and I are the only ones left in the division. I wanted to wish you luck, too, with whatever it is you plan to get out of having us all here.” 

You don’t respond for a moment. Vaguely you recall inviting Tashi to the Challengers tournament a few weeks ago after Art’s loss – Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat for a change – but you had disregarded it. You had meant the entire thing as a joke, a jab at Art’s poor tennis performance. Never would you have expected the Donaldsons to remotely consider participating in a Challengers tournament. You regret leaving early yesterday, missing their arrival at a tournament so far beneath them. You would have enjoyed witnessing their shame. 

“I didn’t set anything up,” you tell Patrick, yet you doubt the validity of your own statement. “And I’m not planning on getting anything out of it.” 

“Whatever you say. I just know Tashi wouldn’t bother with something like this for the hell of it. Either Art’s tennis has gotten really fucking bad for them to stoop to a tournament this low, or she’s using him to be here with you. Or, of course, both can be true. I’m going with both.” 

You shake your head. “Tashi has no interest in me.” 

“It’s been nine years since she left you, and she still hates you. She would probably fucking stab you if given the chance. That’s not something to take lightly with her, it takes more than resentment to hold onto something that long. Even I’m not as lucky.” 

“I’m not interested in making amends with Tashi Donaldson.” 

Patrick shrugs. He gives you a look, I don’t believe you, that you want to punch him for. You have nothing to say to Tashi, no reason to wish to see her. You went up to talk to her those weeks ago at Art’s game because you wanted to taunt her with your presence. You wanted her to see that you were successful without her, you don’t need her. 

You wanted her to see you – you realize how it sounds, and that there’s no way you would win a dispute with Patrick if your only explanation for reconnecting with Tashi is I wanted her to see that I’m better than her husband. You look back to him with a facade of nonchalance. 

You don’t know what to say, so you shift the focus back to him. “You’re going to get killed in a match against Art.” 

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me play in years.”

“I don’t need to.” 

“Wow, thanks for having so much faith in me.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Patrick’s gaze shifts to something beyond your car, something his eyes trail for a few seconds before he turns back to you. “I need to go warm up,” he announces, and backs away from your car. “Write something heroic about me to publish when I win, will you?” 

You roll up your window. You watch him disappear from the parking lot. Peace still evades you once he’s gone – that Tashi would be coming to the tournament is enough to have you nearly in hysterics. The promise of her soon arrival has adrenaline coursing through you, though the emotion accompanying it is indecipherable. 

You loathe Tashi Donaldson. You hate her husband even more. But there’s something so addictive about being around her to prove it. To prove that it was a mistake to end things with you and pursue Art shortly after, that he could never live up to you. Your fame came from success in writing and journalism, Art’s fame came from Tashi and viral videos of Art flinging tennis rackets after his losses. It felt good for you to prove your worth in contrast to his. You finally have power over them, and you have every intention of using it. 

For better or worse, you still care about Tashi’s opinion of you. For better or worse, you still care for Tashi Duncan. 

A car pulls into the empty spot next to you. The glare of the sun against it burns your eyes, leaves you with the start of a headache. 

You turn to look at the owners of the vehicle. Immediately you understand what Patrick had been spying beyond your car, and why he had been so quick to flee. 

You missed them yesterday, but you wouldn’t miss them today. You turn your car off and get out. 

“Need help carrying that?” You ask Art as he picks up his gym bag out of the trunk of the car beside yours. “I don’t want you to break any rackets.” 

“That would look good for you,” he says dryly. He shuts the trunk. “To make it seem like you’re making amends.” 

“I have nothing to make amends for.” 

He’s silent. You have two thousand words to make amends for, actually, but you’ll never be caught apologizing. You wrote an article about Art’s tennis years ago that gave you much of your fame – an article that had suggested Art was one of the worst tennis players to come out of Stanford, and that it was a shame he was using Tashi’s injury to his advantage by convincing her to coach his mediocre games. You implied that he was using her, that he was a cheater in the very least as far as tennis was concerned. 

It was never your finest moment, but you would never regret it. He deserved it, and so did Tashi for the way the two of you left your relationship. 

A car door slams. You’re joined by Tashi. In a light blue dress she’s stunning, radiant beyond comparison with the man she comes to stand by. A man she knows she cannot defend, a man beneath her. 

She gives Art a tyrannical look. He’s going to go find the locker room, he says, as if he hadn’t played here yesterday, and with a final look between you and Tashi he takes his bag and begins his way across the parking lot. 

You’re left alone with Tashi. The two of you are silent – she’s waiting for you to say something, and you’re waiting to come up with something that sounds right. 

“I saw you talking to Patrick,” Tashi says at last. You nod. “Did he tell you he asked me to coach him?” 

A smile pulls at your lips. “No, he didn’t.” 

“Good. Now you have something to write about,” she says, taking a step towards you, “when he loses. You can write about how he tried so desperately to come out on top, and you can write about who he lost to.” 

It’s not about Art anymore. It’s not about Patrick, it’s not about this tournament. It’s about you. Tashi’s reversal, her revenge. She won when she left you ten years ago, you won with your article, and Tashi Donaldson has never been one to keep a tie. She’s been keeping score for nine years in preparation for an opportunity such as this, one to set the record in her favor. 

“I’m not interested in placing bets on failed prodigies.” 

“You’re not too good for it, though.” 

“You are. At least you should have been.” 

Tashi shakes her head. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“You know what it means,” you say, and step closer. “It should be you on that court, not them. I should be writing about you.” 

You know you’ve struck a nerve. Tashi stills. Her expression was once unreadable, but now it reveals her resentment. At you maybe, but also at fate itself, because you’re right: it should be her competing. Winning for herself and not through others. She still bears the weight of power, but it’s no longer hers to use. 

“Your husband is going to lose,” you say, and you both know it’s a lie. But you will be there when Art wins, you will be there waiting for her to prove you wrong like she’s always craved. If it is winning that will let her make amends with herself, you will be the harbinger. You will let her cheat the game just so she can win. Maybe it’s all you’ve wanted this whole time, inviting her to the Challengers tournament. 

Maybe it’s your way of making amends. 

“Any final words before the game?” You ask, in the way you always used to ask her before her matches. Any final words. You used to laugh together about how apocalyptic it sounded, and Tashi used to watch you write about her after and use her quotes for assignments for your university classes. 

Tashi remembers the phrase, you see recognition sweep over her. She watches you closely, and behind her facade you see something too reminiscent to be hatred. “Fuck you,” she says, though her voice lacks animosity. 

“Is that on the record?” 

“Yes.” 

An uncanny way of making amends, but one you would welcome all the same. 

-

Her gaze sears into you as you sit in the stands watching the match. Tashi sits on the opposite side of the court, yet the two of you are positioned with a clear view of one another throughout the game. 

The score has fluctuated throughout the match. Patrick and Art have stayed consistent in score and loss – it’s closer than you thought it would be, enough that you see Tashi’s concern growing over the end result. Art is wearing, he’s becoming tired, and you know if he quits in his exhaustion he’ll leave with another loss. The Donaldsons will lose credibility, Tashi will disappear in the eyes of the media. 

You find yourself conflicted in all ways related to the match continuing before you. You want Art to lose every match he signs for – yet the thought of Tashi going down with him haunts you. Even after all she has done to you, all you have done to her, she deserves better than any path offered.  

You pause – the match has ended, the audience stands in applause. You stand to view the court, peering over shoulders, pushing your way out of the audience. 

Art Donaldson, standing in the middle of the court. He basks in the glory given by his victory, one long suspended in anticipation for you to be witness. He looks up to find Tashi in the stands, and you watch as something unsaid passes between them. An I told you so on Art’s end, and something unsatisfied from Tashi’s. 

You don’t need to watch the rest of it. You don’t need to see Art’s self-ordered victory lap, and you don’t need to hear the speech he’ll give the reporters waiting to flock to him. You don’t need to see Tashi by his side, so you leave the court. 

You make your way through the tennis complex. Fluorescent lights stare you down, their judgment shines brighter for you. You don’t give them anything to taunt you with, keeping your expression flat. It was obvious Art would win, and in his victory Tashi has been fulfilled. 

The click of heels trails you. You spare a glance over your shoulder as you walk, and you pause. Her eyes are on you alone in the empty hall. 

“Congratulations,” you say, dull. “Do you feel better now? I see Art does.” 

“Fuck Art,” she snaps. Tashi is empowered in her pride, which has not been placed in her husband, but in herself. This is not his victory, it belongs to her. She closes the distance between you, and if you moved back any further you’d be leaning against the wall. The door to the locker room is across the hall – your memories hardly feel like your own, hardly feel like they belong just the same to the woman in front of you, but they crash through you anyway. 

“This feels familiar,” you murmur, looking up at her. You look to see if the halls are empty, but Tashi wastes no such time – she pulls you against her, her lips on yours, hunger in her touch as the two of you realize how much time you have to make up for and so little opportunity for it. Her nails dig into the back of your neck until her hand weaves into your hair, and like you always have you melt into her every desire. 

“I win,” Tashi says once she pulls away. Her eyes bear into yours, dark and unforgiving, dominating. “I fucking win.” 

There’s nothing that could prove her wrong. Power cures, if you know how to use it. 

—

—

—

i wrote this fic so many different times honestly and i kept a few of the scenes I deleted from it bc it was getting too long so if anyone wants a part 2 lmk andddd i can put something together 😔

[xjoonchildx]

kanalia | jhs x reader | final chapter: because i couldn't stay away

banner by the amazing @kth1 💕

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes. smut warnings in effect.

⚜️word count: 10.2K

⚜️author's note: happy birthday month to my forever muse, jung hoseok. i hope that i did this poor, tortured version of you some justice. and yes, it did take me years to finish this story (😭) , but i did. thank you to every single who has ever taken an interest in this story and cared enough to stick with me through long delays and rough writing spells. once again, i have to shout out the OG @hobi-gif who lent her eyes to part of this story. i appreciate you all so much and if you enjoyed it, i would very much appreciate a reblog as well as your feedback.

thank you guys so, so much 💕

previous chapter masterlist

Love doesn't discriminate Between the sinners and the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep loving anyway We laugh and we cry and we break And we make our mistakes And if there's a reason I'm by her side When so many have tried Then I'm willing to wait for it I'm willing to wait for it

– “Wait for It”

Hamilton, An American Musical 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

One perfect loop is followed by another. And another. And another.

You need not look back and check your work, not anymore. Now you know simply by the pull of the thread that each stitch you place is snug and uniform. You sit in your chair by the fire and repeat the motion over and over again, staring unseeing into the pattern in your lap. 

“It’s a beautiful day, Your Grace.”

Hyeri’s voice taps at the edges of your consciousness, muffled as though she’s standing outside the chamber door instead of seated right beside you. You ignore it and push another loop through the fabric.

“Not a cloud in the sky,” she persists, gentle. “Perfect conditions for a walk, if you feel up to it. I could even accompany you, if you wish?”

There was a time, not long ago, when Hyeri’s prodding would have set your teeth on edge. But you do not have the energy to muster any such emotion. And so you give Hyeri the same answer you’d given her the day before. And the day before that one. The same hushed words, spoken in the same decisive tone.

“I’m content to stay in today, Hyeri. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

She drops the matter with a quiet sigh.

It’s unlike her. The Hyeri you know would fret and fuss for as long as it took for you to relent; until you had no choice but to quit your chamber simply to enjoy a moment’s peace. The Hyeri you know would be shooing you away from the fire, prattling on about how one errant thread could catch and send your entire dress up in flames. 

But the Hyeri seated beside you does none of those things.

So you sink deeper into the plush chair perched in front of the hearth and watch the flames dance. The embers at the base of the fire glow deep red, putting off a heat blistering enough to scorch your bare feet. 

But you cannot feel it. You cannot feel anything.

You’ve surrendered to the weariness now; let it consume you. Allowed it to fuse itself to the very marrow of your bones. For days you’ve done little beyond sleep and spend your few waking hours seated by the fire, needle in hand. 

Twice you’ve left your chamber and neither time by choice, but rather because the King had insisted on your presence at dinner. To what end you still cannot be sure seeing as you’d taken both meals in stilted, awkward silence. Apparently His Grace is far less bold without a bit of ale in him.

“The hunting party leaves in three days' time,” Hyeri says. “There’s been quite a fuss in the kitchens over it. They’re taking enough supplies to travel for months, by the looks of it.”

You make a non-committal sound under your breath. Hyeri forges on, undeterred.

“There will be a send-off in the courtyard, of course. Will you – “ she pauses to choose her words carefully. “ – Well, I assume that you’ll want to see the King off.”

You do not want to see the King off. Were it not for his pigheaded adamance that you keep up appearances for the sake of this sham marriage, you’d be content to never see him again. But you’ll not tell Hyeri that. Not when she’s made it clear where her loyalties lie and not when she still holds on to the delusion that one day you’ll decide to embrace your role as the placeholder by the King’s side.

So you say nothing at all. The fire pops as one of the logs crumbles in the hearth.

Hyeri clears her throat. “Your Grace, I only want what’s best for you. Surely you know that by now? And I don’t want people casting aspersions, which they most certainly will do if you’re not there to see the King off. The staff is already asking questions about why you’ve not been seen in days.”

“Has he asked for me?”

Hyeri blinks. “The King?”

“Yes, Hyeri,” you say slowly. “The King. Has His Grace requested my presence at this send-off ceremony?”

The color seems to drain from her soft face as she admits, “No, Your Grace. He hasn’t.”

“Then I see no point in worrying yourself over the matter.”

You return your attention to your needlework and place another yellow thread in the center of your Mugunghwa flower’s pistil. The flames crackle in perfect, undisturbed silence. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“It’s cold out there today,” Hyeri says. “But if you bundle up tight, it’s quite pleasant in the sunshine.”

“Thank you, Hyeri,” you reply evenly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it. You have no intention of leaving this chamber today and much to your relief, the King did not require your presence at his evening meal the night prior. Hyeri had ordered your dinner sent up and then proceeded to dine with you herself. An insidious voice inside your mind whispers she’s afraid to leave you alone.

You ignore it.

Instead you try to focus on your Mugunghwa flower. You study it, blinking until the riot of colors before you has clear, defined boundaries – fiery crimson at the center which slowly bleeds into a subdued pink which in turn dissipates into a milky white. You pull fresh white thread through your needle and set to work on the flower’s edges.

“Your needlework is much improved, Your Grace,” Hyeri notes. “You’ll be finished with that pattern by the end of the day, as I see it.”

You thumb over the fabric and consider her assessment. She’s right, you’ll be done with this pattern in a matter of hours. And the only thing that awaits on the other side is another pattern. And another. On and on and on. 

“Perhaps when you’re done, you’ll consider mending this for me,” Hyeri says, gesturing towards her lap. “My eyesight is not what it used to be. I’m terrified of ruining the old man’s beautiful design.”

You set your embroidery down and turn to look at Hyeri, gaze falling to the opulent plum fabric in her hands. Slowly, the details sharpen into focus. The rich velvet trim. The gold threads glinting back at you in the firelight. The room begins to tilt.

“A footman found it in the woods last night,” Hyeri explains, her cadence slow and deliberate. “By the stables.”

You are keenly aware of the way she watches you in the weighty seconds that follow, one gray eyebrow lifted as she awaits a response. You do your best to appear calm despite the panic clawing its way up your throat.

You’d lost that shawl in your mad dash back to the castle. You’d been tearing through the dark, paying little heed to the branches that tugged at your dress and occasionally scraped at your hands and face. One of them had caught the shawl, but you’d been so desperate to reach the refuge of your chamber that you’d hardly noticed when it was wrenched away. You’d had, after all, your humiliation to keep you warm.

