#reached my word limit and couldn’t do all the characters >:( | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brainmaggotzzzz · 23 days ago

Text

teachers pet

professor!hwang inho x female reader

cw: daddy issues, descriptions of trauma, bullying, age gap, body shaming, reader is said to be 19

(no games au, most likely inho is kinda out of character, slow burn)

requests?:yes!

word count: 14.7k

It wasn’t like you were beaten senseless, starved, or subjected to unspeakable horrors. No, nothing so extreme. Just the occasional slap—one you always deserved, of course. You should have washed the dishes. You should have studied harder. A bad grade, a forgotten chore—each mistake met with a swift hand, a lesson in discipline, nothing more. That wasn’t abuse. That was love.

Daddy dearest only wanted the best for you, wanted you to be diligent, intelligent, pure. That’s why boys were off-limits. And when you defied him? When you dared to seek affection elsewhere? The punishment was swift—a slap across the face, the sting lingering long after the moment passed. The door to your room vanished soon after, stripped away as if privacy itself was a privilege you had yet to earn.

"I do this because I love you, my sweet Y/N," he murmured, brushing away the tears that spilled from your burning-red cheek. His touch, almost tender. His gaze, almost affectionate. A man of contradictions—cruelty and kindness woven together so seamlessly that even you couldn’t untangle them. Perhaps he did love you, in his own twisted way. Perhaps he believed his methods were justified.

And you? You were obsessed. Obsessed with earning his approval, his validation—his rare and conditional love. It became your full-time job. During "work hours," you performed flawlessly: straight A’s, disciplined behavior, a carefully curated indifference toward romance. But when the shift ended? When the weight of his expectations momentarily lifted? You slipped out through your window, into the night, into a world that didn’t demand perfection. You went on dates, you kissed boys who whispered the sweet words you ached to hear. And every time, you let yourself believe in them. And every time, you were left with nothing but heartbreak.

◇

You applied to countless colleges, but in the end, Daddy dearest made the choice for you—only the finest institutions, of course. After all, you had excelled in your final exams, just as he had demanded. For the past year, he had ruled over you with an iron fist, his words sharp and unforgiving. Every evening, he loomed over your desk as you studied, reminding you—no, drilling into you—that without a prestigious degree, you would become nothing. A failure. A stupid, useless whore, just like your mother.

And he had been right about Mom, hadn’t he? She had abandoned you for some pathetic man she met online, never once looking back. Sure, she had written letters—fragile attempts at connection—but they never reached you. The moment he spotted them in the mailbox, his lips curled into something resembling a smile as he casually crumpled the paper, discarding it like trash.

"She's a drug addict, probably living in some crackhouse now, my little Y/N," he had said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "She probably just wants to beg you for money. Let's not waste time on her idiotic mail." His large hand patted your head, the gesture almost affectionate.

"But—" you had started, your voice small, uncertain.

He silenced you with a single glance. "See? That’s what happens when you leave me. When you stop listening. Look at what she became. You don’t want to end up like her, do you?"

You forced a small, obedient smile, nodding. Trying to believe him. Wanting to believe him. Because the alternative—the thought that your mother had truly wanted to reach you, that she had never stopped thinking about you—was too painful to bear.

His gaze flickered down, scanning your figure with the same calculating eyes he used when assessing your report cards.

"You’ve gained weight," he remarked, almost offhandedly, but his voice carried a quiet edge, a thinly veiled disgust. "You wouldn’t want to be a fat pig at college, would you? But I suppose with your mother’s genetics, it’s inevitable."

His expression twisted into something unreadable. Almost concern—but not quite. No, that wasn’t concern. It was something colder. A quiet, meticulous chipping away at whatever confidence you had managed to salvage. Because even after acing your exams, after sacrificing sleep, after giving every ounce of yourself to meet his impossible expectations, you still weren’t enough. You never would be.

The approval he had granted you, fleeting and conditional, had already evaporated, replaced by yet another flaw for him to carve into. Another piece of you to dismantle.

But still, you craved it. His validation. His love—if you could even call it that. It was a hunger that never dulled.

"I'll lose weight, Daddy," you whispered, offering him a faint, fragile smile. Hoping, just this once, it would be enough.

◇

You got in. The best university in the entire country—a crown jewel of academia. The campus was breathtaking, almost unreal, like it belonged in a movie. Ivy-covered buildings, sun-drenched courtyards, students who were not only brilliant but effortlessly beautiful. Professors whose names echoed in academic journals, whose brilliance seemed to radiate from their very presence. And the parties—wild, glittering affairs that spilled into the early hours, promising release, rebellion, and belonging.

But you felt like a ghost drifting through it all. An impostor wearing someone else’s skin. As if your acceptance had been a clerical error, a slip in the system. Like you didn’t belong here, hadn’t truly earned your place, even though you had bled for those grades, sacrificed every piece of yourself to get in. The thought haunted you: This place is too good for me.

You just wanted to be liked. Wanted people to smile when you entered the room, to feel wanted, to matter. Even if it meant whittling yourself down to a version of you that didn’t feel like you at all. Your preferences, your personality, your voice—they blurred and shifted, rearranged themselves depending on who was watching. You became fluid, formless. A mirror reflecting whatever the people around you wanted to see.

So you danced to music that grated your nerves. Laughed at jokes that didn’t make sense to you. Drank things that tasted like poison. None of it mattered—what mattered was the approval, the acceptance, the feeling of finally being enough.

Your existence was almost entirely performative. You wore masks like second skin—smiling when you wanted to scream, nodding when you wanted to vanish. It was muscle memory by now, born from years of rehearsing the role of the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect nothing.

But there was one place, one hour in your carefully curated schedule, where something real slipped through the cracks. Literature class.

It wasn’t just a class—it was a sanctuary. A place where your voice, long silenced by your father’s rigid expectations, finally had room to breathe. Where your thoughts weren’t graded against how obedient or pure or presentable they were, but by how honest, how insightful, how yours they felt. You wrote review essays that dug into the marrow of the texts, not because you were supposed to—but because, for once, you wanted to say something. You wrote short stories with a voice you didn’t even know you had, and in those pages, you found slivers of the self you’d buried under years of silence and compliance.

And then there was Professor Hwang.

Stern. Disciplined. Controlled. He ran the classroom like a ship’s deck—there was no room for mediocrity, no tolerance for laziness, no softened edges. His feedback was brutal in its honesty, but fair. He didn’t flatter. He didn’t fawn. And that only made you want his praise more.

At first, it was purely academic. But the need for his approval began to feel familiar—uncomfortably so. Not like the way you sought to be liked at parties, or the way you’d contort yourself to be desired. No, this was deeper. Older.

You wanted him to see you. Not as a girl. Not even as a student. But as someone worthy. Someone with a mind that mattered. Someone who could impress him.

Every time he underlined a sentence and scribbled a restrained “good insight,” your heart ached in a way you knew too well. The way it did when your father used to glance at your report card, nod stiffly, and mutter, “Finally doing something right.” You told yourself this was different—but it wasn’t. Not entirely.

Because you weren’t just craving academic validation. You were chasing the ghost of a father who taught you love had to be earned. That you were never enough until he said so. And now, you were chasing that same impossible feeling—through red ink and curt nods, through the quiet dignity of a man who would never give affection freely, but might just give you respect if you proved yourself enough times.

“I just want him to like my writing,” you told yourself. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about the writing. It was about being seen. It was about being good enough for someone.

And that hunger—it never really left.

◇

“Good job, as per usual.”

Professor Hwang handed you your graded essay without so much as a glance. His voice was even, expression unreadable, his hand steady as he moved down the row. But the moment the paper touched your desk—his handwriting scrawled across the top in red ink, those simple words—Good job—your chest swelled with something dangerously close to euphoria.

You felt weightless. Dizzy. High. As if you'd inhaled something sweet and rare. That brief moment—barely two seconds of acknowledgment—meant more than it should have. He hadn’t even looked at you, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t done anything, really. But it didn’t matter. You were seen. Not for your face, not for your social status, not for how well you performed obedience—but for your mind.

And that meant everything.

You watched him move down the row, his long strides measured and composed, his sharp profile calm with quiet confidence. He carried himself with purpose, intellect radiating from every movement, and you found yourself unable to look away. You studied the furrow between his brows, the set of his jaw, the way he paused just briefly between students—efficient, no wasted energy. A man who didn’t indulge in softness, who didn’t offer approval freely.

Which made it all the more intoxicating when he gave it to you.

You were so deep in it—so completely absorbed in watching him—that you barely registered your friend’s voice beside you.

“Y/N?” she snapped her fingers in front of your face. “Hello? Gosh, I’m talking to you.”

You blinked, shaken out of your haze, and turned to her. She was pouting, her essay crumpled in her manicured hand. “I didn’t pass again. This is some fucking bullshit.”

You gave her a soft, practiced smile, slipping easily back into your usual role. The supportive friend. The fixer.

“It’ll be alright,” you said gently. “We’ve got another essay due Tuesday, and I’m sure you’ll do great on that one.”

She tilted her head, eyes suddenly wide and sweet with that familiar, calculated look. “Can you help me?”

There it was again—that smile. The one that had you doing most of her coursework in exchange for proximity to her world. She was popular, magnetic. Everyone wanted to be around her, to orbit her light. And because you were her right hand, you were seen, known, accepted. Not fully. Not truly. But enough.

It was a trade—you offered your intellect, your time, your energy, and in return, you got a borrowed kind of status. People greeted you in hallways. You were invited to parties. You were liked.

And that mattered. Maybe too much.

“Of course,” you said, smiling again. Always smiling.

You handed her your paper. You’d help her. You always did. Because performing was second nature now—whether for a professor’s approval or a friend’s affection. And as long as someone, anyone, kept saying “good job,” you could keep pretending it was enough.

◇

“Hey, Y/N.”

Seojin barely glanced up as she spoke, her attention fixed on the small compact mirror she held in one hand, the other delicately gliding lip gloss across her already perfectly painted lips.

You walked over to the library table she had claimed as her personal throne, offering a soft, practiced smile as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “Hi, Seojin.”

Sliding into the seat across from her, you cleared your throat, voice light but tentative. “So... you said you needed help writing the essay? Which book did you pick?”

She didn’t look up. She was too busy smacking her lips, checking the shine. “I didn’t really pick one yet,” she muttered. Then, a beat later, “Oh! Maybe we could do it on... ugh, I don’t know... Harry Potter?”

You blinked. “The prompt is about character transformations, sure, but... it had to be a book published in the 1950s,” you said, offering a small, polite laugh. You hated correcting her.

Seojin groaned dramatically, finally tossing the mirror into her designer tote. “Gosh, does he always have to give us such specific criteria? Like, who does he think he is?” she grumbled, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, looking as if she were personally offended by academia itself.

You gave her a small smile, trying to keep the edge of exasperation from showing. “Maybe Lolita could work? It was published in ’55, and the psychological complexity is—”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, that love story!”

You flinched, your stomach knotting. “It’s... not a love story,” you corrected gently, voice quieter now. “Even Nabokov said it’s a psychological horror, not a romance.”

“Whatever,” she interrupted flatly, already bored of the conversation. “How long do you think it’ll take you to write it?”

You hesitated. “I was thinking... maybe we could write it together? Mr. Hwang’s super analytical, not like other professors. He’ll know if it’s not your voice.” Your words were careful, deliberate. You were trying to plant the seed of effort, of ownership, without sounding accusatory.

Finally, Seojin looked at you. Her wide, doll-like eyes softened into something that mimicked vulnerability. “Y/N,” she said, dragging out your name like a plea, “please? Just this once. You’re such a good friend, okay?” Her voice was syrupy, sweet, her expression dipped in practiced desperation.

You looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, you felt the sting of being used. Of being convenient. But the weight of her words settled like a chain around your neck. Good friend. That’s what you were supposed to be, right? Helpful. Reliable. Quiet.

Just like you were with your father.

You felt yourself folding again, like paper.

“Fine,” you said softly, your smile mechanical.

Because being needed—even for the wrong reasons—still felt better than not being seen at all.

◇

Mr. Hwang moved down the aisle with his usual calm precision, a stack of graded essays in hand. He didn’t pause, didn’t even look at you when he placed the crisp paper onto your desk—your name written neatly in the corner, an A circled in bold red ink near the top.

Your heart fluttered with quiet pride, your fingers brushing over the grade like it might vanish. But the warmth of that triumph evaporated the second you glanced at Seojin.

Her eyes sparkled, lips already curled into a grin as she flipped her essay over, no doubt expecting praise. The smile vanished.

Her whole face changed—her brow twitched ever so slightly, lips pressing into a hard, thin line. She stared at the grade as if it were a personal betrayal, her jaw locked tight.

Your stomach dropped.

“You two,” Mr. Hwang’s voice rang out flatly, cool and commanding, “stay after class.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just moved on, handing back the rest of the essays like nothing happened.

Seojin didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. But the air around her turned to ice. She didn’t look at you until the moment Mr. Hwang passed her by. And when she did, it was with fury beneath a thin mask of calm. Her anger simmered just beneath her flawlessly applied makeup, rage flickering behind her big, empty lashes.

“You fucking bitch,” she hissed, low and venomous. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted me to fail, wrote some pretentious bullshit so I’d get embarrassed. I should’ve known you were fucking useless.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“No—Seojin—I didn’t—I swear I tried my best,” you whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. Your voice cracked, small and shaky. Panic bloomed in your chest like fire. You felt like a little girl again, fumbling for a defense while someone older and louder ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

She scoffed. Loud enough to draw a glance from the next table over. “Shut your traitor ass up. You’re done for here.”

You swallowed hard, your body stiff with shame. The rest of the class blurred, every tick of the clock louder than Mr. Hwang’s lecture. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe. Your fingers clenched and unclenched in your lap. Every shift of Seojin beside you felt like a warning. You barely blinked, afraid that if you did, the walls would close in.

◇

After class, the door shut quietly behind the last student.

“So, what’s wrong with my essay?” Seojin demanded, arms crossed, her voice like a whip crack.

Mr. Hwang stood near his desk, his posture calm, precise. He clasped his hands behind his back, his tailored suit perfectly in place, his gaze cold.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to the paper in his hand and read aloud, voice smooth and precise:

‘Her transformation is not a blossoming, but a decay—Lolita, twisted into a caricature of innocence, becomes both victim and symbol, and yet never loses the ghost of the child she was forced to leave behind.’

“A terrific essay,” he added, tone still even. “Truly, one of the best I’ve read in years.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your hands twisting in the hem of your sweater. The compliment sent a flicker of warmth through you—but it was poisoned by the context.

“So what’s the problem, huh?” Seojin snapped, her jaw tense, arms tightening across her chest.

“The problem, Miss Kang,” he said coolly, “is that this isn’t your work.”

“Yes it is!” she spat, stepping forward, her posture tense like a coil. “Y/N, say it. Admit that it’s mine!”

Her eyes twitched with desperation, her voice cracking.

You looked at her, then at Mr. Hwang, then down at the floor. Something inside you broke a little.

“...It’s hers,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Mr. Hwang said nothing at first. He only nodded slightly. “Very well,” he murmured, stepping closer to the desk. “Then, Miss Kang, since it’s yours—you’ll have no trouble defining the word ‘ephemerality,’ which you used with such elegance in your second paragraph.”

The room went silent.

Her smile faltered. Her eye twitched again. She said nothing.

“This tells me everything I need to know,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Please leave. I will raise the issue with the academic board.”

Seojin turned on you, her fury now untethered. “This is your fault!” she seethed, jabbing her finger into your shoulder. You flinched, tension locking up every part of your body. Her perfectly sculpted expression was twisted with pure loathing.

She stormed out, designer bag swinging angrily at her side.

You took a step to follow, your legs numb.

“Not you, Miss L/N,” Mr. Hwang said, his voice cutting clean through your daze. “I’d like a word.”

Your blood ran cold. For a moment you just stood in silence, before silently walking closer to the professor.

"I'm very disappointed, Miss L/N."

His voice was steady, measured—devoid of anger, but somehow that made it worse. His expression remained unreadable, composed like always. But to you, it felt like a thousand silent reprimands.

"From a bright mind which I presumed yours to be," he continued, calmly folding his arms behind his back, "I expected wiser actions."

You felt something sink deep inside you. That one word—disappointed—struck harder than any insult, any grade, any punishment ever could. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, gripping the hem of your sleeve.

You had disappointed him.

The man whose rare nods and quiet praise had meant more to you than any applause. The only adult who made you feel seen, not as a doll molded by expectation, but as someone capable.

“I-I apologize,” you stammered, barely above a whisper, eyes fixed on the floor. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You didn’t deserve to.

“I just wanted to help her,” you added, almost defensively, though your voice cracked by the end of it.

One of his eyebrows lifted subtly. “You should think more of helping yourself,” he said, voice unflinching. “Your little antic nearly landed you on the path to academic expulsion.”

You flinched at the word expulsion. Your heart thudded dully in your chest.

“I know,” you said quickly. “I’m sorry. I—I did wrong.” Then, with a nervous bow of your head, “Thank you for… appreciating my essays.” You turned, already walking toward the door. His presence made you feel too exposed. Too small. And he was always so stern—so no-nonsense—that it seemed futile to even ask for mercy.

But his voice stopped you cold.

“Not so quick.”

You turned around, startled, clutching your bag tighter. He was watching you now, one brow slightly raised. “Aren’t you going to at least try to fight for your deserved spot here?”

You blinked, stunned.

Why would you?

You’d failed him. Let your “friend” down—if Seojin could even be called that. And socially? You were already dead. Word would spread. You could see the whispers starting, the side-eyes, the snickering in class. And then—your father. If he found out… no, when he found out… you’d be as good as buried.

So you laughed. Just a soft, cracked sound. Self-deprecating. Hollow. “I’m done for anyway, Professor.”

He didn’t return your smile.

“Not necessarily,” he said, still measured, still calm—but something in his voice carried weight. Possibility. A thread of hope, tightly wound in control. “I haven’t brought the matter to the academic board. Not yet.”

You blinked. “…You haven’t?”

“No,” he said simply. “Because there’s one way you can redeem yourself.”

Your eyes widened slightly. A flicker of something returned to your posture—hope, fear, disbelief.

“H-how?”

“There will be a literature and writing competition hosted by the university and its partners,” he explained, his tone firm but not unkind. “A prestigious event. You’ll be given a prompt and expected to craft a sophisticated essay or analysis on the spot, drawing from a selection of fifteen pre-assigned texts. The book will be chosen for you at random. It’s intense. Demanding. Only a handful of students qualify.”

You swallowed. Your mouth felt dry.

“I believe,” he said, pausing deliberately, “you’re the best student I can sign up for it. And the only one I’m willing to personally mentor through the preparation process.”

Your heart pounded.

He believed in you. After all this. After you’d fumbled, compromised yourself—he still saw something worth salvaging.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away.

You’d chased your father’s validation for years like a lost child wandering an empty hallway. But this—this was different. Mr. Hwang’s validation didn’t come with conditions. It wasn’t twisted with cruelty or control. It was offered in the form of challenge, belief, and discipline.

And suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to prove him right.

“…I’ll do it,” you said softly, a new resolve weaving into your voice. “I won’t let you down.”

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, unreadable. Then he nodded, once.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll send you the reading list tonight. We begin Monday.”

◇

You walked through campus with a small, flickering smile tugging at your lips. The trees swayed gently under the weight of golden afternoon light, and for once, the breeze didn’t feel cold. Your thoughts danced around books and prompts, essay structures and literary symbolism. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you had a direction—like you had something to prove that wasn't rooted in desperation but in purpose.

You were going to make Mr. Hwang proud. You were going to redeem yourself.

And thankfully, when you returned to your dorm, you wouldn’t have to see Seojin’s smug face or anyone else from that so-called friend group—a group that only ever loved you in exchange for something. Help. Compliance. Silence.

But just as your foot hovered over the threshold of your dorm building, a sharp tug yanked you backward by the wrist.

Your breath caught in your throat as your body twisted to face her.

Seojin.

Lip gloss perfect. Nails razor-sharp. Eyes dark with rage.

“You little backstabbing bitch,” she hissed, her grip tightening.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Let go of me,” you said, voice trembling, but not weak.

She didn’t.

“You made me look like an idiot,” she snapped. “You set me up. I should’ve known better than to trust some pathetic nobody with daddy issues and a victim complex.”

The words landed like darts. And yet, they didn’t surprise you. Not really.

Your throat tightened. That smile you’d worn just minutes ago had long since vanished.

“I tried to help you,” you shot back, voice sharp with something unfamiliar—defensiveness, maybe. Dignity, even. “I stayed up all night writing that essay. You didn’t even read it.”

“I don’t need to read your boring-ass essays,” she snapped. “I needed you to make me look good. And you couldn’t even do that right.”

A wave of shame flooded you—but beneath it, something stirred. Something angrier.

“I’ve done everything for you,” you said, barely above a whisper, but the words came out jagged. “You needed notes, I gave them. You needed answers during tests, I whispered them. You needed someone to do your work, I was stupid enough to say yes.”

She blinked, caught off guard for half a second. But her face twisted again.

“You always acted like you were just so grateful to be around me,” she sneered. “Don't act high and mighty now. You were nothing without me. You still are.”

You inhaled sharply.

That old voice in your head—the one that sounded like your father’s—wanted to agree with her. She’s right. You are nothing. A shadow. An imposter. A weak, needy little thing.

But now… now there was something else inside you. Something that had been watered in the cracks of Mr. Hwang’s classroom. In the underline of a “well done.” In the idea that maybe, just maybe, your thoughts had value beyond how well they pleased others.

“I’d rather be nothing on my own than a empty, shallow specimen of a human being like yourself” you said, voice shaking, but clear.

Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened. Before you knew it, a sharp slap met your cheek.

◇

A whole week had passed since you made the decision—no, the devotion—to study for the contest. And every single evening since, you had spent hunched over books and essays in Mr. Hwang’s office or the dim university library, those were your outside class preparation sessions.

The campus halls had grown colder, not literally, but in the way eyes glanced past you now. The whispers that once clung to your footsteps like perfume had turned sour. The same people who once called you “sweet” or “genius” now muttered traitor, desperate, attention whore.

You didn’t care anymore.

Because you’d rerouted your hunger—for love, for attention, for worth. You no longer scattered it across campus, or threw it like pennies into a social fountain. You’d honed it. Sharpened it. Aimed it entirely at one person.

Mr. Hwang.

Because he saw you.

And that was all you needed.

His attention wasn't like the fleeting friendships, or that affection you would get from boys back "home", not even your father's conditional approval. It felt grounding. Like worship. Like every sentence you wrote existed for him to read, underline, and silently nod at.

And tonight, he sat across from you in the quiet office, reading your preparation essay with that same piercing stillness he always had. The harsh fluorescent light above cast shadows under his eyes, made the stern lines of his face sharper. There was no softness in him—but God, didn’t that make your craving for his approval even worse?

He turned the page with elegant precision, his eyes scanning your words. Then he paused.

“‘It is not the monster in the forest they fear most, but the part of themselves that would welcome the beast as a savior.’” he read aloud, his voice low, deliberate.

He looked up at you, brows furrowing slightly. “That line… it’s particularly well written. And your insight is uncommon. But I can’t help but wonder—what exactly do you mean by that?”

You blinked, then allowed the smallest, sly smile to tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Well,” you began, voice casual but calculated, “sometimes survival looks an awful lot like surrender. And monsters? They usually wear the face of someone offering a solution.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then something shifted in his face—barely perceptible, but there. A soft twitch in the corner of his lips.

A smirk.

Fleeting. Rare.

But it was there.

“Interesting,” he said simply, returning to the page, though you swore you saw his gaze linger just a second too long.

