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star-sim · 8 months

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my love (mine all mine) ☆ jake sim

☆ non-idol! jake x fem! reader ☆ summary: after years of abuse, jake is afraid of love, so why do you have to be so warm? ☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied adult! au, very domestic ☆ warning(s)? domestic violence and abuse, poor parenting, 1 mention of self harm, implied mention of suicide, kinda indulgent sorry ☆ word count: 1.5k

The earliest memory that Jake had was the sound of porcelain plates crashing against the tiled kitchen floor, and the wails of his mother.

For a period of time, it was all that he could remember: going home to a cold house, hand-in-hand with his older brother, his heart pounding in his chest as his young mind wondered if Dad was going to hurt Mom again, or if they'd go back to loving each other tonight.

He couldn't have been any older than nine when he experienced the wrath of his father first-hand, when he came to school in May wearing a long-sleeve shirt and long pants as if the early-summer weather wasn't rising, the scent of citrus filling the air. Sure, the bruises, and later scars (because of course, his father just had to try to stab him with a broken beer bottle), hurt, but nothing would compare to the silence that rang through the house after a screaming match. It would pierce his ears every single time, so loud that it was deafening, yet so silent that Jake could hear every single breath that his mother took as she pulled at her hair, driving blades into her skin, ignoring the quiet rumble of her child's stomach.

He'd gone to bed hungry many times. Too many times.

But, perhaps the worst memory that Jake had was the morning after his seventeenth birthday. Jake spent his birthday outside the house, not wanting to be suffocated by the taste of salty tears and domestic violence in the air. He came back late, much later than he should have.

Thank god, neither of his parents were home, and his brother was already off to college by then. When they weren't screaming at each other, physically assaulting their son, or neglecting him, his parents were either off to work, or hanging out with their sketchy friends, drinking all of their responsibilities (like their children) away like nothing else mattered.

Or so he thought.

Because the next thing he knew, his mother was shrieking at him, hitting him with the same hands that should have been cradling his face. And when his bastard of a father heard the commotion, it was almost like he was excited, excited to have an excuse to put his son in a chokehold. It seemed like the only time that his parents wanted to agree with each other was when they could hurt him.

As his lungs closed in on him, his choked breaths gasping for air while Jake tried to pry his father's hands off his neck, he felt light-headed, a fuzzy feeling filling his head until his body lost all its strength.

Jake swore that he would have died that night, if it weren't for the barks of the family dog.

If his perception of family, love, and marriage wasn't already warped, that early morning of his seventeenth birthday did.

He vowed to himself then and there, that he would never get married, nor would he ever start a family.

Yet, as you held him in your arms, enveloping him with warmth as hot tears streamed down his face, Jake could feel all his resolve slipping away.

Indeed, his vow held up. It held up all throughout college and for years into his adulthood. He became known as the "single friend," the friend that was always the designated driver because he'd rather die than consume a drop of alcohol.

But then you pranced your way into his life.

You, with your beautiful face. You, with the brightest smile that he'd ever seen. You, with the softest, most gentle touch.

When you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing tender kisses against the nape of his neck as you giggled a soft,"I love you," Jake's heart pummeled to his stomach.

It was suffocating.

His hands were clammy, so moist with sweat that he had to wipe his palms on his jeans. His chest would pound, loud enough for it to be the only sound filling his ears. His stomach twisted, a hot coil curling in his abdomen. It was nauseating.

But the worst was what he felt in his throat.

Something wicked— Something overwhelming and painful— clambered up his throat. It wrapped itself around his neck, pulling tight like the noose his mother threatened to put around her own neck. When it crawled up to his mouth, Jake nearly threw it up. He tried to swallow it down, but he gagged.

And it was already too late.

He'd already muttered the words, "I love you, too" back.

Love was terrifying. If he loved, what would happen? Would he get married, and enter a life of pure misery?

And what if he had kids?

When Jake was angry and he looked in the mirror, he hated the way that all he saw was his father's eyes staring back at him. His mother always told him that he looked like his father anyway.

Jake knew he wouldn't. He would never lay a finger on another person, let alone his own kin. But as days and years passed, his voice only sounded more and more like his own father's. He couldn't help the way his expressions scarily resembled his mother's, the same ones that he'd seen contort into fear, wrath, and indifference.

But here he was.

In the dark, his face was buried in your shoulder, the same ones that he'd kissed. You patted his back as he let out sobs, wet and salty tears wetting your skin.

It was another night, where you and him would hang out and flirt in your apartment, maybe do a little kissing.

Maybe he shouldn't have laid down with you. Maybe he shouldn't have let you put your fingers in his hair, stroking it gently as he laid on your chest. Maybe he shouldn't have listened to your every word as you traced his face, muttering to him everything about him that you loved about him. He shouldn't have, he really shouldn't have. Especially when you ended it all with a kiss to his eyelids, whispering into his ear, "I can't wait to marry you one day."

Jake always did his best to contain his emotions. After all, he'd learn to do it so well because of his home life. No one had to know about his struggles.

Yet he couldn't help the wave of emotions that crashed down on his shoulders. One moment, he was smiling in your kiss, the next his face was wet.

It didn't help when you were so warm to him. You cradled his face, kissing his tears away, hands holding him like he was a piece of glass.

"I'm scared," was all he could say.

Because that was all he felt in that moment.

Fear.

Fear, because he couldn't figure out why he was crying.

Fear, because now all his emotions were spilling out.

Fear, because you said you wanted to marry him.

Fear, because he, too, wanted to marry you.

You didn't let him go that night.

You stayed there with him, letting him cry into your shoulder until the sun rose. You didn't know why exactly, but the way he gripped your waist like you'd leave him was enough to tell you.

"I know, I know," you'd whispered into his ear. "I know, Baby."

All he did in response was pull you closer, and chant your name like it was a prayer, like you were his god and he was your worshiper.

Jake's favorite memory was the sound of wailing.

Not the wailing of his mother, not the wailing of his older brother, but the wailing of the child in your arms.

He could only watch with misty eyes as the small newborn clung to your chest, loud crying filling the hospital room.

"Jakey," you said weakly, flashing him a smile. "Look what we made."

We.

That's right.

This child was his and yours. As he held the baby, being careful not to do anything stupid, Jake stared into its crying eyes (as if his eyes weren't crying, too).

When Jake looked at his child, he saw his eyes. He saw the same eyes that his own father gave him. He wasn't filled with fear, or anger, or guilt— he felt love.

This child didn't have his father's angry eyes, the eyes that Jake spent his entire life believing he inherited.

No, this child had Jake's eyes, Jake's eyes that were filled with love.

You giggled softly as you watched your husband's intent and utterly fascinated gaze at your child. He snapped his head up at you.

"I love you," he blurted. He didn't say it a lot. It felt like poison on his tongue when he did, something unnatural and not meant for him. But in that moment, it felt like his entire being was made to say it. "God, I love you so much."

Yes, Jake would run.

He'd run, and run, and run, from love.

He'd run as far as he could, until his legs gave out.

He'd run for eternity, because he knew that one day, he'd walk to you.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake enhypen #jake sim imagine #jake fluff #jake sim angst #sim jaeyun fluff #sim jaeyun angst

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alien-magnolia · 5 months

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I Need Someone Older

Fic description: Dean finds you on a hunt and takes you along to get you safely out of danger, fun ensues :) as the two of you feel an inevitable pull of attraction towards each other.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tw: AGE GAP! Hyper-feminine reader in early 20’s, Dean in late 40’s, daddy issues <3, dom-coded dean, sub-coded reader, bj, breeding kink!, extremely subby-coded reader, helplessness, praise!!!

Word count: 3.1k

Don’t like, don’t read!!

May 5, 2007

7:40 pm

Your white knee high socks were getting a little dusty from the dirt on the woodsy soil. You came out here to write your poetry, desiring a place for peaceful solitude, and perhaps some creative inspiration. You dusted off your skirt as you sat down on the moist bed of grass. The waning moon was a bit yellow tonight, yet you thought nothing off it. You began to write a few words in your floral notebook, with some neat handwriting and a gel pen.

All of a sudden, you hear a wail in the distance. The wind is cold. A few leaves rustle out a few feet away from you, causing you to stare into the dark pathway on your left, in which many trees loitered. You felt as if you were being watched. You continue with your writing, until again you hear a rustle, this time, a bit closer than before. A chill goes down your spine, and you slowly turn to see a pair of yellow eyes, a figure with long, sharp, claws, and a tall, curved, spiny, skinny, body, with a tail. It snarls, coming closer to you. You drop your notebook, and crawl backwards, the dirt making indents on your palms. You hear a few male voices, and see boots running to attack the creature.

You see a flame, the creature is light ablaze, and you pass out from fear. The last thing you remember is strong arms lifting you up, the smell of beer and cherry pie clouds your nostrils.

You wake up in the wood again, this time, the brighr and warm morning light shines down on your skin, littered with cuts and bruises. You seemed to have lost your favorite lipgloss in the process.

“Where am I? My head…,” you whine, seeing a handsome man next to you, bandaging your cuts and cleaning them. That cheered you up a bit. You wince as his calloused hands rub alcohol on your wound, and you meet his eyes. He had green eyes, dark hair, wore a flannel and jeans and had the most amazing body <3 he looked just, so big, compared to you!

You ask him his name and what happened. “The name’s Dean, sweetheart. My brother and I were in these woods looking for a wendigo. We sure as hell did find one.” You nod, still reeling from the attack last night. “Did that… person, thing, do that to me?,” you ask, eyes wide, a bit nervous. “It’s no person, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “Hate to break it to you, but monsters are real. The whole gang. Vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, all other things that go bump in the night. All are real.” You sit in shock as he continues to fix your wounds. You notice how good his calloused (gunpowder covered) fingers feel on your calves. You wince as he brushes over a wound, jerking your leg back.

“Too rough?,” he asks, a large hand resting on your thigh. You nod. “S’alright. I’ll be more gentle, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, feeling satisfied as the older man returns your smile.

“Hey. Might’ve caught trail of another wendigo up ahead. We should get going,” another man dressed in similar fashion walks up ahead, talking to Dean, taking a glance at you. “What's the hold up, Dean?,” he asks.

“Shut it, Sammy. Can’t you see I’m doing something here? Found her at the site where the thing was. Had to fix her up.” Sam nods, as Dean tells him your name. The two then agree to further go hunt for the second wendigo. “What about her? We’re deep in the woods now, sure as hell she ain’t going to go back on her own, Sammy.” “Fine. Take her with you, as long as she doesn’t cause a problem.”

So it was. You were now going to hunt for the wendigo with the Winchester brothers. The dirt and thick jagged branches sometimes were too much for your legs to handle, so you held onto Dean for some of the walk. He didnt seem to mind, and only smirked as you accidentally leaned too much into him, your soft chest grazing his wide and big arms.

“Stay here, stay put. Don’t go anywhere,” Dean commands you, and you do as said, wait as the boys go into the dark cave. An hour later — there was fire, shrieking, and the boys come out unscathed. The last wendigo has been killed, and the three of you make your way back to “baby,” which you later learned was Dean’s nickname for his ‘67 Impala.

Dean drove with Sam in the front, you in the back seat. You dozed in and out of consciousness as the engine lulled you toward the heavy tug of sleep, you overheard the two men speaking about you.

“Well, Dean she has no ID on her so it’s better off that we take her to the local sheriff’s station. We know Jody, she might be able to help,” Sam inquired. “Yeah, well Sammy, you know what, Jody’s probably just going to tell her to go back to the woods or some shit. Maybe she’s far from home. Maybe she was hiding. Who the hell knows? Bet she’d tell us first before talking to law enforcement,” Dean countered.

“Why is it always you and women, Dean? She’s so young too. Maybe a little too young for you?”

“Shut it, Sammy. Respect her. She probably has her reasons. She’s real pretty and I’ll get what I want, eventually,” Dean retorted. Sam sighed.

You drifted back into sleep but squeezed your thighs together at the thought of the older man using you and getting what “he wants.”

You were more than happy to give it to him.

You were in a dingy 1970’s era hotel room, with dark brown shag carpet, rickety beds with neon orange polyester sheets, and a single lamp in the corner, flickering on occasion. No tv, but a rotary phone and radio. Sam was on a chunky laptop that whined and whistled due to all the power his research into Wendigos was taking up. You believed he was on a library forum of some sort. You sat on the bed, dwindling with the phone cord. The low buzz of the fan was heard from the corner.

Dean comes up to you. “Heya, kid. I’m gonna go get some grub. Wanna come with?,” he asks, offering you a hand to help you up from the bed. You nod, smiling, and taking his hand. Dean opted to go to a local bar to get some takeout. He ordered a large burger, large pilsner beer, and a cherry pie. You got some chicken and French fries, sharing some pie with him. You tell him that you were in the woods to write poetry, you got lost and then time seemed to go. Your cell was dead too. He told you about his ‘job’ with his brother Sam, choosing to follow his dad John Winchester’s legacy of hunting down things that go bump in the night. He made you laugh, asking you about your writing, your college education, a life that someone like him never had.

“We’re so different, you and I, know that? Seriously. I mean, college? In my dreams. Wondering what that’s like,” he said to you, while taking a sip of his beer.

“What can I say. I want a decent life for myself, sometimes. I have a pull towards the arts. Literature, actually. Sometimes though, I just want to be on my own. Without the pressures of society, on the road, like you two. Bet you don’t have any deadlines to meet,” you jokingly admit to Dean.

He chuckles, but then nods, a more serious expression growing on his face now, taking another sip of his beer. “Life sucks, kid. Sucks for me and Sammy, we’re out on the road, might die the next day. Never know what the fuck’s chasing after us,” he has a bit of a solemn expression, taking another sip of his beer.

You nodded, understanding him, seeing through the “tough guy” facade that he’s put up. He was scared. He needed someone to comfort him, to support him. His brother was his partner, yet that wasn’t the partner he was looking for.

You reach over to put your dainty hand on his large one. “Thanks for dinner, really. We should save some for Sam, though, I think,” you giggle, watching a grown man blush over your gentle touch. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart. Anytime…,” he trails off, his blush seemed to get stronger and he was avoiding eye contact a bit.

“You okay?,” you ask, meeting his eyes, feeling something start to heat up between the two of you, the air suddenly was heavy. “You’re just, well, pretty, kid. Seriously. Real fuckin’ nice, sweets,” he chuckles, his large fingers coming to intertwine with yours. You almost faint under the pressure of his hand on yours, your eyes drift to his muscular and wide frame, his tattered Jean jacket, his necklace on a black piece of string, his chiseled jawline. As funny as he was, you knew that you had an undeniable attraction towards him.

He saved you from the wendigo, but you let him. You let him take you back to the motel with Sam. You let him have you stay with them. Now. You’d let him have your body. All of it.

“Maybe we can go into those woods again? I can show you some poems?,” you reel, watching the older man’s eyes light up with a burning flame. “Sure, thing, kid. I’ll take you up there in ‘baby.’

With a few stares and leers from the other inhabitants of the shady bar, Dean leads you by the waist out the door, and into his impala, opening the door for you, of course.

“Ladies first,” he bows down a bit as he holds the shabby car door open for you. You take his helping hand and slide into the shotgun (front) seat. He quickly runs over to the driver’s side, a toothpick in his mouth as he climbs in, adjusting the jagged rearview mirror. You struggled to buckle up in the old model of a car, so Dean helped out, buckling it for you. You liked the many things he seemed to do for you. His care. His help.

He pulls out of the diner driveway, one of his ringed hands on the wheel, another tracing gentle patterns all over your thigh. You adjust your socks as his patterns make you heat up — inside and out. “I know a place. You down? If not I’m fine with it, sweet thing. No pressure, s’all,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to a child. You blush. “It’s alright, Dean. I’ll show you my poems. I’ll show you something else too, I think you’ll like it,” you cover your smile as you let out a few small giggles. He smirks back at you.

“Oh I’ll like it, alright. God damn,” he stifles, his strong, calloused fingers gripping a bit harder on your soft thigh. The rest of the drive was tense, just how you liked it. Soft rock — ‘Blue Oyster Cult’s’ “Don’t Fear The Reaper” played in the background, and it would usually lull you to sleep. Not tonight. Your heart raced, stealing glances at the man next to you. The man about to take your virginity, what concept you or society made of it. You hoped he didn’t mind.

The impala pulled into a motel parking lot: the same one where you left from. “Dean. Your brother..won’t he..?, you ask, and he quickly interrupts. “Well just be in a different room, is all. Sammy wouldn’t care anyway, as much as I’d like him to. He takes your hand again, leading you to Room 22, on the second floor. Your fingers trace the grimy balcony railing as you head up there.

The door shuts. You smile at him, then look down at your feet. “Can I, um. Kiss you, Dean?,” you ask, shy and sweet, a delicious pie on the shelf, a cherry blossom that smells and tastes so sweet, intoxicating the older man closer and closer to you. “F’course. You’ve never done this before, have you?” You nod. “Let me take the lead, yeah, sweet thing. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor,” he smiles, holding up two fingers. You nod, wrapping your small arms around his broad chest. Your soft chest pressed against his, you feel the cool metal of his pentagram necklace press against your warm, beating heart.

His large arms trail down to squeeze your waist a bit, and then rub circles down below, your waist and hips. He gave them a tight squeeze, you gasped at his strength. His fingers continued ministrations on your waist, hips, thighs, and the two of your lips danced in a slow and sensual rhythm. You could taste the beer and cherry pie on him, and you ran your fingers through his coarse hair.