And you’d earned it, hadn’t you? With your drunkenness. With your recklessness. You’d let every one of your baser emotions take control. You’d risked every advantage of your carefully curated life just to throw yourself like a wanton at the feet of one of your husband’s closest confidantes. Like a fool. 

When Lord Jung turned on his heels that night and abandoned you in the woods, he’d done far more than just rebuff your clumsy advances. 

He’d finished you. 

“Your Grace?” Hyeri’s curiosity is evident. “Are you alright?”

Hardly. Your mouth waters as your stomach threatens to cast up what little you’ve eaten today. One glimpse of that garment had been enough to bring a torrent of memories rushing back; vivid, awful memories that you’ve worked hard to banish to the deepest recesses of your mind. You grip the arm of your chair hard enough to make your knuckles go white. 

“Your Grace?”

You don’t answer until you’re sure that you won’t retch the very moment you open your mouth. Hyeri studies you in the interminable silence, lips parted in an expression of concern. Your tongue is thick when you finally collect yourself enough to speak.

“Please do thank the footman for me, Hyeri. And I think it best to leave the more intricate needlework to you.”

Hyeri stares as you reach for your needle and thread with trembling hands, but you don’t dare look her way. You try to place a loop at the edge of your flower but the Mugunghwa’s colors have gone blurry again and you’re forced to back the needle out and start over.

Perhaps there was a time when the Mugunghwa was as vivid as a rose. With petals of rich orange-red, opaque from pistil to tip. But perhaps it was asked to weather too many storms. Too many droughts. Too many winters. 

Perhaps the Mugunghwa looks the way it does today not because of how it was made, but rather what it’s had to endure. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first snow of the season arrives early.

You stand at your window and watch it fall, noting how quickly the fields turn from green to white. You press your fingertips to the windowpane and the cold seeps through it, chilling you instantly.

In the courtyard below, the horses are draped in heavy blankets. Stablehands scurry around them; dusting snow off their muzzles and checking their shoes. Footmen work in teams, sharing the weight of the heavy trunks they load on to waiting carts. 

“I’ll wear the blue walking dress today, Hyeri. The one with the white flowers on the bodice.”

“Your Grace?” Hyeri is on her feet at once to join you at the window. “You’ll see the king off, then?”

“I’ll need the matching cape too,” you direct, brushing her question aside as you watch the newly-packed trunks take on a layer of white snow. “If the conditions are as awful as they look.”

“Yes of course,” Hyeri breathes, hurriedly whirling about the chamber behind you as she gathers your things. In a matter of minutes she has you dressed and seated, fingers twisting your hair into a plait at the base of your neck. She loops the plait and pins it into an elegant bun, fingers smoothing the hairs into place before her hands come to rest on your shoulders. She squeezes them gently.

“I’ll not ask you why you’ve changed your mind, Your Grace,” she says softly. “But I’m so glad for it. It’s important that people see you. For them, of course, but for you most of all. And besides, you look so lovely.” 

You don’t feel lovely. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all. And if Hyeri had pressed you as to why you’ve changed your mind, she’d not be satisfied with your answer. You’ve changed your mind because you cannot bear to cause more conflict with the King. Because you have no desire to create a scandal that you’ll somehow have to fix. You’ve changed your mind because you have no fight in you left. This is the path of least resistance.

You rise from your seat and Hyeri’s hands fall away. She clutches them to her chest, rheumy eyes soft with sadness as she watches you take your place at the window once again. Outside the snow falls harder, and you watch the footmen leave deep divots in it with their boots.

“Tell me when it’s time,” you say quietly.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You can scarcely recognize anyone in the throng of well-wishers gathered outside the castle.

They’re all bundled tight in winter coats and pelts; some wear hats and scarves. The snow doesn’t help either, and from the moment you enter the courtyard you’re grateful for your cape. Not only for the warmth of its thick lining, but for its hood, too. It affords you a bit of privacy in this otherwise very public affair.

You weave your way through the crowd and do your best not to make eye contact with anyone. Surely Boram is among those gathered with sweet Yeona in tow, here to see Lord Min off on his adventure. But you cannot bring yourself to seek her out – not when she’s already called on you twice without so much as an explanation for your disappearance. At any rate, you don’t think you could bear to look at her right now. To see the worry and concern you know you’ll find written all over her face. 

So you keep your hood pulled tight and your eyes down as you set off in search of the King. And you have no trouble finding him despite your reticence to make your presence known. It’s not just that he stands a head taller than most. It’s in his stature, in his stance – in that self-assured air that seems to come naturally to those born with power. He catches sight of you as he’s speaking to a footman and pauses, gaze locking on yours.

Your legs feel heavy. Your boots sink into the snow as you approach, each step more tiring than the last. When you are finally standing before the King you bow, dipping your head as you peer at him from beneath your hood.

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, lips twitching into a cautious half-smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come down to say goodbye.”

“And yet I have,” you respond evenly. A snowflake lands on one of his long eyelashes and you resist the urge to reach out and sweep it away. “So I do very much hope that you are pleased.”

“I am pleased.”

The King reaches for your gloved hand. He waits a heartbeat before bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your leather-clad fingers. Beneath your hood, your cheeks burn. You withdraw your hand quickly and let it fall to your side. 

“Well. Then. I wish you a comfortable journey,” you say. “As well as a safe return.”

The two of you stand there for an awkward moment, the King’s expression expectant as though he’s waiting for you to say more. But you have no more to say. The words you’ve already offered him will do. They’re as empty as the vows you’d exchanged little more than a year ago.

“We ought to head out, Your Grace. We’re losing precious daylight and this weather will slow us as it is.”

The voice comes from somewhere in your periphery, but you need not see the man to know exactly who it is. Suddenly each breath you draw is painful, the frigid air pricking your lungs like a thousand tiny needles. You will yourself not to turn towards it, not to react in any way. 

“You’re right.” The King acknowledges Lord Jung with a brusque nod. “Have the stablehands check over the horses one more time.”

You won’t look at him. You can’t look at him. Not when the sound of his voice reverberates through every wounded place inside of you. Not when you can close your eyes and still feel the hot trickle of embarrassment that slid down your spine that night in the woods. But then he leaves you with no other choice.

“Your Grace.” 

The low timbre of Lord Jung’s greeting makes the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. You turn to him, slowly, and his dark eyes briefly connect with yours before he bends into a shallow bow. Your knees nearly give way when you return the gesture, along with a subdued, “My Lord.”

What must this man think of you now? What has he told the King? The nausea you’ve managed to stave off for days returns at once. 

You startle when a gloved hand wraps around your forearm and the King beckons you to face him. You flick your eyes up to meet his and find that they – along with his countenance – have darkened. By now Lord Jung is yards away, tending to his horse as the hunting party readies to embark. Your lungs ache with each deep pull of cold air.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Not at all,” you insist, contriving a weak laugh. “I’m not accustomed to this kind of cold, is all. I’ll need to go back inside to get warm.”

The King’s brows furrow as he studies you. But you maintain your mild expression until his face relaxes and the disquiet subsides. He leans in to place a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Hyeri assures me you’ll be well taken care of in my absence.”

You lift the corners of your mouth in a gesture that you hope will pass for a smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Be well.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hyeri does not protest when you ask to undress upon your return to the chamber. Nor does she fuss when you climb into bed with the morning sun still high in the sky. She simply presses a soft kiss to your hair, draws the curtains tight and leaves you with a whispered rest well. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Your chamber is dark when you wake but for the soft glow of a fire. 

As you come to, so does an ache in your temples, a quiet thud that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Your muscles protest as you roll onto your side to find Hyeri seated at the hearth. 

She’s yet to realize that you’ve roused and so you lie there for a while, studying her. She has a strange, far-away look in her eyes as she stares into the flames, her grip tight on a book in her lap. After a few minutes she opens the book and begins to thumb through it and you watch, curious, as she pulls a worn piece of vellum from between its pages.

She unfolds the missive and reads over it, face crumpling as she fights back a sob.

“Hyeri?”

The older woman nearly jumps out of her skin when you call out to her.  She hastily folds the vellum and slips it back into her book, smoothing down her dress as she stands at attention. “Your Grace,” she says, voice huskier than usual, “I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

“It’s alright,” you say absently, voice rough with sleep. You steal a look at the book left lying in Hyeri’s chair as she hurries over to bring you some water. Her countenance is that of someone who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. You stare at the glass she offers you, watching the water slosh back and forth. 

Is she trembling?

“You ought to eat something,” she admonishes gently, waving a hand towards the food waiting on the table nearby. “You slept through the evening meal. I had my mind made up to wake you if you’d gone much longer, but thankfully I didn’t have to. So come,” she beckons, “Eat something. It will do you some good.”

Your stomach twinges at the mention of food. It’s been in upheaval for days now, and as such it’s been far too long since you had a proper meal. But whatever awaits in the dishes nearby smells enticing enough, so you allow Hyeri to help you out of bed. Your muscles are stiff with disuse and you grimace as you make your way to the table. Your eagle-eyed handmaid takes note.

“A long, hot bath will do you some good, too,” Hyeri remarks as you spoon lukewarm bulgogi onto your plate. You eat slowly as she busies herself with lighting the torches and stripping the linens from your bed. “I’ll have the maids bring up the water after you’ve had a chance to eat.”

You’ve only managed a few bites of the bulgogi before there’s an army of maids filing into the chamber, flitting about the room like a swarm of bees. You watch the entire affair in a daze as the maids make quick work of the tasks set before them: tidying and sweeping the chamber, draping your bed in fresh linens, filling the tub with steaming hot water. And when all the commotion is finally done, Hyeri dismisses them with strict orders not to return unless they are sent for. 

You are grateful at once for the silence that immediately falls over the chamber. Even Hyeri leaves you for a while, disappearing into the antechamber to prepare your toilette. But when you glance over at her chair, Hyeri’s book is gone. Along with whatever was written on the vellum inside.

“Come now, Your Grace,” Hyeri says, at last. “I’m ready for you.” 

She leads you into the bathing chamber, where the air is humid and sweet. Then she helps you out of your rumpled nightgown and holds out her hand. You accept it, leaning into her as you step over the tub’s steep rim. Slowly you ease yourself down, sucking in a breath as the heat blazes a path up your feet to your legs and thighs. The water is hot almost to the point of pain but you withstand it, sinking until it laps at your shoulders.

“I used rose oil tonight,” Hyeri says, kneeling behind you and cupping your head in her hands. “I thought you could do with a bit of pampering.” 

The delicate fragrance envelopes you, carried on the curls of steam that rise just above the water. You breathe in the soft, floral scent and close your eyes; try to clear your mind. Hyeri presses her thumbs to your temples and starts making firm, soothing circles. 

“I remember the very first moment I saw you,” Hyeri muses softly. “I’d been so impressed by your poise.” Her hands move to the column of your neck and she kneads at the tight muscles there, pulling the tension from them with each pass. “You were little more than a girl then, but I could still see that you were lovely, inside and out.”

Were you? You’re not sure that you would even recognize the girl that stepped out of that carriage so long ago. You’d been so idealistic – so certain of the comfortable life that you would find here. Of the affluence and status and yes, perhaps, even love that you’d enjoy once you’d ascended to the throne. But that girl had been a nitwit. The woman you are now will never entertain such foolish notions again.

“I know that so much of this has not been easy for you,” Hyeri continues, setting to work on your shoulders. “I know that there have been days when you’ve struggled to put one foot in front of the other. But you have. And that means something.”

It does mean something. It means that your mother’s great work is finally complete. She’d spent her entire life molding you into the polished, empty creature you are today. If only she could see you now; see how biddable and pathetic you’ve become. It would fill her to overflowing with joy.

“Anyhow, when you’ve lived as long as I have you realize that nothing is forever,” Hyeri says thoughtfully. “Same as what you’re going through right now, Your Grace. It won’t be forever.”

Nonsense. Hyeri cannot change the King’s heart. She cannot save you from a lifetime of awkward exchanges and forced smiles simply because she believes things can change. And she cannot will a child into your womb simply by decreeing that it should be so. The swell of emotion that surges inside you is more powerful than anything you’ve felt in days. And it’s anger. 

“Hyeri, stop,” you order tersely. “No more.”

Her face falls at that, features going slack with dismay. But she heeds you, holding back whatever she’d meant to say next. Then she reaches for the soap and begins to wash your hair in silence. You chase the beads of oil that float along the surface of the water with a fingertip, cheeks hot with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to be ugly to Hyeri. 

But then you’ve done many things of late that you hadn’t meant to.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s alright, Your Grace. I know you meant no harm by it.” Hyeri dries her hands off and then rises to her feet, looking down at you with a kindness you do not deserve. “I’ll leave you to soak for a bit. You can have a few minutes of peace before I return.”

You’ve been unfair to her, haven’t you? The realization cuts you deep as you watch her retreat from the antechamber. She’s served you in so many ways since your arrival here: as caretaker and as advisor and as confidante. And how have you thanked her? By being cold and distant. By unleashing all the frustration and resentment you feel towards the King on her. And what of the tears you’d seen her hold back while she’d been sitting by the fire? Have you been so mired in your own anguish that you’ve neglected to see hers? 

The water has begun to cool and your skin has begun to pebble by the time Hyeri returns.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she says upon her return, helping you out of the water. “The time got away from me. You must be freezing.”

“Only a little,” you lie, teeth chattering. Hyeri sets to drying you, throwing the damp linens on the floor to catch the rivulets of water that fall from your hair. Her dark eyes dart from your shoulders to your neck to your ears, but they do not meet yours. 

“Is something wrong, Hyeri?”

“No, no. Not at all,” she answers quickly, “Just a bit tired.” Her reassurance rings hollow because she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as she bends to reach for the rose oil. When she straightens, you catch her hand with yours, stilling her. 

“What were you reading tonight?”

Hyeri’s mouth opens in surprise and then quickly closes.

“I saw you sitting by the fire,” you admit. “You were reading something that looked to upset you.”

“And here I thought you were sleeping,” Hyeri grumbles, taking her hand back. She pours the oil into one palm and then warms it before pressing it to your neck, letting a long moment pass before she speaks. 

“It didn’t upset me,” she explains. “Not in a sad way. Those were happy tears, I suppose.” She pours oil into your hands and begins to gently massage it into your fingers. “It was a letter from my Sanghun, back when he’d been courting me so many years ago. You might find this hard to believe, but I wasn’t always the old woman you see now. I had more than my fair share of suitors.”

It’s not hard to believe. Time has been kind to Hyeri. Her features, though soft with age, are still striking. She must have been quite fetching as a young woman. 

“What made you choose Sanghun?” you ask.

“I don’t know that I had a choice in the matter at all,” she laughs as she helps you slip into a nightgown. “The moment I saw Sanghun, no other man existed for me. It was him or no one.” Her eyes go soft with a faraway look as she recounts the memory. “The other girls thought him too practical, too serious. But I saw a side of him that no one else saw. A part of him that was just for me.”

“You must miss him,” you say gently.

“Every day,” Hyeri admits. “Ten years he’s been gone and I think of him every day. Those letters remind me of what it’s like to be young and so in love that you’ll not see rhyme or reason. But –” she trails off and waves a hand as if fending off fresh tears. “Never mind that. Come sit.”

It’s unclear which of you she’s sparing from the memory. But as Hyeri begins working her comb through the lengths of your hair, you’re struck by how shortsighted you’ve been. There is suffering in never having the chance to love and be loved, certainly. But there is a different kind of suffering that comes with having that kind of love and then losing it. The thought humbles you.

Hyeri comes to stand behind you and begins working your wet hair into a loose plait.