Your stomach flipped—not with fear, not quite with thrill, but something in between. That small reaction from him had lit you up more than any compliment you’d ever received. And you weren’t sure what disturbed you more: how good it felt… or how badly you wanted to earn more.

◇

"My sweet Y/N,"

"I miss you every day. I wish I could’ve been better to you. I wish I could go back in time and take you away with me from that manipulative monster."

"I know you probably don’t want to speak to me, since you never responded to any of my previous letters..."

"I found out you got into a great college. I’m so proud of you."

"But I wish you could know—really know—that no matter what he told you, I always loved you. And I always will. My door is open for you, anytime. I’d love for you to meet my family. Me and my partner are having our second baby soon. How exciting!"

"Love, Mom."

You clutched the letter in your sweaty palms, the edges bending under the pressure of your grip. Your eyes were burning. You weren’t sure if it was grief or rage. Maybe both.

So she wasn’t a junkie.

She wasn’t living in a crackhouse like your father used to say, smugly, as he tossed her letters into the trash with a patronizing pat on your head.

And still, instead of relief, it stung.

She had a family. She had another child. Another child she gets to raise, to tuck in at night, to protect. You were the forgotten draft, a false start. You weren’t invited back into her life. You were invited to witness it.

She built a life without you.

And now, she reached out like it was easy. Like the years didn’t leave a scar.

Bitterness curdled in your stomach. You didn’t cry. You just... grabbed your pen.

You needed to bleed onto paper. To scream in ink. To claw your way out of that bitter void you’d been dropped into again.

The next assignment was open topic. Anything that explored mother-daughter relationships.

How fitting.

You chose a lesser-known novel, White Oleander, not the easiest read. Dark, poetic, layered with themes of toxic maternal bonds, abandonment, and emotional survival. It resonated deeply.

This time, you didn’t plan every word like a chess game. You didn’t even edit. You wrote. Pen scratching hard enough to almost pierce the page, the rhythm desperate, like your hands were working faster than your brain could even catch up. And when you were done... it was raw. Ugly. Beautiful.

◇

The next day, Mr. Hwang sat across from you, your essay in hand. His eyes scanned it in silence, his expression unreadable, as always. You waited—nervous, but a bit proud. This was different than your usual writing. This was you, naked on the page.

Finally, he looked up.

"Interesting," he said, tapping the corner of the paper. “Your word choices carry emotional intensity. The novel you selected—ambitious. White Oleander, not commonly chosen, but it demands emotional courage. I’m impressed."

He paused, then flipped to a highlighted paragraph, reading it out loud.

“‘It is easier to hate a mother who hits you than one who kisses you goodbye and never comes back.’”

His eyes didn’t leave the page. “Your insight into the mother’s abandonment… It’s as though you experienced it yourself. Many would argue that the mother is the sole villain, but you managed to... soften that verdict. You explored the daughter’s pain without sacrificing complexity.”

You didn’t mean to speak aloud. You didn’t even know the words were forming in your throat.

“Takes one to know one,” you murmured bitterly.

He raised his head slowly, brow lifting. “I’m sorry?” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it held weight.

You blinked rapidly. “Nothing. I'm sorry, Professor. I got distracted.”

A blush crept up your neck. You hated how exposed you felt. You wanted to crawl back into your mind and slam the door shut.

But then, as if pulled into his own thoughts, he stood from his chair and paced slowly toward the window, his arms crossed loosely. His gaze fixed somewhere outside.

“Miss L/N,” he said thoughtfully, “writing is an art form. And you know what they often say to painters?”

You looked up. “Paint what—”

He didn’t even have to finish.

“—Paint what you know,” you said, completing it softly.

He turned his head and gave you something so rare you almost didn’t recognize it: a ghost of a smile. Not quite pride. Not quite amusement. Just… quiet acknowledgment.

“Van Gogh painted from the raw chaos of his life. Frida Kahlo laid her suffering bare in brushstrokes. The list goes on. Your canvas is paper—and I, personally, would be very curious to see what you write... not about others. But about yourself. The kind of writing that doesn’t just analyze—but reveals. Unapologetically.”

You blinked at him, unsure if your heart was pounding out of anxiety or... something else. Your fingers twitched over your notebook.

He took a few slow steps towards you.

“I believe you have potential,” he said finally, voice steady, low. “The kind of potential that others one day analyze. Not the other way around.”

It was the highest praise you'd ever received. But it wasn’t just that. It was him saying it. And it felt like something dangerous blossomed quietly in your chest.

You swallowed, hard.

“Then I’ll try to write it,” you said softly, eyes meeting his.

“No,” he corrected, his voice firm but not unkind. “You will.”

◇

Something had shifted.

You didn’t just crave his academic praise anymore. You didn’t just want to be the perfect little student, the bright mind he guided and mentored. No—now you wanted him to see you. Really see you. As something more than a grade on paper. Something more than a pair of eyes across the desk.

So, today, you chose a short skirt—the one that accentuated the shape of your legs—and a fitted top that traced your waist like it was designed to worship it. It was subtle enough not to scream for attention, but deliberate enough that it whispered: look at me.

Your father’s voice had long ago sunk its venom into your self-worth. The way he used to dissect your appearance with a bitter tongue—too much this, not enough that—had left cracks in your mirror. But today, when you passed your reflection, you didn’t flinch. Because even with those words echoing from the past, the truth stood firm: you were beautiful.

And not just beautiful. Powerful.

You walked into class like you weren’t still haunted. Like your reputation wasn’t shredded by the likes of Seojin and her clique. The very same people who spray-painted snake across your dorm door, who left gum in your books and whispered behind your back.

But now?

Now, they looked.

Even the ones who mocked you days ago went silent when you walked by. Some stared. Some murmured. One even whistled low under his breath.

It was empowering. But still—it wasn’t for them.

You only wanted one person to look, you wanted him to notice- the same way you noticed how he doesn't have a ring on his finger.

You took your usual seat, not too far from the front, where you could observe Mr. Hwang with ease. Your pen danced across your notebook, dutiful and precise—but your eyes… they were on him.

The way he spoke about literature with such calm conviction, the way he would walk slowly across the classroom as if his thoughts guided his steps—the way his hands moved while he explained a passage from Crime and Punishment, the way his fingers tapped on the edge of the podium as he paused, choosing his words—

And then, his gaze flicked up. Just for a moment.

He looked at you.

Not at the class. Not past you. At you.

And then, just as quickly, he broke eye contact, returning to his notes.

But your heart didn’t care. It noticed. And it raced, cheeks warm, knees weak beneath the desk.

You couldn’t wait for your next prep session with him. Alone. Close. Seen.

You were still staring, maybe a little too dreamily, when a soft voice cut through the air near your ear.

"You really think that tight little outfit’s gonna make him want you?” Seojin whispered venomously from behind, her lips barely moving.

You flinched—not from fear, but rage. She said it with a fake smile plastered on her face, eyes still on the board. The casual cruelty of it made your skin crawl.

You didn’t look back at her. But your hand gripped your pen tighter.

No. You didn’t dress for him to want you. You dressed to remind yourself that you were not small. Not weak. Not invisible.

You were reclaiming the attention that had been taken from you—by your father’s contempt, by your mother’s absence, by the lies, the abandonment, the betrayal.

And if Mr. Hwang’s eyes lingered just a little longer next time—

Maybe you'd finally believe you were worth being looked at.

◇

For the contest preparation that day, you handed Professor Hwang an essay on 1984 by George Orwell.

It was sharp. Bold. Personal in the way only veiled honesty can be.

You wrote about Big Brother—not just as a symbol of authoritarian control—but as a metaphor for a kind of father. The kind that watches, dictates, rewrites your reality until you question your own perception. You drew subtle but aching parallels between the constant surveillance in 1984 and the way it feels to grow up in the home of a controlling, emotionally abusive parent.

And then, without explicitly stating it, you explored something darker:

The phenomenon of learning to love the one who hurts you. Of finding comfort in structure, in being watched, in craving approval from the very source of your fear.

Because if Big Brother saw you… then maybe you mattered.

Mr. Hwang sat across from you in his chair, reading slowly. His brow furrowed once. Then twice. He hummed lowly, nodding as he took it in, his fingers moving slightly along the bottom edge of the paper.

Then he tapped one part gently.

“The child who is raised to fear being unloved learns to chase approval like oxygen. She’ll fold herself into the shapes her father finds acceptable, blur the line between obedience and devotion, until even in adulthood, she’ll mistake power for protection—and authority for affection. That is how Big Brother becomes love.”

"This part is especially good," he said, eyes still on the paper, voice almost quiet. "It reads less like literary analysis and more like emotional archaeology."

You smiled softly, warmth spreading up your spine. “Thank you, Professor.” You felt like something inside you had just been acknowledged—not just your mind, but your pain, your effort, your truth.

He looked up. “Don’t thank me. It’s your work.”

Your smile widened slightly. Giddy, even. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and shifted in your seat, heart doing quiet flips.

“Now,” he said, adjusting his position. “I’d like to try something new with you today.”

Your brows raised. “New?”

He nodded, placing your essay gently aside. “I��ll give you fifteen minutes. I’ll provide you a prompt. And I want you to free write. No books. No citations. Just you. Don’t overthink it. Don’t scratch anything out. Let the words come as they want to.”

You looked at him, slightly caught off guard. Your fingers instinctively went to the corner of your notebook.

“Are you up for it?” he asked, and the smallest smirk curled at the edge of his lips.

“Yes,” you whispered, a little breathlessly.

He didn’t break eye contact. “Your prompt is…” he paused, his gaze steady, piercing. “The result in young women of being subjected to emotional abuse from an early age.”

Your throat tightened. Your fingers clutched your pen.

Of course.

Of course he figured it out. He didn’t just read between the lines of your essays—he read you. It almost felt cruel. Or maybe it was the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to you. Given you the space to tell your story and then asked for more.

You stared at the blank page. The words didn’t hesitate. They bled.

You wrote about how it starts with walking on eggshells. About how silence becomes a kind of language. How you learn to smile before you cry. How your identity becomes so rooted in being what someone else needs that you forget what you need.

You wrote about people-pleasing. About the terror of disappointing someone. About how compliments make you squirm because you don’t trust them, but criticism feels like home.

You wrote about flinching at raised voices and melting at crumbs of attention. About becoming a chameleon, about being terrified of being too much and not enough at the same time.

You hadn’t meant to mention your father. You really hadn’t. But the words had minds of their own. And there it was:

“My father didn’t just control the house, he controlled my reflection. I learned to only see myself through his eyes.”

Your pen hovered. You panicked. You were about to cross it out.

And just then, Professor Hwang’s voice came, smooth and soft like velvet rope:

“Tsk, tsk. No crossing out.”

You froze, eyes darting up. He’d been watching you. You didn’t even realize. Not just watching—but observing. Studying you with the same intensity you gave to books.

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but not unkind. “Every time you hesitate to express yourself… you censor something that someone else might’ve needed to read.”

Fifteen minutes passed.

You didn’t even hear the clock ticking. You didn’t feel the pen in your hand anymore. Just the hollow ache in your chest that finally had words.

You stopped writing only when Mr. Hwang reached for the paper, his fingers grazing the edge. Your pulse jumped slightly at the contact. You looked up—he wasn’t smiling. His expression was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes scanning rapidly.

He read in silence. You stared at the floor.

Then, finally, he leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the page. “This is… honest,” he said, slowly. “More than I expected.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how to.

He shifted his gaze to you, something in his eyes different. “The part where you described yourself as ‘someone who only recognizes her own reflection in how others see her’—that was…” He hesitated. “Unsettling. And beautiful.”

Your stomach flipped. “I wasn’t trying to make it poetic,” you said, voice quieter than you intended. “It just… came out.”

“That’s when writing’s best,” he said softly, “when you’re not trying.”

He let out a breath and sat up straighter, placing the paper carefully in front of him. “You’re carrying a lot, Miss L/N.”

You shrugged, feeling exposed, embarrassed. “So are a lot of people.”

“True. But most don’t bleed it onto paper this clearly.”

You looked at him finally, your eyes meeting his, and it hit you that he wasn’t just impressed—he was moved. The kind of moved that unsettles even the person feeling it.

He studied your face like it was another page he had to analyze.

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” you said after a pause, “if it was too much.”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, it wasn’t too much.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, the space between you suddenly feeling… smaller. “If anything, it made me wonder—”

He stopped.

You tilted your head. “Wonder what?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he glanced at the clock—as if suddenly aware of how much time had passed. “What kind of woman you’ll become if you keep writing like this.”

You swallowed. His voice was low. Intimate in its stillness.

“I think… I already know what kind of woman I am,” you said, something defiant under your breath.

He looked at you, more serious now. “No,” he said gently. “You know what kind of girl the world made you into. But you haven’t yet figured out the kind of woman you want to be.”

That struck something in you.

You weren’t sure what it was that shifted in that moment. Maybe it was the softness in his tone. The way he wasn’t just your professor right then. He wasn’t standing above you. He wasn’t lecturing. He was seeing you.

And you?

You were staring at his mouth when he said it. You were imagining how close you were. You were aware of the heat between you both and the way it felt safe and dangerous all at once.

You quickly looked back down at your notebook.

But something had sparked.

You both felt it. And neither of you said a word.

Not yet.

◇

It was a Friday night. The campus was nearly a ghost town—deserted dorm hallways, muffled bass of some party echoing from the far end of the grounds, and laughter trailing off into the cold air. Most students were out getting drunk, hooking up, or lounging with friends they’d had since orientation. Not you.

But that didn’t bother you anymore.

You had spent too long trying to fit into boxes that were never meant for you, into conversations that drained your soul, and into friendships that weren’t really friendships at all—just a desperate attempt to be liked. To be wanted. You once let them mold you into what they needed. But now?

Now, you were alone. And it didn’t feel like loneliness.

You were sitting on a bench in the quiet campus garden, beneath the yellow glow of a large street lamp that flickered ever so slightly. Its warm light fell over your lap, illuminating the worn pages of the book you were almost finished with—the last book on the contest list. Anna Karenina. It was a classic, one you kept putting off. Maybe because it mirrored too much. The subtle madness of love. The longing. The danger of giving in.

You turned a page when—

“Miss L/N.”

You looked up.

Mr. Hwang stood in front of you, briefcase in one hand, the other buried in the pocket of his dark wool coat. The campus light caught the edge of his jawline, the slight dishevel of his usually neat hair.

Your face softened. “Professor,” you said with a smile. “You’re still here this late?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same about you.”

You let out a small laugh, already feeling that familiar calmness his presence brought. “Let me guess. Still grading? Or finally catching up on that massive reading list you assigned me?”

He smirked. “A bit of both. Though I thought you would be out tonight, living like a normal college student. Partying. Making questionable choices.”

“Meh,” you waved him off, cracking a crooked grin. “My partying days are long behind me.”

“You’re nineteen,” he deadpanned.

“Exactly. I’m practically ancient,” you said dramatically, and it earned a rare laugh from him—low, real, unguarded.

He looked at you a moment longer before speaking again. “Still, I find it difficult to believe that someone like you doesn’t have a crowd of people fighting to spend time with her.”

You blinked. “Someone like me?”

He shrugged, casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a landmine. “A beautiful and intelligent woman,” he said smoothly.

You stared at him. For a second, you thought you imagined it. That your brain had replaced some neutral compliment with something bolder, more… intimate.

Your heart stammered.

“Now, Professor,” you said, your voice slightly breathless, recovering quickly with a smirk, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to flatter me.”

The words had already slipped before your inner filter could catch them.

He paused, then tilted his head. “Bold,” he murmured, amused. His mouth curved into a slow, deliberate smirk.

Your stomach twisted. But not out of fear.

You looked down at the book in your lap—suddenly very aware of the romantic tragedy in your hands—and then back up at him. His eyes were already on yours.

The space between you stayed heavy with the things neither of you could say.

But you both felt it.

◇

A week.

That’s all that was left until the contest. Seven days.

You had studied until the margins of your notebooks blurred into one another—plotlines, character studies, metaphor layers stacked like fragile towers in your mind. You had free-written until your fingers ached, pouring your soul into page after page. And yet, the nerves remained, fluttering just beneath your ribcage like something half-alive and far too aware.

Still, every time you voiced your doubts, Mr. Hwang would look you in the eye and say, “You’ll do great.”

And when he said it, somehow, you believed it. Or at least you wanted to.

Because no one ever made you feel as capable, as seen, as safe as he did.

But what you didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that he needed you, too.

At first, it was easy for him to explain it away. You were his student. You were in a vulnerable position. It was his duty to guide you, to offer support, especially when no one else around you seemed to. When he’d see you in his office, fingers nervously twisting a pen or your sweater hem, but still trying so hard to be perfect for him—he’d remind himself: This is just empathy. Protection.

But the more he got to know you—the more he saw the wild, unfiltered brilliance of your thoughts, your passion for literature, the subtle sarcasm in your wit—the harder it became to lie to himself.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to protect you. It was that when you were near, the world seemed less out of control.

He didn’t like the guilt he felt.

You were so much younger. You were his student. You were, by all standards, off limits.

But the short skirts, the way your eyes lit up when you were proud of something, how you blushed when he complimented your work, how you told him things you’d never told anyone—what if?

What if you had met under different circumstances? What if there was a world where you could be each other’s secret?

And he hated himself for even letting those thoughts grow roots in his mind.

◇

“Y/N,” a voice called out, snapping you out of your thoughts as you were halfway through your bland cafeteria pasta.

You turned slowly.

It was Seojin’s boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, apparently.

Your brows furrowed, expression unreadable. He had that sheepish look some people wear when they only come to apologize because they can no longer avoid their guilt.

“Can we talk?” he asked awkwardly.

You didn’t speak, just gave a stiff nod and followed him to a quiet table near the back, away from the handful of students still lingering around.

“Seojin and I broke up,” he said bluntly, like it was supposed to mean something to you.

You blinked once, expression still cold. “So?”

He hesitated, taken aback by your indifference.

“I wanted to apologize,” he finally said. “It was wrong of me to… talk shit about you. Especially knowing that she was completely in the wrong.”

Your gaze narrowed slightly. His words didn’t soothe anything. If anything, they irritated the rawness that was still healing in you.

“So why did you do it?” Your voice was even, but heavy.

He gave a pathetic laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want her to be disappointed. I guess… I didn’t want to lose her.”

You stared at him. And you almost—almost—felt a flicker of something like empathy.

Maybe he was like you. Maybe he, too, twisted himself around others to feel like he was enough.

But that thought vanished as quickly as it came.

“People pleasing is one thing,” you said quietly, but firmly. “Deliberately choosing to hurt someone is another.”

He opened his mouth, probably to say something else, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You stood up and walked away.

And for once, you didn’t look back.

◇

"I'm nervous," you said, your voice soft as it echoed lightly in the dim, warm-lit office. You were lounging in the familiar leather chair across from Professor Hwang, legs folded underneath you, half a bag of your favorite snacks already gone. It was your last study session before the contest, and yet it had slowly turned into one of your usual… not-quite-student, not-quite-anything-else hangouts.

Over the months, you’d grown so comfortable with him. So familiar. You talked about everything—books, your childhood, politics, your weird food preferences, and his even weirder sleep schedule. There was a ritual now. You’d come in, he'd already have your favorite snack waiting, he’d correct papers, and you’d ramble or write or sometimes just sit in silence. It didn’t feel academic anymore. It felt like home.

“About?” he asked without looking up, his pen gliding across a student's essay with practiced indifference.

“The contest. Global warming,” you said flatly, with a little shrug, popping another chip into your mouth.

That earned a soft laugh from him.

“Well, perhaps you could make yourself useful and help me grade these,” he said, gesturing to a stack of papers, “Get your mind off the planet’s slow death.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed a few pages from the top. “With pleasure, Professor.”

You read silently for a few minutes—until something made your eyebrows shoot up. You bit your lip to hold it in, but failed miserably, bursting into laughter.

He looked up, mildly amused. “What’s so funny?”

You held up the paper and read out loud, barely containing your snickers:

“In times of war, humans lose their human-nality. This is very present in The Great Gatsby, where Gatsby dies because of his love for money.”

You wheezed. “Human-nality, Professor. The Great Gatsby... about war. I'm sorry, I thought this was a prestigious university. How did this person get in?!”

He smirked, setting down his pen. “Money,” he said without hesitation, his voice dry. “You see, while you have to offer your beautiful brain, others have to offer nepotism.”

You laughed, still shaking your head in disbelief. “Beautiful brain, huh? You sound like you wanna dissect it, Professor.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I feel as if I already have.”

That shut you up. Not completely, but just enough. His tone wasn’t teasing—at least not entirely. There was something under it, laced like velvet and smoke. Something knowing.

You blinked, caught off guard, lips slightly parted.

His eyes were on you now. Not flitting, not avoiding—just on you.

There was a beat of silence.

“I—” you started, but didn’t know how to finish.

He smiled. Soft. Barely there. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, a nervous laugh escaping. “You just… you always say the most unexpected shit, Professor.”

He leaned back in his chair, the lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. “That’s because you always expect the worst.”

You stared at him again.

He wasn’t wrong.

“You’re right,” you admitted quietly.

A long pause.

And then he said, voice low:

“I think you’ve gotten too used to people hurting you… that you don’t recognize when someone is trying to do the opposite.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was too much. Too gentle. Too kind.

You looked away, blinking fast. “You’re not supposed to say things like that, Professor.”

“I know,” he said. “But I meant it.”

And in that moment, something quiet but powerful passed between you. A shift. Not new. Not sudden. But undeniable.

The air felt heavier now. Like the kind of silence that carries a thousand unsaid things.

And neither of you moved.

He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly more formal, more distant. “Are you aware that after the contest, there will be a hosted gala while participants wait for the jury’s decision? And the family members listed on university records have been invited?”

Your heart stopped. Cold washed over you like a crashing wave, all warmth ripped from your skin.

That meant…

Your father.

Your father was invited.

The very man who for years made you believe you were nothing. Who manipulated your thoughts until you couldn't distinguish your own reflection from the image he painted of you. Who never flinched to raise his voice—or worse.

“W-what do you mean?” your voice trembled, uneven and tight, like your throat was trying to protect you from letting anything out at all.

He noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

It was the first time he called you by your name, and in a different context it might’ve made your stomach flutter. But now it only twisted.

“What do you mean he’s going to be here?” you repeated yourself, your eyes wide, a frantic edge in your tone. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N,” he said again, this time standing up slowly, his expression firm but full of concern. “Calm down.”

But how could you?

You couldn’t breathe. The thought of being in the same room as your father, smiling politely as though you hadn’t only just begun to piece yourself back together… it was too much.

He stepped closer, his presence steady, anchoring. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder. “I’ll talk to the organizer,” he said. “I’ll make sure his name is removed from the guest list. You won’t have to see him.”

Your knees wobbled from the tension that left your body all at once. You looked up at him with tearful eyes, your vision blurred, and something inside you cracked completely. Without thinking, needing something—someone—you stood and took a step toward him, pressing yourself against his chest, burying your face there. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, almost desperately.

He tensed beneath your touch, as if his body was trying to remember where the line was drawn. But then, slowly… he exhaled and returned the embrace, holding you close with a sigh.

“You really shouldn’t do this,” he murmured against the top of your head, his voice low, strained.

“But I want to,” you whimpered. Your voice sounded small. Vulnerable.

You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face tilted to meet his gaze, searching his expression for an answer—any answer. You weren’t thinking about what was right or wrong anymore. You were thinking about how safe this felt. How right.

“You’re not making this easy,” he said, his eyes heavy with guilt and something else—something deeper, something he wouldn’t say out loud.