His thumb rubs your cheek a bit, and he picks you up in his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down under him. His face above you, his brown eyes in awe taking in your sweet skin, putting him in a trance. His calloused hands run down your arms, your belly, gentle, soft, and slow. He grabs your chin, pulling your face towards his, and meets you for a chaste kiss, slow, you felt the stubble on his cheek and smiled into his lips.

His hand runs through your hair, over your cheek, this thumb caressing your face a bit. You keep the kiss going, you feel him getting rougher, hungrier for you. Your hands touch his broad chest, trailing on the hem of his shirt, which you take off. His chest was bare, just with a tiny bit of hair, and a very prominent happy trail <3 of which you run your fingers through.

His hands lead your hips up against the wall, tracing patterns on your back. Your lips are hungry for each others, you push your chest into his. “Fuck, sweet thing. Gonna drive me up the wall here, Jesus,” his voice now an octave deeper, raspier, breathless. His cherry pink swollen lips meet yours again, you feel his aftershave on your face. Your thighs rub against his growing bulge, positioning your legs so his thickening tent on his jeans was pressed up snug, right into your growing wetness in between your legs.

“Dean…want it,” you moan out, your delicate, manicured fingers tracing the toughness of his stubble. “Want what, huh? Gotta ask nicely, don’t keep me guessing, honey,” he smirks, a condescending expression appearing on his handsome face.

“I-uh, your, uh, oh, fuck,” you breathlessly whimper out, as his rough, calloused fingers gently slide down between your legs, rubbing your soft, warm folds, through your pretty and pink lace.

“Let me see what you got down there, hmm?,” he smirks, knowing that he has you completely wrapped around his finger. You nod, his hand cups your cheek for another kiss. He slides off your skirt, your knee highs, your Lacey top. You work on his jeans, until he stops you, with a look — meaning that he can take care of it.

All clothes gone — your legs intertwine, he presses his leaking bulge into your folds, you could practically feel how you clenched around nothing!!

“Dean…,” you beg again. “What’s wrong, huh? What’re you beggin’ for, seeet thing. Gotta give me words,” he says, all the while his thick fingers continue to work you open — get you ready for him.

A soft smile is on his face as his fingers become ever so gentle, continuing a circular pattern, pausing to tightly cup and squeeze your pulsing mound.

“Want. Want your, ha — your cock, Dean. Please. Please!,” you squeal out, just as he cups and massages your mound once more. “Why didn’t you say so, at first, sweet thing? Here I was thinkin’ you only wanted my fingers,” he chuckles, smile full of adoration — seeing you in a close to ruined state. His fingers pull out with a squelch.

You whine at the loss, your cunt throbbing, pulsing, desperate to be filled!! He smiles, hands on your hips. “Bend over f’me, baby.” You do as said, his smile and yours widen as his two hands cup your ass, giving it a hard smack.

His hands trace up and down your back, your waist, until you feel his soft tip press at your entrance. You turn around to view what you’ve been waiting for. He’s big. Short, yet thick. Oh so thick. You weren’t sure if he’d fit. A large vein ran down his left side. Fuck — how you wanted that in your mouth.

His hand gently guides your face back down into the table which you were bent over. “Down, baby. You’ll get a chance later, yeah?,” he soothes you. You nod. You feel his throbbing tip at your mound, as he slides in — you feel the stretch, just for a bit, and then he starts to push in, you felt so full !!

“Fuck— ah, Dean, too much, too much,” you squeal out, as he slides in, and starts to move, thrust, slow, gentle at first, and then deep, fast, his thick balls slapping against your mound. You saw stars, felt pressure as he kept going, faster, rutting into you, his hairy chest pressing into your back. The man had put you in a mating press. You wouldn’t mind. With how it’s going with him — you’d take his seed. Anything for the man that saved you from the Wendigo.

Your eyes roll back into your head, his grip on your hips was like a vice. The two of you finish with screams. He groans. “Fuck, sweet thing. You take it like a champ, yeah?” You nod giddily, anything for his praise and approval. “How’s about we stay in this room tonight? I’ll getchu’ a beer.” You nod. “That’s my good girl. Stay put.” With that, your mound is even more wet, you’re left clenching, covered in his cum as he leaves to get you snacks.

He comes back, presses a nice kiss to your forehead, and makes the two of you some dinner. You wondered what this will lead to.

Author’s note: pls support your creators <3 if you love this fic pls comment or reblog! Greatly appreciated <3 xoxo - Liz

#liz’s masterlist #liz writes 🖤#supernatural smut #Dean Winchester smut #dean x reader #dean winchester hot #winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dom!dean winchester #hyperfeminine!reader

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writerracha · 2 years

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ when you're spaced out — skz moments

↻ 1.5k (150-200 per member) :: established relationships :: mostly fluff. kissing, domesticity, mention of working out. a bit suggestive at times, but no smut.

↻ 18+ mdni :: not proof read, pls be kind :: masterlist

↻ it's my first time writing reactions like this, so I'm a little nervous, I hope some of you guys like it. 🥺!!

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

° . chan

“Love?” You blink rapidly, turning towards Chan. He’s standing next to you, leaning slightly against the kitchen counter. “Are you alright? You’ve been washing the same plate for two minutes.” You look down at your hands, realizing he’s right. A laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head. “Wow. I just zoned out.” Chan smiles although you can see the slight worry in his eyes. “You’ve been working too hard. You need more sleep. How about we accept we’re getting old and go to bed early tonight?” You laugh again as Chan starts to help you with the dishes, drying what you’ve already washed. “Actually, I love the idea. But why are you helping me? You already cooked dinner.” you pout. Chan kisses your cheek. “I just like spending time with you, whether it be going on adventures or just drying dishes.” You give him a smile. “And getting to bed early?” He chuckles, nodding. “That too. Anything, as long as I’m with you, my love.”

° . minho

It is only when Minho waves his hand in front of your face that you notice you’ve stopped pedaling on the stationary bike. You remove your earphones, catching his amused smirk. “Oh, don’t laugh at me,” you pout slightly. Your boyfriend leans against the bike, looking handsome in his fitted black workout clothes. “What were you thinking about like this? I hope it was me.” You shake your head in exasperation, starting to pedal again slowly. “It’s just this song. Reminded me of that time at the beach...” Minho chuckles. “So you were thinking about me.” You laugh. “Yes, but not in that way. Just at how great it was to be there together, watching the sunset.” Minho’s smile softens, and he steps forward to give you a long kiss. “We should go back there next weekend. Just you and me. What do you say?”

° . changbin

You’re at a small party with friends. Changbin comes back to you after getting drinks to find you standing in a corner on your own, your eyes fixed on the floor, a sad expression on your face. He frowns with worry, approaches you slowly. “Baby?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he softly puts a finger underneath your chin, lifting your face so that your eyes align with his. You blink, coming back to reality. Changbin smiles tenderly. “Where were you right now?” Realizing you were completely spaced out, you chuckle and take the drink he’s offering you. “I have no idea. I started thinking about the work I have to do tomorrow, and…” Changbin slides an arm around your waist and kisses you temple. “Don’t think about that too much tonight. Tomorrow is still far away. Stay with me, okay? And when you feel like your thoughts lead you away, just squeeze my hand and I’ll bring you back.” You look at him, feeling so grateful for him. “I love you,” you smile, and he kisses you in response, clinking his glass against yours. “I’ll always be there for you baby.”

° . hyunjin

“Angel.” Hyunjin gently takes your hand in his, bringing you back to reality. You blush slightly, embarrassed at spacing out like you are. However, your boyfriend only looks amused, perhaps even enamored by your startled expression. “Is the food bad?” He asks. You shake your head, putting down your chopsticks. “No, the opposite, actually. So good I had an out of body experience…” Hyunjin lets out a sincere laugh, his eyes sparkling in the process. He’s brought you to his favorite restaurant for your weekly date, and you know it means a lot to him because he’s friends with the owner. “That good, huh? I ought to bring you here more often.” You smile, taking a minute to look at him. He looks like a dream with his long hair and white button-up. “I’d go anywhere with you,” you smile. “Especially if there’s good food.” He giggles, gesturing you to keep eating. You take a bite from your plate, humming in pleasure. “There’s nothing I love more than seeing you happy like this, angel,” he whispers, tenderness spilling from his voice.

° . jisung

You jump in surprise when the television suddenly turns off, stopping the anime you’ve been watching. You turn to your boyfriend, who is sitting next to you, your eyes wide in confusion. He’s frowning, looking at you with concern. “Why did you turn it off?” you ask him. Jisung laughs. “I’ve been talking to you for two minutes but you weren’t answering!” You close your eyes, shaking your head, feeling bad. “Ji, I’m so sorry…” He takes your hands, squeezing your fingers tightly. He feels warm and soft. “Are you ok, baby?” You inhale softly, shrugging. “Just spacing out. I can’t focus on anything…” He leans in to stroke your hair, placing it behind your ears. “My baby. It’s ok, we can just cuddle if you want?” You almost want to tear up at his sweetness, and you nod. “I’d like that.” He smiles, pulling you in towards him so you can sit closer, bringing your legs over his, your nose buried in his neck. His hoodie smells so much like him. “Does that feel better? Just close your eyes, baby, get some rest.” He keeps stroking your hair, his breathing steady, and you feel safe there.

° . felix

You’re staring at the wall ahead of you, completely lost in thought. You came in the bedroom for something, you just can’t remember what. Suddenly, you feel two arms slide around your waist. Felix pulls you close to him, your back to his chest, and he puts a gentle kiss on your shoulder. That snaps you out of your daydream, but you just smile and relax against his body. He hugs you tight, his cheek finding a place against your hair. He smells good, his fingers interlocked against your stomach, his body warm and familiar. “I was wondering if you got lost,” he says softly. You giggle. “I came to the bedroom and forgot why,” you explain. Felix laughs and the depth of the sound is like music to your ears. It’s your favorite sound in the world. “Blankets,” he reminds you. “For our game night.” You sigh, turning around to kiss the tip of his nose. “Lucky I got you.” His eyes are wide and full of love, and the comfort of his presence is itself a blanket. “Now hurry up. I can’t wait to beat you at that game,” he grins. You scoff, nudging him playfully. “You wish.”

° . seungmin

You stare up at the ceiling, breathless, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin. You barely notice Seungmin drawing the sheets over your naked bodies, making sure you don’t get cold. He kisses your temple, pulls your still trembling body to him. “Look at you, all spaced out,” he chuckles tenderly. You hear him, but you’re coming down your high still, your body getting heavy with sleep. It takes long seconds before you finally smile, brushing your nose against his skin. His hair is a mess, his familiar smell strong and intoxicating. “I think you just made my brain malfunction,” you chuckle. Seungmin grins. “That was the point. You deserve peace of mind, my love.” Seungmin has just made love to you passionately. It had been a while because you have both been busy, but the both of you were getting cranky, and having sex released the pent-up pressure. You’re so in love with him - the way he makes you feel, the way he takes care of you. He kissed you so deep, so slow, making sure that every muscle in your body relaxed. Now you just couldn’t think anymore - you felt calm for the first time in weeks. “You can sleep now,” Seungmin breathes in your ear. “I’ll watch over you.”

° . jeongin

When Jeongin squeezes your fingers a little tighter, you realize you’ve been zoning out and haven’t heard what he’s just told you. You look at him apologetically, but he’s already smiling. “Spacing out again?” It’s been happening to you a lot recently. Too much on your mind, not enough rest… Jeongin tugs at your hand, bringing you closer, sliding an arm around your waist. You’ve both dressed warmly for your walk around the park, gloves and hats on. “Yeah, sorry…” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “It’s okay, babe. We can just walk, we don’t have to talk. But I’m right there if you need to, yeah?” You nod your head, smiling at him. Your boyfriend is one of the best people you know. You can tell him anything, you know that - he will never judge you, and he gives really good advice, too. “I know, Innie. I know. I love you.” His eyes don't leave you for a second. "I love you more than words can say." You let your head fall against his shoulder, and the both of you keep walking, interlocked, the breeze against your cheeks.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

taglist: @lix-ables – @iwannabangchan – @yeongyulix – @xcookiemonsteer – @imtoooyoungforthisshit – @bbujiikseu [ please write if you want to be added or removed or if i forgot to add you (it happens) !! ]

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talesof-old · 6 months

Text

breaking | j.p.

pairing(s): james potter x gn!reader

warning(s): angst, breakups, leaving long term relationships, implied unfaithfulness (james doesn’t actually cheat), other woman lily evans, reader deserves better, idk this isn’t proofread or edited, they could never make me hate you lily

word count: 1.2k

a/n: sorry this took me so long, i’ve been teaching myself to crochet and i’m also trying to leave my current job

masterlist

james potter + relationship breakup + no happy ending

It used to be easy, saying James Potter was the best boyfriend you’d ever had.

He’d gone out of his way to shower you in affection and prove himself a capable partner. He’d remembered every important date, what your favorite things were, and why you hated the things you hated. James had been perfect.

You leaned back in your chair. Pieces of parchment littered the desktop, ink staining the expensive wood. You’d given up on caring. A glance at the clock on the wall gave you the time.

22:15.

You huffed. Date night, James had said, like that would fix whatever this was.

This, really, was a wedge driven in unknowingly by one Miss Lily Evans. You couldn’t blame her, really. If you’d asked, she would back away from her friendship with James and be perfectly content. That’s what made it so hard to hate her. She liked you, and would do anything to maintain your friendship.

Instead, like a fool, you’d believed James when he said he’d be home early to have dinner with you. After an hour had passed you’d changed out of your nice clothes and into a pair of pajamas, choosing to work to pass the time. About twenty minutes later, you heard the front door open.

In shuffled a weary James, glasses askew and hair messy. Your heart clenched. Here stood the boy (now man) you’d given your heart to years ago. Here he was, breaking it.

“Hey.” Your voice filled the dimly light room, echoing in the bare corners like some evil spirit.

He looked up at you, eyes blinking owlishly as he tugged off his shoes. It took just a second for the image of you to register. His lips twisted into a guilty grimace, though you weren’t sure he was genuinely regretful.

As he approached, you were hit with a wave of floral and ink perfume. You sighed. Lily’s perfume, which she’d found sometime during your time at Hogwarts and stuck to, was far from unfamiliar. It suited her beautifully, though currently it clung to your skin like aa unwanted disease.

“I’m sorry, we got caught up at the pub.” You nodded. The boys night Sirius had proposed. To forget everything going on for one night. Perhaps you should’ve told James just to stay at your friends’ flat tonight instead.

“We had plans.” Your voice wavered, the telltale sign of tears burning your throat. James nodded solemnly. He made to reach for you, but seemed to second guess himself as you shied away.

“I’m sorry, honey, but Pads wanted to stay-“

“Okay.” The finality in your tone had him pausing, brow furrowed. You moved then, gathering up your papers as tears pricked at your eyes. The rational part of you knew that you needed to speak up about your feelings in order to make a change, but you also didn’t feel like you should have to. James made plans with you, his partner; surely that was just as important?

“I’m going to bed.”

Defeat swirled in your gut. Tomorrow, you’d call Mary. If she couldn’t give you advice, she’d at least help you pack up your things.

“Honey, please.” Something desperate filled his tone. You clicked your tongue to distract yourself from the heaviness in your chest. James stepped forward.

“I just lost track of time, promise. I’ll make it up to you.” You shook your head. This was the make up. This was the second chance. Not a single bone in your body wanted to give him a third. It wasn’t fair to expect you to continue to shatter your heart just for him. You cared more about yourself than that to let it continue.

“You already made a promise like that James, don’t lie to me.” Irritation flashed across his face.

“I’m not lying.” You huffed, clutching your papers in your hands. You’d leave the ink. He’d probably need it more than you.

“Merlin, You told me that the last time, James. What else am I supposed to believe?” He ran a hand through his messy curls. “I don’t understand.”

An incredulous expression took up residence on your face. You blinked furiously as you looked at him.

“What don’t you understand? You come home to me after missing an apology dinner, smelling like another woman. Lily Evans no less.” Venom laced itself through the words as you spoke them. His jaw clenched and he crossed his arms. Muscles tensed as he took in the anger in your eyes. You didn’t often get angry, not like this.

“Lily is my friend, I won’t let you make me feel like shit for spending time with her.” You threw your hands up in the air. The clock down the hallway ticked away, eating at you as you turned away from him.

“I never asked that of you, don’t you dare put words in my mouth.” Tears finally spilled over your cheeks. He scoffed.

“At least look at me.”

You whirled around, eyes glassy and lip trembling. Frustration rose. Here you were, crying over the loss of a relationship that hadn’t even ended yet. You swiped at the tear tracks.

“Why? I can’t do this anymore James. I love you, really, but it isn’t fair for me to have to keep asking you to occasionally put me first.” James wore an expressionless look as you spoke. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, an unsteadying drum to your own heartache.

“I do. I don’t understand where this is coming from.” A forlorn feeling took root in your stomach. He didn’t understand. Maybe you were fooling yourself, thinking you could work through this one. After everything, it was too much to bear.

“Alright.” He furrowed his dark brows.

“I’ll ask Mary if she can swing by tomorrow and help me pack up my things.” He startled, reaching for you once more. A sob caught in your throat as he gripped your shoulders. The soft florals of Lily’s perfume engulfed you.

“What? No, what are you talking about?”

Something undecipherable had leaked into James’ words, panicked and shaky as he searched your face. All he found was resignation. You were giving up. James shook his head, licking his lips and leaning down to stare directly into your teary eyes.

“You’re leaving me?”

You let out a breathy laugh, humorless and cold as it curled around your ears.

“You spend more time with Lily than me these days. I won’t fight for someone who isn’t doing the same.” You watched as his face fell. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words fell from his lips. You knew he couldn’t defend himself from the truth; at the very least, he couldn’t defend himself from this truth.