“I’m sorry, Hyeri,” you say softly, gaze dropping to your hands. “I’m sorry that I haven’t thought to ask you about Sanghun. I haven’t been myself and I’ve just – “

Hyeri silences you with a soft hush. She secures your braid with a piece of linen and then drops to her knees to look her in the eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says softly, stroking a hand down the side of your face. “Nor do you owe anyone an explanation for feeling the things you feel.”

Her warmth thaws the frozen places inside you. It causes tears to spring to your eyes. And when she takes your hand in hers, you squeeze it gently — hoping that the gesture can convey the feelings you can’t put into words.

“Now put all of that behind you,” she says, smiling through her own unshed tears. “And come sit with me for a while.”

Hyeri leads the way into the chamber and you follow, only to stop short when the hearth comes into view.

When your gaze falls on the silhouetted figure near the fire, you nearly scream. You try to scream. But fear seizes your body, inch by inch – rooting your feet to the floor and closing around your throat like a shackle. You have no choice but stand there, staring in horrified silence as the figure begins to emerge from the shadows. In the span of one frantic heartbeat, the figure has a shape. In the next, it has a face. 

And in the next, it has a name.

“H-Hyeri?” you stammer, swaying on your feet as your legs threaten to give way. Your handmaid doesn’t answer and so you call out again, voice quivering. “Hyeri?”

You cannot take your eyes off the man standing before you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and so you stare as the firelight flickers over his stark, beautiful features. Shadows dance across his clenched jaw and knit brow. And his eyes – those dark eyes you know so well are fathomless, inscrutable – smoldering coal set in unblemished, unforgiving stone.

“Hyeri!“ you call out to her again, desperate – reluctantly tearing your gaze from the man to look for her. And when your eyes finally land on Hyeri, you find your handmaid standing near the chamber door, hands clasped together tightly. Streaks of color running up the thin skin of her neck and into her soft cheeks.

But she’s not surprised, is she? Not flummoxed in any way by finding Lord Jung lying in wait inside your private rooms. The realization comes over you slowly, wholly, until a strangle tingle runs from your scalp to the tips of your fingers. She’s arranged this, hasn’t she? 

“W-What is this?” The words leave you as more air than sound, but they ring out clear enough in the silence of your chamber. Lord Jung and Hyeri exchange a long look, but neither utters a sound.

“Someone speak!” you cry, wincing at the hysteria in your voice. 

Hyeri finally clears her throat, her face now fully aflame. “I believe the two of you – “ she pauses, swallowing hard. “Well, I believe the two of you have some things you need to discuss.”

Discuss? You and Lord Jung? Suddenly the panic you feel metastasizes, growing into something much darker. Has he come to admonish you, then? To punish you for your disloyalty? Has he come to lay bare every humiliating detail of that horrible night at the stables for Hyeri to hear? 

“No,” you whisper. You do your best to appear composed, despite the way your knees tremble. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Hyeri. I have nothing to discuss with Lord Jung.”

“Yes, you do.” The man in question speaks for the first time, his voice little more than a low rasp. “And we will.”

“No,” you repeat your refusal, shaking your head as though the movement will help sort your jumbled thoughts. “No. You have no right to turn up here and say what I will and will not do. And where did you come from? I saw you leave. I saw you mount your horse and ride off with – “

You stop yourself before you can finish the thought, flushing fiercely at the unspoken mention of the King. Your tedious, disinterested husband would be anything but if he had any inkling of this clandestine encounter.

“I was called back to the castle,” Lord Jung explains evenly. “A palace rider came bearing a missive bidding that I return at once to address an issue at the stables. I was but an hour’s ride away at the time.” Once again, he looks to Hyeri and they exchange another one of those maddening looks.

“But there was no issue at the stables,” you deduce quietly, the pieces falling into place, one by one. “Was there, Hyeri?” Your handmaid seems to shrink beneath the weight of the accusation in your eyes. 

“No, Your Grace,” she confesses weakly, “There was not.”

Oh, but your head is truly spinning now – each new revelation more disorienting than the last. How long have these two been conspiring together? What does Hyeri know about what’s transpired between you and Lord Jung? What does he know about the many private things you’ve shared with Hyeri? Both thoughts cause the bile in your stomach to rise.

“You can leave us now, Hyeri,” Lord Jung says. “Thank you.”  

Leave you? Has the man lost all good sense? You open your mouth to protest, but when met with the intensity in his glittering dark eyes, words fail you. You just stand there, mouth agape, rendered mute and immobile with shock. You look over at Hyeri, who has fixed her pleading eyes to your wide ones, her expression urging you to comply. And though you cannot make sense of a single thing that you’ve witnessed tonight, you do.

“Very well, My Lord,” she says quietly. “Rest well, Your Grace. The staff rouses at dawn.”

And with that Hyeri takes her leave, the chamber door closing behind her with a heavy thud that echoes the one in your chest.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Once you are alone with Lord Jung, you realize how truly vulnerable you are.

With little more than a thin nightgown to cover you, he can see far more of you than would ever be considered proper. All it would take was one shout from the man to bring the guards running, to compromise you both to the point of expulsion. Perhaps worse.

But the situation is far weightier than that. 

You’ve been vulnerable to this man from nearly the first moment you saw him. You’d been weak to his attention and charms. You’d allowed him to see you in ways that no one else has: not Chaehee, not Hyeri and certainly not the King. And the only time in your life that you’d thrown caution to the wind – and acted with abandon, not restraint – he’d mortified you. The memory of that night is a wound that’s just barely begun to heal, and now here Lord Jung stands, poised to pour salt on it. 

You’ll not allow him to devastate you again. 

“Go on then,” you say, lifting your chin and speaking with feigned bravado. “You’ve gone to great lengths to speak to me, so speak. I assume you’ll enlighten me as to which matter is so pressing that you felt the need to steal into my chamber and risk ruin for us both.”

“I know what I’m risking,” he growls. Then he stops to collect himself, exhaling deeply as he shoves a hand through his hair. “I know what we both stand to lose. But I could not come to you any other way.”

“Why have you come to me at all?” you demand. “You made your feelings quite clear the night of the festival, did you not?” You can no longer contain your bitterness and it drips from your every word. “You should go back to your sovereign, My Lord. Back to your King.”

Lord Jung looks stricken when you use his own words against him. There is a despair in his dark eyes that might have pained you once, but not now. Not anymore.

“You have every right to be angry with me, Your Grace,” he acknowledges. “And if you bid me to leave, then I will do so. But not without telling you the truth. You deserve to hear the truth.”

“Everything here is a lie. Perhaps you, most of all.”

He looks at you for a long moment before turning towards the hearth to gaze into the fire. Orange-red light illuminates his profile, sweeping across his smooth brow, over the elegant slope of his nose and down to his strong jaw. He is still the most beautiful – and most terrible man you’ve ever known.

“The King said he would give her up,” he says woodenly, staring into the flames. “When your marriage was announced, he swore it. And I believed him.”

Every muscle in your body pulls tight.

“I knew that he loved her. We all did. But he vowed that he would respect his father’s wishes and I’ve never known him to be a duplicitous man. I’ve never known him to say one thing and do another. And when I realized that he’d been deceiving you, deceiving us all, I – “ he stops and shakes his head at the memory. “ – I wasn’t thinking clearly. I confronted him at once and demanded that he explain himself.”

The argument in the courtyard. The memories come back to you in an instant. The way they’d both looked so irate, the way their voices would rise and then fall. Lord Jung turning his back on the King and stalking away into the dark. 

The tightness in your chest is unbearable now, viselike. 

“I was so damned angry,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “Never once in my life have I imagined putting my hands on the King, but in that moment – I don’t know. I don’t know what I might have done had I not walked away. But I confronted him because I had to know why.”

He rips his gaze from the fire and turns to you, eyes flashing.

“And do you know what he told me? Do you know what he said when I asked him why he would insult you by keeping a lover? He told me that he couldn’t stay away. That he’d tried to do the honorable thing but he couldn’t stay away.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The tremor in your voice belies your pathetic attempt at composure. “If you mean to cause me pain, it’s too late. I’ve known about the King’s lover since the early days of this marriage, and I’ve accepted it. Just as I’ve accepted that I’ll never amount to more than a trinket he dusts off to show to his people.”

Lord Jung takes a step towards you, his beautiful face hard in the firelight. There’s a maelstrom behind his eyes, a polite violence that sets you to shiver.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to understand,” he says. “I want to hate him. I have tried to hate him. But I cannot. I have no position of honor to stand on. No rightful claim to virtue. I have no right to condemn the King for his sins when I have so many of my own to account for.”

“I – I don’t understand,” you say weakly.

“I have no right – “ his voice breaks, thick with emotion, “-- I have no right to denounce the King for coveting another woman.” He drags a hand down his face, distraught. “Not when I have spent every single day since you stepped out of that carriage coveting you.”

You stop breathing entirely.

“So no,” he continues, voice graveled. “I cannot bring myself to hate the King. And you were right to think me a liar. I’ve pretended that my nearness to you was benign, nothing more than an act of service. I’ve tried to make myself look honorable to you, when I have been anything but. I’ve been a liar since the moment I met you.”

You are trembling now, head to toe. Rendered speechless by Lord Jung’s confession. Slowly, the maelstrom in his eyes starts to recede. He looks as vulnerable now as you feel. 

“You deserved to know the truth,” he says quietly. “If from no one else, than from me.” 

There is a heavy silence in the seconds it takes you to find your voice.

“My Lord, I – “

“Don’t call me that,” he pleads. “Please. Not now. Not when I’ve come to you like this.”

“Very well, Hoseok. But you sent me away. In the woods that night, I’d asked you to – “ you stop, not wanting to say the words aloud. “What’s changed? Why are you telling me this now?”

“I have tried to leave you alone.” His voice is ragged now, anguished. “I thought if I could just put some distance between us – if I rose earlier and worked harder and retired later – that I could exhaust this need out of me. But I can’t.” Torment is etched into every line of his beautiful face. It makes you want to reach out and touch him but you resist, uncertainty keeping your hands pinned to your sides.

“I cannot war with myself any longer,” he says hoarsely. “I cannot continue to lie to you or myself. And if he is not willing to give you the things you desire, then I will.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, your neck. It gathers in your belly, too.

“So if you’re asking me why now?” he says, taking another step towards you, closing what little distance remains. “It’s because I couldn’t stay away.”

He touches you then, takes your face into one warm hand and strokes his fingers down your temple, smooths the pad of his thumb over your lips. The featherlight touch raises goosebumps all over your skin. It’s more intimate than anything you’ve ever experienced with the King. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. 

“No,” you breathe. “I want so much more than that.”

He looks at you with such heat that the warmth in your belly goes molten. Then he presses his mouth to yours and slowly coaxes it open with gentle strokes of his tongue. He tastes of whiskey and smells of fine, heady soap and he does not relent until you are panting. Moisture gathers at the juncture of your thighs, beneath your thin nightgown.

But suddenly you are apprehensive. You’ve no idea how to kiss a man properly, much less satisfy him as a lover. And you’re not sure that you could ever live down the shame of disappointing him. When he finally pulls away to look down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, you have no choice but to confess.

“There’s something you should know, Hoseok,” you say, the sound of his given name still foreign in your mouth. “It’s just that – well, I am by no means a maiden but in some respects, I might as well be. I know almost nothing about how to please you.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, and for one terrifying moment you fear it’s for you.

“That is through no fault of your own,” he says darkly. “And if he’s been too much of a fool to see to your needs, then so be it.” He dips his head to press a kiss to your ear, then whispers, “Your pleasure will be mine and mine alone.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hoseok spends an inordinate amount of time tending to the fire. 

You sit on the edge of your bed and watch him, feverish with anticipation as he moves the weakest logs and adds fresh ones. Once he’s satisfied, once the chamber is glowing with fresh flames and warmth, he cleans his hands and comes to you.

Your heart rattles harder with each step he takes towards your bed. 

When he’s finally standing at the foot of your bed, he takes off his belt. And then reaches behind his head to pull his tunic away. The sight of his bare chest is enough to make your mouth go dry. His body is lithe and sleek and strong, his muscles rippling as he puts his hands down on either side of you and lowers his mouth to yours for a kiss.

“Tonight is about you, pretty bird,” he murmurs, trailing more kisses across your cheek, down your neck. “So I want you to tell me everything you want.”

“I want to see you.” The words leave you in a rush an account of the way his mouth moves from the juncture of your neck and to the hollow of your collarbone. “All of you.”

Hoseok wastes no time in straightening to his full height to remove his breeches, and then his smallclothes. And try as you might not to stare, it cannot be helped. You’ve never been able to study a man like this. Not even the King.

“Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he groans.

And then you are cautiously reaching for him, wrapping a hand around the length of him, marveling at the way he pulses in your palm. You run your fingertips down the skin of his shaft, awestruck by how silky and warm he is. But when your fingers reach the blunt head of him, he flinches.

“I don’t – I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “Did I hurt you?

“No, no. You didn’t hurt me,” he assures you, his voice sounding a bit strangled. “I’m just sensitive there, is all.”

“Will you show me, then?” you ask, curiosity far stronger than any self-consciousness you might feel. “Show me how to touch you.”

“Of course.”

He sits down on the bed beside you, taking hold of your hand. And then you watch with a heady mix of confusion and excitement as he takes your fingers into his mouth one, by one. He finishes the unfamiliar preparation by licking a long stripe up the palm of your hand. The stroke of his tongue sends a bolt of desire racing through you.

“It’s easier like this,” he explains, guiding your hand back to his length. You take hold of him again and this time he wraps his hand around yours. He moves your hand for you, up and down the length of him, until you can feel him growing hotter and harder in your hand. You’re fascinated by it all – by how firmly he wants to be touched, by how labored his breathing becomes, by the way the muscle and sinew in his legs seem to twitch at your command.

He leans over to capture your mouth as he begins to buck into your hand in earnest. And after a while his own hand falls away, leaving you to take control of his pleasure. And what an intoxicating power he’s given you – taut muscles in his abdomen flexing with each of his strained breaths.

“That feels so good, pretty bird,” he groans, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “Just right. Your hand feels so good around me like this.” 

The wetness you’d felt between your thighs when he’d kissed you the first time returns, and each sound of pleasure he rewards you with makes you wetter and warmer. He is rock hard in your hand now, the dusky head of his manhood shiny with moisture. You watch a bead of it appear at the tip and you slide your fingertips over it, transfixed by how smooth it feels. Beside you, Hoseok shudders.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says, breathless. “I’ll be of no use to you if you keep that up for much longer.”

You have half a mind to protest, but then his hands are sliding over the thin material of your nightgown, cupping your breasts through the gauzy fabric. He takes one of your nipples between his fingers and teases it until it’s standing at attention. You sigh.

“Can I take this off?” he whispers, pulling at the nightgown. 

You hesitate. Not even the King has seen you nude. Not once has he ever asked you to remove your nightgown and so for a long time, that is what you’d assumed he preferred. That is, until you’d caught him in bed with his lover. 

“Look at me,” Hoseok says, sensing your anxiety. He tips your chin up until your gaze meets his own. “I’ll not ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to use my mouth and hands on you. On all of you.”

You inhale deeply, flustered by the way he speaks so plainly about his desires. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve longed for all this time. And that’s what he’s promised you, isn’t it? Pleasure. Pleasure that will be his and his alone. 

You draw your nightgown up to your thighs and then raise up to pull it even higher. When you’ve finally discarded it, when there is nothing left between you and Hoseok you flush, looking away.