You furrowed your brows softly. “What exactly?” Your voice was quiet. But there was a boldness to the question. A need to know what he was really thinking.

“My job,” he admitted, his hand still resting on your back, warm and grounding. “It’s unprofessional.”

“Yet you’re holding me,” you whispered, your breath brushing against the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t move. Didn’t let go.

And neither did you.

◇

It was just moments before the contest. Each participant was given a private room to gather their thoughts, to be alone with their mentor before stepping into the hall where everything would unfold. You were seated in one of those rooms now, a small, softly lit space with a mahogany table and velvet curtains drawn tight, giving the illusion of comfort, though your insides felt anything but.

Your leg bounced uncontrollably under the table, heel tapping against the hardwood floor like a metronome for your anxious thoughts. Your fingers were clenched around a pen like it was a lifeline—or maybe a weapon. Your stomach churned.

You didn’t want to let him down. Not him.

"Don't be nervous," Mr. Hwang said from across the table, his voice warm and certain. He leaned forward, his elbows resting loosely as he watched you with those endlessly calm eyes. “You’ll do amazing. I know it.”

"Yeah but—what if I suddenly write something stupid? Or forget what I even read? Or—I don’t know, I might as well stab myself with this damn pen," you muttered, dramatically lifting it toward your throat like a dagger.

He laughed softly, the sound cutting through your spiral. He reached out without hesitation, gently taking the hand that held the pen. The contact sent a jolt through you, your breath catching in your throat. You weren’t used to people touching you so carefully, so deliberately.

“You’ll do great,” he repeated, this time more firmly, his fingers curling around yours in quiet reassurance.

You were trying to hold it together, but your other hand betrayed you, rising to your lips as you began anxiously picking at the skin. Before you could even draw blood, he reached out and caught that hand too. Now both your wrists were cradled in his hands, and the proximity between you suddenly felt… different.

"You're one of the brightest minds I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice low and soft, like he didn’t want the walls to overhear. “Trust yourself. Trust your abilities.”

You swallowed hard, then raised your chin with a crooked smile, trying to smother the intensity of the moment with humor. “One of? Please. It’s physically impossible to find another genius like me.”

He chuckled, eyes glinting. “Takes one to know one,” he murmured, and a soft smile pulled at his lips. His hands hadn’t left your wrists. His grip was gentle, but grounding.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you teased, leaning in slightly, a playful smirk tugging at your mouth. “You wish you could be on my level.”

His smile widened. “Could you remind me who’s mentoring who again?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward too.

“I’m just hanging around to make sure your rusty brain doesn’t fail from lack of use,” you said, eyes gleaming with challenge. Your faces were now so close, the air between you humming with a quiet, electric tension.

Your gaze flicked to his lips without meaning to, and before you could look away, you saw it—he noticed. He saw you looking. But instead of pulling back, he leaned in—just an inch closer.

You didn’t move.

The world felt suspended. Time paused in that heartbeat between wanting and restraint.

Then—

Bzzt.

A soft static crackled through the wall speaker, followed by a woman’s voice:

“All participants are to immediately gather in the contest hall. The time for the contest has come.”

And just like that, the moment snapped. You pulled back, breath shaky, and stood.

He stood as well, smoothing out his shirt like nothing happened, but the look in his eyes lingered. He reached for your shoulder gently and said, “Go show them what you’re made of.”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, and without another word, stepped out of the room—leaving behind something electric, something unfinished.

◇

The room was cold.

Rows and rows of long tables, overhead lights too bright, the scrape of metal chair legs and the occasional cough echoing like gunshots in a church. Everyone was already seated, hunched over their crisp sheets, pens uncapped, waiting.

Your hands were damp.

You sat down, back stiff, ignoring the knot in your stomach. Mr. Hwang’s words still echoed from the night before—“You are capable of more than you think.”

You didn’t believe him.

The proctor passed the glass bowl down the row. One slip. Fifteen possible books. One chance.

You reached in and pulled.

Your heart stuttered.

Lolita.

The irony hit like a slap. Of course it was Lolita. The book you referenced for Seojin’s essay. The essay that got you into this mess. The essay that made Mr. Hwang notice you. The beginning of it all.

You didn’t even react. You just stared at the word for a long moment, then flipped the slip to reveal the prompt:

“Write about the line between control and vulnerability.”

Fine.

Okay.

Your fingers curled around your pen. The blank page blinked up at you. You looked around—others were already writing. Some scribbling furiously, others with their brows furrowed in deep, intellectual contemplation.

You just… sat there.

Nothing came.

Your mind was empty. Like someone had scooped out your thoughts with a spoon and left only silence behind.

You tried to breathe deeply, but it caught halfway up your throat. Every inhale felt like glass.

Words floated to the surface and immediately sank.

You glanced up.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock on the wall was louder than your thoughts. Louder than anything. You clenched your pen so tightly your knuckles ached.

Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. Still nothing.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to run.

You wanted to go back in time and never say yes to Seojin.

Never write that essay.

Never get caught.

Never be seen.

But you stayed. Frozen.

Until—

With ten minutes left on the clock, something gave.

You weren’t sure what. It wasn’t calm, exactly. But it was quiet. Like everything around you fell away.

Your hand moved.

You didn’t think. You just wrote.

You wrote about how control is rarely loud. How it hides in politeness. In soft voices and carefully chosen words. How vulnerability isn’t always weakness—sometimes, it’s just exhaustion. Just the last bit of you someone hasn’t taken yet.

You didn’t name Humbert. You didn’t have to. You wrote about the way people rewrite stories to make themselves feel better. About how power makes a person rewrite other people, too.

You wrote without stopping. Without breathing.

And when the final call came—“Pencils down”—your hand dropped.

The spell broke.

Your wrist throbbed. Your eyes burned. But in front of you was a page filled to the edges.

You didn’t know if it was good.

But it was yours.

◇

“How did it go?” Mr. Hwang asked as you stepped out of the contest hall.

You rubbed your hands together nervously, fingers still trembling from the adrenaline. “I don’t know. I have no idea. So many of the other contestants seemed more focused and... put together.” You shrugged, your voice small, your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Don’t focus on them,” he said, calm as ever. “Focus on yourself.”

Then, with a glance at his watch, “Now let’s go. The gala will start in a moment.”

You nodded and fell into step beside him.

The walk across campus was breathtaking in that subtle, end-of-day way. The sun hung low, brushing the tops of buildings with gold. The air was warm and smelled faintly of grass and jasmine. Trees rustled gently overhead, and the sky—painted with streaks of pink and orange—seemed to soften the world.

“You seem lost in thought,” he said after a moment. “Global warming again?”

That pulled a laugh from you—soft and unexpected.

◇

The venue was grand—an old brick hall lit with chandeliers just beginning to flicker to life as dusk deepened. Outside, a red rope guided attendees through the gates. A suited guard stood by a podium, checking names off a list with practiced precision.

“Hwang Inho and Y/N L/N,” Mr. Hwang announced to the guard, his voice low and composed.

But just as you stepped forward—

“Y/N.”

You froze.

Your spine locked up before your brain could catch up. You knew that voice. Too well. The way it always scraped like broken glass. The way it used to slam through walls.

“Dad,” you breathed. So quiet only Mr. Hwang could hear.

He turned to you, brows furrowed, confused. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

You thought—hoped—Mr. Hwang had told the organizers to scratch his name off the list. But somehow, he was here.

The guard frowned. “Sir, for the last time, your name isn’t on the guest list. Please leave.”

But your father didn’t do “leave.”

In one sudden, violent motion, he lunged forward and slammed the guard into the brick wall, grabbing him by the collar.

“Am I some fucking joke to you?!” he roared. “I was invited and now what? I’m uninvited to see my own stupid daughter?”

Chaos sparked. Guests backed away. Phones came out. You didn’t move.

The guard recovered quickly, shoving your father to the ground and pinning him there.

“Ma’am,” the guard said, looking up, breathless but steady, “do you know this man?”

You stared ahead, blank.

“I don’t,” you said quietly.

But your father kept thrashing under the guard’s grip, red-faced and livid. “You little bitch!” he spat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! You’re just like your mother! Fucking little whore!”

Every syllable echoed.

You felt yourself shrink, humiliated. Everyone could see it—see him. Even if you’d denied it, even if you tried to pretend—you were exposed.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Hwang said, stepping forward. “Call the police.”

Then he turned to you and gently nudged your arm. “Come on.”

You walked inside on shaking legs.

◇

The moment you both reached a private booth at the back of the venue, you collapsed into the seat, head down, hands clenched. The tremors came in waves. And then—tears. Hot, violent tears that broke through everything.

“I hate him,” you choked out.

Mr. Hwang sat beside you, his presence calm but close. You hated how he looked at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped, wiping at your face, smearing mascara down your cheeks.

“Like what?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Like you pity me.” Your voice cracked. You couldn’t even meet his eyes.

But his voice was steady. “I don’t pity you. I know you’re strong.”

He reached out gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek, wiping the black streaks away. The touch was soft. Careful. But it made your breath hitch.

You looked at him.

And without thinking, you leaned in.

“You’re trouble,” he said softly, almost fondly.

You laughed—a broken, breathless sound—and leaned closer.

Then he kissed you.

It was slow. Careful. Sinful. The kind of kiss that shouldn’t happen. The kind that crossed a thousand unspoken lines. But it felt too good. His hand slid behind your head, the other moving in slow, calming circles on your back.

You clutched his suit sleeves, grounding yourself in him like he might disappear.

He pulled back just slightly, breath warm against your lips.

“We mustn’t,” he murmured, voice low.

“But we want to,” you whispered.

And you kissed him again.

◇

A woman in a sleek navy dress took the stage, microphone in hand. The soft hum of conversation quieted as the room shifted their focus toward her. She smiled with practiced warmth and began:

“Thank you all for being here tonight. It’s been an exceptional year for the Creative Writing Gala, and we’ve been truly moved by the courage, depth, and creativity of all the submissions.”

You swallowed tightly, pressing your fingers together in your lap.

“Let’s begin with our three honorable mentions.”

She glanced down at her card.

“Our first honorable mention goes to Kang Jiwoo, with the prompt: ‘Explore the emotional inheritance between mother and daughter. Reference The Vegetarian by Han Kang.’”

Polite applause stirred the air. A girl in a dusty lavender blouse stood from one of the mid-tier tables. She walked up with quiet confidence, her black flats almost silent on the carpet. She bowed modestly as she accepted her certificate.

“Second honorable mention—Choi Daehyun. His prompt: ‘Write about the intersection of time and grief. Use The Guest by Albert Camus as a lens.’”

A tall boy with sharp cheekbones and a blazer that clearly cost more than your rent stood and smoothed down the sides of his hair before taking the stage. He shook hands like he’d done this before.

“And third—Min Seohee. Prompt: ‘Explore identity in the context of performance. Use Persona by Ingmar Bergman as a thematic reference.’”

Min Seohee stood slowly, her cream silk dress catching the light. She moved like a ballerina, all grace and intention, smiling gently as she took her place beside the others.

You applauded with everyone else, your smile carefully maintained. But inside, something slumped. Your name hadn’t been called. Even among the “almosts,” you were nowhere.

Of course not.

You leaned slightly back in your chair, letting your eyes drift upward to the chandeliers, watching the reflections flicker across the ceiling like ghosts.

“And now,” the announcer said brightly, “our top three winners.”

You didn’t even brace yourself. You already knew.

“Third place—Ryu Haneul. Prompt: ‘Write about betrayal within intimacy. Use Medea by Euripides as metaphor.’”

A small gasp left him, genuine. His glasses were slightly askew as he stumbled up to the stage, a little dazed but grinning.

“Second place—Kim Ara. Prompt: ‘Write about the dissonance between appearance and reality in love. Draw from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.’”

Kim Ara floated toward the podium, her black off-shoulder dress hugging her like a second skin. She bowed, calm and polished, already used to stages.

You didn’t feel disappointment anymore. Just the dull echo of having expected nothing and getting exactly that.

“And finally…” The woman paused, smiling like she’d been saving this name. “First place—Y/N L/N, with the prompt: ‘Write about the line between control and vulnerability. Reference Lolita by Nabokov.’”

Your name fell from her lips like it didn’t belong there. You blinked.

Your brows pulled together instinctively. No. No, that can’t be right. But then, beside you, Mr. Hwang turned his head and looked at you—not with shock, but with pride—and gently nudged your arm.

“Go on.”

The room tilted slightly as you stood. Or maybe it was just your body catching up with your brain. People were clapping. Looking at you.

You made your way up to the stage, feeling like you were walking through water. The lights hit you hard, and your palms were sweating, but someone was there—smiling, guiding you—handing you the plaque.

“Congratulations,” they said.

You nodded faintly and took your place. Another hand passed you a microphone.

You didn’t want to speak. But you had to.

You took it with both hands, gripping like it might anchor you. Your voice, at first, came out barely above a whisper:

“I…”

You scanned the crowd quickly, eyes catching on Mr. Hwang’s silhouette below, calm and steady as always.

“I didn’t think I’d be standing here,” you admitted, letting out a breath of disbelief. “I guess I just want to say thank you to Professor Hwang—for encouraging me to submit even when I felt like I shouldn’t. For not treating me like a joke when I wrote something this personal.”

You exhaled a laugh, still a little shaken. “It’s kind of ironic, actually. The book that sparked everything…ended up being my prompt.”

A soft wave of laughter rippled through the audience.

“I didn’t think I had something to say. But… apparently I did. So… thank you.”

You stepped back from the mic as applause swelled around you—warm, real, loud.

◇

"I told you, Y/N," Professor Hwang said simply, his tone light but with an edge of pride, as he walked beside you on the way back to your dorm. "I really didn't expect it," you murmured, your voice still tinged with disbelief as the weight of the evening settled over you.

Before you could add anything else, he paused. "Before you go, I have something for you," he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to have anything else in mind.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, elegant box wrapped in a subtle ribbon. Your heart fluttered a little as he handed it to you, the simple gesture feeling strangely intimate.

"What is it?" you asked, your fingers gently brushing the ribbon. It felt like an invitation—an opening.

"Open it," he said with a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying the suspense. You smiled in compliance, carefully peeling back the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in the soft velvet, was a fancy pen—sleek, black with gold trim, elegant and somehow fitting for someone like him.

You couldn’t help but smile widely, the warmth spreading through you. "Thank you, wow," you said, your voice tinged with genuine appreciation. "It's beautiful"

Grinning, you leaned in, almost instinctively, to plant a quick kiss on his lips in gratitude. But as soon as you moved closer, he stepped back, gently holding up a hand.

"It's unprofessional," he said, his voice firm yet soft, "I'm your professor."

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face, followed by a quick surge of frustration. A tinge of sadness coursed through you—why did it feel like he was pushing you away, when before he initiated kissing you himself? You fought down the flicker of anger that bubbled up. Why does it have to be this way?

But instead of arguing, you stayed silent. There was no point in pushing it, no point in looking pathetic, or fighting. With a stiff nod, you turned, swallowing the lump in your throat, and started walking toward your dorm. You could feel him watching you, but you didn’t dare look back.

For Professor Hwang, the words he’d spoken didn’t sit right.He couldn’t deny it. The attraction he felt toward you was real, undeniable. Something that shouldn’t have happened. He wanted to pull back, to ignore it, to make it go away before it was too late. But the truth was, the more he tried to suppress it, the stronger it became. And that frightened him more than he cared to admit.

◇

As you stepped foot into your dorm building, the hum of the evening faded behind you, but the ache of that earlier rejection still burning.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the stillness. “I heard you won.”

You turned, your eyes falling on Seojin’s ex-boyfriend standing nearby. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, his eyes a little puffy, but there was something earnest about him.

“I did,” you said, your voice a little flat, still numb from the emotional rollercoaster of the night.

He stepped forward slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Look… I know that I did wrong,” he started, his tone careful, apologetic. “And I really thought about it. I’m not proud of what I did to Seojin, to you. I know no matter what I say, it doesn’t make it any less bad. But… I just want you to know that I regret it. I see that now.”

Your gaze softened as his words sank in. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a step. “Thank you for saying that,” you said quietly, the weight of the conversation pulling you into a different space.

He smiled faintly, his eyes lighting up a little. "Hey… maybe we should celebrate your victory? I mean, I’m kind of rotting in solitude today, and I get the feeling you might want some company too?"

You sighed, the sting of Mr. Hwang’s rejection still fresh. There was a strange comfort in his offer, even if it came from someone who had been part of a past that felt so distant now.

“You know what, fuck it. Let’s go,” you said with a shrug, trying to brush off the tension, wanting—needing—something else to occupy your mind. Anything to stop thinking about what you couldn't have.

His grin widened, and for the first time tonight, you felt a flicker of something like relief. You could pretend for just a moment.

◇

“No way you did that,” you burst out laughing, your face flushed and dazed from the Soju you had been gulping down with him. The two of you were just sitting on the ground in the campus garden, the soft grass beneath you, night air cool but pleasant. The stars above blinked gently, and the quiet hum of the campus at night made it feel like the world had paused just for the two of you. “Yeah, guess what happened next,” he said, his words slurring slightly, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“What? What?” you asked eagerly, your eyes wide and sparkling, voice full of excitement like a kid listening to the climax of a wild story.

But then, suddenly, his expression changed. Hardened. “She died,” he said quietly, the laughter gone, pain suddenly darkening his eyes.

You froze, your heart thudding in your chest. “I—I’m so sorry…” you murmured, your voice small, unsure.

He stared at you for a beat longer before breaking into a cackle. “Kidding! I got you real good!” He threw his head back and burst into laughter, practically rolling onto the grass from how hard he was laughing.

You blinked, stunned for a moment, before groaning and slapping his back playfully. “You idiot!” you laughed, your voice high with relief and mock outrage, before you both fell into another round of giggles.

Truth be told, it had surprised you—how nice it was, spending time with him. How light and easy he made things feel. He was actually funny. And, when he wasn’t being an idiot, he was even smart. He noticed little things, asked good questions, made you feel like you could breathe for a second without the weight of everything else.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now, as he pushed himself up to sit properly.

“What?” you asked, looking over at him, your eyes slightly glazed from the drink, cheeks warm, hair falling a little out of place in the wind.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and smiled. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re, like, really pretty?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you looked away, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Shut up,” you said, but your voice held no bite—only the faintest trace of flattery you didn’t want to admit.

He grinned wider. “No, I mean it,” he added, a bit more sincerely this time.

And you just laughed, shaking your head, letting the moment be whatever it was. A little blurry, a little strange—but kind of nice.

◇

You found yourself spending more and more time with him. Maybe it was to get back at Mr. Hwang, to spark jealousy—but even if that was the case, you couldn’t deny how light, how effortlessly carefree you felt around him… even though he was Seojin’s ex-boyfriend.

Now, the two of you sat together in class. Your gaze drifted toward Mr. Hwang as he spoke, his voice calm, authoritative. And you saw it—he was watching you, too. It was tense, awkward, after everything you’d shared… after his rejection.

You were drowning in thought, your heart still aching, when suddenly, fingers began playing with your hair—his fingers. Seojin’s ex. You laughed softly under your breath.

“What are you doing?” you whisper-hissed, finally tearing your eyes away from Mr. Hwang.

“It’s soft,” he murmured, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Then, as Mr. Hwang continued his lecture on The Picture of Dorian Gray, he leaned in again.

“Is it just me, or does it sound like Dorian wanted to fuck his own portrait?” he whispered.

You tried to contain your laughter—but failed miserably.

“It’s just you,” you giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. Mr. Hwang noticed. And he hated it.

Yes, he had rejected you—but seeing you laugh like that, engage so easily with someone else… it made his blood boil. He was livid. That idiot didn’t even know you. Not like he did.

Class ended. Your friend waited by your desk as you gathered your things.

“Come on, let’s go eat something!” he grinned, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re paying,” you said, smirking.

“All right, my lord,” he teased, bowing with mock grace.

Mr. Hwang had seen enough. His composure cracked.

“Miss L/N,” he said sharply, “please stay for a moment.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow, confused, but didn’t argue. You both approached the desk.

“I wish to speak with her privately,” Mr. Hwang added coldly, directing the words like a blade.

Your friend hesitated, but nodded and stepped out of the room.

You sighed, folding your arms. “What is it now?”

His eyes locked onto yours. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked, voice low but intense.

“On purpose?” you let out a dry laugh. “Can’t a girl have friends anymore?” you said, your tone light but laced with defiance.

“Friends?” he repeated, stepping closer. “Is that what friends do—twirl each other’s hair and whisper sweet nothings in the middle of my class?”

That struck a nerve. You were done playing nice.

You walked over to his desk and sat on top of it, deliberately slow. You pulled a candy from your bag and popped it into your mouth, letting your lips linger around it. “I don’t know,” you said with a smirk, “but friends with benefits definitely do.”

His jaw tensed. His face darkened.

“Did the two of you—?” he started, struggling to keep his composure.

“Oh, we did,” you said, feigning innocence. “And it was amazing.”

“Stop it,” he snapped, his voice rough, desperate.

You leaned in, licking the edge of the candy. “If you only knew the things he made me feel… things that, if I wrote about them, I’d win every writing contest out there.”

You tilted your head. “He’s kind of like a mentor, you know,” you added with a hum.

That was the last straw.

Suddenly, he grabbed you and kissed you—nothing like before. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t hesitant. This was hungry, possessive. He was trying to claim you. And you let him.

“You’re torturing me on purpose,” he growled between kisses, his teeth gently sinking into your lower lip. You dug your nails into his back in response.

“Seeing you like this, God—” he breathed, his hands gripping your waist.

“Say it,” you demanded, your voice a whisper against his mouth.

He paused, lips hovering just inches from yours, brows furrowed. “Say what?”

“Say you want me. Say you won’t reject me again.”

There was a beat of silence, and then—

“I want you,” he murmured, “and I’ll never leave you.”

His breath was warm against your neck as he pinned you between his body and the wall, your thighs locked around his waist. His hands roamed with purpose now—no more hesitation, no more pretending.

“Can you keep a secret?” he repeated, voice thick with desire.

You smiled, your lips brushing his ear. “Only if you make it worth hiding.”

That did something to him. His grip on your hips tightened, and he rolled his body against yours, slow but deliberate. The desk? Forgotten. The classroom? Irrelevant. Right now, there was only the heat between you.

His lips found your neck, trailing a slow, maddening path up to your jaw. “You drive me insane,” he growled. “I can’t stand seeing you with him.”

You arched into him, your fingers tangled in his hair. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before pushing me away.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, dark with something primal. “I’m not pushing you away now.”

“No,” you whispered, “you’re doing the exact opposite.”

His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingertips tracing your skin like a secret. “I’ve imagined this,” he admitted hoarsely.

“Then stop imagining,” you breathed, tugging him back into a kiss—hotter, deeper, filled with all the tension that had built between you. It was messy, unrestrained, addictive.

He kissed you like a man unraveling.

Then suddenly—he paused. His forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“This is dangerous,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, eyes hooded. “Good. I like dangerous.”

A crooked smile formed on his lips. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Still holding you, he moved back toward the desk and set you down gently, as if grounding himself.

But the way his eyes lingered on your lips, the way his fingers brushed your thigh… he wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Meet me tonight,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “After everyone’s gone. No more hiding. I want you. All of you.”

Your heart raced. You leaned in, your lips ghosting over his. “You better make it worth the risk, Professor.”

And with that, you turned and walked out—leaving him breathless, his fists clenched at his sides, already counting down the hours until nightfall.