You spoke again. “I love you.”

You pried yourself from his tense grasp and made your way back to the bedroom, locking yourself in the bathroom for privacy. After tomorrow, you’d no longer be in a relationship. James would no longer be your boyfriend, and peace would have to be made. You shared too many friends for the opposite to be an option. You sighed, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes to keep the tears at bay.

When did it all go wrong?

#james potter x you #james fleamont potter #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter angst #the marauders #marauders x reader #marauders era #marauders #harry potter x reader #harry potter

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heartfullofleeches · 4 months

Text

Moonlight Waves

Yan Alien Human Guy Person + Jellyfish Hybrid Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None, pure fluff

“If you put some thought into it…The ocean and space have a lot in common.”

Vast, boundless frontiers- Depths and reach never to be fully unveiled to the eyes of man. All imposing surfaces blanketing both heaven and earth. Two opposing bodies that on nights just like this might align, conjoined by midnight and the luminous orb mirrored upon them both. The full moon was a blessed companion for those who found themselves alone on eves similar to this- Solace and guidance found in her radiance.

“Whelp- Guess it's time to throw myself.”

Wiser folk have said desperate times call for desperate measures- While there were lesser extremes he could have gone to, this seemed like the quickest solution to their predicament. Twenty-four years on this planet and they had still yet to conquer the strenuous feat that was learning how to swim. His mothers were gentle in their upbringing- Apparently too gentle as they never pressured their child into braving the horrors of the swimming pool. On one hand, the biggest factor to their child's fear may have been the fact that it was their neighbor’s pool - and it'd be quite difficult to explain the eerie glow to their toddler's tears and the stains they left on clothing.

They were fine with it early on, but as he grew - Alien realized how much he was missing out on being unable to swim. Most humans know how to swim by their age anyway which would give less credit to his claims of an earth born and raised member of the population….Which they were regardless of whether or not they knew how to swim.

Alien squares his shoulders, testing the binds of numerous weights anchoring various parts of their body. Unsatisfied with the distribution, he plucks a stone from the moist sand surrounding his legs - unfastening the velcro of their right breast pocket and adding it to the collection. A horde of trinkets ranging from shells to stones to a couple marbles crowded each pocket from the vest they wore down to the swimming trunks they purchased for the occasion. So what if his body was more buoyant than the average human being- requiring additional weight to avoid floating off into the endless sea. Alien had always been a scrawny person-

“That should be enough- Wait…Is that?”

Srounging for more space to stuff the final stone, a gentle glow envelopes their fingertips following a faint- snap! Alien pushes the rocks and shells aside, wrestling the shining band from beneath them with minimal effort.

*Jackpot! I thought I used all of these already. With this baby on, I'm definitely ready for this. Wish me luck up here!”

Alien gazes up at the moon as they slip the glow-stick bracelet onto their arm. It's the last thing they see as their legs carry the rest of them towards the end of the cliff. Had it not been a full moon or the sky so clear- tonight may have gone different for them. They could've swallowed their pride, and went to bed with intentions to sign up for the nearest swim class come morning. Realistically, Alien knew he'd never go through with that plan, but it was nice in theory. Safer too-

Head lost in the cloudless sky, Alien yelps as the ground is swept from beneath them - their screams swiftly snuffed by gallons of water as they're dragged into a plummet off the cliff's edge. Their body connects with the sea, pockets of air bubbling to the surface from the force at which they collide. The oxygen escaping him would have been alarming - had they any need for it. Whether they could hold their breath or their biology simply skipped the stage where their lungs depended on air was a secret they'd take to the grave.

Sinking fast, Alien realizes what some might call a flaw in their ingenious plan.

Perhaps, just maybe, they potentially added too much weight for them to claw their way back to the surface.

…

Ah well.

Since they're already down here, there's no harm in exploring. Hard to see much beyond the gleam of their jewelry dangling freely around their wrist, but they dig the vibe of it all - drifting weightlessly without aim or reason. The deeper they dove, the brighter the natural fluorescence of their skeleton bled through their skin. Alien had heard of a condition that made people's skin slightly yellow before. Surely the green glow of their bones had to be in the same family. The shine widens their range of sight. By now, it was hard to decipher which way they were facing. The moon had long since faded from view….

Oh, wait. There it is..

….

Is it?

Stranging their eyes through the blackened depths of the ocean, Alien can clearly make something out miles away from them - shrouded by a halo of light. It almost mimics their guideless descent - floating off course before gradually aligning itself in a mostly linear ascent towards them. That alone was enough evidence whatever they were looking at was not the moon. The fluctuation of its surface and the four, almost crescent shaped markings atop only served as further proof. Inch by inch, as the space between them grew narrow, Alien could make out more of its features. Flowing tendrils, a pair of arms floating freely at its sides, a face adorned with a dopey smile.

Face to face, the near angelic like figure raises one of its hands - waving its fingers at the unfamiliar face within its territory. Alien’s eyes tighten from the phosphorescence of the creature's skin. Ignoring the sting, Alien lifts his own hand, mirroring the entity’s motions. The corners of its smile peak higher upon its face, head following the dim glow of their bracelet. The lightly draws focus to the stones bulging from his pockets. The creature's grin falters into tight lipped confusion.

“Hey…Hey!”

Alien struggles to make a sound as its hands paw at the straps of their pockets. Successfully tearing the sleeve open, the creature yanks out every rock, every shell- It pauses briefly to marvel at the eye of the marbles in Alien's pocket before shoving them beneath the cap of their head as they continue. Depleting their vest of its contents was all it took to send Alien on their upwards rise towards the surface. The angel waves again before swimming its way to the top, gliding gracefully as a true angel would through the sky. It grabs onto Alien's wrist, tugging him along with them as he apparently took too long for their liking.

Alien could only watch on in awe as the darkness peeled away - moonlight adding on to the ethereal, otherworldly glimmer that was this being and its flesh. Could this be Alien's first encounter with an extraterrestrial? There was no possible way a creature of this radiance was from earth. They just couldn't be-

The creature releases their hold on Alien's wrist as they breach air. Alien finds himself searching for their touch, and another item he appeared to be missing. The angel, the only term Alien found fit for them, wandered towards the shore without him- back facing the sand as they spun a glowing band around their finger. Alien channels the knowledge of every training video they viewed before their trip as they doggy paddle in the general direction of the shore. Thankfully, there was still enough weight in their shorts to keep them perfectly balanced between drifting off and going under.

The energy is depleted from their very soul by the time they reach their destination. The angel sits with its lower half still bathed by the oncoming tide, rolling a marble through the crystalized sand. It throws its arm into the air as Alien appears.

The angel waves. Alien, running on fumes and the strange heartache that would come from not reciprocating their kind gesture- waves back.

The angel helps Alien sit upright, returning the marbles they had borrowed back into the land dweller’s pocket from which they can. Alien fishes out of the marble they saw the angel toy with and gives it back to them.

“Keep that one… So- you got a name?”

The angel’s mouth falls open in a “O” of both surprise and honor at the present. They brush the sand smooth before rolling the marble through it once more. Inspecting their craft, Alien can make out letters the further along the angel continues.

“Y/n? That's your name?”

You clap your hands in praise, sound and ferocity increased by the wetness of your palms. Cute.

“You, uh, come here often?”

The point of your finger towards the water states the obvious fact that you live here. A murmur akin to laughter slips past your lips at that one.

“You got me there… The sea’s pretty big, though. What I'm asking is can I see you again?”

You tap a finger to your chin in thought, head dipping towards the bracelet now hanging from your own wrist. You point to it, hope and wonder present in your grin.

“You like the bracelet? You can keep that too. I can bring you more if that's what you're asking.”

Clapping again, you latch onto Alien's side - merging your fingers with theirs as you hold them both to the sky. Moonlight pours through your skin and theirs, transparency muddled by the existence of their bones. Your head falls to their chest- a whisper so quiet they almost missed it.

“Like me…”

They're glad that they didn't.

#alien my oc #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere fluff #yandere drabble

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 3 months

Note

Heya! I love your "half a bed" fic!!

You said to drop any "only one bed"-trope ideas in your inbox so I'm hoping I did this correctly? But I'm thinking for Asterion x Tav that since Cazador controlled Star so much, he doesn't really own anything for himself? And maybe Tav notices and because the others are already asleep, she offers for him to share her bedroll? He's snarky and rude and she's unimpressed but it's the start of a mutual very strong infatuation and eventually relationship?

Heyo sorry it took so long!! Had some trouble overcoming the writer's block for this but hey I did it in the end! Hope you like it!

"I don't recall giving you my bedroll." You raise an eyebrow at the pale elf who has taken to using your bedroll every night ever since you first offered to share it with him.

He yawns, flashing his fangs at you before grinning, "we're sharing it, are we not? That means I have every right to lie on it."

"It doesn't mean you can take up the whole thing! Where am I going to sleep?" You attempt to shove him to one side but he refuses to budge an inch. "Move!"

"Nope." He pops the 'p' on purpose, knowing it will irritate you. You scowl and shove harder, half ruing the night you offered to share your bedroll. He laughs at your futile attempts, a genuine smile playing on his lips until you give up and flop onto him, causing him to yelp in surprise. You glower when he complains about you being too heavy, giving his side an annoyed poke but you can't really bring yourself to be mad at him even if he just stole your sleeping spot.

Then again, you always had a soft spot for the vampire spawn.

The first time he shared your bedroll was early on in your adventures. Everyone else had gone to sleep but he had remained outside, seated by the dwindling fire with the excuse that he wasn't tired yet. You'd woken up in the middle of the night to relieve yourself, noticing that even though the fire was long gone, he remained outside his tent.

"Still not tired?" You ask, slightly concerned.

"No." He answers curtly, leaving no room for further questions. You sit next to him, much to his chagrin and he shifts away ever so slightly. You notice it, of course, but choose not to comment on it.

"You should still try and trance, you'll need your strength for tomorrow," you hum, looking up at the night sky. The stars are bright tonight, shining in stark contrast to the dark sky.

"Shouldn't you take your own advice?" He snorts.

"Well, I'm not the one who has been out here the whole time," you retort, suppressing a yawn. He notices, however, the twitch of the corners of your lips and rolls his eyes.

"Go and sleep, idiot. Can't have our dear leader collapsing midway because they didn't get enough rest can we now?"

"Is that concern I hear?" You smirk.

"No." He scowls, sending a glare your way. You give him a look of disbelief, which then morphs into amusement and you grin.

"You're terrible at hiding it you know?" You huff, giving an amused shake of your head.

"Hiding what?"

"Your concern for my well-being."

"What concern?"

"That concern." You fold your arms across your chest, undeterred.

"Tch, stop bothering me and go back to sleep." He snaps, looking away. You, however, remain undaunted by his attitude.

"Is there a reason you can't trance?"

"Stop it and go back to sleep."

"There has to be a reason. Nightmares perhaps?"

"Shut up and stop asking so many questions."

"I'm trying to help you here."

"Then stop trying to help me. I don't need it."

"You don't want it, you mean."

"Yes, finally, you get it. Now leave."

"No." Your response surprises him.

"No?" He asks incredulously. "What do you mean no?"

"I'm not going to leave you to deal with your problems alone. We may not be friends yet, but we are companions. If you're stuck dealing with your own problems, you're not going to be able to fully contribute to the party and that's an issue. So we're going to solve it together, with me helping in whatever way I can and you doing the rest." You put your hands on your hips, daring him to talk back.

"And what if you can't do anything to help solve 'my problems'?" He sneers.

"Then I'll accept it and rely on you less so you can sort your own issues out first." His eyes widen slightly and you can see the panic that flashes across his face. Your heart aches upon seeing his reaction but you steel yourself, reminding yourself that it is for the greater good of the party.

"I —" He pauses, looking down. He sighs, looking back up at you reluctantly, all the fight having left his body. "I don't exactly have a bed roll to sleep in, you see. Cazador never allowed any of his spawn to have any personal belongings, everything belonged to him and he 'loaned it to us out of the kindness of his heart'. Trancing on hard ground is…difficult."

"We can share my bed roll if you're comfortable. Each of us can take a half, it should be big enough for us both."

He blinks, surprised. "Are you…sure? We…" He swallows hard.

"We've slept together before, don't tell me you're squeamish about sharing a bed roll." You raise an eyebrow.

"I'm not. It's just that…"

"Don't worry. I'm not some horny bastard who can't go a night without lying with someone. We can have our own side of the bed roll, no physical contact required." He still looks uncertain, and you sigh. You can't exactly fault him, he's dropped enough hints about certain aspects of his past and you're not going to tear open any of those wounds.

He laughs, the sound ringing hollow. "Are you sure about that, darling? It would suit my taste better if you were~"

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "Yeah, right. Anyways, are you going to take me up on my offer or not?"

"I'll take you up on it if you don't mind, darling." His usual smirk replaces the quiet sad look on his face.

"Well, come on then. We don't have much time left."

You can't help but smile upon remembering that night. He'd come so far since that night, the two of you had grown more comfortable with each other, and even after you had bought a bed roll for him, he still preferred sneaking into your tent to steal half your bed roll.

"What are you smiling about?" He pokes your cheek with a huff.

"Nothing." You grin. He rolls his eyes in response, running a hand through your hair. You bury your face in his chest, letting the gentle feeling wash over you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, loving the way you sprawl on top of him without a care in the world. He's a vampire, for goodness sake, and yet you bare your neck to his fangs like that, not the least bit worried he take advantage of the situation and drain you.

"Hmph." He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your hair. As much as he complains about it, your weight is comforting. It reminds him that he isn't alone anymore, that he has you to turn to when he needs someone to lean on, and that you have him to lean on in return.

"Good night, Star." You yawn cutely, stretching your limbs.

"Good night, love." He murmurs back, pressing one last kiss to your head before he drifts off into a trance. You watch him for a while, smiling softly at the way he slowly relaxes as the trance takes hold, worries forgotten for the night.

Wrapped in the cocoon of your vampire lover, you too drift off and let sleep claim you, knowing that when you wake, he will be the first thing you see just as he's always the last thing you see before you sleep.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #durgestarion #astarion x gender neutral reader

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thehistoriccemetery · 8 months

Note

Companions reacting to Tav sleeping completely naked!!!! Please

BG3 Companions Find Out Tav Sleeps Naked (18+)

I really thought I was just gonna start writing this one real quick (I had an idea for Karlach) and three hours later here I am.

This asker was literally the only one to request this one so this is largely self-indulgent, as I do and always have slept naked, even in this -4 degree weather.

Also I’m really trying to incorporate the drow language into Minthara’s portion, but I’m like 70% sure I failed and it just sounds mildly cringy and incredibly ill-informed.

Anyway this is all our favorite ladies (Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, and Jaheira) finding out Tav sleeps naked.

(18+ for possible sexual themes)

Shadowheart

One morning, when she’s feeling particularly mischievous, Shadowheart decides she’s going to drop by your room and wake you up herself.

You’re certainly not the last one up, but Shadowheart, Jaheira, and Minthara have all been up making breakfast for a little while now, and she’s finding their company a little stale.

She sneaks over to your bed, grabbing the blankets and pulling them off of you in one swift move.

She’s typically a lot nicer and gentler when she wakes you up, but her aforementioned mischievousness has her feeling a little playful this morning.

“What the hell?” You groan grumpily, “put it back on I’m cold.”

She stares at you aghast. She was not expecting you to be completely naked, splayed out face down on the mattress.

“Fine, but I’m coming with it,” she says. She wraps the blanket around her shoulders and crawls on top of you.

“Much better,” you smirk, joyed to have such delightful company so early in the morning.

She kisses your bare shoulder. “I suppose I should apologize, I hadn’t expected you to be… unadorned.”

You chuckle. “You gotta problem with me sleeping in the nude?”

“Not a one,” she corrects. “I actually find it oddly… charming, I think. Plus then I can do this.”

She starts to trail slow kisses down your spine. You smirk, trying to turn around and face her, but she pins your wrists down, keeping you splayed out on the mattress.

“Be still for a moment, love,” she kisses the middle of your back before sitting up, astride your hips. “I feel like I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“My back?” You question. She’s certainly seen your bare back before. But she really seems to be enamored with it now. It was nothing special, you thought. Aside from a couple scars, it was just… a back.

She dragged her nails gently up your back. “I like the view. I’d like to see you like this more often.” She bends over until her chest is flush against you and whispers softly in your ear. “Perhaps tonight?”

You feel a rush of heat between your legs, closing your eyes and audibly exhaling.

Before you can even fully enjoy the sensation, she’s off of you, standing next to the bed with her hand out. “Come on, the others will be waiting.”

You take her hand and pull yourself out of bed. She certainly was feeling some type of playful this morning.

Lae’zel

“Hmm. This choice of sleepwear feels… inadequate,” Lae’zel spits.

You nearly jump out of bed with the scare she gives you. You were sleeping and not expecting such abrupt company.

With a simple fire spell, you light the candle on your bedside and point it towards the Githyanki.

“Lae’zel?” You ask, very confused. “What are you doing in here? What time is it? It can’t be morning already.”

You sigh. You were still so tired, you really hoped she was not here to wake you up for the day.

“No,” she growled. “The animal has been scratching at your door. It seems he has tired of Karlach’s snoring and would like to stay in here instead.”

With that, Scratch jumps onto your bed and curls up at your feet. The animals usually slept in Karlach’s room.

“But, back to your choice of sleepwear,” she says. “It seems ill-advised to be covered by do little in your most vulnerable state.”

You cock your head. You had never seen sleeping naked as a safety hazard. “Lae’zel, you’re not sleeping in your armor… are you?”

“Chk, no,” she says, gesturing to her own sleep outfit.