“You have nothing to hide,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful. Believe me, pretty bird – you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Emboldened by the praise, you draw nearer to him and trace the outline of his heart-shaped mouth with one finger. And then it is your lips that find his; your tongue that moves past the seam of his lips and your teeth that find the shell of his ear. You thread your fingers in his hair, and he groans, gathering you close.

“You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve dreamed of you like this,” he says, gently laying you back on the bed. “You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve taken myself in hand to these fantasies.”

Oh, but you can imagine, can’t you? The few times you’d dared to try and seek your own pleasure, it had been him in your mind’s eye as your hand was between your legs. It had always been him. 

Hoseok’s mouth leaves yours and when it  finds the tip of one aching breast, you gasp.

“Do you like that?” he goads, laving your nipple with his tongue, taking it between his teeth. The pang of pleasure he incites in you is so sharp, you cry out. “Your body is so responsive,” he murmurs. “So damned responsive.”

There is only so much of that particular torture you can take, and so when his mouth finally leaves your breasts you exhale a sigh of relief. But then his mouth is on your sternum, and then your stomach, and then –

You freeze.

“I want to kiss you here,” Hoseok explains, cupping your mound with one large hand. “I promised you pleasure and this is the surest way to it. Will you let me?”

He looks up at you from the edge of the bed, his dark hair wild and his dark eyes glossy with desire, his mouth hovering over your most secret place. Your pulse skitters, heart pounding erratically at the thought of him kissing you there.

“Is it – is it proper?” you ask, chiding yourself at once for asking such a stupid question. Your face flames when Hoseok raises a brow. “I don’t know that I’ve ever thought to consider the … propriety of such an act,” he says slowly. “But I know that you’ll enjoy it if you allow me to show you. And if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll stop.”

In the seconds that follow, you think about the way he’d let you take him in hand. How he’d showed you how to bring him pleasure, without reserve. How powerful you’d felt when he’d been shuddering under your touch. He’d trusted you, hadn’t he? Just as you now must trust him.

“Alright,” you whisper, nodding your assent. “I trust you.”

He grins at you then, wickedly, before lowering his mouth to your mons. And then he is kissing you there, softly, each brush of his lips moving lower and lower still. Until you feel the heat of his breath at your entrance. You tense.

“Relax for me,” he instructs, licking a long, wet stripe up the length of you. The touch sends a frisson of sensation shooting through your limbs. “Close your eyes and try to think of nothing but this.”

And then he sets his tongue to the tiny pearl at your entrance. 

And at once, you see stars.

“H-Hoseok!” you gasp, your hips flying off the bed at the contact. The urge to snap your legs shut is almost as strong as the urge to push deeper into the pleasing press of his tongue. Almost.

But he pins your legs down with his arms and continues the onslaught, stroking and licking at you with his tongue, nipping at you with his teeth. You grab fistfulls of the duvet as though it might ground you somehow, keep you from bursting into flame.

And then he slides one long finger into you.

You are incoherent now, moaning and begging in broken sentences that do not make sense. But your body is responding in ways that your words cannot, hips moving in time with his mouth. Each pass of his tongue sends sharp spikes of pleasure to your core. You’d thought you’d known what this pleasure felt like, that perhaps you’d be able to reach it on your own someday, but never once had it been like this. 

And then you can feel it – the coil turning inside you, the desperate ascent to the one place you’ve never been able to reach. And it’s so close, so so close – the promise of whatever awaits on the other side strong enough to sate this nameless craving that you’ve felt for so long. It’s within your reach now, if only you can just hold on.

And then it stops.

He takes his mouth and tongue away and the pleasure vanishes. “Hoseok, no,” you cry, sapped of all energy, robbed once again of the relief you so desperately seek. “Please,” you beg weakly, “please.”

But he’s at your side now, the length of his body resting against yours, his manhood hard and hot against your leg. “Come now, pretty bird,” he soothes, “I didn’t bring you this high just to let you fall.”

He presses his lips to your ear at the same time he presses his fingers back to the aching bud between your thighs. “Go on then,” he whispers. “Fly.”

He brings every sensation he’d wrought from you rushing back with his fingers. His mouth hovers at your ear, whispering his encouragement until the coil inside you snaps. He must have known that you’d not be able to contain yourself when you came apart because he covers your mouth with his own, swallowing the sobs he wrenches from you, bringing you down slowly as you come apart.

And when you finally come to your senses again, when your breathing has evened and your heart has slowed and every part of you feels liquid and languid, he smiles.

“I couldn’t risk you waking the entire castle,” he explains apologetically, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you shudder through your quiet laughter, aftershocks of sensation rippling through you. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve never – never experienced anything like that.”

“That’s mine,” he murmurs, going up on one elbow. “Just as I told you it would be.”

Indeed. But what about his pleasure? The firm reminder of it remains pressed against you, the rigid length of it leaking onto your duvet. You reach for it and he draws a sharp breath through his clenched teeth.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you say softly, noting the way a muscle tics in his jaw. You wrap your hand around him and squeeze, astounded by how feverishly hot he feels. “Please.”

Hoseok nods, climbing over you and settling his hips between your thighs. He takes himself in hand and when you feel the blunt head of him at your entrance, you tense again. But he doesn’t enter you right away. Instead he looks down at you, his dark eyes brimming with emotion.

“Are you certain,” he breathes, his brow dotted with a fine sheen of sweat. “I need to hear you say it.”

You lift up to kiss him, pressing your lips to his. “Take me, Hoseok,” you whisper. “Now.”

And in one sure stroke, he’s buried to the hilt inside you. 

Bodies sealed, fates sealed.

The force of his entry steals the breath from your lungs. And though you’ve been breached before, it’s never felt like this. You’re still sensitive from the pleasure he’d given you only moments before and each of his thrusts only heightens the sensation. 

You cling to him as he rocks against you, closing your eyes to revel in the fullness. He buries his head in your neck and thrusts harder, the sound of his skin meeting yours just as gratifying as it is lurid. And when he reaches between you to press his fingers to your pearl once again, impossibly you feel fresh pleasure begin to bloom.

Broken phrases fall from his lips, a string of curses and blessings and everything in between. And his coarse language doesn’t scandalize you; in fact it only causes you to hurtle towards the peak faster. And then you’re flying again – flying apart, scattering into a million pieces. Crying into his mouth as your release explodes into color and tiny wisps of fire slowly drift back to the earth.

But you come back to yourself just as his rhythm has started to falter, just as the steady cant of his hips becomes so frenetic that you know his own release is near. You have only a moment to mourn the loss of his weight and his warmth before he’s on his knees before you.

You’ve never seen anything more erotic. Firelight flickers over him as he throws his head back, the cords in his neck clenching as he takes himself in hand. And then he is groaning, long and low, as his release spills on to the duvet.

Then he collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his arms, turning you both until he’s on his back and your head rests upon his chest. And then you both lie there for a while, skin to skin,  watching the flames cast shadows on the stone.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Neither one of you sleep, the threat of dawn too near to indulge in any such luxury. 

“What happens now, Hoseok?”

You ask the question after he’s made love to you a second time, both of you too exhausted to move. Hoseok inhales and exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I have no control over the world outside of that chamber door, pretty bird.”

You map the lines of his chest with one finger, thoughtful.

“You told me earlier that if the King would not give me the things I desire, you would. Did you mean that?”

“I did,” Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “If it’s within my power, then I will. I will give you anything I can.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. “Thank you.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You sit by the window and take in the afternoon sunlight, eyes drooping as you fight to stay awake.

You cannot ever remember being so tired. You sleep in fits and starts now, two or three hours at a time. And your body is too fatigued to talk up walking again, though the fresh air and exercise would do you some good. But you will walk again, soon. It won’t be long before you’re sitting with your birds and reading in the gentle Spring breeze.

Hyeri charges into the room like a bull, the tea tray in her hand clattering loudly. You narrow her eyes at her as she approaches and she fixes you with a sardonic look.“Oh, hush you,” she grumbles, setting the tray down on the table and walking over to you. “I wasn’t that loud.”

But her scowl falls away as her gaze locks on the baby at your breast, her muted eyes glowing with admiration. 

“That’s a fine Prince you have there, Your Grace,” she says softly. Then she looks up at you and her scowl returns. “Though at the rate you’re going, I’ll never get to hold him, will I? You’ve an entire staff to help you with him, and still you refuse. You’re going to make that boy rotten.”

You chuckle under your breath as you stroke your hand over the tuft of downy hair at your son’s crown. He blinks up at you with his huge dark eyes, and your heart is filled to overflowing with a love that you once you thought you’d never know. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

y,all i finished it! hahah okay so listen. if you'd like to talk to me, i'd love to hear from you. please consider reblogging and dropping me an ask 💕

[americasass91]

Use Me

Hello there! I know I’ve been M.I.A. for awhile. And literally haven’t written anything in like 8 months. I’ve been going through a shit ton. (Divorce, job change, all kinds of fun stuff) And I really lost my spark to write. And then the Fnaf movie came out. And seeing Josh Hutcherson on screen again lit a fire inside of me! That boy was my original crush (long before Evans). Peeta Mellark will forever have a piece of my heart. That being said, here’s a little something starring Mike Schmidt! I know, I know. It’s not a Chris Evans character? What’s wrong with me? Josh is fucking pretty. That’s what’s wrong with me. Like, I have a problem. Don’t get me wrong, I still think Chris is pretty and hope the best for him. But…he’s not been my muse lately. I said a long time ago that I wanted Josh to fuck me like a screen door in a hurricane. And it apparently still holds true today! So, I hope you enjoy it even though this is not a part of your regularly scheduled programming! Also, this takes place after the events of FNAF. Also, Also. Not sure if the people on my Taglist for Chris’ characters want to be tagged in Josh’s. If so, just let me know!

*DISCLAIMER*, If you’re under 18, this is nothing for you to be reading. Go away.

Words: 3.3k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, p in v smut, oral(f rec), unprotected sex, language, Mike being good, um I think that’s it

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“Listen Y/N, I’m gonna need you to stay and work the next shift.”

You turn around and look at your manager as if she had suddenly grown 3 heads. “Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you right. It sounded like you said you needed me to stay and work the next 8 hour shift.”

She rolls her eyes as she goes back to charting the current patient she’s working on. “You know that’s exactly what I said. Look, I have no other options. Hannah called off.”

“Again? This is like the third day in a row! How is that fair exactly?” You put your patient’s paperwork down and cross your arms over your chest as you stare at her expectantly.

She doesn’t even bother looking at you as she answers. “I don’t know what to tell you Y/N. She says she’s sick. I can’t have her come in if she’s sick.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “If by sick you mean hungover! She literally posted on Instagram last night about her night out on the town!”

She glances over at you. “There’s no way to prove if that was from last night or if it's older. Now just get back to work and I’ll let you have an hour and a half break instead of an hour.”

Now you’re pissed. “Yeah, see, that's not going to work for me. I’ve already been here for 16 hours because Kim was late. I’m not working Hannah’s whole ass shift. I have plans. I finally get to see my boyfriend after weeks because our schedules weren’t lining up. I’m not staying.”

“You really don’t have a choice. I wasn’t really asking you, I was telling you. There’s no one else to cover.”

Tears started welling up in your eyes out of frustration, exhaustion, and the possibility of not being able to see Mike again. “There’s a bunch of other people that can cover! What about you? You’ve only been here 8 hours. It would make more sense for you to stay.” 

She turns in her chair to look at you now. “Y/N, I have actual plans. My husband has a work party. And the rest of us have husbands and children to attend to. Not just ‘hanging out with my boyfriend.’

Now you’re seeing red. “So what you’re saying is because I’m the only nurse on this floor not married, I get the shitty end of the deal and have to cover when other people call off?”

“No. If you had legit plans then I’d be more sympathetic. But you haven’t even been with this boy that long. You don’t need to spend every free moment with him.”

“I’m sorry but who do you think you are? My mother? Because I’m a grown ass woman. And if I want to hang with my boyfriend on my time off then I’m going to! I don’t really need your approval for it. I’m not staying.”

You grab your Stanley and start heading towards the locker room to grab your stuff. 

“Y/N! If you don’t stay, then you can forget about this job.”

You turn around just before reaching the end of the hallway. “Well, then I guess you’re going to have to stick around and cover Hannah’s shift. Stick it up your ass, Jan. I quit.”

You don’t even stay to hear what she has to say. You quickly run to your locker and grab all of your stuff out before you start to cry. You can’t believe you just quit. And it’s not just because of your boyfriend. You haven’t been treated right since the first week you started. This was just the last straw. You just hope Mike won’t be disappointed in you.

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After a quick shower and outfit change at home, you reluctantly find yourself pulling into Mike’s driveway and getting out of the car. You haven’t gotten to see him in about 3 weeks and you know you look like shit from not only your long ass shift but also because you cried on the way over.

You head to the front door and open it up. He always leaves the door unlocked when he knows you’re coming over, and get hit with the aroma of pasta. Mike’s cooking you dinner. That makes you want to start crying all over again. He’s the sweetest.

“Babe? Is that you?” You hear him call from the back of the house. He quickly comes towards the front and sees you. His smile falters when he sees the state you’re in. “Babe, are you okay? What happened?” He quickly wraps you up in a hug. 

You try your best to keep it together but a few tears fall. “I quit today.”

He pulls out of the hug but keeps his arms around you. “You did? Babe, that’s fantastic!” He pulls you back in for another hug and picks you up to twirl you around.

Your mood instantly lifts and you can’t help but laugh. “It is?”

He sets you down and pulls you in for a quick kiss. “Of course it is! That place was treating you like shit! And Jan was a bitch! What finally made you do it?”

He lets go of all but your hand and leads you into the kitchen so he can continue making spaghetti. He sets you down at the table and pours you a nice big glass of wine he bought just for tonight. “I want to hear all about it.”

He goes back to the stove and continues making dinner while you rehash the last 16 hours.

He turns around with the sauce spoon in his hand and his other on his hip. “Hannah called off again? Jesus, how does she still have a job? Didn’t she do this to you last year during Christmas?”

Oh, shit. You had forgotten about that. She did do this last year! You had plans to fly home and see your family for the holidays when Hannah unexpectedly came down with ‘the flu’. Jan had called and needed you to work since nobody else could cover. You felt like since you were still new at the time that you couldn’t say no. Now you’re getting pissy all over again. 

“Oh my god! You’re right! Maybe the bitch has some vendetta out against me. I’ve never done anything to her though! I’ve been nothing but nice!”

Just then your phone dings, alerting you of a text. You quickly check it. It’s from Hannah.

I can’t believe you threw a tantrum and quit just because I wasn’t feeling my best and couldn’t come in. Wow. All so you can hang out with your piece of shit delinquent boyfriend. You sure have your priorities straight.

“Fucking cunt!” You yell as you throw your phone across the table. Then immediately you slap your hands over your mouth just as Mike turns around to see what you’re yelling about.

“What’s wrong? Who was it?”

You remove your hands from your mouth. “Mike, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to curse that loud. I hope Abby didn’t hear me.”

He waves you off. “Babe, she’s not even here. She got invited to a sleepover at Natalie’s house. We’re alone. You’re good.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank god! I don’t want any of my bad habits to rub off on her.”

Mike just chuckles and turns back to the sauce. “If she turns out anything like you, I’d be entirely okay with that.”

You can’t help but feel a blush creep up your neck. He was always saying sweet stuff like that. You get up and hug him from behind and press a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re too sweet.”

He turns around in your arms and grabs your face and gives you a proper, toe-curling kiss. “I mean it.”

After a few more shared kisses, Mike finishes up dinner and fixes you both a plate and a glass of wine for himself. As you’re sitting there twirling your spaghetti around your fork, you can’t help but think about Hannah’s text again. And then all of the little snide remarks she’s ever made to you come flooding back.