#squid game #frontman x you #hwang in ho #001 squid game #lee byung hun #squid game 001 #squid game netflix #the front man #frontman x reader #hwang inho #squid game s2 #squid game fanfiction #squid game x y/n #front man x reader #front man #fanfic

213 notes · View notes

agendabymooner · 2 years ago

Text

SOMETHING MEAN !!! MAX V. X FEM!CHARACTER (18+)

summary: test the dutchman and he’ll test your limits — OR mean!max content goes brrrr…

content warning: smut (minors dni!), brief descriptions of dacryphilia, impact play, orgasm denial and squirting, literally just dirty, max just being a smug piece of shit but i like that ig 😋, smut under the cut!!!

note: i don’t know how to write smut (literally the first time writing one) and english is my second language so beware of shitty writing 🙏 please don’t judge me i’m trying

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

this had to be the… what? sixth time he denied her climax? yeah. something like that. but max couldn’t help it; she called him out on it in front of their friends— he wasn’t about to allow her to humiliate him like that.

“yeah he’s an asshole. he might be mean to others but i don’t know… he doesn’t seem like he would be mean in bed,” she laughed with their mates earlier today as she teased him with a flirtatious smile, “he won’t be vanilla. but he won’t be the type to deny for fun.”

yeah right, max almost scoffed as his palm struck her throbbing cunt again— eliciting a pitiful cry of pleasure out of her mouth, and who’s being denied now? certainly not him.

he could do this shit all day. he could continue to fuck her with his fingers that were three times bigger than hers until she was seeing white and even passed out after. he could just stay here and give her more than she’d been begging for.

but her? she was just begging him pitifully to let her cum only to be denied with a hint of laughter and mockery. she loved it, but she needed more— and she was crying because he wouldn’t give it.

the red bull driver looked up at her. she was so pretty like this: incredibly fucked out, her eyes and lips puffy from begging and crying for more— for an orgasm, and her cheeks drying the tears that fell from her eyes.

he couldn’t even deny that he enjoyed seeing her like this. but he’d have to be nice to her eventually— he had to ensure he wouldn’t push past her limits.

his fingers curled up inside her again, sliding back and forth as he continued to hit the sensitive spot of her walls in a rigorous manner as he let out a breathless chuckle. she squealed in a high pitched tone, her body convulsing as she neared her high.

“you look so pretty like this, schatje,” he crooned, holding her hips down as he continued to fuck her cunt with his fingers. “so desperate to cum that you’re crying for me. i thought i wouldn’t be mean, hm?”

“m-“ she babbled, “max please~”

“please what, schatje?” her lips trembled as her body shook. “wanna cum?”

“‘m cumming… i- i- hah~” she cried out, max’s lips spreading widely as he felt her walls clenching around his fingers.

max silenced her with his lips reaching hers, hungrily devouring her as she whimpered. “go ahead. cum,” his fingers continued to thrust inside her rapidly as a sharp cry of relief escaped her mouth. liquid trickled out of her pussy as max grinned against her lips, his fingers drowning in her pleasure as her body slowly eased into the bed.

breathlessly, she looked at him and grinned. max cleaned his fingers as his mouth opened with a pop and a smirk.

“i hope you know that this isn’t it for tonight, schatje,” he muttered, grabbing a handful of her hair before tugging it harshly. “because i’m gonna make sure you’ll understand how mean i can get when i ruin you with my cock. maybe by then you’ll learn how to watch your words, hm?”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagine #formula one smut #f1 smut #formula one imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one fic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one au #formula one fanfiction #max verstappen fic #formula one x oc #max verstappen #mv33 imagine #♔ something sinful ⎯ f1 smut

2K notes · View notes

justnatoka · 1 month ago

Text

What's going on?

Poly! Lost Boys x Fem! Reader

A/n: This is VERY self-indulgent. I'm a sucker for the 'character A finds out you're actually dating character B' trope. I don't know why, it just tickles a part of my brain. This is basically a rewrite of certain scenes with a reader added in. Because I know we all want to live in this movie's universe.

Word count: 3.7k

Warning: none really, jokes at Michael's expence, mention of reader having longer hair, maybe a bit of an abrupt ending?

Summary: Michael is confused when he witnesses you showing romantic attention to all the boys. He finally asks the question that's been nagging him all night.

“Hey, check it out,” Paul’s tone dripped with amusement. You and Marko turned your heads, following his line of sight and spotted Star. The boy from yesterday was with her.

You weren’t entirely surprised when you noticed someone trailing behind Star when she and Laddie got back to you the previous night. It wasn’t the first time some poor bastard took a fancy to her, trying to get close to her. It usually didn’t end well for them. However, there was something in her eyes as she climbed on behind David and looked back at him, something akin to interest. And when you glanced at your leader, it was clear you weren’t the only one who took notice.

The corner of your mouth quirked up a little as you noticed his change of style. He ditched the boy-next-door look for a leather jacket. A not at all subtle choice in your opinion, considering how he was eyeing your group yesterday. He looked a bit awkward, but his effort was cute. You were sure Star appreciated it too.

Your eyes wandered to David, just like always, trying to gage what he was thinking. He was already looking at them, seemingly unbothered, but by the way his hand moved, how he brought the cigarette to his lips, blowing out the smoke so slowly, you could tell he was deep in contemplation. He was planning something.

You rested your head in your hand. They looked pretty good together. He was clearly very much into her, trying to keep the conversation flowing, looking for her little reactions, eyes following her every move. And even if Star looked casual, you could tell she liked the attention. You were pretty sure that David saw it too.

The pair walked past you, towards a bike, and just as the boy started to get on, David made a move. It was all you were waiting for. You quickly hopped up behind Marko, all of you moving as one, circling them, trapping them in.

“Where are you going, Star?” David questioned.

“For a ride,” she stated in a defiant voice, even if she couldn’t fully look him in the eye as she did. “This is Michael,” she motioned over to boy-next-door.

His lips quirked into a half smile and he reached for her hand to help her on behind him, clearly feeling like he was in control of the situation, thinking he can actually get what he wants that easy.

“Let’s go,” he called to her. She turned to leave, but was stopped mid-step by David’s voice.

“Star.”

All he had to do was say her name. This time she properly looked at him, and there was a long moment when their gazes were locked together. Michael kept glancing between them confused, witnessing – without even realizing it – how David’s will took over, his mind asserting clear dominance over her. You knew what that felt like, there was no defying David. You tried it before, a long time ago, testing your limits as a newly turned vampire, but quickly learned that you’ll lose. Now you had no reason to defy him anymore.

A satisfied little smirk grew onto David’s lips as Star started moving towards him, sending a challenging stare to Michael as she climbed up behind him. It was easy to see that lover boy was disappointed, looking more like a sad puppy than anything else. Watching him deflate after being so sure of himself, fully believing that Star would choose him over us was a mighty entertaining sight. Paul let out a wheezy little laugh, and you shared an amused glance with Dwayne.

“You know where Hudson’s Bluff is, overlooking the point?” David asked unexpectedly, and your grin stretched wider. Oh, this is gonna be interesting!

Michael scoffed in disbelief.

“I can’t beat your bike,” he stated the obvious.

“You don’t have to beat me, Michael. You just have to try and keep up,” David countered, the amusement and self-satisfaction basically oozing from him.

Michael looked back at him, resigned, probably contemplating his life choices.

Marko turned around, already buzzing with anticipation.

“Hold on tight, sugar,” he winked at you.

“Always,” you kissed his neck and smoothed your hands down his chest from behind before wrapping your arms around his middle. You caught Michael’s stare, and sent him a half-smile right before you all took off with David in the lead.

Even before hitting the sand of the beach, the boys were already hollering. Adrenaline ran through your veins, firing up every nerve ending in your body. You welcomed the familiar rush, the sensation of the wind whipping your hair behind you, and you screamed and howled like the rest of them. Flying down the length of the beach, weaving between groups of frightened humans sitting around bonfires, overtaking each other in a familiar, playful dance while letting the whole world know that you were coming – it was something you could never get bored of.

David was leading the charge, like always, with Marko and Paul in the middle, both of them being absolute menaces as they barely missed hitting people, teasing each other and doing mini races from one group to the next. Seeing that you would mostly ride with them, you quickly got used to it, and now it thrilled you just as much as it did them. Dwayne followed not far behind with Laddie, driving a tad bit safer than the terror twins because of the boy.

Looking back, you confirmed that Michael was actually keeping up, and you let out an amazed little whistle. You held on tighter as you reached the forest, knowing that it’s gonna get bumpier from here on out. As much as you liked racing down the beach, you loved speeding through the woods. Even though you’ve traveled this path so much before, it still made your heart race when you jumped over fallen logs or took in some tighter turns. Not to mention the thrill of being the loudest and most dangerous predators in the dark forest, like a pack of wolves running through the trees.

You could already smell the ocean, your heightened hearing catching the roar of the waves crashing into rock. Even though you couldn’t see it yet through the thick fog, you were getting close to Hudson’s Bluff. But Michael didn’t know that.

David’s voice rumbled over the noise of the bikes as he egged him on, the harsh light of the lighthouse visible now over the edge. Of course, for a regular human, judging distances in these kinds of conditions was a challenge in itself. He was getting too close, and you wondered if he will go flying off the rock. You were only slightly disappointed when his taillight tipped in a weird angle as he crashed his bike, turning his handle just in time.

By the time the rest of you stopped behind them, Michael was already on his feet, lunging for David. You all surged forward, but he managed to get in a good punch before the boys pulled him off.

“Just you,” he challenged your leader, shrugging off the others, anger evident in his voice.

On the other hand, David was smiling ear to ear.

“How far are you willing to go, Michael?” he challenged him right back, and the clear delight on his face told you that this is where things would take an interesting turn.

It wasn’t often that you would see this kind of expression on David, but you knew it well. It was the same one that lit up his face after you first proved yourself to him, right before he turned you. Up until this point, Michael was only a plaything, some human he could play cat and mouse with. But now, David was actually interested in him; a dangerous predicament, even if he didn’t know it yet.

David decided to take Michael to the cave.

Concern immediately bubbled up in your gut, but just as the thought took form in your head, David’s eyes flashed at you, and the protest died on your tongue. He knew what you were going to say. It was too early to show him your home, too early to let him in. It was a risk, one that you didn’t want your family to take on. You were hesitant about Star at first too, selfishly worrying about how another addition to your group would change your dynamics. You worried about your safety as well, and whether or not introducing Michael to your lifestyle would compromise that. However, you didn’t want to go against David, so you decided to shut up and observe.

You descended down into the cave with Dwayne leading the way, torch in hand, and you following him close behind. When your mind was frazzled, you always sought him out, his calmness and stability working wonders on your nerves.

He sensed your presence and turned around with a light frown. One of his big hands cupping your face, he leaned in, gently resting his forehead against yours. It was a small gesture, but as you drew back a few moments later, you felt much calmer, your anxiety quieting down in the back of your mind. When your eyes met, you smiled up warmly at him, and pressed a quick thank you kiss to the corner of his mouth, causing it to quirk upwards into a lopsided smirk.

You picked up another torch and helped Dwayne light the fires while David talked about the earthquake and how this place came to be yours.

“This is what I love about this place. You ask, and then you get,” he finished off his presentation after sending Marko away to bring some food.

His eyes found you sitting on the couch, observing him from afar, and extended a hand to you. Obeying the pull tugging at your chest, you walked over to him. He had an undeniable power over you, like a flame calling for the moth. Oh and what a happy moth you were!

One gloved hand caressed your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss, moving slowly, sensually against your mouth, his teeth scraping your lower lip. He was clearly showing off, but you didn’t care, not as long as the previous little tension between you two was nullified. It was also a message to you, stating that no matter what happens, nothing would change between you. It made your undead heart flutter.

He broke away not long after, a satisfied smirk stretching across his face.

“Just like that,” he whispered as he looked at you with hooded eyes.

Michael cleared his throat next to you, breaking you out of your trance. He was clearly uncomfortable, being caught off-guard by your little public display. But he also couldn’t help but stare. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, his mind wondering. You noticed him looking at you and Dwayne before too.

David’s tone changed back to normal as he turned to Michael.

“Not her though, she’s off limits.”

A cheeky smile tugged on your lips at his declaration, your mood back to how it was before.

That’s the moment Paul showed up next to you with a joint. You snatched it from his hand, taking a drag and handing it back to him. He passed it over to David before draping an arm around your shoulders and moving with you to a seat. He plopped himself down, and you settled on the floor between his legs, resting your head on his thigh.

All the while you were waiting for Marko, you stared at the lovebirds as they were eyeing each other from across the room. Michael was anxious to be near her or to get out of here or both. Star wasn’t better off either, drawing her scarf tighter around herself, unsure how to get out of this situation. She knew it was too late, David already took an interest in the guy she liked, and now all she could hope for was that he would get away relatively unharmed.

Cold breath fanning over your neck broke you out of your thoughts, and an unconscious chuckle escaped your throat as you felt chapped lips travelling over your skin.

“What’s going on in your pretty head, babe?” Paul mouthed against your neck, leaning back when you turned to meet his eyes.

“Food will be here soon, you don’t have to eat me,” you replied cheekily.

“I could have you for dinner any time,” he smirked right back.

You rolled your eyes playfully.

“It’s nothing serious, Paulie,” you smiled sweetly at him, planting a chaste kiss on his lips, before turning back to look at the pair again. “Possibilities I guess.”

He was quiet for a second, no doubt also looking between those two.

“You think?”

You just shrugged in return, your eye catching Michael’s stare. His gaze had been periodically coming back to you all night, and you decided it has been going on long enough.

“If you have a question, just ask. Don’t be shy, Mickey,” your voice took on a teasing tone toward the end, causing him to freeze a bit.

You could practically hear the gears tuning in his head, debating whether to voice his thoughts or whether it would be wiser to keep them to himself. He finally decided to just go with it. It’s not like you couldn’t see right through him if he lied.

“So what’s the deal with you and them?”

The air in the cave shifted.

He seemed to have to noticed it too, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. You could feel the boys’ eyes on you as a wide smile stretched across your lips. Leaning back against Paul, his arms immediately crossing in front of your chest, you looked back at your guest with innocent eyes.

“Whatever do you mean, Michael?”

Now he started sputtering, growing confused and embarrassed in the crossfire of your stares.

“It’s just that you two-,” he cut himself off, motioning to you and Paul, “and before that you and him-,” he nodded towards Dwayne, “ and…” he trailed off as he chanced a glance at David, no doubt thinking back to the kiss you shared right in front of him.

It was kinda adorable how his brain short-circuited. You couldn’t hide the amusement in your voice as you answered him.

“Yes, Michael, I’m with Paul here,” you looked up at him and he blew you a kiss. “I’m also with Dwayne,” you turned to him, and he sent you a wink, “and Marko, and David.” You turned to the blond last, your stomach twisting at the possessive heat in his eyes as he looked back at you.

“So let me get this straight. You’re dating all of them?” he tried to put the pieces together.

“Got a problem with that, Michael?” The warning undertone in David’s voice as he turned to Michael dared him to say something.

“No, no problem,” he answered meekly, not wanting to get on the leader’s bad side.

The awkward mood in the room was broken as Marko stomped into the cave, hollering, “Feeding time! Come and get it, boys!”

He deposited a takeout box in David’s lap before moving onto Dwayne.

“Over here, bud,” Paul called out and Marko tossed him a box, your lover catching it with ease over your head.

Marko finished his round by coming over to you and dropping a box in your lap, accompanied with a quick kiss to your lips. You leaned back with an appreciative “Thanks, babe.” He answered with a little grin and a “You got it, sugar.”

David’s voice directed the attention of everyone in the room to him and Michael. He was holding out a takeout box to your guest, who swiftly refused.

“You don’t like rice?” There was feigned disbelief in his voice, and a slow smile stretched across your lips as you caught the mischievous glint in his eye. “Tell me Michael, how can a billion Chinese people be wrong?”

There were snorts and muted chuckles coming from the boys, and Michael finally relented. David leaned back as he accepted another box from Marko. You were slowly picking at your food, too curious to know what David had in mind.

There was a slight anticipation in the air as Michael took his first bite.

“How are those maggots?” David asked casually, and your grin widened. Oh the smooth bastard.

The boy looked utterly confused as he stared back at him.

“Maggots, Michael. You’re eating maggots, how do they taste?”

It’s only when he looked down at his food, his amusement quickly turning into disgust as he spit out the rice, when you finally burst out in laughter, throwing your head back against Paul’s abdomen, who was practically slapping his knee in delight. You caught David’s gaze as he glanced back at you guys, his grin widening when his eyes met yours. And even though things quieted down for a second after Star’s weak protest to leave Michael be, you knew it wasn’t over yet.

You almost started snickering again at the sheer bewilderment on Michael’s face as he stared down at the spilled rice at his feet. It was just so damn entertaining to mess with this guy, his reactions were just too good.

When David offered up his noodles as a sign of peace, you waited with baited breath. Michael only took one look at the contents of the takeout box before turning away nauseous.

“They are worms,” he groaned.

Paul’s wheezy laugh echoed in your ears as David took a bite, looking back at Michael with amusement.

“They are only noodles, Michael.”

The boys were loosing it. You had to give it to him, David was a master at playing with people’s senses. He knew exactly when to pull back the curtain of reality and when to close it back up to make his victim feel absolutely helpless and confused, applying just enough pressure on their minds to make them doubt everything they see. And when they don’t believe anything anymore, that’s when he goes in for the proverbial kill. It’s exactly what was about to happen, you were sure of it as soon as Marko brought out the wine.

Your stomach dropped. You had a feeling that this was where this whole teasing and playing was headed, but you didn’t want to listen to it. Star was also getting more shifty, moving closer to Michael.

Your nerves were alive, still, you couldn’t help but stare mesmerized as David opened the bottle and brought it to his lips. You had a perfect view from where you were sitting between Paul’s legs, your body unconsciously leaning forward as David drank, the muscles of his throat working as he took a big gulp of the dark liquid. You could still remember what is tasted like; strange at first, but turning richer the more it sat on your tongue. It made you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt in your human existence. That was the beauty of turning. It was quite addicting.

You could see all these emotions flit through David’s face, his eyes closed, lost in the taste. And when they opened, there was something more behind them, something predatory. In that moment he was truly a creature of the night.

There was only one word that came to your mind to describe that look: smoldering. You had to bite your lip to prevent the little noise that was threatening to escape your throat, your insides twisting in excitement. You were sure that had he directed that gaze towards you, you would have melted in the heat of it. You only half-registered Paul’s touch who, sensing your shift in mood, wrapped his arms tight around you, his own breath quickening beside your ear.

“Drink some of this Michael. Be one of us.” David’s voice was smooth like velvet, almost sensual, making your skin tingle all over.

And even through the heightened emotions of the moment you could hear the boys chanting Michael’s name, egging him on to drink. Getting back some of your senses you wanted to say no, to stop it. Wanted to reason with them that this was a mistake. But Paul’s hold on you tightened, and you couldn’t help but take it as a warning. This was about to happen regardless of what you did.

To her credit, Star tried, she really did. She told Michael exactly what was in that bottle, but by then he was too far gone. The previous teasing did what it was supposed to. He didn’t believe a word she said.

And then it happened. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig. Loud cheers erupted throughout the cave, the boys celebrating the initiation Michael unknowingly completed. Paul jumped to his feet, leaving you on the floor with your conflicting emotions. He patted Michael’s shoulder with a “You’re one of us, bud.” And he actually smiled back, feeling proud of himself, like he proved something, having no idea about the gravity of the situation.

You shared an uneasy look with Star, seeing your own anxieties reflected in her eyes from across the cave. You both knew this was a mistake, but the boys didn’t see it. Perhaps your motivations were different from hers, but you both had a nagging feeling that this night would change everything.

You were jerked from your spiraling thoughts by an arm grabbing your own and tugging you to your feet. You stared into the cheerful eyes of Marko, his grin wide and mischievous.

“Come on, sugar. Enough with all this moping. Let’s have a good time!”

His smile was infectious, and you could feel the corners of your mouth reluctantly turning upward.

“There you are. There’s our girl,” he cheered, spinning you around, and you couldn’t help the giggles bursting out of you.

You danced around the remains of the age old fountain before he passed you to Dwayne, who took you for a spin himself. He then brought you close, his lips stealing your breath as he pulled you down on the couch, his fingers running through your hair as you straddled his lap, never breaking the kiss.

Your concerns would come back later, you knew they would. But even though you were still apprehensive about where this whole situation with Michael was headed, you let boys’ kisses and laughter and their wandering hands distract you and make you forget for the night.

Tags: @stinkydove @pandemoniavenus @000-colby @lunarwhitewolf7 @notalwaysa @binightowl @darlingnikkisixxxx @skrimblo-blumpkgo @wpdarlingpan @gibzzsworld @thelostboysforeva @swagfancroissantpizza2

Leave a comment on this post if you want to be added to my taglist!

#tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys paul #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #tlb david #tlb paul #tlb marko #tlb dwayne

215 notes · View notes

sugary-daydreams3 · 4 months ago

Text

Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.

“That’s not the same.”

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.

“Well?” You ask impatiently.

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”

“Yet?”

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.

6 weeks later

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.

“I appreciate it.”

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.

“You know what I mean.”

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.

“Babydoll.”

“Yeah?”

“Turn around for me.”

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”

“Yeah, you should.”

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.”

“How about you taste this then.”

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”

“Better than fine dining?”

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”

“It’s silly?”

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.

“Thank you for sticking with me.”

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

#sukuna x reader #no use of y/n #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #a little spicy #quiet time #reading #jin itadori mentioned #sukuna learns that being quiet and cozy ain't so bad

232 notes · View notes

bloodywankers · 1 year ago

Text

Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

Masterlist

697 notes · View notes

midnight-shadow-cafe · 6 months ago

Text

Beneath the Shadows

Pairings: Poly 141 x shepherd’s daughter! Medic! reader

Warnings: Character injuries, Forbidden Romance, Spice

Authors Note: I love yall, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The scent of antiseptic filled the med tent, a mix of blood and metal laced with tension. You, as the head medic, had become accustomed to the chaos of the battlefield, patching up the bodies of soldiers who risked their lives daily. But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them—Task Force 141, wounded and barely holding on, brought back from a mission gone terribly wrong. Your father’s squad, his most trusted men, and the very soldiers he had banned from being near you in any personal way.

Task Force 141 had always been more than just a team—they were a unit, bound together by trust, camaraderie, and the intense experiences that only those on the battlefield could understand. Their connection had grown over time, transforming from friendship into something deeper, a bond that went far beyond what any military regulation could define. Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz shared more than just missions; they shared a life, a relationship forged in the fires of combat and kept secret in the shadows of duty. They were already each other’s in every way that mattered, an unspoken understanding between them that their love, though unconventional, was unwavering.

And yet, as you laid eyes on them, Soap’s broad frame slumped against the door, Price’s commanding figure catching his breath, Gaz wincing in pain, and Ghost—silent as ever, blood seeping through the fabric of his gear—you felt something stir deep inside you. You’d always been drawn to them, in ways you knew you shouldn’t.

“Let me help you,” you said, your voice steady though your heart raced.

“Do your worst, lass,” Soap replied, his voice laced with a cocky grin despite the deep wound in his shoulder.

You couldn’t help but smile back, but the danger of what you were doing weighed heavily on your mind. General Shepard had always made it clear: his daughter was off-limits. He had issued threats before, warning that anyone who even looked at you the wrong way would be dealt with. But even Shepard couldn’t control everything—not the chemistry, not the quiet looks you exchanged with the men of 141 when your father wasn’t watching.

They were all tough, hardened soldiers, but here, in the confines of the med tent, they were vulnerable. And something about that pulled you in closer, even as you worked to patch them up.