“What more protection does that give you than this?” You gesture at her body and then your own.

“It’s sleek, form fitting, ergonomic, and, most importantly, it covers my most intimate areas.”

You stifle a laugh. The comment sounded ridiculous to you but you would accept her clothes as superior if it meant she’d let you go back to sleep.

“Okay, Lae’zel. Goodnight.” You blow out the candle and close your eyes.

Moments later you feel Lae’zel carefully crawl into bed on top of your blankets.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“If you insist on sleeping in such a state, I must sleep here too. To ensure your safety.”

Karlach

Lets be honest: Karlach is at most sleeping in her underwear most nights.

But she puts on some trousers at least to pad over to your room and ask for a cuddle.

You wake up in your typical sleeping position: on your stomach with your hair flying all over the place.

You swipe the hair from your eyes to see a sweet little (7ft tall) tiefling holding her teddy bear and anxiously smiling.

“Hey love,” you say, groggy but still soft and sweet. “What can I do for ya?”

“I was just wondering if I could… um… maybe have a cuddle?” She requests, anxiously shifting her weight around.

You giggle, using your arm to lift up on side of the blanket. “Of course, darling. Please it is freezing in here.”

Her eyes go wide as you expose your full chest in lifting the blanket, then she smiles and crawls under.

As she makes contact with your skin, it’s immediately apparent that you truly are wearing nothing.

“Oh so you sleep naked. Like naked naked,” she remarks.

“As the day I was born,” you quip. “Any objections?”

She giggles and twists excitedly. “None at all my darling. In fact, I think I might like to join you.”

“Get those trousers out of here!” You joke. “No trousers allowed in the bed!”She removes what’s left of her clothes and settles into bed.

Karlach sleeps on her back, leaving you sort of half stacked on top of her with her arm swung lazily around your back. Your legs are semi-intertwined, alternating between yours and hers.

You prop your chin up against her chest to look her in the eyes. “I guess it’s kinda inconvenient that neither of us sleep on our side, huh? We’re just kinda stacked chest to chest.”

“I suppose I can be on top and we can try to go back to back,” she teases. “But I’d probably suffocate you, face down into the mattress.”

You laugh at the thought and teasingly mess up her hair. “You’re hilarious. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, darling,” she says, craning up to kiss your forehead.

For as awkward and sloppy as it looks, you both actually find the position quite comfortable.

Naturally, you wake up with your ass fully on display from where you both kicked off the blankets in the middle of the night.

Minthara

Minthara is awake, as usual, when you step into her room. Her red eyes almost glow in the pitch black.

“Can I help you?” She asks passively.

“Can I sleep in here? My room is frigid,” you ask from the doorway, clearly shaking under a blanket.

She sighs, but motions for you to come join her on the bed. “As you wish, ssin.”

Minthara had attempted to teach you a small bit of her language. The words came off unfamiliar and hissy on your tongue. From what you knew, the term she occasionally used for you, “ssin”, wasn’t an actual word. You assumed it was used as a pet name derived from the drow words “ssinssrigg” (passion, lust, greed, love) and “alurissin” (a deep loving connection.)

You close the door softly and crawl into her bed. You get on at the bottom and squirm your way up until your head pokes out the blankets.

She looks at you, both amused and appalled by your abnormal behavior. She supposed that was one way to “crawl” into bed. If you were taking the phrase literally.

“You are terribly odd sometimes, my dear,” she said laying her hand on your back, surprised to find no fabric under the blanket.

“Are you not wearing any clothes?” She asks. This wasn’t the first time the two of you had shared a bed, but the previous times you had fallen asleep naked after sex. She hadn’t thought you did that every night.

You shook your head against her chest.

“Straj, in that case I think I discovered the source of your temperature issue.” She rubbed her forehead, reminding herself of all the reasons she actually valued you at all.

Gods how did the sleeping races ever survive the nights? Did everyone sleep like this or was this just a you thing? She didn’t think she’d be surprised either way.

She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but you were already comfortably asleep against her chest.

She sighed and gently stroked your bare back in defeat. How in the hells had she fallen so hard for this adorable little fool.

Jaheira

After a particularly long day, you decide to skip all the extra steps of running your own bath and decide to just bathe in Jaheira’s room.

Her tub was already full, fresh with herbs and such from her own bath.

You rinse off quickly, eager to crawl into bed. “Can I just stay in here tonight?” You ask politely from the tub.

“That is fine. But don’t get disappointed if I fall asleep immediately,” Jaheira explains. “I’m no, spring chicken, as they say.”

You get out of the tub and dry yourself off. “Oh trust me, after today I could fall asleep on one of those god awful bedrolls again.”

She laughs. “Well then it sounds like we’re on the same page, yes?”

She gets in bed, careful to leave one side fully open to you. You step towards the bed, and lift the blanket to get in.

“Put on your sleeping clothes, it is too cold.” She commands.

You look around. You don’t have any sleeping clothes. You always sleep like this.

As you explain this to her she clicks her tongue. She gets out of bed and starts rooting through her wardrobe.

“This was Khalid’s. It will swallow you up, but it will keep you warm.”

You take the heavy fur robe into your hands. You didn’t know how to feel about being offered her late husband’s clothes.

She could see the weariness on your face and soothed you with a gentle hand on the cheek.

“He would be happy I have you, you know?” She says with a somber chuckle. “I think the two of you would’ve gotten on all too well.”

You rubbed your hand against the soft fur. I was jet black, like a panther. It reminded you of Jaheira. You softly thank her before putting on the robe. It was, indeed, very warm and way too big.

Jaheira made her way back to bed, and you followed shortly thereafter. She wrapped her arms around you, pressing her chest against the warm fur.

You have never felt so safe as you did in that moment: swaddled in a massive robe, wrapped in the arms of your lover.

She kisses the back of your head. “Goodnight, my cub.”

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galedekarios · 9 months

Text

gale's early access dialogue transcripts - part 2 b: the loss scene

in early access, gale had two additional major scenes in act i: the deer stew scene and the loss scene, both of which would happen during a long rest at camp.

the scenes in early access usually happened in this order:

-1: first night long rest scene (still in the final game) -2: mirror image scene (still in the final game) -3: deer stew scene (cut content / partially reused in act i) -4: weave scene (still in the final game) -5: loss scene (cut content) -6: tiefling party scene (ea version cut / partially reused in act ii last night alive scene)

you can watch the entire scene here. below you'll find the transcript of the scene itself as well as some additional info / context.

the loss scene revealed more about gale's life before the game, his abilities as a chosen of mystra and as an archwizard, as well as his status and his relationship with mystra. sadly, it was cut and only seems to have survived as (as of now) obsolete code:

at a long rest, gale would have a ! and stand by the fire, trying and failing to cast a spell:

Gale: [Fails to cast a spell] Gale: Khat-Tsjin Deth-Thra! Protag: [Wizard]: That was a failed spell if ever I heard one. Gale: Failure. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. It’s getting late. I think I'll turn in. Perhaps some sleep will do me good. - Protag [Option 1]: You don't sound very happy there, Gale. Gale: Happiness is like a stray cat; sometimes it seeks you out, sometimes it ignores you. Tonight, I'm ignored. It's getting late. I think I'll turn in. Perhaps some sleep will do me good. - Protag [Option 2]: Is something wrong? Gale: Let's just say not all is right. But that goes for all of us. - Protag [Option 3]: Do you mind? I’d like some peace and quiet Gale: Quiet you can have – peace I can’t guarantee. Especially not peace of mind.

Protag [Wizard]: I didn't recognize your hand gestures. What spell were you trying to cast? Gale: A bygone spell from a bygone age. It doesn't matter. - Protag [Option 1]: They say you should never go to bed angry Gale: Isn’t that advice for couples? The only one I’m angry with is myself. Please – just let it rest. - Protag [Option 2]: Ever the mystery man, aren’t you? Gale: I simply have a lot on my mind. - Protag [Option 3]: Suit yourself. Goodnight. Gale: Goodnight.

Protag [Option 1]: [if Protag intiated Gale's romance during the Weave scene] Come, you know I care about you. I showed you when we shared that spell. Gale: So you did. Very well. -> See below - Protag [Option 2]: [Insight] We shared the Weave the other night. Now share what's on your mind. Gale: [Failure] Tonight's not a night for sharing. Tonight's a night for regrets. With that I bid you an evening better than my own. Gale: [Success] -> See below - Protag [Option 1]: [Persuasion] I’m the leader of this party. I need to know what’s going on. Gale: [Success]: Very well. Just now, I was trying to cast a spell I once cast with ease, but I failed. You see, this fire – there was a time that I could make it come alive. That it would take the shape of a dragon and roar in delight. There was a time I could silence a Beholder with a word, and lift a tower from its foundations with a flourish. There was a time I was all but one with the Weave. But no more – a mere shadow of the wizard I used to be. Why? Because I’ve lost. Gale [Failure] You're the leader and I will follow you where you go, not down the path of my own regrets. With that I bid you good night. - Protag [Option 2]: [Intimidation] You will tell me, and you’ll tell me now. Gale: [Failure] I said ‘please’, but that courtesy was a mere formality. What I meant was; you will let it rest. With that I bid you an evening better than my own. Gale: [Success]: Very well. -> See above

Protag [Option 1]: I don’t understand. What is it that you’ve lost? Gale: I’ve lost… - Protag [Option 2]: Who are you? Gale: I am the man who came after – after having lost... - Protag [Option 3]: If this is meant to be suspenseful, I assure you it’s not. Gale: You don’t understand! I’ve lost… - Protag [Option 4]: It’s all right, you don’t have to tell me. Gale: Thank you. You’re a good friend. I want you to know that - Protag [Option 5]: [Persuasion]: You can tell me. You can trust me. Gale [Failure]: Trust is not the issue. The issue is that the truth doesn’t matter. Secret or revealed, the outcome is the same. Gale [Success]: I’ve lost Mystra. I sought to impress her personally. To turn the eye of my muse upon me. To win the favour of a goddess. But I failed, and all I invoked was death and dismissal. My death. Her dismissal. - Protag [Option 6]: [Insight] Go on. Every burden is easier to carry when shared. Gale [Failure]: I’m strong enough. I’ll carry on alone. With that I bid you an evening better than my own. (Die/Dice Roll Fail) Gale: [Sucess] An apt enough observation. I've... lost... Mystra. I sought to impress her personally. - Protag [Cleric of Mystra]: I'm sorry. I cannot begin to understand being abandoned by the goddess. Gale: Thank you. You're a good friend. I often think of that moment we shared- - Protag [Cleric of Mystra]: When devotion is blind, the goddess loses sight of you. Rightly too. Gale: You pray to the goddess for every spell and every blessing. You devote your life to her – are we truly so different? Then again, if that is how you judge me, there’s little I can do to change your mind. But know that I have this ambition still. First to save myself, and after that, the licence to dream.

Protag [Option 1]: I’m sorry for you. Protag [Option 2]: I don't know what to make of what you've told me, but I sympathise. Gale: Thank you. You’re a good friend. Gale: [Weave scene wasn't romantic] I want you to know that. I consider myself very lucky to have found you. -> Protag can initiate alternate romance route here -> See below - Gale: [Weave scene was romantic] I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too. / I'm glad to know you think about it too. [end] - Protag [Option 3]: Another fool pays for his arrogance. A tale as old as time. Gale: Arrogance? Ambition, rather. And ambition is a fine thing – until suddenly it no longer is. Then again, if that is how you judge me, there’s little I can do to change your mind. But know that I have this ambition still. First to save myself, and after that, the licence to dream. [end]

the loss scene also offered another way to initiate gale's romance:

Narrator: *You sense a moment of unspoken affection. You want to know where it may lead.* Gale: I consider myself very lucky to have found you. Protag [Option 1]: I think perhaps we could be more than friends. Gale: Perhaps. - Protag [Option 2]: I consider myself lucky too Gale: Good. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding. / And try not to think too poorly of me. A cat can look at a king. A wizard can look at a goddess. - Protag [Option 3]: Don’t get carried away imagining feelings that aren’t there. Gale: I see. Say no more. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding. - Protag [Option 4]: You are a good friend too, Gale. Gale: Hold on to that thought. I may just have to remind you before all is said and done. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding. - Protag [Option 5]: Lets not get sentimental, shall we? Gale: Fair enough. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding.

after the loss scene ended, the player-initiated dialogue had several options following it: you were able to initiate the romance on gale's perhaps, you could address the fact that he mentioned that he thinks about the weave scene with the player still, and lastly, you were able to ask how he can still cast if he had lost mystra's favour so.

if you picked the "I think perhaps we could be more than friends." option during the loss scene, you could talk about what exactly he meant with gale after by intiating a conversation with him again:

Protag: When I said we could be more than friends, you answered 'perhaps.' What does that really mean? Gale: If I recall correctly, the Waterdhavian Dictionary of the Common Tongue of Faerun defines it as an adverb that conveys the meaning of 'it may be that', or 'possibly'. Sorry, sometimes I can't help but being quite insufferable. Gale: In seriousness, I’m glad you asked that question. Gale: You see, I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes we embrace. You are on such event, that soon, I would like to embrace.

you could also follow up with him on the mention of him thinking about the weave scene still:

Protag: You said you think about the moment we shared under the weave. Do you think about it often? Gale: Do you? - Protag [Option 1]: Yes. Gale: So do I. You see. I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. You're one such event that one day soon perhaps I'd like to embrace. - Protag [Option 2]: From time to time. Gale: So do I. You see. I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. You're one such event that one day soon perhaps I'd like to embrace. - Protag [Option 3]: Not really. Gale: And yet you ask. I do, as a matter of fact.

the follow up for the loss scene would also include this dialogue:

Protag: There's one thing, I don't understand. If Mystra abandoned you, how can you still cast magic? Gale: The Weave is still here. All around us. Inside of us, too. As long as the goddess lives, magic is still a tangible thing for those who know how to touch. I've studied magic for many years and in as many ways, I'm still a more than capable wizard. Gale: It's just that I'm no longer able to perform those feats even archwizards would marvel at. To have one hand at the pulse of divinity. You have to remember that the Weave is a living thing. Both the embodiment and the extension of Mystra herself. Gale: She can give and she can take away. I'm afraid I'm still very much on her naughty list.

anyhow, this wraps the loss scene up.

overall, i'm extremely sad this was cut. i think with minor adjustments this scene would have worked not only to combat the scene disparity amongst the companions, but it also would have fleshed out gale's backstory and character even more!

i hope this was helpful to some of you!

coming up next:

-part 1: the three tadpole dreams -> completed -part 2: major cut scenes: the deer stew scene & the loss scene -> completed -part 3: minor cut scenes: abandoned temple of jergal, failed to save arabella, talking to the paladins of tyr and agreeing to go after karlach, edowin and the tadpole reveal, mayrina giving ethel's wand to her or breaking it, handing astarion over to the gur or defending him, reaching the druid grove, killing lae'zel, reaching the goblin camp & looking for halsin, killing the druids, priestess gut & the brand & the cult of the absolute, dror ragzlin and talking to the dead mind flayer, ogre couple, necromancy of thay, ethel, zhentarim chest, myconid colony -part 4: gale's condition & the way it was treated in early access

taglist: @chainsawmascara, @randomfanner, @tacogoats, @khajiit-necromancer, @gwinharper, @galesenchantedpanties, @swampfaerie, @ardently-queer, @nirraein, @gale-enjoyer, @xiv-wolfram, @kairoswouldnever, @a-psychopathic-dream, @toboldlydammitjim

i thought i'd tag the people i'd seen taking an interest in my original post! if you want to be taken off the taglist, or added, please let me know!

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tav x gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #series: eadialogue

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absfawn · 4 months

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⠀⠀⠀ღ ELECTRAPLAYER ✶ CLEAN UP THE MESS YOU MADE !

a/n: massive shoutout to @andersonfilms for helping me with this. with all of it actually ... ily ღ

the slam of the wooden door echoes throughout your shared home, rage spilling over like oil under a gas stove, both of your frustrated but truthfully? more so you. not so carefully you discard the keys in the entry bowl, smirking maliciously as abby just continues to press, creating more distance between the two of you as if this doesn’t need to be discussed.

abby’s nails pick at the cuticles anxiously and you know if she continues they’ll bleed. you also know, you’re far too stubborn to help her with it, not with the stunt she pulled tonight. the two of you leaving early, the attitude she seemed to pull out of her ass.

no, you’re not fucking standing for this bullshit.

anxiously, the blonde halts near the kitchen island, waiting for you to meet her there but you don’t. firm hands running over your hair until they reach the nape of your neck, fingers pressing against the tension built.

“are we going to talk about this or are you going to continue to give me the silent treatment? that is your typical move, abby.” questioning her as you slowly step forward. cynically, cocking your head to the side, waiting to give her back the same bullshit behaviour she served you on a silver platter all night long.

her soft jaw clenches, lips pursed into a pout as her arms cross her chest. a needle drop could be heard between the two of you, only sound to be heard is the insistent tapping of your foot. an attempt to edge her into submission.

taking one step closer, your cologne starting to invade her sense, numbing the frustration nudged in her mind. “is this what you really want? to act like an absolute brat, go to bed angry, and leave this all unresolved just so you can cry to me in the middle of the night when you want me to hold you.”

“t-that’s not— i don’t do that.” abby defends, breaking her silence for the first time since the two of you headed home.

“oh? you don’t?” your tongue pokes through your cheek, shaking your head at her in the process. all the fucking talk in the world but when it comes to you? she never has it in her fight back when you do. “okay. fine. let’s just pretend you don’t for one second. why on earth are you pissed at me for talking to people we both know?”