“Babe?”

You snap out of your thoughts and Mike comes back into focus. “Yeah?”

He puts his fork down. “I asked if there was something wrong with the spaghetti? You’ve hardly touched it.”

You look down at your plate and realize you’ve just been twirling it around your fork. “No, it’s fine. Just thinking about what Hannah said and how much it pisses me off. I’m sorry, I’m not meaning to ruin our time together.”

He smiles and grabs both of your plates and gets up and places them on the counter. He comes back over and holds his hand out to you. “Come on.”

You grab his hand with no hesitation and let him pull you out of your chair and let him lead you to his bedroom.

He turns around to face you right before you get to his bed. “First of all, you could never ruin our time together. I love getting to spend time with you no matter what. Second of all, it sounds like you need to let out some anger and need a distraction.”

You can’t help but feel all tingly at the smirk he’s giving you. “What did you have in mind?”

He backs up a little and sits on the bed and looks up at you. “Use me, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “What? What do you mean?”

He reaches out to grab your hands to pull you towards him. “I mean use me. Use me to distract yourself and to take your anger out on. I’ll be a good boy and do whatever you need.”

That almost had your knees buckling. “Oh.” He lifts your shirt up and starts pressing kisses along your stomach while running his hands from your back to your hips and down to your ass. You’ve never been in this position before. Sure, you guys have only been together for like 5 months but anytime you’ve ever been intimate, he’s been the one who’s taken charge.

He pulls back and looks up at you. “Use me, baby. I got you. Tell me what you need.”

You decide to run with it and take control and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I wanna sit on your face.”

He lets out a little whimper as he moves back on the bed. “Fuck, baby. Please sit on my face. I want you to suffocate me.”

He lays back and patiently waits for you to remove your pants and panties. You hesitantly climb up on the bed. You’ve never done this before with anyone but have always wanted to try it. You climb up until you’re straddling his waist and lean down to kiss him. 

He returns the kiss enthusiastically and grinds you down onto him so you can feel how hard he already is for you. It makes you let out a small moan into his mouth. The making out only lasts for a few more minutes before you pull away and start climbing up until you’re hovering right above his mouth.

Before you fully lower yourself onto him you grab his hair and yank so that he has to look at you. He lets out another beautiful whimper. “I’m going to ride your face until I can’t think of anything else but your tongue. You’re going to be good and make me cum as many times as I want, right?”

He nods instantly. “Yes, I promise I’ll be good for you.”

“Good boy.” You tell him, which makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. Hmm. Who knew he had a praise kink?

You let go of his hair and grab onto the headboard with both hands before you slowly lower yourself onto his waiting mouth. 

He immediately grips your thighs and pulls you even harder on him and starts eating you out like a man starved. “Oh, fuck!” You throw your head back and start grinding on his tongue. He gives you a few more licks before he sucks your clit into his mouth and starts lapping his tongue back and forth against it. “Oh, god. Fuck, Mike! You’re so fucking good at that.”

Your praise has him moaning and whimpering into your pussy, heightening the experience that much more. He moves his right hand towards your ass and gives it a nice squeeze before moving towards your pussy and immediately inserting two fingers.  It makes you start grinding faster, feeling yourself already close to the edge.

He starts pumping his fingers in time with your grinding, pushing you even closer to the edge. You can’t believe how quickly he got you there. 

“Mike, please! Gonna cum! Make me cum.”

He pumps his fingers even faster and lightly bites down on your clit, knowing it’ll make you fall over the edge.

You scream his name out and grind on him until it’s too much and you lift yourself away from his mouth. To which he whimpers out, “where’s that pussy going? I wasn’t done yet.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Jesus. I almost passed out from how hard I came. Give me a minute.”

“So I did good?” He looks up at you with big eyes and his chin glistening with your juices.

You pat his hair. “You did so good, baby. Made me feel so good.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around your thighs and presses soft kisses to the inside of them. You close your eyes and take a minute to enjoy that before you look behind you and see his erection pressing painfully against his jeans. You need that inside of you. Right now.

You remove yourself from his face and he lets out a little whine. “Don’t worry. I’m not done. Need your cock, baby.”

You’ve never seen him undo his belt and slide his jeans down that quickly before. It almost makes you chuckle. “Eager, are we?”

He nods as he pushes his jeans down far enough that his cock springs free and hits your ass. “Need to feel you around me, babe. Please.”

You lean down and pull him into a kiss which he returns generously. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He grabs his cock and hits it against your ass, signaling that he’s ready for you to slide onto him. You take the hint and lift up and back until he catches at your entrance. He’s the first one to break the kiss as you slowly slide down onto him. The little whimpers he lets out as you sit flush against his thighs is music to your ears.

You decide to tease him and just stay resting there for a minute while looking down at him. He has his eyes clenched shut and a death grip on your hips. He opens his eyes after a few moments and looks up at you. He reaches his right hand up and places it on your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “Go ahead and use me babe. Take what you need from me.”

You slowly start moving your hips back and forth, never really lifting them up and down. The friction against your clit is so delicious. You place both hands on his chest and start moving your hips a little faster. “Oh, fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so deep.” 

“Yeah? Am I making my girl feel good?”

You smirk down at him. “Oh, yeah. You’re being so good for me.”

He lets out another whimper as he grabs you by the back of your head and pulls you in for a heated kiss. This one sloppy and desperate. His hand that’s still on your hip starts moving you a little harder against him. He pulls away from your mouth and kisses his way up your neck towards your ear. “Come on babe. Cum on my cock. I can feel you clenching around me. Cum for me so I can be good and cum for you.”

This time you’re the one letting out a whimper. “Yeah? Want me to be your good boy and cum for you? Fill you up?”

“Please.” You whine out, moving your hips even faster than before. You can feel your orgasm coming like a freight train. There’s no stopping it. 

“Oh yeah. I can feel it. You’re gonna cum for me. Do it. Make a mess on me babe. Please, I need it.”

“Yeah? You need me to cum for you? Need to feel me cum? Oh, god Mike. I’m almost there. Please don’t stop.”

He continues helping you grind your hips against his. You’re almost there. Just a little something…..

“I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

That did it. You’re pitched off the edge and silently scream out. The edges of your vision going white. You can vaguely hear Mike whimpering out your name as he does as promised and fills you up. You slow your hips down until you can’t move them anymore and slump down against him with your face tucking into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around you and rubs his hands up and down your back.

You both stay like that until your heartbeats return to normal. You lift up your head just until you can see him, almost nose to nose. He’s the first to speak. “So, did I do good for you?”

You let out a chuckle. “You were so good, baby.” You can feel him twitch inside of you at the praise. “But, we need to talk about what you said.”

Mike scrunches his brows for a few minutes before his eyes go wide and he realizes what he said. “Shit, I did not mean to say that.”

You can’t help the disappointment that crosses your face. “Oh, well that’s okay. It was in the heat of the moment.”

He quickly wraps his arms tighter around you. “No! That’s not what I meant. Shit. I one hundred percent meant it. I just wanted to make it special when I told you. Not in the middle of an orgasm. You deserve better than that.”

You smile and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I appreciate the thought. But I really don’t need anything special. I already have you.”

His smile lights up his entire face. “I love you, Y/N.”

This time you press a kiss to his lips. “I love you, too Mike. Like, a lot.”

“I bet not as much as I love you.”

Just as you’re about to retort, Mike’s cell starts vibrating, causing you to jolt with fright since his phone is still in his pocket which your leg is pressed up against.

“Jesus Christ.”

You quickly get up so that he can grab his phone. “Hello?”

You go into the bathroom to clean up. You come back in with a wet cloth to clean Mike up. He just hangs up as you come in the room. “Everything okay?”

He smiles in thanks as you hand him the cloth. He goes about cleaning himself up. “Yeah. That was Natalie’s mom. Apparently Abby has decided she doesn’t wanna stay the night so I have to go get her.” He stands and pulls his jeans back up and smooths his shirt out. “Sorry we won’t be alone anymore.”

You pull him in for a quick kiss. “Nothing to apologize for. I love you Mike. And that means loving all of you. Which includes Abby. Whom you know I just adore. Go get her and we’ll have a movie night or something.”

He shakes his head and pulls you in for another kiss. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You just smile in return. “After the past year you’ve been through, you deserve to be happy.”

He chuckles as he heads out the door. “Ain’t that the damn truth!”

[psychesalcove]

who knows how long i've loved you, you know i love you still

♡ leo valdez x fem. reader

synopsis. request!!

tw. nothing i think, just not proofread at all

guess who finally is writing again!! this past month has been soo packed with school and work things—this year is also a hectic scholarship one, so i've been doing that lol. i'm sorry that i haven't been active, lifes just been crazy 😓.

"hi."

you saw leo jump a little from where he sat at the ledge of the fire escape. he turned his head slightly in your direction, but his eyes stayed put on the streets of manhattan. "hey."

the seven were meeting up at sallys apartment—a tradition that had been going on for some time now. you had just come from the kitchen, were everyone was chatting away, minus leo. that's what brought you out here. you somehow always had a nack for knowing where he was; a longing, some said.

you walked over to him, silently asking him if you could sit. he nodded silently, the opposite of how he usually is at these gatherings—talking to anyone and everyone about whatever came to mind. you sat down at the approval nod, mimicking his position by draping your legs over the edge too.

"whats wrong?" you asked, getting straight to the point. leo never got this quiet unless something was wrong, you learned that from your time on argo ii with him. he shrugged his shoulders, eyes following a person walking their dog down the street.

"hey, cmon." you said lightly, bumping your shoulder with his. "i wanna know how to help."

he shrugged again, but this time started taking. "i don't know," he mumbled. "i just, feel weird–i guess, i don't know." he shrugged his shoulders again; must be his favorite gesture right now.

"i think you do know what you feel," you mused, eyes flickering from the across the street apartments to leo. "what's happening in that smart head of yours?" you prompted, ears picking up on percy singing horribly from somewhere inside.

you saw leo smile lightly at your wording from the corner of your eyes, but didn't mention it. "i think it just feels different now, i guess." he started. "i mean, everyone here seems to be figuring out their life. percy, annabeth, you and jason are at college, piper already has a business starting, hazel and frank are doing great at new rome, and then—" he stopped with a breath, shoulders slumping down.

"then i'm here with nothing to talk about. what do i even say? that im just doing nothing cool? i haven't even really starting applying to college, how do i talk about that and sound interesting?" he rambled, hands starting to gesture mindlessly.

you considered this. you haven't even realized that leo felt like this; he always seemed like the most interesting person to you. "you can talk alot about applying to college," you said finally, watching as he looked over and made eye contact with you for the first time since you came out here.

"talk about the collage, what you're thinking of majoring in, stuff like that. gods, you can even talk about joining a frat house; piper would joke about that for hours with you." as you talked, you watched as leo took in your words, though you didn't know if it was helping.

"remeber when i was applying to college last year? i talked about that with you for hours, and you didn't get bored, did you?" you asked. leo shook his head in response pressing his lips together as he thought.

"and, i promise you—i ever swear on river styx—that everyone in there would love to talk to you about anything, especially me." you said, hand coming up to hold his. you don't know where this gesture came from, but it almost seemed natural to you. you squeezed his hand, smiling as he reciprocated.

"thank you." leo mumbled, his free hand coming up to quickly rub at his eyes.

"leo, you better not start crying on me now," you joked, hand still in his. he laughed lightly at your statement, his arm now rubbing at his face instead of just his hands.

"can i hug you?" he asked. before he could even finish his question, you were removing your hand from his and instead embracing him fully. he mumbled something you couldn't pick up, but he quickly hugged you back tigher.

"thank you so much." he repeated, head resting on your shoulder.

[lostinthewiind]

Way With Words

Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

Genre: Fluff

Rating: All ages

➤ True to his nature as a renowned author, Varric has always been better at expressing himself through the art of written words.

The sound of Varric's quill scratching against parchment sent a chill up your spine—one that scratched a particular itch you didn't even know you had. Perched in his usual spot at the wooden table in front of the fireplace, you sat across from him, watching intently as he frantically worked to get everything down before he forgot even a single, minute detail.

"You don't have to release the book tomorrow, you know," you told him. "Take a couple of days to enjoy the fact that we saved Thedas. Surely that's deserving of a night or two off."

You could tell that Varric had only slightly registered what you had said, his quill faltering for a brief moment before continuing to whip from left to right across the page. Again and again. Flip the page. Left to right. Again and again. New page.

The fireplace crackling behind you lit up his face, basking his features in a warm, orange glow. In this light, you could see clearly as the wrinkles of his forehead deepened; and if you watched his facial expressions closely enough, you could tell which ones were permanent from age and which ones were temporary from stress.

When a pocket of gas escaped one of the burning logs with a loud pop, Varric's eyes shifted up from his work. In that moment, as his eyes darted toward the fire behind you before focusing on your face, you clocked the exhaustion he was trying so desperately to hide—or ignore. His gaze caught yours just long enough for you to notice the dull hue of his usual bright, brown irises.

He flashed a superficial smile before returning to his work. Word after word, he recounted the tale of the Inquisition from the moment he met you to the moment Corypheus was finally defeated.

"Varric." You reached across the table and caught his hand in yours. You felt as the tight muscles in his grip loosened. "Take a break."

Varric's hand twitched in your hold. "I can't. I don't want to forget anything important."

"That makes one of us." You exhaled slowly. "There's so much I wish I could forget. So much I have forgotten."

"Someone has to tell the story. Might as well be me." He smiled again, but this time it seemed more genuine. "Besides, no one else will give it the right amount of flair."

"I would expect nothing less from the legendary author of Swords and Shields." You chuckled. "I'm sure Cassandra is chomping at the bit to read about all the behind the scenes romances of the Inquisition you no doubt have all the insider information on."

That caused Varric to laugh, and finally, the rest of his body relaxed. Quill dropping onto the page, the sentence Varric had been in the middle of writing was left temporarily forgotten; the retelling of a past story was put aside for the making of a new one.

"I really don't know why she likes that garbage, but hey, I suppose there's an audience for everything."

"You're too hard on yourself. It's not that bad."

Varric quirked a brow at you. "Don't tell me you've read them?"

"I've read a few chapters."

Varric hummed, amused. "And?"

"I can see the appeal."

A bark of a laugh. "I never took you as a romantic, Inquisitor."

"I'm full of surprises."

"So I've come to learn."

Suddenly eager to get a sneak peak at you favourite author's newest work, you reached out and grabbed one of the first pages Varric had written. The ink was already dry, the scribbled words a duller shade of black than the newer pages.

Varric didn't protest. Instead, he watched intently as your eyes scanned the page. "Let me know if I missed anything."

"There's details in here that I don't even recall happening," you assured him. "But it's kind of bland. For a romance author, this isn't very flowery. Where's that so-called 'flair'?"

"Such a critic." Varric tried to snatch the paper away, but your sharp reflexes won. "This is just the first draft. Only the facts. The flair comes later."

"Thank goodness, because if this is how you end up describing me in the final copy, I'll hunt you down." You cleared your throat before reciting the words in front of you. "'Inquisitor. Small woman. Prisoner turned ally. Glowing hand.'"

Varric shook his head. "Like I said. The facts."

"Nothing about my bright eyes? My charming smile? Not even a throwaway line about how incredibly beautiful I am?" you joked as you relinquished the page so Varric could put it back in order with the others.

"This isn't that kind of book, Inquisitor."

You leaned back and felt the warmth of the fire on the nape of your neck. "Of course." You smirked. "But if it were, how would you describe me?"