The room was dimly lit, and you found yourself alone with them after hours of frantic stitching and disinfecting wounds. Ghost sat still, his mask hiding most of his face, but you could feel the weight of his gaze as you worked on his arm. His voice was quiet, almost soft beneath the rasp.

“You should be careful, y’know. We aren’t supposed to get this close.”

You knew the truth in his words, but the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers and the way he shifted ever so slightly towards you made it hard to think straight. You bit your lip, trying to focus, but the weight of his presence was intoxicating.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, though it felt like a half-truth. You could feel his breath, warm against your wrist as you adjusted the bandage. Every movement was calculated, but there was something undeniably electric in the air between you. It wasn’t the first time.

His gloved hand reached up, just brushing your waist, so lightly that you almost missed it. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you glanced over at the others. Price had dozed off in the corner, exhaustion overtaking him, and Gaz had his eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly, though you doubted he was asleep. Only Soap seemed to notice, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward you and Ghost.

“I think we’re the ones in danger, mate,” Soap muttered under his breath, the teasing note in his voice enough to make you flush.

The next few days were a blur of stitching wounds, checking vitals, and avoiding your father’s looming presence as much as possible. The men healed quickly—quicker than you expected—but as they grew stronger, the tension between all of you only thickened. Each stolen glance, every accidental touch, felt heavier, more charged.

One evening, you found yourself alone with Soap. His shoulder had healed enough that he could move around freely, though you still insisted on checking his bandages. His humor had never dulled, but tonight there was something else in his eyes—something darker, deeper.

“You know,” Soap said, his voice a low rumble, “you’re always takin’ care of us, patching us up. But who’s patching you up, lass?”

The question caught you off guard. You stilled, your fingers resting against his bare shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the rough texture of scars mapping his muscles. He had always been charming, playful, but there was something different now—an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need patching up,” you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it.

Soap’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the tent didn’t exist. No war, no mission, no rules. Just you and him.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. “But your father…”

You froze, torn between the pull of his words and the reality of the situation. You’d wanted this too, but Shepard’s shadow hung over every thought, every action. If anyone found out…

Soap’s thumb moved to your lips, and you leaned into the touch despite yourself. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, but the tension in his voice told you he didn’t want to hear that.

“I can’t…” you whispered back, though your resolve was fading with every heartbeat.

The forbidden encounters didn’t end there. Price was more cautious, keeping his distance, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. He was the leader, after all—the one who would bear the brunt of your father’s wrath if things went too far. But that didn’t stop him from finding you late one night, after the others had gone to sleep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he cornered you outside the tent. The night air was cool against your skin, but his proximity made it hard to breathe.

“You don’t have to say it,” you replied, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Price’s hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips. “I’m saying it because I care,” he growled, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly. “If he finds out…”

“I know,” you whispered, your resolve crumbling as your lips met his in a heated kiss. His mouth was demanding, urgent, as if he knew this could be the only moment you would ever have. The taste of whiskey lingered on his breath, mingling with the scent of smoke and leather, and you melted into him, every thought of consequence slipping away.

It wasn’t long before everything started to unravel. The tension had grown too thick, too palpable, and the others noticed. Gaz, who had always been the quiet observer, finally cornered you one afternoon, his eyes filled with both understanding and frustration.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, though there was no anger in his voice—only concern.

“I don’t have a choice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

But you knew the truth. You did have a choice. You could stop. You could pull away from all of them, follow the rules, and return to your father’s world of safety and order. But the thought of losing them—Soap’s teasing grin, Ghost’s quiet strength, Price’s intensity, Gaz’s steady presence—was unbearable.

That night, when Ghost found you sitting alone outside the camp, he didn’t say a word. He simply sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its silence. After a long while, he spoke, his voice barely audible beneath his mask.

“If you stay, you’ll have to choose.”

You looked at him, your heart aching. “I don’t want to choose.”

His gloved hand rested on yours, warm and steady. “You might not have a choice.”

In the end, you knew the truth. The path you were walking was dangerous, but it was the only one that felt real. You couldn’t imagine a life without them, even if it meant defying your father, breaking the rules, and risking everything.

You made your choice that night beneath the stars, your hand still resting in Ghost’s. It was a choice born not just of passion, but of something deeper—a connection that went beyond the battlefield, beyond the rules of war and family. And as you walked back into the camp, ready to face whatever consequences came your way, you knew one thing for certain:

You were no longer Shepard’s daughter, bound by his rules.

You were your own person.

And you were theirs.

Days passed, but the tension between you and the men of Task Force 141 never eased. Every touch, every shared glance only deepened the connection that had been growing since the moment you first patched them up. Despite General Shepard’s ever-watchful eye, the bond between you and the team had become undeniable.

It was Ghost who broke the silence first. One evening, long after the camp had quieted down and the shadows of night had draped themselves over the tents, he found you again. This time, there were no words exchanged, only a shared understanding. His hand slipped into yours beneath the stars, the cool leather of his gloves warm against your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn’t alone this time. Soap, Price, and Gaz emerged from the darkness, standing together in solidarity.

“We’re done hiding,” Price said, his voice steady but filled with conviction. His eyes, dark and intense, locked with yours, and there was no hesitation in them. “We’ve been through hell and back, and we’re not letting this slip through our fingers because of a few orders.”

Soap grinned, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Aye, love. We’re not the kind to follow rules anyway.”

You felt your heart swell in your chest, the warmth of their presence, their resolve, surrounding you like a shield. They had always been fearless on the battlefield, but this—standing up against General Shepard, against the very regulations that bound them—was a risk none of you could ignore. Still, you knew you couldn’t walk away from them now, not when you’d seen what you could be together.

Ghost’s quiet voice broke the silence. “You’re one of us now.”

His words hit you like a wave, a confirmation of something you’d felt for a long time but had never dared to name. This wasn’t just some fleeting attraction. It was deeper, a bond forged not only in passion but in trust, respect, and the shared understanding that only came from fighting the same battles side by side.

You looked at each of them—Soap’s playful grin, Price’s steady gaze, Gaz’s soft smile, and Ghost’s silent strength—and you knew, without a doubt, that this was where you were meant to be. No matter the consequences.

The day came when General Shepard’s suspicions grew too strong to ignore. You had always been careful—each stolen kiss, each secret night spent in their arms was hidden away behind layers of duty and discipline—but Shepard wasn’t a fool. He knew his men, and he knew you.

When he finally confronted you, his voice was a growl, eyes blazing with fury. “I told them to stay away from you. I made it clear. How could you do this?”

But you didn’t flinch. For the first time, standing in front of your father, you felt no fear. The weight of his authority, his rank, meant nothing compared to the love you had found in the arms of Task Force 141. “Because I love them,” you said, your voice calm but unyielding. “And they love me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, but you held your ground. In the end, Shepard couldn’t bring himself to punish you or the men. The bond between you all was unbreakable, and not even his orders could tear it apart. He turned his back, bitter but resigned, knowing that some battles, even for a general, couldn’t be won.

In the weeks that followed, the shift in your relationship became impossible to hide, but it didn’t matter. The secrecy, the sneaking around—it was all over. You were theirs, and they were yours. The camp might have whispered, but no one dared say a word against you or Task Force 141. They were legends in their own right, and now, so were you.

You woke one morning to find yourself entangled in their arms, warmth surrounding you. Soap’s body pressed against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist. On the other side, Ghost lay silent, his breath steady as he rested beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. Price sat at the edge of the bedroll, sipping his coffee as the early morning light filtered into the tent, while Gaz stirred sleepily beside him.

It was a strange, beautiful thing—the way you fit into their world, and they into yours. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. You were a part of them now, just as they were a part of you. The love between you wasn’t bound by convention or tradition, but it was real, and that was all that mattered.

And as you drifted back to sleep, surrounded by their warmth and the quiet strength of their presence, you knew one thing for certain: you were home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like or reblog!- Midnight💜

264 notes · View notes

gayspacepiratesss · 1 month ago

Text

“Skipping Stones,” part 2 (because apparently Tumblr has an image limit, whoops! Part 1 here). 💕

Again, I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED MY OWN STUDY OF DOCK TOWN after approximately ten thousand years omg. If you also love analysis and camera angles and Neve Gallus, read on (or start here). Many, many sketches below the cut. ☠️💕 So many.

***

Rook hesitates.

And into the silence between them Neve throws another line of dialogue, like she can’t stop now that she’s started. Like she can’t plan this even though she wants to. As Rook tries to find a strategy, Neve is losing hers.

The camera is still zoomed out here, but I wanted to focus on Neve’s expression, which again is so full of longing it borders on despair. She wants this. But also she doesn’t. But also she does.

“There’s a lot to lose,” she whispers.

Rook’s expression in response is my favorite thing because Rook’s heart breaks for Neve, right there. Here is this woman who has spent her whole life trying to hold together a world on the edge of breaking, and she is warning you away from that edge with all her might.

And suddenly Rook understands: the strategy, the only strategy, is in fact a straight line. Don’t sidestep. Don’t go around. Let the wall crumble, let the world fall.

“Isn’t there always?”

There are two expressions in this scene that I almost couldn’t capture. This is the first.

Neve goes perfectly still. Rook’s words wash over her like a release, like a gift, like a threat. There is always something to lose. But if there’s always something to lose…

It turns out it is incredibly hot to be told you can just have what you want. 💕

Suddenly the stillness breaks, and Neve is running across the docks, crumbling, spiraling, surrendering. Like anything suddenly freed of a great weight, she ricochets towards Rook, almost in flight. The camera follows her lead and swoops in, framing just their two faces as Neve finally reaches what she wants.

And takes it.

… and then doubts herself, of course. 💕

Some people say that she’s awkwardly adjusting her hat here (which I love) but even without a hat you can see Neve trying to restore the cracks Rook just sent through her system of self-protection. Her hands go up to touch the head that just let her heart go crazy. Wait. What are you doing? Think.

Neve Gallus without her mind racing? We’d hardly know her.

But there are two expressions in this scene that I almost couldn’t capture, and this is the second. Now Rook goes perfectly still. The two characters often mirror each other with dialogue, but here it’s actually their silences that are mirrored.

It turns out it is incredibly hot when the person you have watched, and wanted, and waited for, throws herself into your arms. 💕

The force of Neve Gallus’s desire washes over Rook like a gift, like a release. Like a threat. Because here is the possibility that she might leave, be lost, as she pulls away to fix her hair. As she considers changing her mind.

There's no going back. Rook is already a lost cause. And so, as she lets out a little gasp and lets herself be pulled into another kiss, is Neve Gallus.

Here's what I love about this moment: being a lost cause, letting herself fall, that—as her racing mind lets go just long enough to get a second look at her city, another perspective literally and figuratively as the camera lets their kiss fill the entire frame—that will be the thing that saves Neve. From being trapped in shadows and sudden turns and dark alleys, from making the same move over and over on a rigged board.

As the kiss ends, she suddenly sees what she couldn't see: the missing piece. Aelia. Dock Town. It all makes sense.

There’s always something to lose.

But how do you find something, except to lose it first?

(Bonus elfy ear wiggles because Eann loves kissing Neve 🥰)

#neve gallus #dragon age the veilguard #datv #my art #neve x rook #dragon age fanart #dragon age #neverook #the winter from the inter #nevejoyment #dock town study

103 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 4 days ago

Text

slow hands

gn reader and wanda

summary: wanda tests your limits. even then that won’t stop you from lovingly retaliating

this content contains smut, minors and ageless blogs dni. i will have to block if i don't have an 18+ age confirmation, or any indication that proves otherwise.

a/n: i don’t know what got to me. a random inspiration just went through my brain, which is good and all but what about the wips i have. like i just know they’re looking at me with disappointment. anyway this is one of my other attempts at writing romance this time jealousy. i really tried not to make it embarrassing cause again, i’m new at this but i’ll take any advice if there’s anyone willing to help :) even though i did felt embarrassed while writing and had to look behind my shoulder every other other minute. also, i didn’t want to use vision as a character cause he’s a gentleman toaster and would never do that. perhaps the other vision that hayward built would but that’s something else. enjoy reading leave any comments feedback or anything the spam and love is much appreciated!!

w/c: 1.83 k? (if it's 1883 words then that is how i should indicate it right?)

warnings: praise, orgasm denial, reader being a little piece of shit, themes of voyeurism?? i think. wanda being a tease, top reader rights, proofread but there might be some mistakes left, you know the drill :( and if there’s anything i missed let me know!

“Is this what you want?” You whispered hotly against her ear, your breath fanning across her skin, sending electroshocks to her body. She wishes you would just stop making her wait.

She offers no answer, only lifting her hips in a silent question, hoping that will be enough to appease you but you don’t take the bait. Your hands place themselves on her hips, pushing them back on the mattress much to her own disappointment. You can’t help but let your amusement known, chuckling at her impatience.

“Answer me, pretty girl.” Your hands trace her sides until they reach the band of her underwear, fingers slipping to feel her skin for just a fragment of a second before letting go.

“Please.”

“I can’t do anything until you tell me.”

“Please I just want you to touch me I need it, I-”

That was enough for you to kiss her, finally kiss her. It was gentle, slow, you were allowing her to set the pace, drowning in her completely, the sounds of her moans and soft breaths urging you to take her now.

You break apart for air, staring down at each other’s eyes. You can’t see anything other than her, other than the woman laying in your arms. Her hands were on your shoulders, you were still wearing your shirt and she wished she could unbutton it but she knew she couldn’t really be demanding tonight. Not really.

“I can do that. I’m the only one who ever can.” You lean back, smirking as she chases your lips. “But I’m just curious…tell me. Do they even know anything about you? The kind of perfume you wear? Your favourite song? Anything about you?”

If she were to answer all of those questions she would say no. It’s clear the person was only interested in her but that was about it and only knew her name. Yes, she entertained it but it was only to see your reaction. To see if you would hold up to the reality of you “not being the jealous type.” But right now? She has her answer. In all honesty she had it from the moment you joined them, when your hands were around her waist, how in your conversation you slipped a few subtle insults and remarks.

She had more when you were in the car, your hand on her thigh while she was driving, threatening her to pullover as you asked questions about this person, who you didn’t want to learn their name.

And as soon as they called her phone? You were right behind her, kissing her in her weakest spots, telling her to not hang up or you’ll stop.

She had her answers. Now all she wanted was you.

“I…I don’t…” Was the only thing she could speak, her brain going foggy at the pressure of your body against hers, at your words.

“Take your time.” Your fingers lifted her chin as her gaze left yours.

“They don’t…they know me. At all, I’m not interested in them, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you I promise.” It was more of a ramble than a coherent sentence. But that seemed to be enough for you.

You hummed, brushing her hair back. It was oddly sweet, that she was just curious about your reaction, that she just wanted to test your limits.

“So you just wanted to get me jealous?”

She nods, hands reaching for you. You allow yourself to be pulled back, her lips clumsily meeting yours, hips grinding against yours trying to create the friction she needs and it works. She sees she has got you in a trance, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as you groan in pleasure at her state.

“What would you have done?” She whispers brokenly, caught up in anticipation of your touch. For a moment you can’t speak. How could you, when she takes away your breath?

“What would I have done…what?”

“If…if you were there. Right now, with them. If we were with them, what would you do?”

“I would…” Giving in to her not-so-silent wishes, your hands place themselves on her chest, toying with the straps of her bra. “Turn you around. Kiss you in all the spots you want then lift your dress and feel where you want me. Then I’d drop to my knees and start by kissing each part of your legs. I wouldn’t miss an inch of your skin until you beg me to take you. I’d be slow with you. Then fast. Until you beg me to stop. I’ll tell you to be loud, to not hold back, and make sure that everyone knows you’re taken, not just by my mouth…but by me.”

The image is wildly painted in her head. So much so that she can practically feel your tongue on her. “I’d take anything you’d give me.” Her chest was heaving, goosebumps rising on her flesh. It’s a pleasant torture. To have you prolong the feeling of imagined desire. An unbearable but pleasant torture.

“Good.” Your fingers play with the straps of her bra, letting them fall down on each shoulder. She eagerly sits up, allowing you to reach for the clasp of her bra, watching as you release her breasts from its confines, setting it aside.

You swear you feel yourself going weak at the sight of her chest. Your lips ghosts the top of her breasts, grazing her skin, eyes kept on hers, eyebrows raising in a silent question.

“Please.”

It was enough for you to kiss her, scattering the touch of your lips to her nipples, her collarbones, anywhere you could reach. You trail them to her nape, softly biting before soothing the sting with your tongue, knowing she’d be left with a mark. A message.

“Lay down for me.” Like a Pavlovian response she listens, like she’s attuned to your voice. You smile, kissing the kiss on the tip of her nose, her lips, the valley between her breasts, her abdomen, the hem of her underwear. It was methodical, all she could feel was you, how you were all over her, everywhere but where she really needed you.

You hated to prolong her pleasure but this was more of a…punishment, of sorts. Something that tips between the lines of retaliation and love.

Just when she thinks you’ll relieve her of the last layer uncomfortably sticking to her, you don’t, pressing your lips to her clothed pubic bone instead. She wanted to call you a tease, how you were being purposefully mean, but she had a feeling that would only get her into further trouble.

“You’ll get what you want. Soon.” As if you’ve read her thoughts you immediately pull down her underwear, groaning when you see her absolute want for you.

You push her thighs open, the cold air hitting her just right, enough to make her tremble and plead. Without wasting any time you kiss her inner thighs, slowly inching towards her need and then—

“Fuck.” She gasps, uttering curses as she feels you slide your tongue between her folds to her bundle of nerves. It was like you were taking pleasure out of it more than she did, moaning at her taste.

Your lips wrapped around her clit, eyes nearly rolling back when she took ahold of your head, refusing to let go.

She couldn’t think of anything, anyone other than you taking her, her heart racing at an alarming rate as you worshiped her, like she was your altar.

Grinding against your face and using you for her pleasure she was chasing the edge, almost tipping the edge of it, her back arching, head tipped back in bliss as you carried her to the place of desire-

You pulled back. She whined, eyebrows furrowing as she stared down at you. You would be scared and a bit intimidated if it weren’t for you wanting to use this as a reminder.

“Why’d you stop?” It wasn’t a reprimand. She feared what might happen if it was but she had trouble speaking, her voice breathy and mind still weak at her loss of pleasure. But you were acting all innocent, rising up to your knees, hovering over her with a grin.

She wishes she could wipe that smug look off your face but you were undeniably attractive in this moment. Your face flushed, clothes all crumpled and lips wet with arousal and saliva.

“I can’t give you things the easy way.” She was pretty in this moment. Her face flushed, eyes heavy and hair tousled. Like she’s a painting meant for you only. “So beautiful.”

It was reverent, how you spoke. As if you weren’t being punitive. Your eyes were on her, every bit of her. And you didn’t want to let go.

You led her to sit on your lap, her body seeming willing to follow your movements, anything it’ll take as long as it means she’ll find her release.

Your hands found their way between her thighs and you had to bite back a moan at how needy she was for you. “Are you ready?” You asked, with nothing but care, tracing the skin of her rear. At her nod you slowly slid in a finger, her walls greedily welcomed you in. You love how she curses aloud, her voice getting louder as you let her get used to the intrusion before pumping in and out of her.

“More…” It was her last plea, her last demand that you’ll listen to her. To her surprise it did.

You lifted her hips, adding a second finger, before slamming them back down. She understands your requests, slowly riding them.

“So sweet…and so, so, good for me.”

Her pace quickens, fingernails digging into your shoulders. You forget the pain, too blinded by the woman taking you. She feels you, how you curl your fingers to reach her pleasurable spots, your thumb pressing on her bundle of nerves, how she clamps your hand.

Her legs were burning in chasing her release, she was begging for you to not stop but you didn’t, allowing her to take everything she needed.

“I love you.” She whispered hotly in your ear, pulling you for a messy kiss, uncoordinated and sloppy but still loving.

“I love you too. Let go for me.” You were guiding the movements of her hips, giving her permission to take anything she wanted until—

Until she cried your name, forgetting anyone that might hear her. But you didn’t care. At all. If anything it was a sort of reminder although twisted, for everyone to know what they can’t have.

You peppered kisses all over her face, her chest, her collarbones, as she rode through the aftershocks, going wave after wave of pleasure until she pulled your hand away.

She slumped on your chest, breathing ragged. You held her near you, combing back her hair, kissing her forehead. You were whispering praises, soothing her back as she tried to recover.

A part of her knows she’ll never attempt to even flirt with whoever that was. Another of her tells her it can’t be that bad, especially with how you react.

That’s what she tells herself as you took care of her and stayed by her side all evening, wearing an innocuous smile that tells you she isn’t planning it anytime soon.

42 notes · View notes

spencersbabymama · 4 months ago

Text

Numbers l Chapter One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Disabled OC

Content Warning: Mention of disability, mention of disability limitations, I think that's about it.

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: It's the first day of Brooke Bevan's dream job working as a technical analyst for the Behavioral Analyst Unit in the FBI. She knows girls like her don't get jobs like these every day so she doesn't want to blow it. What she wasn't expecting, was to meet a dapper genius her age....

a/n: AAAAAHHH I'm so excited to finally be posting this! This series is my baby and I'm so excited to share. I'm really passionate about writing disabled characters since I'm disabled myself, and I've noticed a lack of Spencer Reid x Disabled OC content, so I figured why not do it myself? Shout out to @just-call-me-by-yn & @floraisunwell for pushing me to go forward with this idea! I'm so happy I met you both! Also credit to @just-call-me-by-yn for making this awesome banner for me 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Story: “Hey, thanks for meeting me downstairs. You would think for a government building, they would have easier to reach elevator buttons for everyone.” I joke, trying to break the ice with the person I’ll be spending most of my time with.

Although that didn’t seem to be a problem because the second I entered the lobby, Penelope Garcia, BAU Technical Analyst Extraordinaire, was standing right in the middle wearing white dress covered in colorful flowers, pink cardigan, matching kooky glasses, yellow heels, and all wrapped up in a smile that could possibly blind an elderly person. It was at that moment, I knew work, at least, wouldn't be boring.

“Oh honey, no problem, I probably would have raced to the lobby even if you didn’t call just so I could be the first one to greet you.” Penelope giggled. I opened my mouth to add my own witty humor but instantly got cut off. “You know normally I don’t love newbies joining the team, especially newbies entering my expertise, but I had a feeling when I found out you were another techy kick butt girl? Oh my gosh I was so excited!” Penelope added, almost seeming out of breath now from her said excitement.

All I could do was giggle and nod in agreement.

It was a relief to know I didn’t embarrass myself in the first few minutes on the job. I knew the fact that I got this job was an accomplishment. Girls like me don’t get jobs like these everyday. Girls like me who have no use of their legs and have limited muscle strength, do not get jobs in the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI. Though it was my dream, the moment when I couldn't reach the elevator buttons was an honest wake up call

Ever since I was little I loved the idea of saving others and catching bad guys. When other girls were painting their nails, or playing princess, I was in the city library reading about Ted Bundy. Strange for a 12 year old girl, I know, but I couldn’t stop thinking about why people did what they did. Don’t worry I still enjoyed dolling up my nails every once in a while.

Obviously it was no secret I couldn’t run after criminals, or even use a gun so I knew it was probably a pipe dream. So I shifted gears, got into tech and code. I could do that. With the right adaptive technology, I could run laps around any encryption. Luckily I never used my powers for evil. In high school I learned about technical analysts who worked for the FBI. That was it, that was my path.

The elevator opened and I followed Penelope through the glass doors, into the bullpen I saw in my college textbooks. If it wasn’t clear by my beaming smile, I was almost start struck by the sight of all the agents sitting at the desks working and I got to be one of them. One agent stood out though because instead of flipping through files or paperwork, he was playing chess, by himself. The other odd thing was he looked about my age. I expected to be the youngest one on the team because by some miracle, I got this job only a few years after graduating college. His floppy curly brown hair shielded his eyes slightly, but even from where I was, I could tell they were brown.