“you’re calling it talking? please you fucking get off on flirting with other people in front of me.” perhaps she wasn’t thinking clearly, all the pent up frustration doing the talking for her but it spilled before she could halt her words.

this time she was met with silence, as you roll the sleeves to your elbows carefully, exposing your tattoo forearms, the ones she loves so dearly. abby can’t read you, fuck, you look stone cold. processing what she just said to you as you reassess.

if abby wants to play dirty, you’ll play goddamn dirty.

“that’s what you think?” you laughed, dryly but sarcastically in her direction. “you’re gonna stand there, tell me m’flustered over some other girl? right in front of you? my girl? better yet, you wanna say i’m flirting with them?” you scoffed, running your fingers through your hair and tugging gently.

abby didn’t know why you had switched from being so sweet, soft, and gentle, to suddenly pissed off, and annoyed. it was a joke. a joke she always tells you. always tells you that other girls make you flustered when you suddenly get warm and hot in a room. a joke that you usually laugh at and say something like ‘if it’s not because of you, then i am not flustered, i am pissed off’ and let it go. but since coming home, you’ve been downright moody and pissed off. “it was a joke” she sighed, shrugging off her jacket.

“a joke” you laughed and moved closer, not enough but one step was enough to have her baby blue eyes locking onto yours. “a bit of an overused joke, don’t you think, baby?” you’re scoffing again, cocking your head to the side. “a joke that you should know pisses me off by now”

“babe i didn’t mean it seriously. i know that you dont have eyes for anyone else” abby sighed again, looking at you with softer eyes. softer ones than a few hours ago. ones that would usually have you kneeling at her feet, worshiping the ground she walks on, and doing whatever she wanted you to do. tonight though? tonight you weren’t doing any of that. so she knew she had pissed you off with her joke.

she’s barely able to keep up with her own thoughts circling in her brain, let alone able to keep up with how fast you’re moving. one second you’re standing so far away from her, so far away from her reach to being right in front of her. looking down at her with a clenched jaw. a clenched jaw that she usually finds so attractive, but now her throat is dry and she’s looking up at you with wide eyes and a pout on her face. “so you think that any girl i see makes me flustered?” you questioned, inching your face closer.

“no! s’not what i mean” she mumbled, shaking her head and closing her eyes.

“no? then what did you mean?”

“it was just a harmless joke, babe. really”

abby chokes out a sound. you can’t really tell when you’re grabbing onto her hand and tilting your head to the side more, your breath fanning her face hotly. “harmless joke?” you’re asking, eyes flickering over the way her eyes flutter open and she’s gasping softly when you’re out of nowhere shoving her hand down your pants. a crimson blush coating her cheeks upon feeling just how wet you are. “you wear those tight fuckin’ pants, that shirt that shows everything, and you think i am flustered because of them?

“i—”

you have her body boxed in against the wall. her hand shoved down your pants. her brain and body are fighting against each other. one side is telling her to behave and do nothing until you let her do something. but her brain is telling her to touch you. have you gasping under her touch and make you forget all about the joke. and yet she can’t. not when you’re looking down at her like that.

“have you ever taken notice to understand you are the most beautiful person in the entire world, and every single day i am with you or near you, i can’t contain myself? do you really forget how wet you make me?” you whispered against her neck, smirking. “have you forgotten how many times you have made me cum in the same night? forgotten the sounds i make when you touch me?”

“no— i just—”

“you just what? c’mon baby, speak up, use your words”

“i was teasing you. m’sorry” abby whined, squirming against the wall when you’re sinking your teeth into her neck, and sucked softly. “m’sorry”

“yeah? you know how much i hate being teased” you’re growling, using your free hand and wrapping it around her throat. grinning smugly at the small gasp she lets out when you squeeze just enough. “get on your knees, clean up the mess you made and maybe i’ll think about forgiving you. depends on if you do a good job or not”

#ღ ELECTRAPLAYER — you own me #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x masc reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us 2 #abby x you

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yuoimia · 10 months

Text

one chance pt.2

summary: you give them one chance. how do they use it?

characters: kazuha, lyney, wanderer, zhongli

notes: zhongli’s is super rushed im sorry, gn reader! wc: 200-400

part 1: alhaitham, diluc, neuvillette, wriothesley

kazuha

Lethargic movements of cascading waves rock the ship, emanating a warm ambience of comfort, wrapping you around in a dreamlike mist. It’s dark, the cabin is silent, and dawn is slowly approaching. Nevertheless, swallowed in the labyrinth of blankets and pillows, your sleep is undisturbed, a line of drool evident on your chin.

Unlike usual, the space next to you is empty. Strange, isn’t it? The whole blanket has been carefully intertwined around you, a beautifully simple yet loving action calculated from the very depths of his heart.

It’s likely that you’ve probably forgotten.

The one chance you’ve given him, the perfect time, and Kazuha would be a fool to let it pass.

—

The sudden explosion of sunlight almost blinds you.

“Kazuha… It’s too early,” you mumble incoherently, sleep still tangling your words, your movements sluggish as you follow his blurry figure. “Besides, where are you taking me?”

Kazuha rotates to face you, a gentle smile plastered on his cheeky face. Almost flirtatious.

“Take my hand,” he whispers, etching closer and pulling you just a bit further. “And look.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, moving to your side, revealing the dazzling sky he promised since day one.

lyney

Sitting in the front row of the Opera Epiclese means you’re able to catch the smaller things. Actions are more precise, mistakes become more prominent, and, of course, the stars are always shining more magnificently than ever.

Tonight, it’s Lyney and Lynette.

Their voices glide over the exhilarated crowds, cheering and clapping jubilantly at the success of one of the final tricks. Confetti rains from the ceilings, glitter gleams from every corner, and finally, it’s time for the show to end.

The curtains aren’t closing, and no one is moving.

That mischievous glint in his eyes, directed solely at you as he bows, a discreet hint on what he’s going to commit next.

—

A vibrant bouquet of rainbow roses lands on your lap.

You look around, and for a second, you’re confused.

Then you finally understand. It’s almost humorous how he managed to remember that small promise.

Everyone else has a singular, crimson rose.

“A beautiful red rose as a token of our appreciation,” Lyney announces, beaming towards the audience. “And a single bouquet gifted the most delightful person here, who once told me that I had only one chance to charm them without words.”

When his eyes meet yours, it’s victorious—painfully so. Almost as if saying to you: I told you, didn’t I?

wanderer

You’ve been staring at the bland ceilings of your shared bedroom for nearly all day.

The furniture that once was neatly placed in their respective areas are now all messily piled up against the door. It’s locked, but today, you were highly determined to be as agitating as your boyfriend was, no matter how many stacks of furniture it’s going to take. Even if a small part of your resolve was beginning to run out like the sand in an hourglass.

You’re currently debating if you should just abandon this fruitless attempt. He always did this better anyway. Being sulky was really not your thing, and perhaps he knew that too; otherwise, he likely would’ve barged in the first few seconds of your outburst of annoyance.

There only seems to be one problem—a big problem. How are you going to return the stacks of furniture to their original placement in the most quiet fashion so he wouldn’t suspect a thing? So that he wouldn’t suspect that you’ve lost your own competition? You didn’t even bother to conceal the scrapes and bangs when first assembling it.

A few ideas spout in your head, each more desperate and ridiculous than the previous.

An irritating sigh escapes from you as you flop back onto the bed, once again back to square one.

—

From somewhere within the depths of your shared bedroom, a snicker escapes. And then another.

The variety of sleep lines on your arm and heavy pounding in your head are evidence that you fell asleep. When you sit up, movements tired and slow, everything looks and feels lopsided. As if the world had been rearranged. The space before the door looks so empty… Wait, didn’t it hold a barricade of furniture before?

Everything begins to connect; you begin to piece together all the possibilities, but not before someone has to butt in.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

The closeness of the voice startles you; the warm familiarity sending a coded message down your spine.

Next to you on the bed, lying on his side, looking all proud and pleased, is the only person who could get away with all this. Winning your heart and being every exception.

“This is the only time I’ll forgive you. This was your last chance, okay?” you warn.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies airily as he sinks beneath the covers. “You’ll repeat that the next few hundred times too.”

zhongli

Strange things have been happening these past few months.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it, but you swear everyone knows something you don’t. The only person you can agree is just as clueless about it all: the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Mr Zhongli.

However, he’s also been acting a bit unusual lately. You haven’t seen him in a while, and you’re not stupid enough to believe that it’s a coincidence that you never bump into him anymore.

The possibility makes your heart sink.

Moving on, you assess his boss, Director Hu. Typically bright and vivacious, more than often singing lively poems throughout Liyue.

Lately, she’s been more short-tempered. You recall her complaining about something about having a scaredy-cat consultant just yesterday evening.

As if she could hear your thoughts, a hushed ‘boo’ comes from one of the bushes.

—

“Aiyaaa… This bush is so spiky..."

“Director Hu? What are you doing hiding in a bush?”

She glances up, rubbing her sore arms before squeezing further into the bush with a desperate, “Shush! He’s coming!” at your bewildered expression.

You turn to where she was pointing, and it’s…Zhongli?

Zhongli with a bouquet of glaze lilies?

Your breath hitches as he gets closer, a gentle smile gracing his face as he offers you his hand.

The split second before he hands you the exquisite bouquet, a faint giggle is heard from behind you.

“Guess you’re no longer a scaredy-cat anymore, Mr. Zhongli? It’s about time; he’s been dying to do this for months.”

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #kazuha x reader #lyney x reader #wanderer x reader #zhongli x reader #anya writes ✧.*

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rush-the-stars · 5 months

Text

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART II

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.5k || ao3 || <- part i || part iii -> coming soon || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab masterlist ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, eventual forced feeding, eventual forced bathing in later parts, eventual smut in later parts; masturbation, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: this is the second part of my lil series for @lorelune spring fever collab!!

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The mission that Suguru sends you on is to fetch a book.

At first, you are endlessly irritated with him. A book should be far beneath you; he should’ve had one of his lackeys get it for him.

However, upon finally getting your hands on it–after a nasty fight with both curses and other sorcerers–you realize that perhaps the book is rather important.

Firstly, you can’t open it on your own. It’s imbued with cursed energy and locked tight. And secondly, the energy it gives off is strange.

It fills you with a restless, relentless sort of buzz. You feel like a caged beast with it in your presence. You feel like–

You feel a little off-kilter. A little hungry for a fight.

On the third day, you come home.

You let yourself into Suguru’s quarters.

He’s in his study, at his desk, when you barge in and throw the book down onto the desk.

Suguru picks up his gaze.

“You’re back early,” he muses, drinking you in with greedy eyes, “clearly it was no trouble?”

“Hardly.” You snap, “hoping I’d be away for longer?”

A quirk at the corner of his lips, “not at all. In fact, I was impatient for your return.”

Heat whips the back of your neck.

“Come here,” he hums, “let me see you.”

He offers his hand up. He wants you to step around the desk to stand in front of him, you think.

Tentatively, you go to him, round the desk and step up to him. He turns and settles deeper into the desk chair, spreads his legs so that you may even step up between them.

You slide your hand into his slowly.

He pulls you a step closer. And closer still.

“No injuries?” He asks, eyes skimming over your body.

You swallow and shake your head.

“Good,” he sighs and then he pulls a little harder on your hand. And his other hand suddenly hitches around the back of your knee. All it takes is a little effort on his part, and you’re stumbling into his lap.

You throw your hands out to find balance in his broad shoulders, clinging to him, holding yourself out from him.

“Suguru,” you growl in annoyance, fussing, fighting against him a little.

You can feel his smile the moment he dips his face towards the crook of your neck, “did it help to have my scent on you?”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, as if to be spiteful, despite what you say, “it always does.”

He hums, pleased, and drags his nose along your throat again.

He pulls away to look at you, bristled and embarrassed.

“Go bathe,” he tells you, “and wear my clothes. I want you to stay here tonight.”

You jerk back a little, surprised, “and if I refuse?”

“I wasn’t asking.” He says flippantly.

You scoff, moving to stand, “I’m going back to my room.”

His hand squeezes your waist tightly and prevents you from leaving him, from separating yourself from him, “I see the time away hasn’t made you any softer.”

“Let me go,” you push at his chest, “let me up.”

Instead, he catches one of your wrists, holding it to his chest with his large hand. He nearly drowns your hand, overwhelms it entirely.

“Do as I ask, and I’ll let you go.”

You make a noise of irritation, “I won’t share a bed with you.”

“I’ll be good,” he purrs, but even as he says that, you feel his hips flex beneath yours a little, opening, widening his stance.

“I’m not stupid,” you hiss, trying to lift off him a little, but he’s got too tight of a grip on your waist.

“I’ll rub your tense shoulders,” he torments you, and then, his smile grows like that of a fox, “I know you like to sleep in my bed.”

Your heart rabbits in your chest.

“I’ve never slept in your bed,” you snip.

He laughs, low and soft and outright. “There’s no reason to lie now,” he says, languidly leaning back in his seat a little. “You slept in my bed while I was away.”

Your cheeks prickle with warmth, embarrassment.

“I didn’t–”

“I know you’re embarrassed, but don’t lie to me.” He says it seriously, eyes suddenly going colder.

And just like that, you open your mouth—

“I did once.”

Suguru seems pleased, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand that he still has trapped against his chest. “Now you will again.”

You huff. And you understand there is little to win in this case; you could fight harder, snarl and snap and try to leave on your own.

(But there is that horrendously small and foolish part of you that does want to stay. It wants what he has offered you.)

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

He seems serious in knowing your request—earnest, almost.

Your voice sticks in your throat. You try to form your words carefully, “you won’t do anything—sexual. At all. Not while I’m asleep and—there’s no tricks.”

“What kind of Alpha do you take me for?” Suguru asks innocently and level him with a glare.

“Suguru—“

“No tricks.” He agrees quickly.

“Nothing.” You tell him sternly.

“Not even if you beg for it?”

“I wouldn’t!” You snap, nails flexing back into the meat of his shoulder. The one at his chest bunches in his clothes beneath his own hand.

He laughs a little again, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you. “Easy, sweet girl, okay. You have my promise; I won’t do anything sexual. No tricks.”

But the way he says it makes warning bells go off in your mind, distant and wailing. Still, you have his word.

He suddenly takes your chin in hand and guides you to look into his eyes, deeply amethyst, darkly lilac.

“I do mean it.” He says sternly now, and then, “the first time I have you, it will be because you came to me, and begged, with a clear head and open heart.”

You try and jerk your chin from his grasp but he holds tighter, forcing you to stay, “do you understand?”

“I would never—“

“Ah, ah, do you understand?”

“Yes!” You snap and when you jerk away this time, he lets you go. All of you.

You leap from him on unsteady feet, rocking back a little, steadying yourself on the desk.

“Go,” he encourages, “take a bath. And choose any of my clothes you like.”

You swallow hard and glare at him.

“I don’t need your orders.” You grind out.

“Yes, so fearsome you are,” Suguru waves you off and you almost have half a mind to surge back towards him and make him regret saying that. You’re feeling prickly, though, and something inside of you has knocked loose.

You’ve been blaming it on the book.

You’re flushed from the inside out, heated, and frustrated.

You stomp off towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

The bath actually does soothe some of your mood. The bathtub is large and clean; the soaps you used smell faintly of Suguru. The water had been perfect and you’d managed to relax and sink down to your shoulders.

And dressing in his clothes after does more for you than you’re willing to admit. You’re just in an old, soft t-shirt of his. It’s large on your frame and it smells like him, which soothes you in a way that is almost frightening.

When you enter the bedroom, Suguru is not there yet and you assume he is still in his office. You almost hope that he is, that you’ll have time to get comfortable, without his watchful eyes.

You arrange the pillows how you like and when you’re satisfied with your side, you slip beneath the covers and into the cool sheets. You turn and twist a moment, burrowing deeper beneath the blankets, before letting out a little noise of contentment. It slips from you before you can stop it.

And just when you’re beginning to drift off, faintly wondering if Suguru will ever join you, does he finally step into his bedroom. He takes you in and his scent almost changes with it—sweeter, a little darker. You can tell he’s pleased with you.

When he joins you in bed, you go perfectly still. He’s bare chested and you almost want to complain about it—instead, you squirm away from him.

It doesn’t get you far and once he’s beside you, he’s reaching out to lay his hand across the expanse of your waist.

You are about to warn him, bite something out about staying on his side, or to watch himself. But he doesn’t pull you or drag you towards him. He doesn’t roll towards you.

His hand stays, on your waist, drifts to be on your lower back.

The first pass of his hand over your back makes you tense all over, muscles poised to snap or leap away from him. The second, you can feel your breathing tighten up. The third, you realize that this may be it.

You wait, near trembling, as he continues to soothe his hand over your back. Up and down. A slow petting, over the shirt of his you’d worn to bed.

And eventually, you begin to melt; all those tense muscles slowly unwinding.

Then you’re sighing, soft, into the pillow.

Your eyes grow heavy, breath beginning to loosen and even out, slow and deep.

Sleep claims you gently, eases you into its tender embrace, like cooing a baby to sleep, like soothing a stray.

***

In the morning, you wake alone. The bed beside you is empty.

You are almost disheartened to see it. The initial disappointment rears its head, sinks into your stomach, before you try to shoo it away.

But when you listen closely, you can hear him in the kitchen moving about. His footsteps are quiet but there.

Instinctively, the part of you attuned to him, knows he is near.

It soothes you.

You twist a little, throwing some blankets from your body—warmer than usual, a little flushed.

You blame it on the sun streaming through the wide window, the warmth as it seeps into the sheets. You doze again like this, in its beams, covers astray around your legs, curled around one of the several pillows.

In and out of sleep. Hazy, burning flickers of dreams.