Varric pretended he didn't hear you and instead went back to his writing. His pace was noticeably slower now though, more thoughtful. Something else was on his mind and he was having to think more about what he was jotting down instead of just letting it flow.

"I was a newborn in this world—a world I had lived in all my life, yet somehow I didn't recognize any of it. I stepped out of the fade, my memory lost and a glowing hand gained." You closed your eyes and described the series of events from your point of view. "I had just closed my first fade rift. I was overcome with fear and excitement, a slurry of emotions that had no business mixing. When the possibility of being able to close the breach was mentioned, he spoke. 'Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.' A man. A dwarf. Handsome, and I could tell he knew it from the way he showed off his abundance of chest hair for any and all to see. But my eyes were drawn first to his crossbow, the weapon he had used to save my life moments earlier; the weapon he would use to save my life more times than I could count."

When you opened your eyes, Varric was staring at you, eyes wide. Speechless.

"It doesn't have to be a romance for it to be romantic," you told him. "Life and death is just as beautiful as any love story."

Still silent, he swallowed hard. Then, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment, he began to write; this time with all the fervor he had possessed originally. Arm resting at the top of the paper, he shielded the words from your eyes.

Head resting in your hand, you sat and watched as he wrote. When he reached the bottom of the page, he stopped and handed it over. "Like any author, I'm better in the written format," he said.

You nodded and began to read.

"No," he corrected. "Out loud. Read it out loud."

"Okay," you chuckled. "'All hope had been lost and then she appeared, stepping out of the fade with determination etched into her features and bright eyes that held the future in them—the world's future ... my future. From prisoner to ally to friend, the more I learned about her, the fonder I grew.'"

You paused and looked up at Varric. He nodded his encouragement. "Keep going."

Your throat suddenly felt dry and your chest tight. "'She was beautiful. She still is beautiful. But she's also so much more than that.'" You were reading slower now, your breath catching on the words. As Varric reached out to take one of your hands in his, your grip on the paper with your other hand tightened. "'Anyone who knows the Inquisitor could tell you that she is smart, brave, kind, compassionate, and so many more wonderful qualities. But not everyone could tell you about the way her smile always reaches her eyes, no matter how exhausted she is, or the way she sleeps so lightly that the faintest gust of wind could wake her. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who gets to see the way she curls her hair around her finger when she's feeling playful. Then I pray I'm the only person who gets to see it, because the thought of anyone else making her feel that way causes a sickening feeling to snake its way through my veins. She is-'"

"She is the most incredible person I've ever met in my entire life," Varric took over, having memorized the words after somehow only writing them once. You suspected, however, that they had been within him for a long time. As his hand held yours firmly and the pad of his thumb ghosted over the inside of your wrist, you shivered. "And as things come to an end and time runs out, I think of the past and dread the future because for all of the brave things I've done by her side, I don't know if I'll ever be brave enough to tell her I love her."

You felt a tear fall down your cheek and moved to quickly wipe it away. "If you're that good with words, maybe I should read more of your books."

Varric smiled as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "For you, I'd write down my every waking thought."

"You don't have to." You folded up that paper in your hand and tucked it into your pocket. "This is more than enough."

Varric let out a nervous chuckle. "You're killing me here, love. I gotta know if you feel the same way. Please, put an old man's aching heart to rest."

Standing up, you leaned across the wooden table and cupped his stubbled jaw in your hand and felt his entire being soften to your touch. "Of course, I love you too." You gently pressed your lips against his. With a relieved exhale, he melted into the kiss.

When you moved to pull away, his hand shot up to the back of your head and held you in place, lips ghosting over his, so he could savour the moment. "Just so you know, I'm not putting any of this in my book," he whispered. "I'd like to be the only person to know that you smelt like smoke and tasted like elfroot tea the first time we kissed."

"Cassandra will be so disappointed."

"Me? Disappointing the Seeker? That's never happened before." He grinned as his hand slid down from the back of your head to caress your cheek. "Now come here. I'm suddenly craving the taste of elfroot."

[yuzuvrse]

Can we have some of ur mouthwashing headcanons for the tulpar crew? (Can be about anything btw) The brain worms are getting hungry again I fear… 😞

-ig ill be 🪷 anon if it’s not taken yet?

HELLOOO BABYYYY sorry this took so long i was dying bc of my finals </3 but anyways welcome 🪷 anon to the family!!!!!! these hcs ended up so unserious LOL

the crew got banned from playing uno after anya nearly flipped the table when daisuke put down like five +4 cards in a row now they just stick to sorry!

swansea hums to himself when he's working, it's usually like old songs but recently daisuke's pop songs have been getting stuck in his head. (i think it would be unbelievably funny if swansea starts singing like the brainrot versions of songs js bc daisuke keeps playing them. yk like the 'oh the weather outside is rizzy, and the fire is so skibidi' LMAOSKJDSK

daisuke doesn't really have a specific music taste, he listens to a mix of everything. doesn't know how to answer when people ask him what his fave genre is so he tries to act cool and says he only listens to rap music.

anya had a wattpad phase. i can't explain further i can just FEEL it.

curly is actually a decent dancer. his mom sent him for dance classes as a kid and he has a good sense of rhythm. jimmy makes fun of him for this though so he doesn't ever mention it.

jimmy has rewatched american psycho probably more than 117 times. he watches it and he's like:

(i am currently watching + reading it for the first time and patrick bateman is literally jimmy to me.) more content utc!

anya is terrible in the kitchen. like seriously do Not let her in there or the house will burn down just from her boiling water or smth. it's okay tho i will be her housewife <3 (i can't cook either) she is also very good at tetris for some reason. she's a little forgetful so she usually writes things that she needs to remember on the back of her hands but by the end of the day they're all smudged smh. but also she always has perfect nails!

curly is one of those guys who's just naturally good at things. yk when people are like 'oh yeah i never practice' and it pisses you off? he's one of those guys. ik ppl say he's british but he's so american to me??? he was definitely the jock in highschool that every girl crushed on but he never even realised.

swansea is a dog person. he's chill w cats but he definitely prefers dogs. he likes how loyal they are, and i can see him having a massive dog like a st bernard at home waiting for him. but if his kids ever brought back a kitten or smth he'd be the one to be all 'you guys better take care of it bc i won't' but then you see him becoming besties with the cat LOL.

daisuke LOVES the beach. literally a water baby. he's very good at surfing, and always ends up with a tan that makes him look even more handsome bc it compliments his dyed hair so nicely. i think that he grew up in a big family w lots of cousins around where he would be one of the older kids, so he's very good w children as well. he somehow knows the best way to entertain them and keep them out of trouble. (primary school art teacher daisuke are you guys seeing my vision?!?!?!)

jimmy gets nightmares and thus has difficulty sleeping. he lies whenever curly asks him about it but those dark circles say otherwise. this might be random but i also think he's good at singing. in another world he could have been a sleazy rockstar but instead he went to space. are u guys seeing the visual of jimmy laying back in bed strumming his banged-up electric guitar... i hate this mf.

anyways that's all for now! i had a lot of fun w these hehe <3 hope you liked them!

[rosyheretic]

little bird (part 2) (steve rogers x fem!reader)

part 1

summary: steve rogers has been acting strangely around you for months, and now you know why: he found out about your crush on him and decided to tease you until you couldn't take it, as penance for your insubordination in the field. how much of steve's provocation can you take? and does he enjoy working you up? (part 2: oh yeah he does)

warnings: smut (18+), fingering, spanking, unprotected sex (bad), praise kink, size kink? ish? it's steve c'mon, witch reader, dirty talk, aftercare (fluff?)

notes: thank you guys for reading the first part! hopefully the grand finale lives up to your expectations. i plan to keep writing and hopefully improve, so let me know if you have any feedback or requests! up next on the queue is a sex pollen fic (with a twist!) because i'm a simple woman.

steve grinned at you and wrapped his arms around your waist, hoisting you up to perch you on the counter.

his big hands fell on your knees and pushed them apart so that he could stand between your legs. his dominant hand then slipped under your chin, tilting your head so he could kiss you.

steve rogers was a passionate kisser. he was hungry, taking possession of your mouth and exploring you with his tongue. he found the back of your neck and stroked it as he pulled back to speak.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd say you like smoochin' me," steve teased, drinking in your kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes.

"oh, quit gloating and get to work," you fired back. a splash of magic escaped you and pink wisps guided his fingers toward your heat.

"since when do i take orders from you, dove?" steve pulled his hand free of your power and tutted. "the whole point of this exercise is to teach you to respect my authority."

"is that so, captain?" you sang back. "i thought the point was to rail me."

"i'm a talented guy," steve said, planting a kiss on your cheek so his lips were right by your ear. "i can do two things at once."

"then i suggest you get on it, rogers, because right now i don't see a compelling reason to change my behavior."

steve chuckled and captured your lips in another intense kiss. when you parted your lips to let him in, he used the momentary distraction to pick you up and haul you over his shoulder. your dress flipped up, revealing your upper thighs and your ruined panties.

"wha—STEVE! put me down!" you screamed, pounding your fists on his back. with one quick slap to your thinly clothed ass, he shut you up.

"you want a reason?" he said, slapping your ass twice more. "i'll give you 20."

he carried you to the couch, hitting each side of your bottom one more time before he sat down. he bent you over his knee, holding you down with his free hand splayed across your back.

"i'll just slip these off so i can see you, babygirl," he cooed as he dragged your panties down your legs. when he saw the large wet spot on your underwear, he laughed in triumph. "look at that. nice and wet for your captain, hm?"

steve gave you no warning before he resumed his punishment, landing slaps on every inch of your backside quickly and randomly. after what felt like hours of this punishment, you were delirious and helpless in his arms. or so you both thought.

he turned you over on his lap, hiking your dress up your legs again for access. when he forced your legs apart and moved his hand toward your mound, you braced for relief. instead you watched in horror as he drew back his hand, winding up for a slap right to your pussy. you flinched hard and shut your eyes.

when the spank never came, you opened your eyes to find steve's hand hovering in midair, its path interrupted by the electric fog of your magic.

"still resisting me, little bird?" steve raised an eyebrow at you, unfazed. then he started to push against the energy barrier. your involuntary magical defenses disintegrated under the pressure of his hand. he wore a cocky grin as your power fell away, leaving you defenseless.

you wanted to keep up the bratty act because the dynamic was fun for both of you. but in failing to protect yourself from his punishing hand, you had shown your cards. he knew how much you needed this, how powerless you were against the craving for your superior.

"betrayed by your subconscious," steve found humor in the situation even while you trembled beneath him. mercifully, he gave up on spanking you in favor of teasing your folds. you mewled at the first swipe of his fingers through your heat. "don't worry, i know you could still kick my super ass if you wanted to. but you won't, will you?"

"no..." you whimpered as his fingers sought out your clit, hovering over it and stroking around it to work you up. "wanna be good, captain, please."

"that's all i ever wanted to hear," steve said with a giddy smile. satisfied that he'd corrected your attitude, he gave in and rubbed your clit in earnest. "there's my good girl. i always knew you were in there somewhere."

"oh my god, yes," you breathed as he buried a finger inside you. he explored your walls with gentle thrusts, almost too gentle. you wiggled impatiently in his lap, creating friction on his bulge which was pressing into your side.

"careful," steve hissed. "you may be a super scary witch, but my cock would still split you open without some prep. you gotta be patient. can you do that for me?"

you whined but agreed to his terms. as a reward, he added a second finger. you could feel yourself stretching to accommodate his thick digits. sensing the resistance, steve searched for something to distract you—literally. he probed along your walls like a man on a mission, grinning when you cried out.

"gotcha," he murmured, almost to himself. your pussy fluttered and clenched wildly around him. "that's it, sugar, keep squeezing my fingers just like that. can't wait to be inside you, sweets."

steve's next move was calculated; he was a strategist, after all. as he worked in a third finger, he traced his thumb up to your clit, rubbing it harshly in time with his thrusts. you were a goner as soon as you felt three huge fingers stretching you out and doting on your g-spot.

"oh, princess, i know it feels so good. it's okay, you're doing so good, yes, my good girl, coming on your captain's lap like this," steve coaxed you through your orgasm with sweet nothings.

before you even had time to recover, steve swept you up bridal-style and carried you to the bedroom. "what happened to being patient?" you quipped as he put you down on the bed and unbuckled his belt.

"i haven't wanted someone the way i want you in 70 years," he responded, practically jumping out of his clothes to get to you. now fully nude, steve's cock bobbed between his legs, twitching and weeping precum. "forgive me if i'm in a hurry now that i finally have you."

his words rolled over you like a warm blanket, shielding you from all fear and uncertainty. steve climbed on top of you and rid you of your dress, the last item of clothing hiding your body from his hungry eyes.

"so beautiful, baby bird," steve marveled at your tits as he kneaded them, groaning out loud at their softness. you writhed underneath him, desperate to feel all of him. "ready?"

at your affirmative nod, steve pushed his hips forward and notched his mushroom tip inside your entrance. you sucked in a breath through your teeth at the intrusion. "oh steve, you're so —" you held your breath as he fed you another inch, "big! too big..."

"i know, lovebug, i'm sorry. i'm right here with you." steve cooed. he kept his hips still and peppered featherlight kisses all over your face. "you can take it. just open up for me, let me in."

"o-okay..." you whispered, relaxing your body. steve continued. he captured your lips in a greedy kiss, swallowing every moan and whine and mmph! you had to give him. before long, he was seated fully inside you.

"i'm so proud of you," steve pulled away from the kiss to shoot you a lust(love?)-drunk smile. "can i move now? you deserve a reward for being so brave."

"yes, ple—ah!" your reply was cut off with a squeal as he thrust forward at an angle, hitting your sweet spot with ease. he picked up the pace, more at ease knowing you were enjoying yourself. the burn of his cock stretching your walls now felt pleasant, especially when he snuck his fingers down to your bundle of nerves.

"fuck, angel, i'm not gonna last," steve panted, his dick driving into you even faster. "you're so tight, chokin' me... come with me. let go for me, love."

as he spoke, his fingers went into overdrive on your clit. this, combined with the near-intolerable feeling of fullness, sent you over the edge. you felt yourself clench and spasm around him, triggering steve's release. he came with a shout, rope after rope of hot liquid coating your walls.

in your warm post-orgasmic haze, you felt like you were floating. then steve pried himself away from you and off the bed.

"where are you going?" you asked shyly.

"to get a washcloth. you don't have to be afraid, little bird. i'm gonna take care of you."

you smiled to yourself and closed your eyes again, knowing his words to be true.

[unfriedough]

hiii! first of all just wanna say how much i love your writing <3

could i please request a zuko x lightningbender!reader scenario/hc where the reader is a part of the gaang and she used to be best friends with zuko when they were little? and then he joins and they finally catch up after everything? thank you!

‘This doesn't change anything,’- Zuko x female!reader

Masterlist <3

An: yeah i wrote this MANY times before i was happy with it, which is why it took ages IM SO SORRY also THANK YOU <333

Summary:

LIghtning bender reader who is Zuko's former BFF now kinda hates him but he's determined to get on her good side.

Warnings: opening up, insulting eachother.

honestly 

It was so awkward

You refused to speak to him if it wasn’t strictly professional

The poor boy tried so hard

When he pleased katara but not u he was so sad

He would try to sit next to you by the campfire to eat and you would just dip

He’d have that sad 🙁 look on his face and the gang would be like “it’s okay man.”