Penelope’s voice took me out of my trance and my eyes snapped up to look at her “Hotch told me to come get him when you arrived since well…” She gestured to the wheels of my motorized wheelchair, then up to the door in the middle of the walkway above the main level of the bullpen with a small awkward giggle “Stairs, so I’ll be right back.” I snicker slightly then nod, sending her up the stairs and into the room she pointed to.

While waiting, my gaze goes back to the chess playing guy. He was young but dressed like an old man, suit, tie, and everything. There was something wise about him, like his looks were youthful but it seemed like he’s seen some things.

Hotch’s office door opened before he and Penelope made their way down the steps. I met them halfway, holding out my hand as best I could with a smile “Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, Brooke Bevan, it’s seriously an honor to be working with you.” In my defense, I didn't mean to sound like a fan girl, it just came out that way.

With a firm grip, Hotch shook my hand “Welcome, we’re eager to have you.” Already I could tell the rumors were true. Aaron Hotchner was all business and it looked like he hadn’t smiled in at least a month. He was the man in charge for a reason though, the number of successful cases couldn’t lie.

Hotch reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out the thing that makes all this official. My face beams as my heart races in my chest. “Here are your credentials. As you should already know, you must keep these on you.” I nod while practically ogling the FBI symbol on the front of my credentials. “Penelope can introduce you to everyone.” Hotch explains while placing the booklet on my lap then heads back up to his office.

Penelope practically shakes with excitement “It’s official newbie!” She was right. I am now Brooke Bevan, Technical Analyst for the FBI, it had a nice ring to it. “Come and meet everyone!” Penelope chimes before leading to a group sitting in the middle of the bullpen.

A dark-haired girl looks up from the file she was reading and her face lights up when she sees us coming “Hey! You must be Brooke.” She stands up and shakes my hand “I’m Emily Prentis, it’s nice to meet you. Hotch has said good things.”

I grin with a nod before one by one introduces themselves with a handshake. Derek Morgan, David Rossi, then Jennifer Jareau who apparently goes by JJ. Finally there was Chess Guy. I hold out my hand before he awkwardly waves it off with a small smile “I-I actually don’t do handshakes. Did you know according to studies, a handshake can transfer a significant amount of bacteria, with research showing that a handshake transmits nearly twice as many bacteria compared to a high five and significantly more than a fist bump, which is considered the most hygienic greeting option du-”

“And that is Dr. Spencer Reid.” JJ cut him off with a small amused laugh.

My eyes blink a few times, trying to drink in the info dump plus the fact that JJ just said doctor. My eyebrows furrow a little in confusion “You look a little young to be a doctor…” My voice trails off.

That’s when Penelope speaks up “Reid is our team genius.”

Reid sheepishly “I don’t really believe you can quantify knowledge but I do have an IQ of 187 and eidetic memory.”

I give another stunned look and utter “Huh…” To be honest I couldn’t recall knowing anyone with that amount of smarts, I couldn’t help but be impressed. “How about a high five then?” I finally say with a smile while holding out my hand.

Spencer’s face seemed to light up and he reached out to give me a high five.

Suddenly Hotch comes out with a thick file folder in his hand, his presence commanding attention. “We have a case.”

78 notes · View notes

bunnyywritings · 1 year ago

Text

fun firsts with the colonel and honey bunny

ROY MUSTANG x F!READER

[a/n: here is day 2 with my husband roy mustang…he just feels like such a lover of tying a pretty thing up and making her squirm and cry, no? I think so…but anyways, i very much enjoyed writing this one so I hope you enjoy ! once again, the use of the term “little” has absolutely nothing to do with body size or anything, just a degradation/condescension thing, should be proofread lol but honestly, I don’t remember ! love y’all 🫶🏼 enjoy!…ALSO I KNOW I KnOW, i completely missed my opportunity to write in his gloves…and i hate myself for it 😔]

wc: 3.8k words

WARNINGS: safe word used (stoplight system), sir kink, soft bdsm themes, arm and leg restraints, light degradation, roy uses a vibrator and dildo on reader, spit kink, pussy slaps, implied edging, dacryphilia, cowgirl, spanking, doggy, prone bone, creampie, breeding kink, no use of y/n, reader is mentioned as bunny, is also called: doll, good girl, sweetheart, baby, fleshlight lol uhmm i think that’s all

You’ve only spoken with Roy a handful of times, you both had mutual friends so you’d run into each other surprisingly often. It wasn’t until you both ended up at the same brunch that he finally decided to ask about your availability to film a scene with him.

You had exchanged phone numbers and set up a date for filming, making sure to have coffee or lunch a few times before then just to get to know each other better. It wasn’t until the night before that you realized you had never seen any of his content. That led to falling down the rabbit hole and consuming the available content on his page and even having known that he was into bdsm or power dynamic play, nothing could’ve prepared you for his page. It ranged from soft to hardcore play and it was a little intimidating but exciting nonetheless, if you were being totally honest.

You’d never give him the satisfaction of admitting that you spent that time with a hand between your legs and several mind melting orgasms.

So now, as you reached his place, you couldn’t help but feel all sorts of buzzing excitement and nerves.

“Okay so, before we get started, we had discussed what you’d be comfortable with and what was off limits.” You nodded in confirmation as he opened the notes on his phone and handed it to you. “Are these still accurate or is there anything you want to change?”

You carefully read through the list, impressed by how thorough he’d been. “Yep, these are still accurate.” He smiled gently, taking his phone back.

“And have you decided on your safeword?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded, cheeks getting pinker by the second. “Would it be okay if we used the stoplight uhm…one?”

“Of course. Red to stop, green to keep going, orange to slow down.” He recited smoothly, to which you nodded. “That’s perfect. Classic.” His voice eased your nerves tenfold.

You sat at the edge of the bed as two conversed, watching as Roy finished setting up.

Seeing all the toys and such he was setting off to the side made your arousal sky rocket, your panties growing slick underneath your pants.

“Ready?” He was rolling up the sleeves of his white button up and you found it difficult to not jump him then and there.

“Yeah…” Unbeknownst to you, he had started recording.

“Answer me properly.”

Your mouth went dry. Finally catching on, you swallowed nervously, eyes wide as you looked up at him. “Yes sir.”

“Hmm…what’s your color?” He hummed, standing between your spread legs. You were still looking up at him, in awe of how quickly and smoothly he got into character. He found it quite amusing, he was gonna have fun with you.

Though, at your lack of response, he gripped your jaw and refocused your gaze. “Your color, doll?”

“G-green.”

He smirked. “Good girl.” That sent a spike of heat straight to your core. “Lay back for me.” You quickly did as you were told, swiftly scooting back and holding yourself up with your hands. “And let’s get these pesky clothes out of my way.” He unbuttoned your pants, fingers hooked in the belt loops as you lifted your hips to aid him in peeling them off, a groan leaving his lips as he did.

You were wearing a lacy set of red panties and garter belt clipped to beautiful sheer stockings of the same shade.

“All this for me?” He asked, arousal clear in his tone as he watched you remove your shirt to reveal the final piece of the set. A bustier that made your tits sit nice and pretty. “You’re spoiling me, doll.” He licked his lips as he crawled over you, one hand caressing your thigh and the other holding his weight by your head. “I can’t wait to ruin you.” The promise sent shivers down your spine, pride swelling in your chest.

His lips finally pressed against yours in a sweet, soft kiss. Unexpectedly romantic. You felt him smile against your lips before deepening the kiss. Tongues starting to explore each other heatedly.

Moans started to leave your throat once he started to grind his clothed erection into you. “You’re so warm…” He cooed. “Can feel you through your panties.” He snuck a hand between the two of you, snapping the band of your underwear against your skin.

A surprised yelp left your lips, making Roy chuckle.

“Sorry sweetheart, couldn’t help myself.” He pulls away, watching you pout as he gets off the bed and makes his way to the headboard. You watch in excited curiosity as he grabs some cuffs off his bedside table.

Gently taking your wrist, he placed a few kisses on your palm and the inside of your wrist before fitting the cuff to it. “S’that too tight?” He asked, to which you shook your head. “Use your words.” His gentle reprimand made your cheeks flush.

“No, not too tight.” He nodded, continuing to fit the cuffs around your other wrists and ankles with the same care before attaching them to the straps on the bed.

Adrenaline coarse through your veins, your body’s innate fight or flight instinct wanting to take over as you gave the restraints an experimental tug. “Color?”

“Green, sir.”

You couldn’t help the pants that obscured your tone, especially as he lowered himself between your legs. His eyes instantly catching the dark patch on your underwear. Tucking his left index and thumb underneath the fabric, he pinched the front of your panties to tug the lace in between your slick lips, a shuddered moan leaving your lip as it tugged on your clit.

He reached his free hand behind him into his back pocket, your eyes widening as he produced a vibrator from behind his back. Your thighs twitched as he turned it onto the lowest setting. The tension of the fabric against your sensitive bud was enough to make your legs weak but the second he pressed the pink bullet on you over the fabric, all bets were off.

Your jaw fell open with a drawn out moan. “Ohh my god…” Your legs tugged at the restraints, desperation coursing through your veins. “R-Roy! Need m-more…” And almost immediately, the vibration stopped and he let go of your panties.

The whine of disappointment died in your throat when you registered the glare he was giving you. “What happened to your manners, hmm?”

“N-No! No, I’m…m’sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”

He took a moment to look at you. You were already whining and begging for him and he had barely even touched you. If simply toying with you through your panties had wrecked you this much, he was thrilled to see what would happen when he’d finally get to sink inside you.

You pouted when he glanced at you in slight contempt, completely ignoring your pleading and shoving the vibe back into his rear pocket, reaching over to the table and grabbing the one thing that you had been dreading.

The thick, gummy pink, dildo. It had to be at least 7 inches and you just knew that this was gonna be absolute torture.

As he sauntered to the head of the bed, his looming presence was slightly intimidating. “Open your mouth.”

Hoping that your obedience would lighten the punishment, you spared no time in doing what you were told, your jaw hanging slack and tongue lolling out. He snickered and leaned down the slightest bit, his lips and jaw shifted a tiny bit before spitting a glob of saliva into your mouth. The subtle taste of mouthwash overtaking your tastebuds. “Uh uh, don’t close.” He instructed, sliding the tip of the toy against your slippery tongue before feeding it into your mouth. “Show me what a good girl you can be and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

A choked moan left your chest as you wrapped your lips around the toy and he started to push it back against the back of your throat.

Roy watched with a lidded gaze as you gagged around the silicone cock. Lewd, wet noises echoing through the room as he rhythmically fucked your throat. His free hand palming his painfully hard erection through his trousers. The sight made you pull against the ankle restraints, desperate for any friction against your aching core.

“Aww, are you getting all worked up?” His tone was the definition of patronizing. You nodded through the bobbing up and down of the toy. “Too bad.”

A particularly rough prod of the dildo against your throat made tears spring to your eyes. He stopped palming himself and let his hand fall to your thigh, fingertips skimming the top before cupping you through your panties. The touch makes you jolt, hips moving on their own in an attempt to grind against his hand. He scoffed, pulling his hand away but before you could even think about whining in complaint, he brought his hand back down to roughly slap your cunt.

You cried out as a pleasurable pain shot up your spine, the sound muffled as he hadn’t let up with the toy. He did it once more, your clit throbbing underneath your panties.

Roy slowed his movements to a halt, slipping the dildo from between your lips. Apparently, you hadn’t noticed the lone tear that trailed down your temple. Your breasts were heaving up and down with your panting. “Color?”

“G-” You paused, swallowing the saliva pooled in your mouth, “Green.”

Satisfied, he tossed the dildo down on the bed beside your thigh and settled in between your twitching legs. You were beyond soaked, the wet spot on your panties twice as dark as before. “Sorry, doll. I’ll buy you another pair.” His apology was followed by a loud rip! That, paired with a sudden rush of cold against your wet pussy was enough to tell you that he had torn your panties. Gripping the toy once more, he teased your clit with its tip, the bulbous head sliding easily against your heated bud. He then slid it down your slit, coating it in your slick before finally…finally pressing the toy to your entrance. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pushed past the barrier of your entrance. The stretch was delicious, exactly what you had been craving but, of course, he wasn’t gonna hand you your pleasure on a silver platter. Disappointment replaced the initial relief as he pulled it out. Tapping the hefty toy against your slick lips. “Come on, bunny. Work for it, use your big girl words.”

“M’sorry! I’m sorry sir, please! Please, please! I’ll be good, swear…”

“What are you asking for, hmm? Come on.”

“Fuck me! Please sir, please I-ahh!” Not wanting to wait, he shoved the toy into your sopping entrance. Bullying the fat toy into your tight heat, a drawn out moan leaving your slacked jaw. The pace he set was ruthlessly tame.

It wasn’t too fast or too slow and it was driving you insane as he kept it up, he was hitting that spot inside you that made you delirious but it wasn’t quite enough. He let you attempt to rut your hips for more but it was no use, his pace was steadily pushing you to the edge.

Your high was approaching, your breathing deepening as your moans became stuttered and more frequent. And right as the coil was gonna snap, he pulled the toy from you. Your sudden emptiness made you want to cry. Frustration filling your whole body.

“N-No, no…sir, don’t stop! Please…don’t-” He stopped your complaints effectively by meanly bringing his fingers down against your clit in a firm tap.

“You’ll take what I give you, understood?”

Your weak nod wasn’t enough, his fingers coming down on you once more. A tad bit harsher than before. “Yes sir! I understand!”

That was about 15 minutes ago.

Now, there were tears streaming down your cheeks as he pressed a hitachi wand against your puffy clit, soaked dildo being fucked in an out of your squelching cunt. At least four ruined orgasms later.

If Roy had even an ounce less of the self restraint he so proudly upholds, he’d have creamed his pants a while ago.

Seeing you writhe against his bed, tears streaking down your pretty face, hearing your broken cries of desperation and pleasure leaving bitten lips and hearing the sound of the restraints as you pulled on them, the buzzing of the vibrator with the steady shlick! of the toy was making his pulse thrum wildly beneath his skin.

“You gonna cum again, hmm? If you ask me nicely, I’ll let you.”” You hadn’t even been able to really hear him, your ears tricking you into thinking that they had somehow been filled with cotton. When you hadn’t responded, he set the vibrator on the next setting. The sudden influx of vibrations had made you jolt.

“Oran-nghh!” He had pushed the dildo right into your abused g-spot, but once hearing your attempted safeword, he paused his movements. Quickly switching the hitachi off with practiced ease.

“What is it, bunny? What’s your color?” His voice was a little clearer now, a small pang of guilt swirling in your chest.

“M’sorry…it’s orange.”

He frowned slightly, slowly and carefully pulling the toy out of you. You whimpered, the feeling of being empty suddenly very foreign. “No.” He gently shushed you, “Don’t ever apologize for using your safeword. Thank you for telling me to slow down.” He leaned forward and pressed soft, almost nonexistent kisses to your inner thighs. Kissing down your calf and to your ankle. He unclipped the cuff from the strap before unbuckling the actual cuff and tossing it aside. Massaging the irritated area with so much care that it almost brought more tears to your eyes.

He repeated the actions with your other ankle and your wrists before letting you sit up. “I’ll be right back.” He kissed your nose before leaving the room.

You removed the garter belt and bustier that had been digging into your skin before sliding off your torn underwear. Roy was surprised to see you sat on his bed in just red sheer stockings but he smiled, almost lovingly, at you as he approached with a small glass of water.

“Here you go.” He rested the edge of the glass against your lips before tilting it back, satisfied when you took a few sips before he pulled the glass away and placed it on the bedside table. “D’you wanna keep going?”

“Yes sir…” You smirked playfully, before reaching forward and gripping his waistband. Slyly unbuttoning his pants, and tugging his zipper down.

He chuckled, shaking his head before swatting your hands away. Taking a step back to undress. You hadn’t even attempted to hide your ogling. Eyes devouring his nude form. His taut muscles, broad shoulders, and his hard cock was a blushed pink that made you salivate.

“Give me some room, sweetheart.” You did so and let him pull you onto his lap once he was settled against the headboard.

You pressed a hesitant kiss against his lips, giggling and pressing a few more innocent pecks to his awaiting lips. His hands caressed your sides, the comfort making you slump forward and rest your forehead against his. “We can keep going. I’m okay now.”

“You sure?”

You bit your lip and nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Ride me, bunny. Be a good baby and take what you want.” His words had ignited the heat in your belly as you eagerly reached down between the two of you and took a hold of his throbbing length and lined him up with your entrance. He continued to caress your warm skin as you slowly sank down on him, gravity aiding your movement.

“Oh shit.” You muttered breathlessly, his girth was a lot more difficult to accommodate than you thought, the toy having done almost little to nothing to prep you. “Fuck…” You pulled away from him and readjusted your grip on his shoulders, as you started the attempt to engulf all of him, he snapped his hips upward, holding you down on the entirety of his dick. Your eyes widening.

An unexpected whimper leaving his chest as you settled. He took a few moments, relishing in the way that your gummy walls pulsed around him. You took a few deep breaths, yelping when his hand came down on your right cheek.

“Go on. Ride me.” He instructed through heavy breaths.

You lifted yourself halfway before grinding forward and sinking onto him. Thighs quivering, you finally reached a steady pace without his help. His moans and grunts spurring you on.

Roy was gripping onto the globes of your ass in an attempt to hold onto his sanity. Your insides were so hot and wet, you were sucking him in with every downward thrust but he could tell that you were nearing an end once more, thrusts becoming sloppy and your walls pulsed spastically around him.

“Hmm oh! Oh my god, I’m gonna-oh!” In the blink of an eye, he had pulled you off of him and tossed you onto the bed, smirk curling his lips as a disappointed sob left your lips.

“Hands and knees, doll.” He playfully smacked your inner thigh. “Quickly, come on.”

With an eye roll and a huff, you flipped over and rested on your forearms and knees. Your back arching sinfully as you wiggled your hips. “Just for the attitude-” He pulled your arms behind your back, holding your wrists together with one hand. You yelped as you fell on your face, struggling to turn your head so you were resting your cheek against the mattress.

And in one single movement, you were pulled back onto the entirety of his cock. He first grinded up against you, still flush with your hips, the movement causing his tip to gently massage that spongy spot within you. “Color?” He grunted.

“Green, oh my god, please! Just fuck me, please!” Your desperation was painfully clear and it satisfied him to no end.

And without waiting another second, he pulled out until his tip was just barely kissing your entrance before thrusting back in and bullying his way back into you.

“Shit, doll. You feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He groaned. “Such a sloppy little cunt, and all for me. Hmm?” You clamped down even tighter on him at his words. “Oh…you like that? Fuck-” He rearranged his grip on your wrists. “Such a good girl, taking whatever I give her.”

“Yes! Yes, just wanna be good for you! Your good girl!”

“So desperate to please, just makes me want to keep you here for hours. Make you cum until you go stupid. Until you’re molded to my cock. Make you my perfect fleshlight.”

That’s all it took, your pussy pulsing around him. “Please, can I cum? P-please sir, been s’good! Please, please, plea-”

He leaned down, continuing to thrust into you. His breath hot against your ear. “Go ahead, cum.”

Your entire body convulsed in his hold, your release hitting you like a freight train. “Mmmm that’s it, did such a good job for me.” He released your arms and kissed your shoulders, “My good little bunny.” His thrusts were shallow as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out, reaching behind him to grab a pillow before slotting it underneath your pelvis. Gently maneuvering you into lying down on your stomach, legs pressed together. He spread your cheeks to get a good look at your pulsing entrance. “I’m gonna fill you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He lined himself up.

“Mhmm want your cum, please. Fill me up like you wanna give me a baby.”

At your words his mind went blank, all intentions of fucking you slowly were thrown out the window. He buried himself in you and set a brutal pace, watching as he sank into your soaked pussy.

You gripped the bed sheets tightly in your fists, for fear of being pushed off the bed by the force of his thrusts.

You had never been fucked prone before and you had asked to try it with him and good God, this new position had you drooling and babbling incoherently through moans.

“Sucha needy girl, begging me to fuck a baby into you.” He huffed, moaning lowly. “Maybe I should…your pussy’s sucking me in. Begging for every last drop- hah ffuck!” Your creamy cunt leaving a ring of white at the base of his dick, the contrast against his dark trimmed pubic hair was dizzying.

“Shit, can feel you…you’re gonna come again. Do it. Soak my cock and I’ll fill you up!” His thrusts began to turn sloppy.

Your mind became fuzzy, a cry leaving your lips as you came. A rush of release drenching him completely. “M’gonna cum!” He choked a moan, his hips stilling as he released his hot load into you, filling you up. He fucked into you a few times, your body twitching at the overstimulation.

“Ah Roy-!”

He stilled, hips flush against your slick skin. “I-I know, doll. I know.”

He pulled out with a hiss, holding you open and watching you push his cum out. He licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to dive face first into your sticky cunt and clean you up but that’d have to wait for next time. “Don’t move, okay?”

You just hummed, fatigue joining the buzz of pleasure coursing through your veins.

He pulled his drawed open and pulled out a pack of wet wipes, plucking one out before returning behind you. Carefully bending your leg upward, he pressed the wipe against your spent core and cleaned you up. A good-natured chuckle leaving him when you flinch away, whining out, “Too cold!”

“Sorry sweetheart.”

Once you were both cleaned up, he rested against the headboard, holding you as you snuggled into his chest. Your eyelids were heavy, his warmth and his tender touch was enough to lull you to sleep. “Say goodbye, bunny.” He kissed the crown of your head.

Lazily, you looked up at a camera of his. An adorably fatigued smile on your lips as you waved at the camera before diving into his embrace again.

“Are you hungry or anything?” He rested his head back, enjoying your warmth and letting his eyes fall closed.

“Mhmm, starving.”

His laugh vibrated his chest, the movement jostling you the slightest bit.

subscribers:

@seireiteihellbutterfly @xxstarlightxx @indieburn

#roy mustang x reader #roy mustang smut #roy mustang x reader smut #fmab x reader #fmab smut #bunnyy’s bday event #‘the colonel’ makes me think of colonel sanders ffs

210 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 8 months ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Injured and Perverse

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 5.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mild injury, smut, handjobs, mutual masturbation, slight innocence kink

Notes: This is literally all @dipperscavern fault for just bringing Jon up in the tags of one of her own asks. I wrote this all in one sitting so I apologize for how deranged it is. Not really important, but the dynamic between Jon and the reader is based off of my characters from Heart of the Great Wolf, and by the end you'll understand why. But knowing that fic isn't necessary to understand this. Main Series Masterlist Here

As if things hadn’t been difficult enough, now this came into his mind.

Jon just leaned against the stone wall by his window, arm holding up his right hand as it was still firmly wrapped up to the point he couldn’t move even his fingers from the position. It was his fault. A mistake when pushing himself perhaps a little too hard during training out in the yard and now it was coming to a fortnight since he had lost use of his sword hand.

Jon could count himself lucky that he was skilled enough with his left hand that most things would still be doable for the weeks he’d spend with only one. Or, that was what Maester Luwin had tried to comfort Jon with. He appreciated it at the time, but now it was a problem that only Jon had and he couldn’t figure out how to solve. And certainly he couldn’t bring it up to people.

The summer air had warmed itself up enough that it melted away what was left of the recent summer snow, meaning that not as many layers needed to be worn to stay as warm. You had been wearing much lighter dresses and in brighter colours too. Some of them must have been new, Jon didn’t recall seeing them on you before but they were beautiful. On you at least they were beautiful.