When you fully wake again, an hour later, you are even warmer than before.

You feel a little strange. Chilled atop your skin, a little shivery, but so warm from within.

You blame it on nerves; perhaps you don’t want to face Suguru after staying in his bed. Perhaps being away from your own bed has made you anxious, too. As much as you try to hide any of your baser urges, your space is important to you. Your bed is important.

You know you can’t hide from him forever.

More than that, you want water, perhaps. Ice water. You feel parched suddenly. You feel dehydrated.

When you enter the kitchen, you are surprised to find water already out. A bowl of cut up fruit beside it. Suguru is reading in the attached living room.

You look at him. And then at the fruit.

“It’s for you,” he says, without looking up from his book.

You blink at him.

“Why?”

His brows arch upward and he finally pulls his dark eyes away from the page in order to look at you.

“Because you should eat.”

Something inside you, under immense pressure, finally bursts.

“Don’t start doing this shit.” You snap.

Your tone perhaps takes him by surprise. It’s full of vitriol, it’s full of heat and hatred. “Don’t start doing domestic shit for me.”

“And here I was, thinking I’d do something kind after all this tormenting.” He says but it’s really rather amused. Knowing.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” You snarl at him.

He looks you over carefully and something in his face changes—just a small, almost unnoticeable flicker. He asks;

“How do you feel?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“What did you do?” You accuse suddenly.

“What did I do? Nothing. I cut up a bowl of fruit for you.”

You can feel your threads unwinding, fraying at the edges, and can feel the way it unravels inside you.

Your head is beginning to throb.

Your stomach gives a strange churn.

“That’s not—that’s not true. I feel strange and you did something.” You say and your voice is getting tighter, almost distressed.

“Strange how?” He asks coolly.

“I feel—I feel like I’m sick. Maybe.”

He hums softly.

And then, “it’s your Heat.”

A dull, soft roaring in your ears. You swallow and the sound clicks around in your throat, your head.

“No—“ you start, “there’s no way.”

“I can smell it,” he says, “you’ve been on the cusp of it for some time now.”

You frown and feel for your head with your open palm, warm to the touch. Feverish. You want to squirm out of your own skin.

“I haven’t had one in years—there’s no way.” You say again but your voice sounds thinner, less believable.

Your eyes flash upwards, “you did this.”

Suguru looks back at you blankly, “I can’t force your body into Heat.”

“That’s why you wanted me to stay.” You accuse.

“Perhaps I’m feeling territorial.” He agrees.

“No, you wanted me to stay in hopes of it sparking my Heat—you know an Omega’s Heat can be triggered by an Alpha’s presence sometimes.”

Suguru remains even, almost gentle, “and you know that that can only happen when an Omega has a pre-established and trusted relationship with the Alpha. Only if the Omega—in some way—wants the Alpha in their presence.”

You swallow hard. You feel light headed.

“Alphas can’t just spark the Heat of any random Omega.” He adds, watching you carefully.

“But you were hoping for this!” You snap, feeling thin and worn down suddenly, “you—you wanted this.”

“I was curious if it’d work.” He admits.

“You set me up.” Your voice is higher than usual, more distressed, filled with more concern.

“Now, now—“

“I want to go back to my room.” You demand suddenly, “before—before it gets too late. And I don’t want to see you at all until it’s over. I don’t want to see anyone.” You’re beginning to tremble all over.

You can feel your fear mounting as you stare down the realization that you’re going to have your first Heat in years.

Tears prick your eyes.

“You’re staying here.” Suguru says simply.

“No—“ you bite out, all teeth, all fear and aggression. “I’m getting away from you.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Suguru replies coolly, but there’s a sharp, icy edge in his tone, as if dealing with an unruly and temperamental child.

Immediately, you have the urge to start snarling and yelling and stamping your feet. You feel like the unruly child he is treating you as. You can feel your anger and fear like a bubble in your chest, mounting into something horrible, and you’re terrified to let it burst.

Suguru stands slowly, “you’re spiraling—come here.”

“No,” you snap, wincing back from him.

Suguru holds your gaze.

“Then listen to me carefully.”

Your eyes, glassy with fever and fear, a little too bright, collide with his.

“What did I tell you last night?” He asks slowly.

Your flush worsens. You can feel the heat burn and eat through your cheeks. You want to run and hide, you want to lash out and growl.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Take a breath.”

Despite everything, you take in a shuddering, greedy gulp of air.

“What did I tell you last night?”

You rack your mind, forcing yourself to focus on his voice and breathe. What did he say last night that would be of importance today? Now?

You swallow hard when you realize it.

You pick your head up.

“You wouldn’t—do anything—if I wasn’t in my right mind and I’m not.”

“No,” he agrees, “you aren’t. So I will not touch you sexually—” And then he holds your gaze for too long, “not even when you beg me.”

“I will not beg you—“

“I will hold you and care for you. But I will not give you what you so desperately will want.” He says slowly, carefully.

Blindly, you reach—and for what, you aren’t quite sure, “what about you? Will I spark your Rut?”

“I’ve taken a suppressant and will continue to do so.”

“You planned this,” you say again sharply, “you knew.”

“Would you prefer I not take the suppressant? Would you like to see what happens—will it make it fair for you?” Suguru asks calmly, so lax that it makes your hands ball into tight fists.

Pieces of you war and squabble and fight inside of you, opposing forces, opposing ideas. Part of you wants to force him to suffer, too, part of you is angry and hurt that he wouldn’t want to share his Rut with you.

But it also frightens you. You know what would happen then—aren’t too sure it still won’t happen now.

And you’ve never—

You’ve never shared a heat before. Not with an Alpha, an Omega, or a Beta. You have always ran and hid, tucked yourself into small, dark places, and cried and cried alone, hugging yourself. Weathering your own storm.

You can’t decide if it terrifies you more that you won’t be alone or that you don’t want to be alone.

Despite everything, your bitter rationale wins.

“No,” you bite out. “Take your suppressant. And keep your hands to yourself.”

You turn on your heel and storm back into the bedroom.

You slam the door so hard that it slants cockeyed on its hinges, hanging itself in place at a strange angle.

You throw yourself down onto the bed, shoving your face into the pillow you’d once been sleeping peacefully on, and a frustrated scream rips through your throat.

You can feel the pressure of tears.

You curl around the pillow, hugging it closely with your face still shoved into it. Your tears blur and push past all your resolve, which crumbles to dust the moment you let out the first breath, and it’s part sob.

You can’t even properly name why you’re crying—you’re scared, you think. You’re emotional and frustrated and aching. You feel vulnerable and confused and bitter. You feel needy and delicate. You feel suddenly young and foolish, to be lured here like this, but also to be alone and longing.

You’re hardly alone, though.

You can smell his scent still, all over the bed, all over you.

It soothes you.

It sickens you that it soothes you.

So you cry—you cry, holding onto your pillow for dear life, until you exhaust yourself.

Until sleep claims your feverish body again and you welcome it’s darkness gladly.

***

Pain awakens you.

It’s later in the afternoon now, early evening with the way the sun has paved its course through the sky.

Your Heat has gotten significantly worse.

Your body aches, the chill of the fever, and the sickly warmth of your insides make for an awful combination.

Worst of all, you can feel the pressure most between your legs.

You shift them and realize there’s—

There’s a slick glide against your inner thighs.

Oh, god, you think oh, god, oh god, oh god.

You need—

Water. Something.

Suguru—

Your brain freezes to a halt.

His name spins around your mind.

You half hope he won’t be there that if you leave the bedroom in search of water or—

Suppressants.

You roll to the edge of the bed, a wave of dizziness overcomes you. Despite that, you force yourself to stand on wobbling, fawn legs.

You quietly try to crack the door into the smallest of openings, only a peak, a sliver of light from the other room.

But instantly, you are caught.

“You’re awake finally.” Suguru says, “you should drink water, eat a little.”

You don’t budge at first.

“Do you have more suppressants?”

You watch Suguru’s head tilt.

“It's specific to an Alpha’s Rut—it wouldn’t do anything for you.” He answers, “will you come out?”

“No.” You respond, gripping the knob of the door with curled knuckles, tense fingers.

“Will you let me in?”

“No.”

It’s growled, low and sharp. It echoes a little, charged and bristled. Scared.

You slam the door again. It’s not sitting right on its hinges anymore.

You return to the bed, arranging and fluffing pillows how you like them. You build a small wall of them on all sides of you,

You burrow down into them, settling yourself into the small—nest—you’ve made. You try to take a steadying breath, but all that fills your nose is Suguru’s scent, dark fig and full sandalwood, hints of lush cream and walnut. It’s seductive—almost dreamy. It floats around you like a lure, tempting you. You curl inwards on a pillow again and his smell is stronger here. Deeper. More pungent and twinged with something heavier on the nose, a little more spiced, a scent you can’t place. Something you’d find at the nape of his neck.

Without thinking, you rub your thighs together.

A frustrated whine leaks out of you as you turn and toss in his bed.

Your fingers twist in the sheets.

“If I hand you water, will you drink it?” Suguru asks through the door and he is much closer than you thought he’d be now—just outside of it.

“Please go away,” you try to snap, but your voice is strained and wane.

“You need water, at least.” He sighs. “You haven’t eaten anything yet, either.”

You bristle, “stop trying to take care of me.”

“Stop being so stubborn.” Suguru replies, “I’m going to come in.”

“No!” You snarl.

Still, the doorknob twists slowly, gently, as if to not frighten you anymore than you already are. In a heartbeat, the door has creaked open and Suguru steps into your space. He has a glass of water in hand.

You feel your hackles rise, shoulders drawing back and up like an aggressive, bad dog. Your cursed energy ripples around you as you growl and it’s not the humanly sort, but the one you have in your cursed form.

“So fierce, aren’t you?” Suguru muses softly, taking slow steps towards the nest you’ve made. “I’m only here to give you water.”

The closer he gets, the lower the growl gets.

Your muscles are so tense that you’re near trembling, as still as can be—unsure if you’re the prey or predator, some inbetween creature too frightened to do anything but be still, but make low threatening, inhuman noises.

He manages to sit on the edge of the bed.

“And so frightened.” He ducks his head a little in what could be a show of submission if it came from an Omega. “I told you—I’m not going to do anything to you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t you trust me?” He asks and this time, he catches your eyes, a flicker of something darker in them.

“Not like this—” you manage to get out.

“You’re so tense.”

“I’m—” the word catches, breaks from your throat, “scared.”

Suguru softens instantly.

(And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s almost pleased. His scent softens, too, sweetens a little.)

“How would you like me to prove myself this time?” Suguru asks lowly, “would you like to make me bleed again? Would you like to scream at me?” He cocks his head, “or would you like me to hold you? And nothing else?”

You’re trembling so hard that your teeth are almost chattering with it.

You realize very keenly that you want to be held. You want to be wrapped up in him, you want to be in his arms. You want.

“N-no.” You manage to get out.

“No?” He asks, “in the least, will you drink water for me?” In his broad hand is a glass of cool water, nearly drowning it with his own easy grip over top of it.

The request is like honey.

It's sweet in the veins, it’s meant to lure you.

Your mouth is dry. And your temples are throbbing.

You feel shaky and suddenly realize how weak you are, a little woozy after everything. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps because he’s right, you haven’t eaten or drank anything all day. It’s nearly evening now.

Perhaps it’s because of your first Heat in years.

Slowly, you extend your hand to take the glass from him.

It’s shaking. Hard.

“Will you allow me?” Suguru asks.

You bristle, “just—give it to me—”

“You’re shaking so hard, you’ll spill it.” He responds evenly.

“I’m not a child.” You snap.

“You’re acting like one,” he says and there’s a smile in it, a little shadow of torment. And then he lowers his voice, soft and dark, “come here.”

You almost go to him.

“Stop it.” You bite out, “stop trying to do that.”

“What am I doing?” He asks, “trying to help you?”

“No! You know what you’re doing! You’re trying to—to sway me or something!”

Suguru sighs, “come here.” He says again and it’s gentler now.

You glare at him, eyes glassy with fever, with anger and fear.

But he waits patiently. Serenely. He doesn’t give in, he doesn’t waver. You glance at the water in his hands and then back up at his face. He’s so calm, in the face of all your fright and anguish and discomfort. In fact, he seems to revel in it. Bask in it.

Tears build suddenly in your eyes, much to your fury. Much to your frustration. The pressure behind your eyes is enough to leave you aching, a lump forming in your throat.

Instantly, Suguru coos, “oh, what’s wrong?”

You fight the urge to let out a sob or cry harder.

“Why must you humiliate me?” You ask suddenly. The tears fall despite your best attempts at stopping them. “Why must you torment me?”

Suguru sets the glass of water down on the nightstand beside the bed.

In an instant, he’s gathered you into his arms, into his lap. He cradles you, tucks your head beneath his chin and carefully bundles you into the crux of his chest.

This makes a small sob work it’s way out of you.

He shushes you gently, rocks you a little, “I’m not trying to torment you.”

“Yes, you are,” you cry, outright, even as you turn your face into his chest to hide there. Even as you cling to him.

“I’m trying to take care of you—is being taken care of humiliating?”

“Yes,” you get out between another rough sob.

His hand strokes slowly over your back, pressing you deeper into his chest—his scent is strong here. Dark oud. Sandalwood. Fig. It’s rich, as if he’s pleased or content, almost humming with it.

Perhaps to try and soothe you. Perhaps because it really does please him to have you crying, falling apart in his arms.

You can’t stop the emotions that rise inside you like a tidal wave, can’t stop the way you just want to cling to him. It’s horrible, you cry harder, because it does feel good to be held by him. To be cooed to.

Taken care of.

He rocks you like a mother might rock their child.

He rocks you until you settle down, until you’re sniffling and going lax in his arms.

You peak up at him through an angry, wet eye.

“You’re an awful man.”

“I know,” he agrees gently, reaching up to touch carefully at your cheek, to wipe away your tears with his thumb.

“You torment me.”

“I know,” he consoles softly.

Your head is spinning with him, heady, and filled with pressure. You sniffle hard. His arms around you are warm and strong. He’s so broad. He shrouds you in him, tucks you into him where you might feel safer. He smells heavenly—enough that you think about turning your nose into his throat and scenting him. You think of sinking your teeth down into him.

He strokes the hair from your face gently.

You realize keenly that he is not going to leave you.

Not now, during this Heat, or perhaps ever.

You realize that you have gotten yourself straight into the belly of the beast. You have gotten yourself entangled with someone who you don’t think has ever let go of anything in his life. You think he bites and doesn’t release, jaws tight and locked, and you think you have gotten yourself between his teeth this time.

A strange peace settles over you at the knowledge.

He won’t leave you.

And if you left him, he’d chase you down.

How long have you wished for that? For someone to never leave? How long have you wished for some form of peace?

Is this peace?

When he reaches to lift the glass of water again, you do not fight him.

Carefully, he cradles the back of your skull with the crux of his large palm. He holds the glass to your lips. You let him. With a tenderness that makes you feel strange, he lets you drink from the cup. Cool water.

You’re thirstier than you realize.

Your hands come up like you may touch the glass, hold it yourself, but he pulls it away.

God forbid he let you do it on your own.

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. You can’t help but glare at him again—he’d begged to do it for you and now, right when you wanted more, he denies you.

Again, you ask yourself, is this peace?

A cramp rolls through your lower back and the ache between your legs strengthens into a horrible throb.

The whimper that gets torn out of you is a pained and high sound. New tears sting your eyes for entirely different reasons. Your skin feels hypersensitive, prickling with every touch, every place you meet. You shiver. Another cramp, somewhere low in your hip bones, rocks throughout your body.

Your fist tightens in his clothes. You shift with the smallest, most subtle rock in your pelvis. You grit your teeth together.

You realize the ache in your center; the pressure.

“Hurts,” you eke out, breath tight in your chest.

You take a shallow breath.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, stroking over your arms, your shoulders—petting you.

You narrow your eyes in another weak glare.

“You’re being cruel again.” You get out.

“Tell me where,” he murmurs.

“My lower back—“ you manage to get out, squirming again, “my—my hips,”

He hums lightly in praise and then coaxes, “lay on your stomach?”

You shake your head sharply, “no—what are you going to do?”

“Massage your lower back. Nothing more.” He urges you this time physically, jostling you from the cradle of his arms, from his lap.

“I give you an inch and you take a mile,” you tell him, easing out of his embrace.

He doesn’t let you go far.

“Lay on your stomach for me.” He says again, voice warmer and soft to your ears, like oozing honey.

Against all of the alarm bells rattling and clanging in your mind, you turn and lay on your belly.

You fold your arms beneath your head. You rest your cheek against them.

You try not to squirm as another cramp bears down on you, deep pressure pulsing in your lower hips. You twist a little, a breath of pain working its way out of you, hissing between your clenched teeth.

Suguru takes position behind you and panic seizes you the moment that he straddles the back of your thighs. He almost—

“Suguru—” you warn and the sound is half growl, half whine. Your voice is torn by something terrible and raw. Fear. Anger.

“I’m keeping my word,” he soothes and in a moment, his big hands are fitting to your lower back. You are so tense, you think you’re going to shake apart again, so tense that you’re going to splinter and crack under the pressure. You hold perfectly still.

But just like before, all he does is move his hand over the length of your back.

He coos.

He hushes when you make a noise.

He soothes.

His hands, warm and firm, work their way through stiff muscles, through the awful pain of the cramps.

Slowly, you begin to melt into the bed beneath you. Your head lolls deeper into your folded arms. Your eyes grow heavy, lashes sinking and fluttering, like wings now soaking wet—trying, and failing, to rise.