ITS NOT OKAY!!! He couldn’t sleep because he missed u so much and seeing u in person was like, taking a toll on him

He was so entranced by you and your little mannerisms. You’d grown so much and gotten cuter since he last saw you (which he didn’t even think was possible). He especially loved when you played with lighting in your fingers

It was like, when someone else did it it was evil and dangerous, but when you did it it was lovely and cozy 

You just had that effect on him

The first time you two were able to speak was when you had taken the reigns on Appa to allow the others to rest. He was stargazing when your voice broke him out of a trance.

“You’re a real pain, you know that Zuko?”

He sat up suddenly, looking at you from his spot. You were leaning back, yawning as you stretched on the mammals fur.

“I mean, you come here, barge into this little group, and expect me to be nice to you. Fire nation royals and their audacity.” You said matter-of-factly, your tone so relaxed, completely going against what you were saying.

“I don’t expect that. I just want you to hear me out.”

“I’ve heard you enough,” he recalled moments where he’d rant for hours on hours to you, and you would lend an unwavering open ear, and inviting open arms.

“Yeah,” he replied sadly, sliding down next to you. You scooted over.

“And what if I pushed you?” 

“You wouldn’t,”

“Or would I?” You smirked, “but this time instead of a face full of pool water, you’ll pop like a balloon,” the shrubs reminded you of spikes.

“I’m not sure that’s how human bodies work,” he mumbled playfully.

“Oh what? Just because you went to private school?”

“Yn we went to the same school,” you opened your mouth, before shrugging as you couldn’t think of a response.

He rolled his eyes with a smirk, they landed back on you.

You shivered slightly, you were pretty good at your fire bending, but lacked when it came to warmth. Though you can expel a mean red flame, you can’t regulate your body temperature quite right. Smoothly, he put an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Keeping you warm,” Zuko replied, an intense look on his eyes, contrasting the sweet smile playing on his lips. 

“Smooth,” you grinned, your brain going fuzzy, then immediatly frowned. “This doesn’t change anything between us.”

He slumped a fraction, almost missable, but you caught it. The fire bender nodded.

He rested his head back on the fur, looking distantly into the stars. From your angle, Zuko’s jaw was sharp, and his side profile was alluring. You couldn’t help but rest your head on him. Contradicting your previous statement- there was something so entrancing about him. Feeling your stare, he met your eyes, a certain- almost unreadable- look behind his irises.

“Then what would?” He asked quietly.

You paused, thinking for a second. “I don’t know,”

He sighed defeatedly, throwing his head back again. “Understandable,” 

You remained silent as a response. He clicked his tongue.

“Do you remember,” Zuko paused, as if trying to find the words. “Do you remember love amongst dragons?” 

You grinned, “As if I could forget. Lady Ursa took us every time,” you giggled.

You enjoyed the play and all it’s weird quirks, Zuko however, did not. He would complain, and complain, and complain until you'd shushed him harshly when the main characters would share their kiss. He found you annoying, in a weird, endearing way.

He scrunched his nose, “it wasn’t even a good play,”

“Just say you hate love,” 

‘Well then I’d be lying,’ he thought.

“I don’t hate love,”

“Oh sorry hate is a strong word. Despise?”

He snorted, “Not that either,”

“Huh. That would mean the spoiled prince actually loved love.”

“Maybe not love. Mildly enjoy.”

“Isn’t that literally the same thing?”

“Depends, I love fruit tarts, I mildly enjoy fire flakes.”

“Hmm.” You pondered, “I love Appa,” you grinned down at the beast, then back up to Zuko, “I mildly enjoy your company.”

A pink dust rose to his cheeks, that sweet smile from earlier returning to grip onto your heart strings, “I’ll take it.” He said quietly.

“I wonder if they still show the play,” you hummed.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” you were on course to the esteemed ember island estate, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited.

“Well then I wonder if they changed the casting,”

“I doubt anyone would wanna partake in that, the ember island players literally suck so bad,”

“Oh c’mon, didn’t you cry that one time when the characters reunited?”

The boy looked like a deer caught in headlights, he was secretly hoping you’d forgotten about it, “It was a sad moment,” he pouted.

You leaned forward and pinched his cheeks, “Sure it was, wittle zuko can’t handle a little sap,” you giggled.

He swatted your hand away, “you’re a bully,” he scoffed.

“Guess that makes the two of us,” you sighed out.

basically, that was what finally made you two start talking

No, the gang didn’t know, you refused to treat him like a human when they were awake. But you softened up when they were asleep.

Zuko will admit he found it odd, but hey, talking in secret is better than no talking right?

He seemed lighter and more open when he started catching up and reliving childhoods with you

It felt like you were finally letting him into your concrete house, despite him having to force his way in at the beginning.

You were surprised when he opened up to you about things he never has with others, fond memories of his mother, even sometimes with his sister or father. 

Despite your hatred for him, you couldn’t help but find yourself entranced by the way he spoke. His voice had a certain lull in it, a rasp accenting his words, the same words he struggled to find.

You yourself found it was easier to speak to him than some others, on nights where you both sat vulnerable, only protection being each other's promises.

You confessed to having a small crush on him as kids, shocked to find it used to be reciprocated. 

You reminisced on times where you’d tease Zuko, and the times he’d finally stand up for himself against you

When the moon was highest in the sky, the secrets and such came further to light. He admitted he still felt like a bad guy in the end of the day, in his younger days, Zuko had never been the good guy.

You assured him people change, like the tides, like the weather, like the seasons. 

(You refrained from mentioning his hair, it seemed like an inappropriate time to make fun of him)

He expressed to you times where he had travelled with his uncle, all their journeys and detours, and you did the same with your gang trips and adventures.

From the little things like Sokka being covered in Appa’s snot, to larger things like injuries and nightmares

Slowly, you turned from two people who tolerate each-other, to two people who actually really love each other.

Of course, NEVER EVER EVER would you admit that, but it was true.

The unfortunate time for the battle came, you took the road with Sokka, Toph and Suki. Assisting them with your lightning wad no easy task, it was exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. Usually, you’d limit yourself to 3-4 shots a day, by the 10th minute, you were on 12. Your body was shaking and weak, but you pushed on, even though you knew your life was on the line.

After the long and tedious battle with all those soldiers, the sky turned blue, and you knew it was over, you had won the war.

You stumbled to the group, Sokka’s leg was hurt pretty bad and you didn’t want to take the attention off of him. Each step felt like your body was ablaze, and you held back noises of discomfort.

When you’d finally reached the gang, and exchanged hugs with everyone else, you stopped at Zuko. Mumbled, “I still hate you,” and then engulfed him in a hug so tight - you didn’t even know you were capable of it. 

Everyone else was in shock at the sight, they were sure you hated him, but oh well, it’s better than hearing you complain again.

While they conversed, you felt yourself begin to lose consciousness.

You rested your head against him, loosening your grip and your vision went dark.

You were out for about 5 minutes before you regained consciousness. You were still in the same position, except by this time, everyone was looking at you concerned. Katara placed her palm on your forehead.

“I’m ok. Just tired.” You mumbled quietly.

You were suddenly aware of how close you were to the fire bender, immediately moving back and laughing nervously. Almost falling if not for Toph pushing you back to your feet.

You could see him deflate slightly.

“Thanks Zuko,” you punctuated it with a forced laugh.

“Yeah it’s cool,” he nodded, frowning.

As you all walked back to Appa, you found that you and him fell behind the group, walking at nearly the same pace.

“How much lightning did you use?”

“Do you think I was getting burned alive and counting?”

He chuckled, “I guess not, but you seem tired,”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out,”

He smiled at you, nearing to try to assist you in walking. You quickly put a hand up, smiling at him and his cute little frowny face. He tilted his head to the side. 

You slipped your hand into his, immediately feeling his body temperature get knocked up a few notches.

After a few more steps, you looked over to Appa as they climbed. Just as no one was looking, you walked up to him, and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

Then took a few steps towards the beast.

“Zuko,” he looked at you from his spot, still dazed, “this still doesn’t change anything between us.”

All the fire bender could do was laugh.

An: HI if u requested im starting soon hopefully <3

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Hi!! I wanted to start by saying your writing is so captivating and I’m just in love.

I’m not sure if you are still writing for him but can I request #40 Tentative kisses given in the dark or #50 A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck for Daniel le Domas? If you don’t write for him anymore, can I ask for Art instead? Thank you!

*I'm not currently taking any more requests from this list

Nonnie when I saw the name Daniel le Domas? The gasp I gasped. The scream I scrumpt.

"Take a break."

"I'm not due for a break."

"Take one anyway."

You shot Daniel a sidelong glance before returning your focus to the drink that you were making. You couldn't count how many times you'd bartended for a shindig at the le Domas home. The catering company that you worked for was one of their frequent picks and you were where you always wound up: behind the bar.

Daniel had always been a polite and frequent visitor, but the more often you were there, the more he spoke to you. He was about the only family member that bothered to.

You'd been warned going into that evening that you were supposed to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You just weren't able to warn Daniel. You didn't have his number, and from what you could find, the guy didn't have social media.

It was strange. His life was so glamorous, but seemed so...Contained.

"Come on, go on break," He urged again.

"Daniel, I'm working."

"I can see that. Looks awful."

You glanced toward where your manager was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, watching you closely. You smoothed your smile away, topping off your glass and passing it to the gentleman that was waiting.

"C'mon, take your break," Daniel urged. "Take a walk with me."

"Not now, Daniel," You muttered.

"I know you get twenty minutes, we'll only take ten...Five?"

You jolted at the sound of your name, straightening up as your manager came over.

"Has she served you, Mr. Le Domas?" He asked.

"Yes, she has."

"Is there an issue with your order?"

"No," Daniel's eyes darted between you and your manager.

"Excellent. I will be taking over here," Your manager stepped in pointedly beside you. "Your help is needed in the kitchen."

You nodded your acquiescence, turning away and heading to the kitchen without another word. Damnit, you were worried that this would happen.

--

"C'mere."

"Jesus!" You hissed, whirling around at the sound of Daniel's voice. When you'd finally taken your break, you'd ducked out to the service entrance to get some air, but you hadn't expected for anyone to be waiting for you.

"C'mere," He urged again, taking hold of your hand.

"You're going to get me in trouble again!" You groaned, but you didn't bother to stay put or let go. You followed him unthinkingly, glancing back toward the door nervously to ensure that no one heard or saw you before you lost sight of it.

--

"You're not planning on murdering me out here, are you?" You asked, glancing around the stables.

"No."

"Helluva place to do it, you know, if you did. Use the hay to clean up some of the blood—You probably can't put a horse on trial. Probably."

"Are you trying to give me ideas?"

"I don't think you need 'em."

"I really get you in trouble?"

"A little."

"...What're they gonna do if they find you out here with me?"

"Fire me, probably. I don't know how they'd find us, though. This place is a fucking labyrinth."

You stopped looking around as you felt the heat of Daniel's body against your back. You bit your lip, fighting to keep yourself still as he stepped around you.

"Hey, but if you are gonna murder me, could you do it quickly? I'm not really into the whole edging thing with sex so I'm definitely not gonna find it hot with, like, death—"

You went still as he cupped your face, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone. You peered up at him, taking in the sweep of his lashes as his gaze lingered on your lips. You stepped a little closer, nudging your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you. For all of his flirting and teasing at the bar, Daniel seemed almost as nervous as you felt. You slid your hand up into his hair, drawing him closer as he teased his tongue between your lips. His hands settled on your hips, steering you back against a beam. You tipped your head back as the kiss broke, sighing as his lips trailed along your jaw.

"Daniel..."

"Mm."

"I can't be late."

"I'll take care of it."

"But—"

Daniel grasped your jaw, turning your head toward his again, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

"I'll take care of you."

[orchid-and-bone]

"I'm Yours" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Length: 1.3k words

Asked by @yyiikes IN LOVE WITH THIS SO MUCH ?? we need another part when he finally says it back

Part 2 of "Here With Me"

Oh, I can absolutely do that for you! I adore this man so much and he's been occupying my mind a lot, so I'm glad to have you guys enjoy my writing! I'd love to do more!

*

‘It's been a few weeks. A few weeks of my silence and their patience. I don't know what else I could possibly say to them that I already haven't written or thought here, it's… it's obvious, ain't it?’

*

Arthur stared up from his leather journal as he leaned further back against the tree in camp, the cover of the shade made it easy to stare at you across the camp as you did your usual chores, completely unaware of the set of eyes on you. The brim of his hat offered that extra layer of protection from being caught, but even if he were caught, would he even deny it?  No, he wouldn't, and he just chuckled at himself at how obvious it had been to probably everyone, excluding himself until recently.

Yes, he truly did have feelings for you, whether he cared to address them or not. He would have just chalked it up to loyalty to those in the gang, but you were a different case altogether. When he was faced with you being injured, it struck a nerve with him, and the urge to protect you outweighed anything that required any sense of logic, his instincts just took over, and that wasn’t just caring for a fellow gang member, there was something more in the depths of his gut. Arthur’s eyes flickered back down to the page and there you were, sketched carefully across the page like you were a carved statue. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d focused on such little details of you face, how he paid that much attention to those small things that made your face so…you.

He’d been thinking of you so often now, his mind full with so many ways to get you alone to have a talk, but no matter what he did, there was always someone wanting his attention, a day’s work was never finished. Today, it was a day of peace, or at least he’d hoped it would be, it was early and there were people who were barely awake. Arthur had let out a sigh and slipped the journal back into his satchel, then pushed himself from the ground and got to his feet. Instead of making his way straight to you, he went to pour himself a cup of coffee to calm his nerves, the warmth of it in his hand made him focus when he couldn’t. 

You’d been petting the horses after feeding them, and his eyes barely wavered from you for more than a moment, the intensity would have worried onlookers if it weren’t the people he’d known for years, but they knew how Arthur was. ‘He keeps his walls up’, ‘he’s not much of a talker’, all those things that were said about him weren’t necessarily a lie, but there was more to it than that. He did feel, he felt more than he let on because things of that nature were much more complicated. The one person in camp that he felt he could really talk to,besides yourself, was Charles, and even he had given him the best advice he could. 

“Talk to them,” he said bluntly. “Don’t be ashamed to tell them, they obviously put enough trust in you to confess. So, even if you don’t feel the same, it’s best to tell them exactly what you feel.”

Charles was always smart, incredibly intuitive, and Arthur was always the second guesser, but overall, his friend was right. He had been so wrapped up in thinking that he didn’t notice you going for your own cup of coffee right beside him. Arthur stood beside the fire and stared out at the water, the trees along the horizon brought him comfort in serene moments like this, but as if his body was reacting, he turned to see you staring up at him.

“You okay there?” You asked, a small smile on your lips as you brought the cup up, taking a small sip. 

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded as he brought his own cup to his lips, his eyes darted from you to the water again. “Been thinkin’ is all,” he said gruffly. 

You nodded in reply and hummed. “Yeah, I felt bad bothering you, but I wanted to be sure.” You had wanted to reach out to him to offer your support, or any comfort he might take solace in, but you decided against it. 

What you were greeted with though was Arthur beckoning you toward the large rock that sat by the shoreline. You would follow him, of course, and looked around curiously as he motioned for you to sit on the rock. As much as you wanted to question him, you kept your mouth shut and waited, patience was a virtue with this man. He then removed the journal from his bag and flipped more than halfway through until he stopped on a page, and then handed it to you with little to no hesitation while you balanced your coffee in one hand with the journal in the other. 

As you were about to ask, your eyes caught the drawing on the left, it was you, and it was sketched so beautifully that you were at a loss for words as you stared at it for a while. Arthur cleared his throat after a moment and chuckled as he tapped the other side of the journal, which was filled with words written in neat writing. You’d never seen his journal before, so all of this was a lot to process, the fact he trusted you with it in the first place showed how important you’d been.

Wordlessly, he stood there as you read the page. 