A true sight that he couldn’t get over, grey eyes growing dark following your sight across the courtyards and unable to help himself with that feeling again.

The same one he couldn’t do anything about. It had put Jon on edge, made him a bit shorter with people. A bit more temperamental, and easily frustrated by things. It could be attributed to his broken hand, which it was and most knew, but it was really one specific act he could not do that he desperately needed. You were in Winterfell, and beautiful and in breezy fabrics that framed you like some sort of goddess sent to torment him.

What should’ve been a good chance to force Jon to ease up, had only made things much more difficult to handle and worst of all, you noticed. Most noticed his mood, but you were the one who was the most concerned about it and he had a limited amount of time to come up with an excuse that he knew you’d buy without a doubt. You had told him once you were finished your duties for the night, you would come to his chambers to check up on him.

Only that time ran out quicker then he thought, and his eyes grew wide with worry when a knock was heard at his door and your sweet voice muffled through it, “Jon?” Swallowing roughly, his eyes closed for only as long as it took to say the words, a bit deeper then he meant to spit them out, telling you to come in.

You hadn’t changed from the same pretty dress you wore that day, you had finished what you were doing and came right too him. The sweetness of the gesture drove Jon utterly mad thinking about how concerned you truly were. Muttering your name, he tried to cross his arms over his chest more casually, but could not hide the clench in his jaw.

Stepping closer without thought, you looked as if you wanted to reach out to him physically. “Are you alright?” Looking back towards you with a brow raised in a more playful manner, you looked away trying to smother a smirk before returning back with something much more flat yet clever in your own eyes. “I meant specifically right now.”

Grinning look falling a bit, Jon shrugged a shoulder as his head turned mindlessly to the side away from you. “As good as I can be.” Stepping closer, you gestured to his hand asking if it was hurting more then usual and Jon felt his bones shake. Something certainly hurt more then usual but this was not a problem he could bring to you of all people.

His innocent best friend, his sweet and beautiful best friend that he had been in love with since the moment he laid his eyes on you across the courtyard. Worse off, your hands as they reached out to him more, he could only think about how small they were. In comparison to his own for sure, but certainly in contrast to what else he was thinking of. Soft and smooth, despite the hard work you put into everything you still had the dainty little hands of a highborn girl and suddenly his mind was filled with vile images of ruining that innocent look.

You didn’t however look like you believed his words. Stepping closer those small hands rested against his other arm, trying to implore you to look back at him. “Jon, you’ve been more off lately.” About to point out the obvious, you cut him off more seriously then he was going to distract the subject with. “More then normal about this. Something the past few days is bothering you and I just want to help.”

He shouldn’t have said it, he should’ve kept his mouth shut and frustrated you enough that you’d give up on the issue. But he didn’t, he said it out loud in a rough mutter. “You can’t help with this.” Asking with what, Jons jaw clenched more harshly as he turned his head to the side. Your hands still against him trying to get his attention as you said his name again. Jon only repeated your name in a warning you did not take.

Your own hand reached up to run gentle across the facial hair along his jaw trying to prompt him to look at you, but Jon only used his left hand to reach up and snatch your wrist. Your head jolting back in suprise as Jon turned with darker eyes to look at you. An apology stumbling from you, wanting to step away from his personal space if only Jon let go of your wrist. “I’m sorry, I was only-”

“You wanted to know if there was something you could do.” Nodding, he knew you were nervously biting down against your tongue to keep a straight face. Sighing, his grip loosened so that he didn’t hold you so tightly, but he did certainly keep you in his hand even as it lowered to your side. Almost toying with your fingers somewhat as he looked down to meet your eyes. “You can’t help with this, darling. It- this is something I can’t...resolve until my hands better.”

“Why?” Looking over him with narrowed confusion in your eyes, Jon said nothing but met your gaze as you tried to connect the dots. Your green eyes flickered down to his injured hand and back up as your eyes widened as your lips parted in a silent stammer. “Oh.”

Swallowing roughly, Jon felt a mixture of frustration and embarrassment come over him. This part of himself wasn’t supposed to be showed to you, you were too innocent to be privy to his perverted mind and yet as if to torture him, your eyes almost as if trying to fully put the concept together let your gaze flicker down a bit further then just his injured hand.

Rasping low, Jon still hadn’t let go of you. “I told you, you can’t help me with this.”

The degree to which you cared about Jon was immeasurable though, because in the shyest tone he’d heard on you since you were still a girl came over. A nervousness painted over your eyes and bleeding into your expression with a softness as you peered back up to his gaze. “What if I could?” Jons face twisted in almost a disbelief in what you would’ve been trying to say, as you got somehow more nervous as you continued. “What..if I helped you..you know..feel better...”

Your free hand twitched at your side as if wondering if to move yet, but Jon felt his blood freeze over before bursting into flames and enveloping him. The sheer insinuation had his cock throb already and that time he was pretty sure you looked back down again before meeting his eyes. Saying your name lowly, he let go of your hand. Jon would’ve stepped back to put space were he not leaning against the wall. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

Wringing them back together between you, you tried to look confident through the nerves. “I do. I..” Sighing deeply you tried to keep your resolve together. “I came here wanting to know if there was anything I could do to help you, and now I know a way that could help you feel better.”

Looking down with more of a frown to you, Jon wished he didn’t feel so hard looking at your nervous gaze. “No.” He was the conflicted one, because he desperately wanted what you were suggesting but to do so would tread far too close into exposing how much he felt for you, and too getting you to do something a lady shouldn’t for a man she wasn’t married too, let alone a bastard. And yet that conflict came out much more abrupt and angry then he meant towards you.

Stepping back a step, your face glazed over with something both apologetic and fearful. “I- I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have...I didn’t meant to pressure you into..” Turning away Jon knew you were about to flea from his room, so his free hand suddenly moved as his whole body did.

Pushing off the wall and grabbing at your arm, twisting you in place to get you to look up at him with a much softer gaze meeting. Saying your name, he let his free hand reach up to run somewhat along the loose strands of hair by the side of your head while letting that hand border on tenderly cupping your cheek. “I didn’t mean-” Closing his eyes to sigh out deeply, Jon wondered just how to rephrase this mess his attitude had caused. Looking back at you, your hands back to sitting together toying with the fingers on the other hand in an anxious manner. “You didn’t do anything wrong by offering, but this isn’t why I wanted you here. It’s not your duty to do those sort of things for my sake.”

Trying to push passed the embarrassment, your tone took on a bit of frustration of your own. “I didn’t offer because of that...I just..don’t like seeing you this way.” Asking specifically in what way, you yourself that time shyly tried to almost glance down to what you both were talking around and then over to nothing as you became much more flustered. “In..any way like this. I just want to do something for you...make you feel better...”

That free hand against your cheek moved much firmer now to let his thumb run over the soft skin as he leaned more down towards you with a hushed tone. “You don’t have to, you don’t ever have to do things like this for me, for any man.”

As if a wave of bravery rushed between the overwhelming shy nerves, your hands very slowly moved as your voice spoke. “I’m not doing it for any man...I’m doing it for you..”

Without any other words, the air between you was thick. Your small hands reaching out, easy as Jon stood in his minimal softer layers, you reached for the laces of his breeches right away. Never looking away as if needing to focus, Jon watched between your hands at work and your nervous eyes. One lace, then other he felt the fabric against him loosen, and so did his cock get even harder now with the freedom to do so.

Letting the hand on your cheek drop to hold at your waist, Jon knew the look in your eyes was something loud and anxious as you undid it enough to begin somewhat. Your hands shaking he muttered your name, but you shook your head. The only sounds the wind against his window and the flickering of flames somewhere behind you both, not even your breaths could yet be heard.

Ever so slowly, did you open the fabric and pull his breeches down enough to be able to freely reach your hand in. There was no going back for you once you did so, you and Jon would tread into something two friends never should engage in, let alone a bastard letting a beautiful highborn girl do, but he didn’t stop you. In fact, he knew you felt his cock twitch somewhat the moment your small hand tried to wrap around him.

Not much of your expression changed, save for a heavy swallow at what you found only through touch so far. You couldn’t even wrap your hand around his length, there was a thickness, a girth that you didn’t realize Jon had. The hand on your waist grew firm, and his eyes dark but he never looked away from you. Slowly you had to shyly use both hands to carefully pull his cock out and he could see that time your face shift even more as you realized too his length.

He knew you weren’t familiar with this part of a mans body, but you were a smart well leaned girl. You knew enough of the male form to know Jons size was larger then what would call average, in both manners and you hadn’t expected it at all. Your hands burned against his cock, both gently holding along his length more by the base but not moving yet.

Muttering your name, you slowly shook your head biting down against your lip for a split second. “I-uhm..”

Leaning down more towards you, Jons rasp was as soothing as could be, as if you weren’t standing in his chambers gently holding his hard length in your hands. “Darling, listen to me. We can stop right now if you don’t want to do this.”

Biting harder against your lip you shook your head. Barley a mutter, you tried looking up to meet his eyes but looked away from what was clearly too overwhelming. Looking into your best friends eye as you were about to get him off might be too much for your innocent self to handle. “No, I just...I’ve never done this before...”

Was a smile the right response? Jon wasn’t sure but it’s what he did anyways. A handsome look that had him try to lean down to meet your eyes more. It wasn’t a question, more of a general statement he knew the answer too already. “You’ve never seen a man like this before.” But you still answered with a shake of your head, slowly trying to move your hand a little more against his length, Jon let the hand on your waist come back up to your cheek. Not making you look up at him, but keeping a tender hold. “You’re starting well, get used to it first. You don’t have to be scared, not of me.” You nodded, a heavy weight in his heart that you knew that but all of this was so new to you.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, Jon then slunk that same hand to grab at your left one. Moving you with him, did Jon wrap your hand as much as he could get you around his cock, his larger hand hiding yours only to pull back and reveal how small they looked against his size. About to say something else with a gentle prompt, Jon cut himself off with a held back groan turned deep exhale as you suddenly moved.

Gently stoking along his length, you were slow with a light touch. Afraid to hold him too tight or move too fast as if Jon himself wasn’t rough and unkind when he was alone. You wouldn’t know that, but until right now, too you didn’t know that Jon would’ve ever wanted you anywhere near his cock. Today was a day of many new things though.

Jon let you explore at first. Getting used to the feeling of his cock heavy in your hand, running along his length trying to find a grip that was comfortable or natural, before slowly running back to the base. Barley brushing your hand up against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, you hesitated. Too you clearly hadn’t realized that was there, and Jon knew for a fact you were aware he caught how you tried to look. Instead, your small hand ran along his length down to his lip before back again.

Slow and steady pumps, but so gentle beyond what any man would take with himself. His voice near startled you, even in the notable silence between you both. “Like this.” Reaching his left to awkwardly try and move your hand more, he guided you to lift your thumb from its place. “Run it over a bit.”

Hovering over the top of his cock you hesitated, suddenly looking up to his eyes with such a trusting ask for guidance. “You mean-”

Cutting you off he nodded, pressing down against your thumb to prompt you to move, you let it run over the tip of his cock, the feeling of what of his seed had already leaked out being ran along his hip as Jon shuddered at the feeling. Before you could even get the words out, deep his voice was as Jon reassured you. “You’re going so good..”

His hand dropped to your waist again, grip much more tight and possessive. As if wanting to get you to hold him the same, and his voice rasped out as such. “Hold me tighter.” Your brows furrowed, but Jon continued. “Tighter darling. Tighter then that.” Your eyes kept looking at his, Jon keeping the gaze deep into his as he rasped. “Be rough with me, it’s alright.”

Nodding, you did tighten your grip and Jons muscles tensed everywhere at the feeling of pleasure rushing through him. Slowly did you begin to move your hand up and down Jons thick cock, and your gazes only flickering between each other and the sight between you. Trying to almost reassure yourself, so new to any of this you asked, “Is this better?”

It slipped out without any form of a filter. A growl more letting the words come up with from deep in his chest. “Fuck, you feel so good...” You flustered much more, but didn’t waver. More and more you stroked his cock, the feeling so much better then any before. Doing it to himself was nothing compared to how your hand felt against him. Holding your waist tighter Jon stepped closer to you. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Shaking your head again, Jon read the no as in no you never have, his eyes slipping closed for a moment. His forehead resting against yours, his breathing begun to pick up as his hand on your waist tightened further. “You’re perfect...”

Perfect at this act? In general? Jon meant both and couldn’t bring himself to care about what you might get from that. Firmer you held him as if the more pleasure he got, the more confident you got. Strokes more consistent, and you held him nice and tight just the way he needed. Moving back to run your thumb along his tip before letting the seed there run over your palm to ease the rawness you stroked him with.

As if knowing what to do by instinct, the more worked up you made him feel the faster you ran up and down his cock. The more black his eyes got along with yours as a wonder came to your features. Running up to your cheek he cupped the back of your neck more firmly. “Fuck..ease up..” Your eyes peering up at him in question, his tried to look soft but were overblown by a pure lust as he explained himself with a husk in his breathless voice. “If you keep squeezing my cock like that...”

But you experimented more, tighter and running along his length faster and faster Jon groaned and growled in the same breath. “Fuck, you’re going to make me cum..”

The sheer wave of heat blooming through your body at his unrestrained words, you tried to go faster for him. His eyes open now as he demanded your name to look up at him, his jaw clenched and clearly so close to the edge that you didn’t even think to stop or slow down. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t, but Jon found a screaming, howling, clawing sensation dark in his chest to kiss you, but that wasn’t the agreement.

You didn’t agree to a kiss no matter how much Jon wanted to finish with his lips against yours. But keeping your eyes trained only on his as you stroked his cock, Jons cock throbbed in your hand. He should’ve told you you could move your hand away for this, but he didn’t. Some part of him staring deep into your eyes as your hand was wrapped around his cock made Jon unable to look away as he felt his end wash over him.

You never stopped too, a growling groan left his lips, a rasp unashamed of your name erupting from him as he dropped his head to rest against yours. Faster and faster you stroked him, trying to milk every single thick, hot rope of cum from him as his seed soaked your hand. And you simply let him, only watching with parted lips as he came over your hand.

Slowly starting to ease up on the pace, his cock not quite as hard as before did Jon nudge his nose against yours. Never making a further move, but running his along the length almost sweetly as the final waves of his orgasm left him. Your hand now somewhat covered in his seed. Until every last bit of his seed covered your hand, you didn’t stop moving. But not yet letting go.

As if the moment you moved, whatever this was would end and you had no idea what to do when it did, Jon didn’t either but he wasn’t ready for that yet. But Jon knew you, and knew you well. He could predict you like one of those books you would read and reread time and time again until you could recite it with your pretty eyes closed.

You would gently tuck his cock back and do his breeches back up before trying to leave and give him space. But the moment you shifted to do so, Jon did something. Something he knew was a tad obscene, if not immensely obscene and perverted, but he did it anyways. Grabbing your hand with his free one, he didn’t quite have as much movement as he’d want if his sword hand was in use, but it was enough.

Drifting it downward, Jon let his eyes drop to bring your hand and his together down, prompting you to grasp the skirt of your dress and pull it up as he did. One hand instinctively of yours reached down to hold it, but you didn’t expect what he did next.

The hand of yours now soaked, and covered in his own seed, did Jon drag downward beneath the fabric of your dress. Placing your hand down, Jon shifted around until he could press two of your fingers up against your clit. A gasp came from you as you almost jumped in his touch, but Jon gently ran his nose against yours once more to soothe you. Running along in small patterns Jon worked you up, but he knew too another thing about you. That you hadn’t ever done anything like this before yourself. You were too much of a good girl to explore your own body.

But Jon didn’t want you to leave yet. Make you feel as if he used you for your touch and kick you out to pretend everything was normal. He refused to let you feel like you were just a pleasure toy for him, when you were so much more. Even if he was far too afraid to use his words.

A gentle rasp on his lips, he was so close you felt his warm breath dance across your skin. “Stay right like that.” You nodded, your heart no doubt pounding out of your chest. But Jon pulled his hand away, and knelt down. A whine escaped you before you could stop it the moment Jons uninjured hand reached for the edge of your underwear. Looking up, you met his eyes much more nervous to his wife and asking ones.

Slowly, he begun to pull the fabric down. It strained against your other leg somewhat, but gently Jon tugged it down and town until he grabbed at your calf to raise it. “Come on, darling.” Freeing it from one leg then the other, you stood bare in his chamber. Not looking sown, Jon let is thumb run along the material only to exhale roughly at finding it. One specific spot on the fabric was wet, his thumb pressing more into the spot almost running along it the manner he’d graze it against your cheek.

Standing back up, Jon slid the fabric out of your view. Behind him he tucked it away where you couldn’t see. A pocket in his breeches he tucked them away with no shame or want to give them back. Slowly standing back up, Jon didn’t let your nervous gaze linger. Letting your touch stay against your clit, he ran over best he could to see your eyes flutter with a gentle gasp before Jon continued his own path.

Running along where he knew the wetness had come from, he exhaled sharply at feeling you already begun to soak his fingers. Your breathing picked up substantially as your hand held tight at your skirt to keep the material up. Leaning forward, Jon nudged his nose affectionately against yours, his thumb trailing along the back of your hand against your clit to press firmer, and just as you let out a small sound of need, did Jon sink a finger deep inside of you.

The sound wanting to leave you was loud, Jon leaning forward to shush you over and over. You clenched so tightly around just that, slowly dragging it along a sensitive wall you shook against him. Almost all the way out before Jon sunk it deep back inside you again. Feeling you almost soak him more and more as each time you let him push deep right to the knuckle. Rasping in your ear almost mockingly but with something so caring deep inside it’s tone, “You’ve never done anything like this before have you?” Shaking your head no, he continued. “Not even to yourself?” Again, you shook your head no. “You’re way too much of a good girl for that, I know. But it’s alright, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m the one doing all the work.”

Nodding against him you couldn’t stop clenching around him as your legs shook before he pulled almost all the way out, but then, a second finger joined. The gasp muffled as you his in his neck and dark, loose curls. Both of you could hear how soaking wet you were, each time he sunk deep inside of you. Faster and faster he went, dragging along you and occasionally pressing his thumb up to get you to run your own fingertips against your clit, only able to do so for so long before getting too overwhelmed by Jons own touch.

Your eyes glanced down and noticed though, his cock out and still half hard twitched as he sunk his fingers in and out of your soaking cunt. His own eyes closing with a deep groan as he felt your hand wrap around his thick cock once again, trying to speak but your sweet voice did so first. “Please, Jon..”

He couldn’t say no, not when you had begun running along him again. Having abandoned your clit, Jons left hand didn’t have enough mastery to do both the way his right would but you were enough with his fingers thick deep inside of you sinking in and out. More confident you stroked his cock that time, both of you suddenly meeting the others eyes.

Neither of you said a word, but nor did either of you look away. Dark and lustful Jons blazed down to your needing yet innocent ones that only made him throb in your hand more. Your lips parting as small needing sounds begun to leave, tiny over and over again noises only for Jons ears as you kept his gaze. His barley even changed, dark and almost angry as he felt you draw him another orgasm closer and closer as you begun to clench so tightly around him that he picked up the pace best he could.

Shaking in his touch, Jon felt you break. Suddenly a flow of your wetness came over his fingers and part of his hand as you still kept his gaze. Trying to keep such whines and begs only to his ears as Jon growled. His end following yours once more soaking your hand as you did his own.

Both of you with heaving breaths still looking to one another, Jon finally pulled from your tight soaking cunt. His eyes looked to how lewd it looked the way you covered his fingers and seven hells did Jon have the strongest urge to have a taste, but your eyes were nervous suddenly. Coming down from the feeling, he knew pushing you too much wasn’t the right choice. Instead only halfway turned to grab something soft against his desk you caught his hand partway back.

Making it easy to clean his hand as you did the work for him, before taking it from him. Shy as you did the same to yourself before sitting it off to the side. Not yet moving. Tilting your chin up so Jon could meet your eyes, his hand ran across your bottom lip then over to your cheek. Asking the same qestion you did, the moment you had walked in here unknowing of the debauchery about to take place. “Are you alright?”

Nodding meekly, Jon ran his thumb over your cheek some more before tilting your head down. Firmly pressing his lips to your forehead, Jon felt you begin to part from him the moment he pulled back. Only watching you gently as you made your way to his door. Calling out to you, once again wanting to ensure you weren’t upset, but you turned with a bit of a bright gaze with something hopeful behind them. “Do..” Looking away, you bit your lip before finding the right words. “Do you want me to..help you again tomorrow night? Just until you’re better?”

Jon smiled earnestly, something he was hoping you could tell from there was love as he looked at you. “Only if you’re comfortable with that.”

You just shyly nodded, before a small, “Goodnight, Jon.” Left your lips. Jon returned the words with something much more openly soft towards you before his door closed behind you, leaving him in the silence of his fireplace.

Looking back down to his broken hand, Jon wasn’t in the open space of his room anymore. But leaning against the wall in a corner to keep himself more upright. His uninjured hand on his cock, with more energy spent trying to alleviate that burning need in his system then normal. His left was nowhere near as satisfying as he could do with his right, and to even finish at all, Jon had to wind up getting himself off to a fantasy about you.

About his beautiful, sweet, and innocent best friend coming into his chambers and stroking his cock just to help him feel better, because he couldn’t even do it himself with any satisfaction now. Maybe though, this fantasy didn’t have a lack of merit. You’d come to visit him tomorrow night again too, just in the same world of his wanting imagination then in reality.

Jon had the feeling it was going to be a long few weeks of recovery ahead of him.

#jon snow x reader #jon snow #jon snow x you #jon snow imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

122 notes · View notes

hidtired · 1 year ago

Text

A Single Punch

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

The smallest action in a single moment can change everything.

Description: The line up ends with 3 supposed dead members of the group. Sometimes you have to know when to play dead. Even when all else goes to hell.

1.6k words

Warnings (much angst, injury, character death(s), very depressing, typical walking dead shenanigans)[happy ending… eventually]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Your POV

You would have gone after Daryl when he rushed out of Alexandria on a revenge mission. If not for the terrible rattle in your lungs. Every breath you took was heard. Sharp and painful. Denise the poor soul told you it sounded like walking pneumonia. Not necessarily deadly but hard to fix with limited resources.

So here you are sitting in your bathroom on the floor with the shower as hot as it could get to open your lungs. Trying desperately not to think about Daryl being reckless and doing only god knew what. A light knocking on the door shaking you from your thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door opened hastily releasing most of the steam out the door. Rick walking in past you to turn the shower off. Rick looked down at you offering a hand up. “We are heading off to hilltop. Something is wrong with Maggie and the baby. I would like for you to get checked out by the doctor there to.” Slowly getting up nodding your head. No use arguing with him when he was probably right.

While walking to the RV you looked to Rick calmly, “Thank you Rick, for being my family.” Rick looked to you with a raised brow and smirk. ‘Your loopy from sickness and meds he thought.’ He helped you in the RV to the back with a struggling Maggie. Maggie took notice on your tired state with pale skin as you did her. Rick putting a hand to Maggie’s shoulder,

“We are leaving in a minute, everything is going to be ok.”

The ride was going smoothly until the RV stopped. You exchanged a glance with Maggie, “Let’s hope we aren’t dead in the water like with Dales RV, really don’t feel like walking.” This made Maggie smile a little thinking about Dale all that time ago. Successfully distracting her for a moment.

This smooth ride turned to a nightmare with saviors popping up over and over again. Leading to you having to walk in the beginning of dusk. Maggie being carried. The whistling stirred your already hard breathing. The headlights causing your head to spin and struggle with balance. You felt like death. You felt warm and cold- a fever you thought. You were dazed but still had the right wits about you to know you were in danger. You felt a tapping on your leg, looking to see Carl on his knees. Catching the hint you followed suit. You couldn’t be bothered and sat on the back of your legs.