His hands are careful around the contours of you. He rubs at your neck, but is cautious of your scent glands, and then he dips back down the small arch and curve of your back to dig his thumbs into the meat of your lower back.

It feels good.

And the way he rumbles softly to you, little words of praise or comfort—makes something tightly woven begin to slowly unravel inside of you. You sink into the bed, into his hands that press and massage.

Your body flares into a dull throb.

You try not to squirm.

There’s a deep, horrible pressure between your legs. It’s an ache. A bundle of muscles on the inside of you, squirming and cramping down around nothing—shifting the bones around of your pelvis around, turning your insides over—all in need of—

In need of—

Your head is foggy.

You arch a little into his hands, into his touch, like a cat finally enjoying itself.

“There,” Suguru murmurs and he’s leaning over you slightly, “feels better when you give in, doesn’t it?”

His scent is strong.

You go bleary with it all.

Another cramp twists up your insides. The aching inside you pulls taut.

You roll over onto your back beneath him, belly up and vulnerable. Suguru lifts himself away only momentarily to allow you to do it. And then you’re gazing up at him, reaching for him.

“Suguru—“ your voice pitches, cracks on a desperate, upwards note.

Your fingers tighten in the front of his clothing.

“—need you,”

A hint of a smile.

“But I’m right here.” He tells you, voice lilting with false naïveté.

Your blood sings.

“Don’t be cruel,” you beg again, “you know what I mean—“

“I’m afraid I don’t, darling.”

Tears suddenly build again, the pressure of them sharp and cutting. More pressure in your poor body. More aching and pain.

You twist a little beneath him, hips arching up on their own, searching—

“Suguru,” you whine, pulling at his clothes, pawing at him. And then a word that splinters out unintentionally, “please—“

“Please, what?” He asks, but his eyes are gleaming and sharp.

You curse low and he laughs softly, even as your nails dig into his bicep, his shoulder.

Still, you swallow down all your shyness and fear and embarrassment. You pull at him.

“Please touch me?” You whisper. “It hurts so bad.”

Another shift and squirm of your hips, your body.

“Touch you?” He asks in return, but he’s so—so smug about it. “Is a massage not enough?”

Your anger spikes sharply and you suddenly tighten your hold on him, dig into skin, try to bleed and mark. You hitch your hips up against his and feel—

Feel how hard he is. You tighten your leg around his waist.

“Stop tormenting me.”

Suguru goes perfectly still despite your moving and twisting, hips rocking up against his own.

He detangles you, sitting up to look down on you, pulling his hips away from yours. You squabble to pull him back, digging nails into his muscled forearms. “Suguru—“ you whine, “isn’t this what you wanted?”

He takes a slow breath in through his nose and you think he’s trying to steady himself. He huffs it out. His eyes are so dark—darker than you’ve ever seen before.

“Of course it’s what I wanted,” he tells you and his voice is low, a soft rasp, as he carefully unlatches your hold on him. He presses your hands down into the bed, pins you easily. You melt into the hold blearily, squirming so that you might feel him where you need him—

“But it isn’t what you wanted.” He tells you, voice just a husk. His eyes are lidded as you find them, burning, “remember?”

“Suguru—“

“I promised you.” He continues, “I wouldn’t do a thing, not until you were clear headed.”

You rear back, “what?”

“Are you really so surprised?” He asks, voice lilting and for a moment you grasp to understand him, wading in dark waters, lost. “I warned you, last night.”

Through the fog of your mind, it slowly becomes clear.

He led you here to suffer, with no intention of helping you.

You have walked directly into his trap.

I would never beg, you’d told him.

But he’d made you hear him, loud and clear, while you were in your right mind.

If only to throw the words back in your face now.

Your gaze sharpens on him.

You squirm, fighting his hold until he releases your wrists.

“You’re cruel.” You hiss with as much venom you can muster. “You did this on purpose.”

“Perhaps only slightly.”

You lash out; you strike him. Solidly, your palm connects to his cheek. It cracks to the side, skin blossoming pink almost instantly.

Through the curtain of his hair, you see the sliver of a smug smile. The smarting of his cheek.

“Such a brat,” he rasps and when he pins you this time, there is a strange, unnerving gleam in his eye.

“I should punish you worse for that, hm? You’ve always done better with a guiding hand.” He says.

“You’re punishment enough.” You growl in his face, twisting and turning, trying to dislodge the hold he has on you. The one he’s always had on you. You strain and struggle, wrestling with it, with him.

“The only one who has punished you is yourself.” He replies, letting you fuss and fight, “if you had just given in to what you so clearly want—told me, admitted to it, I could’ve been sharing this with you.”

Then he really exudes his strength, stopping your wrestling almost seamlessly. You cry out with the way he holds you.

“You don’t know my punishments—you only know your own.”

When your eyes meet his, there is a wild gleam to them, one that sparks and sweeps the heat inside of you into an inferno.

“If I suffer this week, I’ll make you suffer, too.” You finally promise.

Suguru smiles, the curve of it sharp and dark like a sickle, a crescent moon.

“You can certainly try.” He agrees and finally rolls off of you.

Cold air sweeps in, leaving you bereft and aching, strangely startled and alone.

He stands. “I’m going to cook for you and then I’ll feed you.” His eyes flicker over you, a mess in his sheets, “I expect the glass of water to be finished when I’ve returned.”

You open your mouth to growl—

“You’ll need the strength,” he then says lightly, “if you’re to make me suffer at all this week.”

There’s a new note in his scent, you catch it now in his absence. It lingers in his place; spiced tobacco. It's warm and thick on the tongue, strange and heady, and—unfortunately, miserably alluring.

The door you have slammed so many times now, remains ajar, wide open, when he finally leaves the bedroom. There is nothing between you.

And you think something is now ajar inside of you, too, wide open, and ripe for the taking.

#suguru getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x you #getou suguru x y/n #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!

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amirasainz · 5 months

Note

I AM IMAGINING PAPA SAINZ'S REACTION TO LEWIS AND AMIRA AT THE MET GALA thank God Reyes shut off the TV early or he'd have a heart attack after seeing the after party

Also I HC that Carlos was frantically calling up his dad but Reyes turned it to silent mode because she KNEW her son would do that!!

So much fun to write this. I can totally see Carlos pacing in his room, wondering why his Papá isn't picking up. Enjoy reading and send some requests -XoXo

A mothers helping hand

Carlos Sr. and Reyes sat side by side, their eyes glued to the TV screen. Amira, their precious girl, graced the Met Gala carpet in a gown that shimmered like stardust. “Look at how pretty our girl looks,” Reyes whispered, her heart swelling with pride. Carlos Sr. nodded, blinking back tears. His little princess had become a queen.

As the gala unfolded, Reyes realized they could also catch the After-Party on TV. Carlos Sr. excused himself to fetch drinks, leaving Reyes alone with the screen. And there it was—a moment that sent panic coursing through her veins.

Amira, radiant and ethereal, stood in the arms of none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton. Reyes harbored no objections to their relationship, but she knew her husband’s temper. Worse yet, their son would undoubtedly intervene, urging Carlos Sr. to talk to Amira, to pull her away from the After-Party. Reyes couldn’t allow that.

In an impromptu decision, she switched off the TV and removed the batteries from the remote. Carlos Sr. returned, puzzled. “Ay, what happened? Why isn’t the TV working?” he asked. Reyes feigned innocence. “I don’t know, Carlito.” Her husband fiddled with the TV, oblivious to her covert operation.

His phone buzzed—a message from their son. Swiftly, Reyes snatched it, toggled flight mode, and deleted the internet settings. Extreme, perhaps, but she wouldn’t let their son disrupt Amira’s night. Not when she was dancing with stars.

“Maybe it’s a sign from above that we should go to bed,” Reyes suggested, her eyes twinkling. Carlos Sr. chuckled. He knew better than to argue with his determined wife. Offering his hand, he led her upstairs. But before they reached their room, he asked, “Have you seen my phone anywhere?”

Reyes feigned surprise. “Oh, Carlito, I think I left it downstairs. But you know what? Maybe we don’t need it tonight.” She pulled him into their bedroom, leaving the world outside. In that quiet space, they listened to the distant music of the Met Gala, knowing their daughter was twirling in Lewis Hamilton’s arms.

And Reyes silently vowed to protect Amira’s happiness, even if it meant outsmarting technology and meddling sons.

#formula 1 #baby!sainz!sister #formula 1 x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

Text

Maroon (part one)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me

And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)

themes: fluff, Aemond and the reader being friends first, shy reader, red wine antics, language + Aemond does not have his disability/lost eye in this one (but I plan to write it in for a potential part two)

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader has always admired Aemond Targaryen from afar, the brother of her best friend Helaena. Little does she know, she has caught his eye as well. Something is revealed one night, encouraged by a sudden splash of maroon.

"You've been awfully silent tonight," Aemond says, "and more so after Helaena went to bed. Is something wrong, y/n?"

Your fingers tighten around your wine glass, unsure of what to say. Perhaps you have withdrawn back into your shell when your best friend Helaena decided she was going to bed early. She is quite the lightweight, after all. A few sips of wine and she was out.

You didn't mind. But she left you here with Aemond, sprawled out on the expensive carpet in their living room. He gracefully leans against the couch, remaining poised. One thing you admire about him is the way he carries himself, almost with a sense of regal austerity that makes him intimidating to most people. Add that to the fact that Aemond is one of the heirs to the Targaryen business empire, the richest family in the city.

But for some reason, he is gentle with you. Treating you differently than he does anyone else. Almost with reverence. Helaena once joked that he shouldn't go easy on you too much, with you being tougher than you look. Aemond just laughed it off, but you stood there awkwardly, unable to hide the way your face grew flushed all over.

Your crush on Aemond Targaryen has only gotten worse since then.

"I'm not silent," you find yourself blurting out in a defensive tone, "I'm... just... nursing my wine, that's all."

Get your shit together, y/n.

A small smile appears on Aemond's lips, as he notices your increasingly flustered state, "Okay, I believe you."

"Good," you look down at your glass, swirling it around. What should I say next? What should I say next?

Aemond interrupts your nervous train of thought, continuing his sentiment slowly, "Because, you know, I would hate to think if there's anything wrong, or if you feel uncomfortable in any way. We are friends, y/n. I want you to feel that you can be free around me, as you are around Helaena."

He just knows the right words to say, doesn't he?

"I know," you respond, in a calmer tone that even surprises you, "and I appreciate that, Aemond. I apologize if I come off as aloof sometimes - "

"Don't apologize," he laughs dryly, "if there's anyone who knows what it's like to come off as aloof, it's me."

"True enough," you smile, taking a sip of your wine. You don't notice Aemond’s eyes follow your movement, fixating at last on the way your lips curve against the glass.

"Tell you what," he says, "how about we play a game? Break the ice even more and all that."

"A game?"

"Yeah, like, I haven't a clue... truth or dare?"

You gulp, your mind racing with the possibilities of what that game usually entails when played out, "I don't think that works with just two people, Aemond."

"Why not?" he slides a bit closer to you on the carpet, and your heart races ever faster.

"It just... it just doesn't!" you shrug, breathing out in a slight huff. He's so close. So close.

"I say it can work, y/n."

"Really, now?" you raise your eyebrows, "I'm not built for doing dares."

"We'll keep it simple. Nothing too ridiculous. And if we don't want to tell the truth, or do a dare, we just have to take three sips of wine."

"Hmm..."

"Or even soda, or water. If you prefer. I don't want to feel like I'm making you drink. Helaena would murder me if you get too drunk whilst in my company." Ah, Aemond. Always so considerate.

"I'm okay," you smile, "I'll stick with wine."

"So you accept my offer?"

You take a deep breath, in an attempt to steel your nerves. Before you can chicken out, and change your mind, you say, "Fine. Let's play."

"Wonderful," he smirks, "So, darling... truth or dare?"

"Truth," you croak, the way he addressed you as darling still echoing in your ears. There's no way you'll jump right into a dare.

"Okay. What was your first impression of me?"

"Oh," you rack your brain for an appropriate answer. One that can be said out loud in front of Aemond anyway.

"I, uhm, I thought you were polite."

"Polite?" he laughs freely, "glad to know I make that much of a lasting impression."

"I mean, not just that," you lean forward, "you were well put together, I guess. Quiet, but not shy. I got the sense that you know exactly who you are. You've got a strong sense of self, and as a result, you know how to take care of yourself, and your family. It's admirable, really." You also thought of running your fingers through his astonishingly silver hair, craving to know what it felt like, but he doesn't need to know that now.

"Hmm," he smiles softly, looking down, almost wistfully, "there was a time when I was quite different, you know. I was so insecure, and so angry. It's a miracle that I've grown into who I am now, but I am proud of myself for it."

Aemond is opening up to me? You get a sense of innocence with the way he spoke, and a sincerity, with all pretenses put away. Here, he is just Aemond, not this great heir or this renowned scholar. “That truly is something to be proud of,” you profess, “I, for one, am proud of the person that you are.”

His eyes light up as he looks at you, “That means a lot coming from you, y/n.”

“Does it?” you ask. Why would it? Since the first time you met, over a year ago, you have not had many lengthy interactions. The handful of times you were brought together, with only the two of you, were purely coincidental. Like this very moment. You did not expect to be drinking wine with him on the carpet tonight. You had actually considered heading home after Helaena went to bed, but Aemond took your hand, pulling you back down to sit with him, imploring you to please stay. Just a while longer.

And you are glad that you had.

“It does,” is the only thing that Aemond says in response, and as much as you want to press on, you decide to let it go.

“Okay, Aemond. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he takes a sip of wine. You think of how pointless the whole condition of only having to take a drink when refusing the challenge has become. You two continue to drink, either way.

“I dare you to… uhm, tell me something in High Valyrian.” You’ve always been fascinated by the Targaryens’ native language, them being originally from the faraway country of Valyria. It is truly a place on top of your bucket list, and you secretly wish that Aemond would take you there one day.

“That’s easy,” he smiles, then pauses, looking at you directly in your eyes. He takes a deep breath, as if mulling over what to say. Then you hear it.

“Iksā gevie.”

You swallow nervously. The way his voice deepened went straight to your head, making you feel slightly faint. You whisper, “That sounds… lovely. What does it mean?”

“I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder, your confidence gaining a significant boost from the wine, “Come on. Just tell me. What did you say again? Ikse gevya... gevy?”

He beams, amused by your pronunciation, “Iksā gevie,” he repeats, “Eek-sah gev-yeh.”

“Right, right,” you nod, taking another sip of wine, “Just you wait until I type that in Google Translate. It better not have been anything rude.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” he promises. “Truth or dare?”

“Eh… dare,” you say, but you immediately change your mind. “No, wait, truth! I choose truth.”

“Are you absolutely sure, darling?” Aemond croons, tilting his head.

“Truth.”

“Alright, then. Are you seeing… uh…” he pauses, clearing his throat, “are you seeing any… any chance of you working for our company in the future?”

Are you seeing anyone? He had wanted to ask instead. Aemond internally kicks himself for pulling back.

You notice how weirdly he phrased that question. You choose your answer carefully, “Well, it’s definitely something I would consider. You know how much I admire your family. But, I don’t want anything handed to me on a plate. If I were to get a job there, I want it to be on my own merit. I don’t want you or Helaena or anyone to vouch for me, or put in a good word for me, just because I’m your friend.”

“I understand, darling.” He smiles at the determined way with which you spoke. His stubborn girl. “But if you ever need any help, I’m here.”

You reach out to squeeze his hand gently, as a sign of your appreciation, “Thank you, Aemond. You’ve always been kind to me.”

He looks down at your hand around his, and he clutches yours in return. When your eyes meet, you see that his gaze is so warm, so gentle. You feel as if you are being held. Like you’re safe.

You finally let go of his hand, “So, truth or dare?”

And so, the game continues for another half hour, the two of you growing increasingly inebriated by the minute. The wine glasses have been put to the side, the two of you opting to take turns with drinking out of the bottle instead. You answer all sorts of questions from Aemond, such as “Which of the Targaryen siblings do you think should run the company?”, “Who’s your preferred drinking partner, Aegon or Daeron?”, and “Do you like my hair better short or long?”

You ask him your fair share, but one thing that sticks to your mind is what he answers to “Are you interested in anyone at the moment?”

“Yes. I think so.” He says, and you can tell that he is being honest. Your heart sinks at that. Of course, there would be someone who already caught Aemond’s eye. He is one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, after all. Women everywhere are vying for his attention. It only makes sense that he would eventually meet someone he truly liked.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and Aemond astutely picks up on what you may have assumed.

“Darling, I - ”

You cut him off bluntly, not remembering that it’s his turn to ask, “Truth or dare, Aemond?”

“Hmm,” he stands, your question hanging in the air, with his hand outstretched for you to take, “come with me. I want to show you something.”

Taking the wine bottle, you stand and interlace your fingers with his. “Where are we going?”

He guides you out of the expansive living room, turning right at the end of a long hallway. He pries open a glass pivot door, revealing the private stairwell of their penthouse. Without a word shared, you climb up the flight of stairs together. One floor, two floors, three. Until you reach what can only be the roof of the high-rise building they live in.

The cool, midnight air is a refreshing assault to your senses. Immediately, you feel more awake, less drowsy from the wine. The rooftop is spacious and has been outfitted with a seating area, plenty of potted plants, dainty lighting fixtures that hang from the posts, as well as an exposed room littered with bust sculptures. The balcony stretches all around its perimeter, made out of ornately carved bronze.

“Wow,” you say, after taking it all in. “I’ve never been up here before.” You turn to look at him, and he seems pleased at your reaction. You add, “And you live here? Imagine. My entire apartment must only be a quarter of this rooftop, if not less.”