‘It's been a few weeks. A few weeks of my silence and their patience. I don't know what else I could possibly say to them that I already haven't written or thought here, it's… it's obvious, ain't it? Of course I love them, I have for a while now and it scared me. I’ve loved in my lifetime and yet, whenever I had, something bad always followed, like a curse upon my heart. But if there’s one thing I’d been told that really stuck with me, it was to take a gamble on love. It’s ridiculous to be afraid of something so natural and yet it’s been the hardest thing to admit. But I admit it, I love them. And I ain’t gonna regret it, not this time.’

When you finished, you stared up at the gunslinger with large eyes, you were struck with disbelief, dazed at the fact that this man was so articulate with how he felt and how he saw you… Your eyes went back to the pages and you stared for a long while, unable to truly say how you felt. 

Arthur shifted and took a large drink of coffee, then looked back at you. He then chuckled to himself and sighed. “Is this how you felt when you told me all that stuff and I said nothin’?” He asked you. “Because now I get it, that’s… agonizin’ to wait.” He offered a wide smile and continued to sip his coffee. 

“Arthur… I…” You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t say it, this man had your tongue. Quickly, you stood up with his closed journal, then threw your arms around his bulky frame, which almost caused him to drop his coffee, and most definitely spilled a majority of yours.

He laughed and looked down at you, your arms around him as you hid your face in his jacket. Arthur patted your shoulder gently at first, then he pulled you in with one arm and hugged you in return. This ain’t so bad, could get used to this. 

The sun was finally beginning to rise in the sky, the colors like a watercolor painting as the pinks and purples slowly faded with the hues of gold, and staring out at the sky while you were wrapped around Arthur was more of a dream than you could have ever imagined. His hand placed gently on your shoulder, allowing you to just remain with him, taking in the comfort of his scent. 

You could get used to days like this.

[1heartfanfics]

Hi, I write sickfics too. But I'd love a sickfic written for me this time. Lol. Either a really sick Dean needing Sam to care for him, maybe after a really bad hunt. Or super sick TK, needing his dad to call Carlos to take of him. Or maybe a really sick Bucky, with a freaked out Peter swinging around frantic to find Steve to help the man while in the middle of a fire fight. :) Emeto galore would be much appreciated. Pretty please!!!

okay so I decided to write it for tarlos because I just watched the mid season finale, but let me know if you want me to do the supernatural one too.

Also this ended up getting a bit de-railed toward the end and being more about Owen coming to terms with the fact that T.K. has Carlos now and doesn't need him as much as he used to instead of actual caretaking. Whoops 🤷‍♀️

warning: depictions of vomit, brief mention of addiction history

T.K. had woken up with a headache. But that wasn’t uncommon, side effect of being a recovered addict he’d been told. So he didn’t think about it too much.

But it kept getting worse, even though he’d been sure to drink enough water and eat throughout the day. And then he realized when he helped Nancy lift a patient onto a gurney that his whole body ached. 

“You good?” Nancy had asked.

“Fine,” T.K. responded shortly. Nancy gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him, but she let it drop. 

By the end of their next call, he was dizzy and cold. They’d just dropped the patient at the hospital and we’re heading back to the station. 

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” Nancy asked as she drove, glancing over at T.K., who was practically slumped against the window in the passenger seat. 

T.K. shrugged, “Not feeling super great I guess,” he admitted. 

“You need to tell Captain Vega dude,” she said as she pulled the ambulance into the station bay. 

“Shifts almost over anyway,” T.K. shrugged again, shaking his head. 

But then as soon as they’d parked the klaxon sounded. ‘Aid car BLANK requested’

“Alright then, let’s just head back out,” Tommy called from the back of the ambulance. 

Nancy shot T.K. a look. His face was pale, even more than it already had been. T.K.’s stomach, which had become increasingly upset for the past hour or so, suddenly flipped. He knew he was done for. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, then threw the door open and practically fell out, landing on his knees with a retch that brought his lunch up onto the floor of the station. 

“Woah!” Someone said, then T.K. felt a hand on his shoulder and his back. 

“Who else is a certified medic?” Another voice asked, Tommy maybe. Everything sounded far away and T.K.’s head was spinning. 

“Yo Marj! Paul!” The voice behind him yelled. Judd, T.K. could tell now.

There were footsteps approaching and then “Woah what happened to him?”

“One of you take T.K.’s place in the rig with Tommy and Nancy. The other one of y’all go get captain strand,” Judd instructed. 

T.K. could hear people running around, then the siren as the rig pulled back out of the station.

"Come on brother, let's get you up," Judd said, grabbing T.K. under his arms and pulling him to his feet. With Judd's help, he walked unsteadily over to one of the benches the firefighters use to put their boots on. As soon as he was sitting he slumped over, head in his hands as he breathed through another wave of nausea.

"T.K.? What happened?" his Dad was asking, suddenly at T.K.'s side with a hand on his shoulder.

When T.K. didn't answer Owen turned to Judd for answers.

"I just saw him spill out of the rig to hurl on the floor, that's all I know. You'd have to ask the girls but they had to run back out on a call. I sent Marj with 'em since they're down a medic," Judd shrugged.

"Thanks Judd," Owen sighed. "I've got him, you can get back to whatever you were working on."

"You sure? Cause he's looking pretty green cap," Judd pointed out.

"Son? Are you still feeling nauseous?" Owen asked.

T.K. just groaned in response, he didn't think he'd ever felt this sick in his life. It had gotten so bad so quickly. He was going to throw up again.

Thankfully Judd was on it, and a trash can magically appeared between T.K.'s knees just in time for him to heave over it. His body convulsed with another gag which brought up more of his stomach contents into the bin.

"Aw jeez kiddo," Owen muttered, sitting down beside T.K. to wrap an arm around him and rub a hand up and down his arm.

T.K. coughed and spit into the trash can, willing his stomach to stop contracting. There wasn't anything left in it to bring up. He felt so weak, like he could hardly hold himself up.

"Woah alright, I've gotcha," Judd was sitting on his other side, an arm wrapped around his chest to keep him from falling forward. T.K. dropped his head down into his hands again, elbows propped on his knees to keep himself upright.

Once Judd was confident that T.K. was stable enough, he pulled back, looking over at Owen. "We need to get him laying down," he said.

Owen nodded, "I think I'm just going to take him back to the house. You mind taking over for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"Of course cap, whatever you need," Judd agreed.

"T.K.? I'm going to get my stuff and then we'll go home okay?" Owen said, leaning down to try and meet his son's eyes.

T.K.'s eyes were shut, but he shook his head in response.

"No?" Owen asked, confused.

T.K. shook his head again, "Just call Carlos, please," he said quietly.

"Right. Of course," Owen was taken by surprise, although he really shouldn't have been. T.K. had moved in with Carlos months ago, that was his home now. And Carlos was T.K.'s person, the one he wanted to take care of him.

He looked at Judd, who nodded, silently answering Owen's unspoken request to stay with T.K. while he called Carlos.

"Your dad's calling Carlos now, I'm sure he'll be here soon to get you home. Just hang in there," Judd said, rubbing a hand over T.K.'s back.

As promised, after Owen returned from making the phone call, Carlos arrived within 10 minutes.

"Oh sweetheart," Carlos sighed when he spotted his boyfriend, hunched over a trash can.

Judd quickly stood up, allowing Carlos to take his spot. Carlos wrapped his arms around T.K., gently pulling him from the slumped position to rest against his chest. T.K. went willingly, pressing his face into Carlos's shoulder.

"Thank you for calling me," Carlos said, addressing Owen.

Owen nodded, smiling softly as he watched Carlos take care of his son. He hadn't missed the way that T.K. instantly relaxed a little at Carlos's touch.

"Let's get you home baby," Carlos said quietly. T.K. nodded, letting Carlos help him to his feet with a hand on his elbow and his waist.

"Let me know if you guys need anything," Owen told Carlos.

"Thank you," Carlos nodded, "I've got him, Owen," he added, seeing the worry on the captain's face.

Owen nodded, reaching out to softly clap Carlos on the shoulder, "I know you do." Carlos gave him one last nod, then wrapped an arm around T.K.'s waist and slowly guided him out of the station toward his car.

As much as Owen worried about T.K., he was realizing that maybe he didn't need to as much anymore. Because while most of T.K.'s previous boyfriends hadn't treated him very well, he had Carlos now. Carlos, who clearly loved and cared for T.K. so much. Owen was glad they had found each other.

[lazybutsmexy]

Heart-stopping

Alejandro Vargas x f!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, mention of violence, description of injuries, otherwise pure fluff, pregnancy announcement, crack?

Summary: Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro. You may easily give him a heart attack, though.

On AO3

A/N: Sorry, this is not my triumphant comeback. I had to get this out of my system so I can continue my work. I hope to be able to write more soon though!

~•~•~•~•~•~

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The proverb was often repeated among his peers and subordinates with a mix of awe and reverence, and by his rivals and enemies with spiteful resignation.

You, however, repeated it as a mantra - or a prayer? - in your head whenever his chest rose and fell with every breath. Just like you had for a week now.

Just an hour earlier, the nurse had come with orders from the doctor to pull him off the meds keeping him asleep, and you anxiously wrung your hands together, waiting for any signal of your beloved Alejandro awakening.

When he finally shifted and gave signals of waking up, you released a shaky breath you weren't even aware of holding. His name fell from your lips in a whisper, and his eyes flew open as if a spell had been broken at the sound.

As soon as his eyes found yours, his lips flickered a smile, revealing the dimples that created ripples on his cheeks like the ocean.

"Buenos días, mi amor," he breathed out, his voice rugged and raspy from a combination of sleep and a dry throat.

"Es medianoche, pendejo," you offered him a wide grin, carefully approaching him and cupping his face, pressing your lips to his with the urgency that it warranted.

After the longest week of your life, your lover was finally awake.

A few seconds later, you pulled away and inwardly celebrated the little dispeased noise he made when trying to chase your lips. You offered him a glass of water instead, and he accepted it silently, taking slow sips until his parched throat didn't resemble a desert anymore.

Once he was satisfied, you took the glass back and cupped his face, your fingers stroking the growing stubble and brushing against the bandage covering his head.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" Your voice was quiet as you studied him carefully, looking for any hint of pain.

"I feel pretty numb all over," he groaned, nuzzling your hand like a sleepy cat, "I'm mostly confused as to why I'm here."

Your brows furrowed as you remembered the doctor had warned you about amnesia, and took you a few moments to finally gather your words.

"We were under heavy fire from the cartel while crossing the bridge," your hand slowly moved from his face to his chest, feeling the bandages under the hospital gown, "they got you between your chest plates, and the impact made you lose your balance."

You paused to take in a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay while you relived those memories. He watched you closely, his smile slowly falling at the signs of your distress.

"Oviedo jumped after you into the river, but you hit your head at the bottom real hard," you watched as his brows tightened and his fingers enveloped your wrist and his thumb traced your pulse, a silent apology of sorts. But Alejandro rarely ever apologized - or did anything else - silently.

"Lo siento mucho, mi amor," he offered, his heart breaking a little at the sight of the unshed tears pooling in your eyes, "I've made you worry for me again, didn't I?"

A sharp snort left you as you used your free hand to wipe the tears away. "I was worried sick, Alejo, and everyone else too," you briefly thought of Rudy, now in charge of the Vaqueros for the time being, and them too, who often texted you and called you for updates. "You were put in a coma for a week because your brain swelled up."

His eyes widened at the information, his fingers tightening around your wrist slightly. "Verga... That does sound pretty bad..."

You took a deep breathe in to compose yourself, and nodded as you leaned down to press your forehead to his bandaged head, enjoying the gentle warmth sipping from beneath them. "Doctor said you'll be out of commission for a while, until he's sure there's no lasting damage."

Alejandro suppressed a groan and a complaint at the news. He was a soldier commited to his cause, but he was also a realistic man. If he was in no shape to guide his men, he wouldn't dare put them in unnecessary danger. The quickest way to return to his duties would be to heal.

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The toughest man in the army.

Still, very much a man that can be brought down by bullets one day.

"What about you, mi amor?" He questioned you as he tenerly brushed your cheek with his fingers, eager to focus on something else. He noted the bags under your eyes, and let his eyes wander over your form. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

You kept in silence for a few seconds as you stared into his eyes, but moved to bury your face in his neck instead, immediately raising all the alarms in his mind. "... I'll be out of commission for a while, too."

His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, slowly stroking your scalp, "what happened, mi vida? Did they get you too?"

You enjoyed his touch with a secret smile in your lips. Even after all he endured, he cared so much about your well-being that it made your heart swell. It also made you feel just a tiny bit bad about what -or rather the way - you were going to tell him. But you wanted revenge for all those sleepless nights spent worried sick over him "...you did."

Alejandro blinked once before forcing your head off his shoulder so he could look straight at your face. His eyes searched yours in a raising panic as he registered your words.

He had no memory of the incident itself. Had you been close to him when he was shot? Had he hit you in the confusion after getting hit himself? He would never live it down. Even taking into account that in both your careers injuries were common place, he would never forgive himself if he had been the direct cause of any injury on you.

The warning bell from the machine registering his palpitations went off, signaling a worringly increase in his heartbeat, causing you to shake yourself from your trance to look at it.

Oh.

Oops.

"Alejo, tranquilo," you offered him an apologetic smile, laying your hand flat on his chest and rubbing it, "I'm sorry, I was just joking - kinda."

He blinked at you in confusion, his brows furrowing deeply as he looked at you as if you were insane.

"Esos chistes no son graciosos, amor," he scolded you, and you leaned in to kiss him sorry, but he pulled away with a petulant pout, "casi me da un infarto. I didn't know you were the kind of woman to make that kind of jokes."

You chuckled softly and pulled away, reaching into a paper envelope you had left earlier on the bedside table "Bueno, pero si me diste, Alejo," you smirked at him playfully, handing him the square picture, "you got me good."

He glared at you for a little longer before taking the picture, examining it. It had your name on one of the upper corners, and a circle zeroing on a tiny protuberance. "Y esto?"

"The reason I'll be out of commission, mi amor," you smiled at him warmly, "or should I call you papi? I mean, you should start getting used to it."

Alejandro's eyes shot up to meet yours again, this time wide as plates as your words sunk in. "...when did you...?"

"Doctor confirmed it two days ago," you stroked his cheek, watching him closely for any reaction. You hadn't actively talked about forming a family before, other than in a hypothetical future. So, you were still quite unsure whether or not he would take the news in stride or not.

You were rewarded with a wide grin that nearly parted his face in two, and his free hand moving to your body, tenderly landing on your belly. You reciprocrated with your own grin, your eyes flooding with fresh tears, this time out of pure happiness.

"Voy a ser papá?," he wanted to confirm, and you didn't wait to nod your head eagerly, leaning closer to him again until you were in range of a thousand of small kisses he spread over your face before pulling you in for a long kiss.

Only to be interrupted by the machine again, its alarm announcing his rising heartbeat and causing you to inch back from the kiss in a giggle.

"Alejo, tranquilo!"

~•~•~•~•~•~

BONUS:

"Soy tan feliz, mi amor," he mumbled in your temple, his lips brushing your skin. After the doctor had finally seen him after waking up, he spent a whole half a second trying to convince you to join him on the bed. He pulled you closer to him, enjoying your warmth and your closeness.

"I'm so elated," you hummed into his chest, before letting out a soft sigh, "I'm just not looking forward to your mamá berating us for getting pregnant before marriage."

"... Ay, pinche verga, cierto." He whispered in horror, the machine beeping loudly again at the thought of his very catholic mother reacting to the news.

"Alejo, cálmate!"