“Hmm,” he smiles, looking around, “I like to come up here to think. This rooftop is rarely ever in use, since my family all prefer to huddle downstairs. And well, Aegon’s afraid of heights.” He sneers at the end.

“Is he now?” you hand him the bottle of wine, “Remind me to bring that up the next time we see him.”

“Last time he was up here, he threw up over the balcony.”

“Oh, god,” Aemond laughs at the way your face scrunches up in disgust. “That’s quite a long drop. I hope he didn’t hit anyone on the sidewalk with it.”

“What a shame, really. That would have been the most interesting lawsuit.” Aemond remarks, before motioning with his head for you to follow him.

He reaches a plush seat facing the balcony, and the two of you sit in relative silence for a while. The whole city seems to be sprawled out below you, and the stars above also gleam much closer, like they are just within reach. Your wandering eyes take everything in with awe, but Aemond only watches you.

Instead of the stars, he thinks of how you are within reach. If only he would just let you know how he feels.

When you turn to finally look at him, you are surprised to see that he has been watching you. “Aemond,” you say, “why are you so nice to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you so nice to me? From what I’ve seen, you are indifferent to most people. It can’t just be because I am Helaena’s friend, is it? You don’t have to treat me like I’m some fragile doll, you know. I won’t break, I swear.” Your voice takes on a sarcastic tone, and the corner of his lips lift in a smile.

He looks away, facing the tops of the buildings in the sprawling city that his family empire practically owns. Prince of the city, some people call him.

“I know that, darling.” He tilts his head partially towards you. “I like that you’re… different. I mean, trust me when I say, the crowd that the lot of us are exposed to tends to be entitled, shallow sycophants.”

“Bit harsh, Aemond.”

“Perhaps,” he smiles sardonically, “but anyway. I’m used to people only being interested in me because of my last name, or the family legacy. No one’s ever bothered to see me for who I truly am, save for only a handful of people. Because of this, I get quite protective of Helaena, since she can be overly trusting. She only chooses to see the good in others.”

“That’s what I love the most about her,” you say sincerely.

“Hmm, yes. But it also makes her more vulnerable. She’s had friends before, who were only clearly hanging around her so they might leech off of her higher status.”

“Aemond, I’m sorry to hear - ”

“But not you. I am aware that Helaena tried to help you before. Tried to get you a better apartment, or get you a high-ranking job with us. It would be easy, just like that. But you refuse, time and time again. You don’t mock us either, simply for being who we are, and having this much privilege. You see us as people, and unfortunately that’s a rare thing. I can tell that you truly care for Helaena, otherwise I wouldn’t let you hang around her at all,” Aemond smiles, nudging your shoulder, then drapes his arm on the back of the seat behind you.

“Overprotective brother much?” you taunt lightly.

“It’s an affliction I choose to bear,” you notice how he has leaned closer, his breath warm on your face.

You swallow nervously, “So, I guess you answered my question.”

“Partially,” he shakes his head slightly, “darling, I’ve got a long list of reasons why I like you, and that’s only scratching the surface.”

“Oh.” If you thought you felt faint before, then you were just about ready to pass out now. Panicking, you raise the wine bottle to your lips, taking a long drag. But when you pull the bottle away, you must have done it in a nervous rush, causing it to tilt in a way that wine spills out and splashes on your shoulder.

“Steady, y/n.” Aemond takes the bottle from you, setting it down on the stone floor.

“Fuck.” You look down and see the wine stain on your shirt, seeping wider, a shade of scarlet so deep it could be mistaken for maroon.

Suddenly, Aemond laughs. You want to act incredulous, or annoyed, but the sound of his laughter is so hearty and genuine. And so rare, that you find yourself smiling at the sight of his dimples deepening, and the faint lines around his eyes bursting free.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “It’s just, at the rate you’re going with the wine, you could be giving Aegon a run for his money.”

“Ha-ha,” you dab at your shirt with your hand, but it doesn’t do much good.

“Come, I can lend you something to wear.” He takes your hand, leading you out of the rooftop.

“It’s alright, Aemond. I can just borrow one from Helaena.”

“She’s already asleep,” the two of you descend down the stairwell, stopping at the first floor below.

“I’m sure she won’t mind.” Where is he taking me? Must be the laundry room, or a guest room?

“I insist,” he declares, dropping your qualms altogether.

You come to a halt in front of a wooden door, painted a brushed forest green. Before you could ask anything, he holds the door open for you, “This is my room.”

You look at him expectantly, unsure of whether you should enter. He only smiles, “After you, darling.”

With your heart pounding in your chest, and the maroon patch still vivid by your shoulder, you step inside Aemond’s bedroom. It’s massive, predictably, just like every other room in this penthouse. The walls are a comforting, deep shade of forest green, just like the door. There are also accented panels of dark gray, to avoid a monotony of colour. The furniture is simple, clean, modern. Yet each one possesses intricate detailing. His bookshelf covers the entire eastern wall. His bed… well. You compose yourself, trying not to let your mind wander.

You feel him standing behind you, waiting.

“Nice room,” you say.

“Hmm,” you can practically hear the smile in his voice, “thank you. I don’t really bring anyone in here.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to impose - ”

“Stop. I asked you to come in here, y/n.” He walks over to a sliding door to the left, revealing a large walk-in wardrobe. Of course he would have one of those.

He disappears inside for a moment, before returning to you, a dark green sweater in his hand. The same shade as his bedroom walls. Hmm. Aemond seems to have an affinity for green.

“Here, put this on.” He hands the sweater to you. “This should be comfortable enough to sleep in.”

“Thanks,” you take it, feeling the material in your hands.

“No problem,” he continues to look at you, and you have to ask, pointing to the walk-in wardrobe, “Could I maybe change in there?”

“Right, sorry, I should have offered,” Aemond smiles, looking down.

“One second.”

When you gently slide the door shut, you lean back against it, taking the deep calming breath you’ve been holding in. Being around Aemond makes you feel as if your very skin is on fire. The attraction you feel for him becomes so palpable, making you somewhat a nervous wreck. There’s no need. Like he said, he is your friend, y/n.

You sit on the bench in the middle of the room, taking your shirt off. Hurriedly, you put on his green sweater, and he’s right. It is so damn comfortable. And it smells exactly like him.

“Everything alright in there?” you hear him from behind the sliding door.

“Y-yeah,” you say. Taking your stained shirt in one hand, you stand, and meet him outside.

He studies you, admiring the way his sweater hangs off your torso. “Hmm,” he remarks, as he always does, “you look better in it than I do, y/n.”

“Well, thank you,” you say sincerely, before adding, “but I have to disagree.”

“You look beautiful.” He suddenly says, the words immediately taking root in your heart, “You are beautiful.”

“What?” you croak, your voice coming out in an astonished whisper.

“That is what I said earlier,” he continues, “That is what iksā gevie means.”

“Oh.”

Aemond crosses the few steps needed to erase the distance between the two of you, plucks the shirt from your hand, and deftly tosses it to a nearby chair. Then, he takes your hands in his. He gazes into your eyes, and his expression is a mixture of longing and reluctance. He then traces your cheekbone with his fingers, delicately, as if you will crumble under his touch. And you just might.

“Aemond - ”

“Iksan jāre naejot vūjigon ao sir.”

You feel the urge to ask him what those words mean, instead you choose to simply let it be, and just bask in the sincerity in his tone. In the way he does not drop your gaze when he spoke them. In the way his hands slowly find themselves on your waist, pulling you close.

He leans in, slowly. And the whole world ceases to exist around you. The ringing in your ears becomes silenced, and there is only Aemond. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like, his lips pressed against yours. His devotion reserved only for you. It seemed like a dream, but now, it is well within reach.

But the dream is shattered when a heavy knock echoes throughout the room. Three, brief, raps on the forest green surface. That was all it took to break the spell.

Aemond’s brows furrow in frustration, his hands still on your waist. There is an anger in his voice when he calls loudly over his shoulder, “Yes?”

“It’s me, sir.” You recognize the intruder to be Criston Cole, the head of their family’s security team.

“Wait here, darling,” Aemond says, running his finger over your lips, over what he could have taken if you had not been interrupted.

Aemond opens the door, and you briefly meet Criston’s eyes from across the room.

Your presence in Aemond’s room seems to catch him off guard, but he straightens quickly, “Aemond, there is someone here for you.”

“At this fucking hour?”

Looking at you once more, Criston lowers his voice when he replies, but you hear it anyway. “It’s Alys Rivers. She’s waiting for you downstairs as usual.”

As usual. Alys Rivers. The famous model and socialite. You knew of her from the magazines, the internet. There have been tabloid articles of her and Aemond, but you knew better than to pay any attention to them, not believing that there could be any truth to such lowly forms of media. Or at least, that was what you assumed. But if she’s here, in this ungodly hour, then…

“I think I should get to bed,” you walk towards the doorway, “to Helaena’s room, that is.”

“No,” Aemond stops you in your tracks, grabbing your arm, “wait. We aren’t finished yet. I just - ”

“Your guest is waiting, Aemond.” You cut him off, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, while he tries to get you to look at him, but to no avail. You’re worried that if you do, you might not be able to leave.

Criston shuffles out of the way to let you through, greeting you with a cordial, “Good night, y/n.” You notice how there might even be a hint of regret in his eyes.

Each step feels heavy as you make your way down the hallway to Helaena’s room. Compared to how you felt, mere moments ago, as though you were floating on air.

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night, your thoughts racing on what might be happening down the hall. Who is Alys Rivers to you, Aemond? Why did she have to ruin what would have been a perfect night? Are you just stringing me along?

When you finally succumb to slumber, you fall into a dream.

Of who else but Aemond? Of who else but the one whom your heart desires?

Ok ok ok. This will be the last thing posted before part 5 of Heart on Fire. I think. 🤞

“Iksan jāre naejot vūjigon ao sir.” - "I'm going to kiss you now." - Aemond 🖤

Maroon just had to be multi-chaptered. It might be my favourite track from midnights.

Apologies to those who have sent requests. I do see them, but I'm just a bit bogged with uni/life at the moment. Hopefully will write a lot more soon!

Also, thank you thank you for all the kind remarks/messages. You guys are amazing. Any suggestions for part 2? Let me know in the comments 🖤🖤🖤

Aemond/HotD taglist: @aemcndtargaryen @cryztalline @fairaardirascenarios @blackravena @vensidia @xinyourdreamsx @mrswhitethornbelikov @mikariell95 @thermiting @witchofthenorthstar @m00n5t0n3 @booknerd2004 @throughgoeshamilton @xcallmetaniax @wrendermeuseless @m-indkiller @graykageyama @nsainmoonchild @milemarianne @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @caspianobsessed @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @random-human02 @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @angel6776 @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @huntycola

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #midnights

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dekariosmagic · 1 year

Text

Safe and Sound- Gale x Tav/Reader

Paring: Gale Dekarios x Tav/Reader (Referred to as Tav)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Word Count: 1,515

Description: Gale seemed to take the news from Elinster fairly well, or so it appeared.

Other Things: Fluff. Hurt comfort. Uses lyrics from the song "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift. Pre-relationship (but they're basically there).

Warnings: Panic attack. References to potential story canon suicide.

Elminster’s news had been a bombshell in and of itself on the party. Gale had seemingly taken the news in stride, perhaps the best in the camp.

Gale made dinner as usual, while everyone avoided the singular topic on all their minds. Tav assumed no one knew how to bring up the topic to the man himself.

It wasn’t until Gale finished his own portion and took off to his tent for an early night, did the rumbling start.

Tav did her usual rounds, trying to ignore the feeling of a rock settled in her chest. And with each companion she talked to with their collective rage and disgust toward the situation and goddess of magic, it just seemed to get heavier.

It felt good to know the rest of them were all on the same page. That they’d rather fight the goddess herself than willingly give up their wizard.

Hells Tav was ready to take the goddess on herself, as foolish as the task would be. The fact Mystra felt she could demand that of him. The ultimate sacrifice to end a threat to her power, and get rid of a loose end in one go. She’d not spoken to him since the orb incident, and this was how she broke the silence?

Her heart hurt for Gale and herself. The entire situation couldn’t be easy, not nearly as easy as he made it sound as he accepted the mission from Elminster at least. Hearing from an ex of a relationship that ended so badly would be tricky, make her his goddess of magic and it was far more complicated.

And her own feelings complicated it. She wanted to grab him by his shoulders and scream. Tell him to defy Mystra, to think, to not accept this outrageous thing he’s been asked to do. To spurn Mystra’s words and stay here, with her, in this… whatever they were building.

She’d become far too attached to him already. But everyday at his side just added to the growing list of things she adored about him. The one bright spot in a bleak road ahead.

Walking to the front of Gale’s tent, Tav freezes as she contemplates calling out to him. Whether she should try to talk tonight, or leave it for later after he’s had more time to think. Or just let him stick to his own resolve entirely…

Her thoughts are cut short at the sound of a broken sob on the other side of the fabric.

Without a thought, she slips into the tent and throws her arms around his midsection from behind. His body tenses in surprise, but it does little to interrupt the next sob from his lips.

She squeezes him tighter as his body shakes, using one hand on his front to rub slow circles on his stomach as she rests her head on his back.

“Y-you don’t h-have-“ Gale begins before slapping a hand over his mouth trying to stifle the next sob, sucking air in desperately around it.

“Gale, I’ve got you. It’s ok to let it out. I’m staying right here, I promise.”

She feels him nod more than sees it. She sways them slightly as he shakes, taking a moment to spin herself around his body and hold him more tightly from the front.

His arms quickly wrap around her, his face pressing to her hair.

Her fingers rub gently into his back as she softly starts to hum a melody, his tears running down onto her as he tries to mumble an apology.

She holds him for what felt like hours, lost in their own moment. His shaking lessens, and the sobs dwindled to small hiccups over time.

Turning her head to glance around the room, she spots his bedroll a few steps away.

“Let’s lay down,” she says softly, backing them toward the bedroll and carefully tugging him along with her.

She drops down to her knees when she reaches it, grabbing his hands to tug him down to the bedding with her. Adjusting his pillows around and finding a blanket, she lies on her back and holds her arms out to him.

He studies her for a moment before laying down and snuggling into her, his head resting on her shoulder as she pulls the blanket up around them.

Her fingers slowly card through his hair as he buries his face against her neck, a shuddered breath leaving his lips as his hand grips at her shirt fabric on her stomach.

She resumes her humming after they settled in, his face turning from her neck to glance up at her.

“What are you humming?” He asks quietly, his voice raspy and unsure.

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'll never let you go. When all those shadows almost killed your light, I remember you said don't leave me here alone,” she sings softly to the melody she’d been humming.

“Don't you dare look out your window, darling, everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold onto this lullaby even when the music's gone, gone.

“Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound,” she finishes singing, rubbing a hand along his arm.

“My mother would sing it to me at night when I was upset,” she finally answers. “When times are hard now I hum it to myself. Quite often lately if I’m to be honest.”

“It’s beautiful,” he responds, his eyes reddened and puffy, but looking at her with adoration. “You’re beautiful. And I’m undeserving of your company.”

“Oh hush,” she says and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re deserving of far more than you believe. You deserve to be happy, you deserve to have people care about you, and you deserve to live.”

“I… I don’t want to die,” he whispers after a moment.

“Good, hold onto that,” she says squeezing him closer to her. “I will find another way. We will. There’s always another way. I’m not going to give up on you. You’re enough as you are Gale.”

His face presses back up against the juncture between her shoulder and neck, a shaky exhale on her neck, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear as she feels him smile against her skin.

“Would you stay here with me tonight? Only if you’re comfortable with it,” he asks quickly, keeping his face hidden from her.

“Of course, I’m always up for a cuddle with my favorite wizard,” her fingers go back to playing with his hair.

“If you only know one wizard, I’m both your favorite and least favorite,” he jokes with a dry chuckle.

“I’ve met a few, but you make a good point. I’m always up for a cuddle with my favorite person,” she amends.

His hand drifts from her stomach to her side, holding her closer to him, “If you continue this I might believe you and you’ll be stuck with me, then you’ll be sorry for throwing those words around.”

“Is that a promise?” She grins and lays her head against his.

“Promise?”

“If I keep saying you’re my favorite and that I care about you, I’ll be stuck with you? Because I can easily keep repeating the truth each day.”

“I-I don’t know what… I mean, I still have that order and I might, but maybe,” he stumbles over his words, his brow scrunching in thought.

“You don’t have to think about it right now,” her hand lightly grips his chin to turn his head so she can see his face and presses her finger between his brows. “No decisions, sacrifices, or answers are needed right now.”

He blinks rapidly in response, tears building in the corners of his eyes again as he searches her face then nods, lolling his head back against her shoulder.

Tav lets her fingers drift down his cheek, then follows along his jaw slowly, enjoying the prickle of his beard on her skin.

He stretches some in her embrace, leaning into her touch, his eyelids drooping.

“Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake,” she promises as she feels sleep starting to come to her as well.

“A wondrous sight to awake to I’m sure,” he smile softly, his eyes drifting shut.

Tav continues to stroke along his cheek and jaw until his breathing evens and his nose twitches in his sleep when her hand accidentally brushes against it.

Holding back her chuckle, she wraps her arm back around Gale and snuggles her face against his hair, letting her own eyes drift shut.

She sends out a quick prayer, to any god that may listen, that she find a way to get them all through this. Her new little odd family would all make it through this intact, or she herself would die trying. His goddess may have given up on him, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to.

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My Main Account: @lykaonimagines AO3 User: Lykao (Marvel, Sherlock, Cyberpunk 2077, and other video game fics)

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #baldurs gate gale #gale x tav #gale bg3 #gale dekarios x tav #gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate #fanfic

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