“Y/n…”

That what caught you out of your stupor. His voice. Daryl’s voice. You look up to see him. Pale and cover in his own blood. Tears now rimmed at your eyes. The RV door opened to reveal a man with a bat. “Pissing are pants yet?” You looked back to Daryl staring at him from across the line of your family. The slight sound of the whistle of your breathe could be heard. You were hazy struggling to comprehend the conversation going on. The man Negan you think, was walking and had stop in front of you yapping on and on about something like “was I dying of the plague” and “look like shit my dear.” He waved his hand in front of me.

“She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on does she.” Negan huffed.

Negan was walking between everyone reciting Eenie, Meenie Miny, Moe. ‘He was choosing which one of you to kill.’ You thought. He stopped in front of Abraham. Your breathing was turning faster from fear, there for making it harder for you to breath. “If any body moves-“ your ears are ringing. The first crunch of the bat to his head made you gasp then cough.

“Suck my nuts.”

Your ears ring in your brain watching blow after blow to Abraham. Negan flinging his blood in every direction. Your breathing hard, tears burning in your eyes. You reach a hand to curl to the back of your head. The other hand curling into a ball at your chest. Your clucking the hair so hard in your grip you might pull a chunk. You simply couldn’t inhale.

Negan turns to Rick then brought his eyes to you. “Well shit, looks like are little plague here bout dead.” Daryl watch’s as you try and take a breathe in, tears streaming down his face. You look worse than you did this morning. “I’m a merciful man!” Negan proclaimed, sauntering over to you. “Let me help sweetheart…” You just begin to look up at him catching a glimpse of the bat swing down to you. A crushing pain radiates through you head as you come crashing to the floor. But not just your head but hand as well.

“NOOO!” Daryl speeding toward Negan rocking him with a punch. Daryl getting easily pinned. He sobbed looking at your still body.

You were in pain and frozen like a deer in head lights. Your vision blur and the feeling of blood flowing from somewhere. The hit knocked some air into you and you tried you best to calm it. It was sallow but there. Your vision started to tunnel, blackness taking you into unconsciousness hearing sounds of the sobs of your family.

Daryl POV

In a single moment you were gone. They drag me back to my spot in line but I could only look to her still body. What was the last thing she had even said to me. This asshole killed you and he was blabbing on. He stepped out of line and was going to be joining you, he accepted that. The burning hate looking into Negans eyes. Negan only smiled, “That little plague was yours huh.” He chuckled to himself. “You should be thanking me, poor thing was dying, it was a mercy kill.” He back up a little.

“I don’t know what kind of lying asshole you’ve been dealing with but, I did say you only get one! No expectations.”

Daryl clenched his teeth, he expected his fate and accepted at least your body’s were to be buried together. “Welp, back to it!” But Negan pivoted and hit… Glenn. Sinking he felt like he was sinking. His mouth wide with shock. Glenn started stammering, Negan taunting him. “M-Maggie I’ll f-find you.” Negan winding up to hit him again. Daryl listened to Maggie’s pleas just like how his were he assumed. Hit after hit felt deeper like they should have been the one to be on him. Silents for a moment with Negan catching his breathe from exertion. This didn’t feel real. He had to be dreaming.

“Load him up.” He was being dragged away. He had little fight left in him but he fought against it. Hearing the people around him plea. He looked on to where you lay. His world, was gone and yet he still walked among it. His action then got someone’s else’s world killed. Guilt ate at him. Doors slammed in front of his face back to the darkness he once came, but now pieces missing inside him.

Rick POV

It was silent after the saviors left. Sun rising. Everyone trying to comprehend everything. Rick thought when he was being dragged to the RV with Negan that he was next. His anger at the time was now just fear. It was Maggie first to move toward her dead husband. They all scrambled to help her. She sobbed and still despite it all was still in need of a doctor.

Rick kneel next to her above Glenn. “Let us help please, he was are family to.” She agreed and stumbled into a hug with Carl. Rick looking down toward Glenn, his savior, this man was the reason he was alive and found his family. Rick gasped at the thought, ‘Thank you Rick, for being my family.’ He looked back to you, your body less maimed than the rest. You were here because Rick made you go. Hilltop, Maggie. He turned back to Maggie, “We still need to get you to Hilltop.” he looked to her with a little resolve.

Maggie clearly distraught, “I’ll get there myself, you were out here for me. I can’t let anything else happen. I just can’t.” Before he could even begin to disagree, Sasha spoke up. “I’ll take her. You need to get back to Alexandria.” Maggie agreed adding, “Y-you need to figure out to take them out.” Rick looked at her slowly shaking his head. “They have Daryl.” Rick said, and at mention of Daryl’s name the turned to your body.

Rick bit his lips trying to not break. Everyone started to move to put the bodys in the back of the truck that Sasha and Maggie were taking to Hilltop. Your body being the last, Aaron picking you up in one swoop as everyone help to lay you down into the bed of the truck between Glenn and Abraham. More tears were shed.

Before splitting into different cars, Rick goes to Maggie hugging her before she gets in the passenger seat. The rest follow to say there goodbyes for now and hope for the baby to be well.

Looking into the side mirror he look back to seeing puddles of blood and a walker kneeling down to it. Looking forward to not break from the sight and think about those he lost he make eye contact with Michonne. Then he started to drive.

??? POV

Sasha was driving to Hilltop periodically looking towards Maggie. Her mission. Maggie had tears from pain a lost going down her face. The silence was cut with a slap to the back window of the truck. A bloody hand smearing down the glass. The girls turn to each other. You must have turned, head not completely crushed like the others. Maggie sniffled, “Pull over, I don’t want her eating them.”

They both circled the back to put you down. Hearing the grumbling noise coming from you. The tailgate fell with a loud bang. Sasha climbing up knife in hand. When they heard it.

“I can’t, please it hurts.” Slurred and rough. You were alive.

Part 2

Feedback welcomed and requests open! Also little disclaimer I’m really dyslexic so any help with grammar or spelling would be great!

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #norman reedus #rick grimes #angst #happy ending

335 notes · View notes

swaps55 · 1 year ago

Note

I have never heard of an epithet before! What does it mean?

This is a great question! You have probably seen many of them, and just not heard them referred to as epithets.

An epithet is more or less a descriptive word or phrase that stands in the place of a name or a pronoun, such as, “the taller man,” or “the brown-haired woman.” In my experience, fanfic writers in particular tend to latch onto them, especially when trying to create variety in scenes with two characters who share the same pronouns.

I’ll put my thoughts on them under the cut, because I have Opinions on epithets, but I am not An Authority. I’m not your mom. I’m not here to tell you what to do or how to write, and I’m not here to ruin your fun, but we all have the hills we’ll die on and this one is mine. If you are a fan of epithets, just give this post an eyeroll or the finger and scroll on. If you want to know more about epithets and why I think writers can and should avoid them, read on!

Let me get this out of my system: I loathe epithets. Do whatever you want with your oxford comma, but take your epithets out back and shoot them.

Okay, now that’s out of the way, I’ll be a little more constructive about the purpose epithets serve and why I think they are so frequently used poorly.

In my experience, they’re often used as a tool to avoid pronoun confusion, but it’s an inelegant tool that can become a crutch. You have two characters of the same gender in a scene, you have already used their names in a sentence, but the pronoun antecedent is unclear unless you name the character again. You don’t want to do that because it feels repetitive, so you pick out a physical quality and use that instead. Problem solved! Except instead of solve the problem, you’ve potentially introduced new ones.

Nuance is important, and to talk tools we should be using the same toolbox, so for the sake of this argument I’m going to assume we’re talking about 3rd person limited POV, because that’s what I generally see, read, and write the most of.

Chances are very high that the descriptor you chose for your epithet derived from you the writer’s perception of the character being described and not the POV character. This is important, because if you are writing in 3rd person limited, the way you describe other people is how the POV character sees the person being described.

Now tell me. Have you ever thought of a close friend, a lover, or someone whose name you know as, “the taller woman,” or “the dark-haired man?” Have you ever thought about YOURSELF in these terms? Probably not. I have never looked at my Real Life Romance Option and thought of him as “the brown-eyed man” or “the taller man.” I’ve also quite frankly never consciously thought of him as “my lover.” Is he all of those things? Yes. But from my POV, those are never descriptors I would use for him. Once you know a person’s name, they tend to become Their Name and not ‘Random Characteristic” in your mental picture of them.

So when you default to Random Characteristic, it’s usually the writer talking, not the character. And chances are high that the characteristic you choose to represent is not something that is important to the POV character or the scene in that moment. Therefore, is it significant enough to the reader that it clearly identifies the character, or does the reader now have to stop and think, ‘wait, which one is taller?’ So instead of eliminate confusion, you may have actually introduced more of it.

And even if it is an important detail, stating it as a fact is generally a lot less effective than making it part of the character work being done in the scene. For example:

“Can you help me reach this?” Jed asks the taller man. Leo stops chopping vegetables to oblige, and snags the wine glass the shorter man couldn’t reach off the shelf.

Vs.

Jed sighs as he makes another futile swipe with his fingers and barely grazes the bottom of the shelf. He looks over at Leo, blissfully chopping vegetables in a world where stepstools are for other people. “Can you help me reach this?” Leo sets the knife down and looms behind him, effortlessly snagging the wine glass and handing it to Jed with a grin.

Hopefully, the second example feels more impactful than the first, because the height difference became part of the scene, and not just a descriptor cosplaying as a pronoun.

Epithets become even more distracting when they become part of a prose style rather than just a means to avoid pronoun confusion or name repetition. I see a lot of writers make the stylistic choice to have a POV character refer to themselves as an epithet right alongside the epithets being thrown around for other characters, and there are so many crammed into a paragraph or two I can’t figure out who is doing what.

At best, epithets are distracting. At their worst, they’re actively confusing when their purpose is to do the opposite.

“But Swaps, if I don’t use an epithet, how do I avoid pronoun confusion without wanting to throw myself out a window?”

This is a problem every writer contends with, whether you’re writing same gender smut, combat, or just have two people of the same gender doing things in a scene together. And unfortunately, this is one of those ways in which writing is hard. When you have some pronoun confusion in a sentence you can’t wriggle your way out of, the answer is probably to try a different sentence. Break the sentence up. Structure it differently. Finding the better sentence is part of becoming a better writer.

If repetition is what you’re concerned about, know that just saying a character’s name and using their pronoun is okay. It’s like ‘said.’ ‘Said’ isn’t a trendy word that goes in and out of style. It’s a building block word that blends into the background. Can you get fancier than ‘said?’ Sure! But do it with purpose. Don’t be afraid to use a character’s name. It’s their name. It’s what you’re supposed to call them. Why are we fighting so hard to respect people’s names and pronouns if all we’re going to do is replace them with epithets? (Kidding. Mostly.) And if you’re using their name so much it’s interfering with readability…it’s probably time to revisit a few of those sentences and figure out what the better sentence is.

When can you use an epithet?

I joke that there are no exceptions to my There Are No Good Epithets stance, but there are. Sort of. Because rules are made to be broken, though I do believe you should understand why the rule exists before you break it, and you should break it with purpose.

Here’s the easy one.

Epithets are useful when the POV character doesn’t know a character’s name. Now you have to use something else! And here’s the great thing about that: the epithet is now a vehicle for characterization. What about this stranger stands out enough to get the POV character’s attention? Do they notice a physical characteristic? Clothes? Attitude? What does the thing they notice say about the POV character and the character being observed?

For instance, my POV character is eavesdropping on a conversation between two people in a restaurant. You could grab the low hanging fruit and describe them as, “the brunet woman” and the “older man.” Or you could make your scene work harder. “The man with the punchable face,” or “the woman who makes eye rolling an art form.” Or how about, “the woman wearing fake pearls,” shorthanded to Fake Pearls Woman, and “the man with the name-brand suit that’s seen better days,” shorthanded to Shabby Suit. Now you’ve said something about the characters that place them in a more useful context than their hair color – you’ve said something about them that helps inform the scene, and how your POV character observes the world around them.

Are there other instances where you can effectively use an epithet? Yes, if you are using them like this: with narrative purpose. And in those cases, is it really just an epithet anymore? It is in that yes, it is a descriptor taking the place of a name or pronoun, but it’s doing a lot more heavy lifting now. Maybe you have a character who chronically can’t remember or can’t be assed to remember people’s names. The epithet is now a means of characterization. Maybe you have a Jekyll and Hyde style character, in which a descriptor of those different personas becomes a means of setting a scene or crafting their relationship with the POV character. These descriptors are narrative vehicles being used with intention. “The other man,” is rarely a tool being used with any real intention. If there is an instance of it, I have never seen it.

Now, if reading this makes you second guess your own work, or to feel like you write wrong, or if the thought of going to painstaking lengths to rewire sentences you would typically use an epithet in gives you hives, there’s an easy solution: forget about this post.

Because fanfic is supposed to be fun. It’s your hobby. You are not getting paid for it. You don’t have to use a specific writing style, or meet anyone else’s expectations. That’s part of what makes fanfic such a beautiful thing. You can do whatever makes you happy. Not me, not anyone else. If you fucking love using epithets, use them. If you think I am made of bullshit, give this post the finger like I initially suggested and write five epithets just to spite me. No one will stop you, certainly not me. Though I will continue hating epithets, because you can’t stop me, either. XD

#swaps replies #Anonymous #how writing is written

168 notes · View notes

hugmekenobi · 1 year ago

Text

S3: The Bad Batch (4)

Chapter Four: A Different Approach

Gif by @azertyrobaz

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: A reunion may be on the cards sooner than you thought

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, gambling, again we have my interpretation of headspaces, limited use of y/n, fluff and mild angst, discussion of character death, protective reader and Hunter, reader and Crosshair kinda get into it

Word Count: 5.3K

Author's notes: Now we're getting into part of the series where each episode allows for a bit more creative license which I'm very excited about! It starts with the end of this one and I hope y'all like it! Also, with regards to tagging people, I'm only tagging the users who still officially register when I do it. Please, please let me know if you want tagged/for me to try your username again!!

Sparks flew from the control as Omega did her best to stabilise them, but it was proving to be a rather challenging task. “I could use some help up here! Our comms are down. I can’t contact Hunter!”

From down below in the shuttle, Crosshair was also doing his best to get things under control but the smoke, electrical malfunctions and the persistent screech of the alarm told him that was a very unlikely outcome. He analysed the screen dictating the state of the ship. “That’s not the priority. The ship sustained heavy damage.”

“I can see that.” Omega retorted.

Crosshair made his way back up to the co-pilot’s seat, with Batcher following close behind. “Get the stabilizers back online!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Immediately after she said that a large spark of electricity crackled from the console and the ship was torn out of hyperspace and spiralled towards the planet ahead.

“We have to land.”

“A little hard to do when nothing’s working.” Omega snapped at him as she fiddled with the steering but to no avail.

The ship entered the atmosphere and started to plummet towards the ground.

Omega pulled hard on the lever to even out the ship as the ground grew ever closer. It was all she could do before it crashed landed and skidded along the surface.

When it finally came to a halt, Omega opened the glass roof to allow them all to get some air and eventually exit the wrecked vehicle. She looked in dismay as the controls fully shut off and the last dying spark flickered. “This will take forever to repair.”

Crosshair exhaled a sore sigh as he got his bearings, but that soreness was soon replaced by irritation as the hound pushed insistently on the back of his chair. “No. there’s no time for that.” The dog’s fussing got too much for him. He stood up to allow her to jump past him and off the shuttle.

“We need to get the nav reader online to extract the coordinates to Tantiss for when we go back.” Omega said, turning to look at him.

He couldn’t understand how she’d only just escaped that hell and was already talking about returning. “We’re not going back.”

“We left the other prisoners behind.”

“And the Empire is going to be searching for this ship and us.” He grabbed the pack with the blasters and hopped out of the shuttle. “We have to move. I scanned a spaceport a few clicks east. We’ll start there.”

Omega followed his example and let him lead the way to the spaceport.

With the establishment of the new plan being they would get to the spaceport and sneak onto a shuttle, they acquired their disguises and the two of them blended in with the civilians of the town.

They walked past the various troopers in the town as casually as they could so as not to arouse any unnecessary suspicion.

Omega warily analysed the situation ahead as they reached the spaceport. “It’s too well-guarded. We’ll never slip past all those troopers undetected.”

“I can take out at least half before they know what’s happening.” Crosshair stated confidently.

“Or… or we could try a way that doesn’t involve blaster fire.” Omega countered.

“Like what?” Crosshair asked, his voice filled with doubt.

“Watch and learn.” With that, Omega calmly led the way to the ticket attendant.

“Oh, I can hardly wait.” Crosshair said with a sigh as he followed a few paces behind.

“Hello. We’d like two tickets on the next shuttle please.” Omega requested pleasantly.

“Chain codes?” Came the standard reply from the attendant.

“About that. We lost our chain codes.” Omega said coyly.

“No chain codes, no passage.”

“Right. But you see, a problem for us could be an opportunity for you if, say, you knew of an alternate way of booking passage without a chain code.” She advanced towards the desk.

The attendant leaned forward. “Are you insinuating that I should take bribe?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Omega replied, feigning innocence.

“I do. And that could be arranged… for 15,000 credits.”

Omega’s composure slipped slightly upon hearing that price, “For two tickets?” She exclaimed.

“Per ticket. And it’s non-negotiable. You’re lucky I’m not charging extra for the creature.”

“Where do you expect is to get 30,000 credits?”

“Sounds like a you problem. Don’t come back without the credits.” The attendant waved a hand in dismissal.

Omega hung her head in defeat and left the port with Crosshair.

“Well, that went well.” Crosshair remarked sarcastically.

“Stow it.” Omega grumbled.

“Storming the spaceport would be easier than finding 30,000 credits.” Crosshair hissed as they aimlessly wandered the streets of the town.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t be naïve. Every second we’re here, we’re at risk.”

They came to a stop outside a bar.

“The quite wasting time complaining.” Omega argued before two troopers exited the bar and they both averted their gaze, but the opening of the door had given Omega another idea. “I think I know how we can make some fast credits.”

“Of course you do.” Crosshair mumbled as he saw her getting ready to make her way into the bar. The fluttering of a scrappy piece of paper caught under a nearby crate grabbed his eye before he entered, and he came to a sudden stop as he picked it up and saw what- or rather who- was on it.

Omega noticed he had stopped and when she turned back to enquire what was wrong, the question died on her lips as she saw what he was looking at. Only half the information on the sheet was news to her, but the rest made her eyes widen in shock. By the looks of things, you had been on your own for the time she’d been on Tantiss and clearly, you’d stopped hiding. And judging by the harsh language and substantial reward offering, the Empire wasn’t too happy about that. Now, not only was there the trouble of how exactly this information would go down between you and Crosshair but she also couldn’t count on the fact that you were back with Hunter and Wrecker. She glanced up at Crosshair and, despite the fact that most of his face was covered, he could not conceal the emotions that flashed behind his eyes. “Oh… um… she- well back when- I’m sure she would’ve told-” She broke off with a sharp breath as she struggled to find the words to say.

“Doesn’t matter.” Crosshair said dismissively, crumpling it up and putting it away before he carried on into the bar. The fact that Omega seemed to already have an idea of what your… situation… gave him enough of a timeline to go off of.

“One thing at a time, right girl?” Omega said with a shaky breath, patting Batcher’s side as the hound nuzzled into her. Putting her mind onto the task at hand, she too entered the bar.

The bar itself was relatively busy, especially compared to how Cid’s had usually been, and it gave Omega the chance to study her potential adversaries from their booth by the wall unnoticed.

“That’s your plan? You want to hustle someone?” Crosshair repeated sceptically. What had they taught this kid?

“I’ve done it before, and I prefer to think of it as a temporary requisition of funds.”

“And bet with what? We don’t have anything.”

“They don’t know that.” Omega said with a cheeky grin.

“And if you lose?”

“Well… I guess we’ll be in more trouble.” With that, she made her way to the card table in the middle of the bar and sat across from the Trandoshan and got her performance ready to go.

To say that Crosshair was surprised would be an understatement, the kid was winning every hand against the Trandoshan and securing credits within a matter of minutes. Whatever experience she’d gained with the rest of his squad was clearly something to be admired. Although the mental image of Hunter even allowing her to hone such a skill felt very out of place, he was quietly grateful for it right now.

The bar came to a sudden hushed silence as the door opened. Omega heard Crosshair clear his throat in warning and she looked to the entrance to see an Imperial officer flanked by two troopers enter. She studied them carefully but remained at the table as she won the next hand much to the Trandoshan’s disappointment. “I think I’ll quite while I’m ahead.” She said in response to his pleas for another game. Having an Imperial official here complicated matters and it was time she, Crosshair and Batcher left.

“Leaving so soon?”

Omega turned her head to face the officer as he stood by the table.

“You’re in my seat.”

The Trandoshan let out a low snarl before he departed and gave up his seat to the man.

Crosshair tensed as he saw the Imperial sit but Omega waved him back.

“So, you think you’re good at this game?”

Omega replied with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

“Want to try against a, uh, real opponent?” He suggested to the young girl. “I insist.”

“Your mutt don’t seem to like me.” He said as the dog released a series of growls.

“She’s harmless.” Omega said in reply as she organised her cards.

“She’s a distraction. Get rid of her.” He demanded.

Omega signalled to Crosshair to take her out.

Crosshair got to his feet, clicked his tongue, and led Batcher to wait outside.

The Imperial watched them go. “Never seen you or your dad around before.” He commented.

“We’re just passing through.” Omega replied as she watched him flip the next card and the rise in murmurs indicated that both he and the crowd seemed to think her time was up.

“Eh, I’ll admit you’re not bad. But you seem to have misunderstood your enemy.”

Omega only smirked, “Did I?” She placed her cards down and flashed the set of the three Eastern Stars. Game over. “I’ll take those 20,000 credits.” She grew nervous however when his two guards made to approach the table.

He held a hand up to stop them. “I concede. You beat me fair and square.” He gave her the credits. “Nicely played.” He left the table.

The Imperial went back to his men and one of them addressed him.

“Sir. Patrol found a crashed Imperial vessel on the outskirts of town.”

“I wasn’t notified about any shuttles arriving today.” He angled back to look at the two strangers with a newfound sense of suspicion. “Now, hang on a minute.”

Omega gathered the credits in her bag and, now that Crosshair had returned, she got up to leave with him, but the familiar voice of the Imperial stopped them both.

“We’re not done here.” He chuckled coolly. “You haven’t paid your fine.”

“What fine?” Omega asked.

“Gambling’s illegal in these parts.”

“What?” Crosshair snarled as he made to step forward, but Omega’s arm stopped him.

“The law is the law. Now, all you gotta do is pay the fine. And I’ll be on my way.”

“How much?” Omega asked him as she did her best to keep her disgust at bay.

“Ten thousand credits… unless you prefer to be arrested instead.”

Omega got the credits out and handed them over.

“Excellent. Consider your fine paid in full.” He said smugly. “Try and stay out of trouble.” He dipped his cap and left the establishment.

Omega sighed in relief. “Let’s get out of here.”

Crosshair caught her shoulder. “How many credits do we have left?”

Omega checked the bag. “Thirty-five thousand. Enough for two tickets and a little extra.” She made the first move to leave.

“Crosshair, where’s Batcher?” Omega asked anxiously as she scanned the area for her companion.

“Oy. You looking for that hound?”

The two of them turned to look at the young boy speaking to them.

“You know where she went?” Omega queried.

“Sure do, but the answer’s gonna cost you. Ten thousand credits.”

The fact that he was a child made no difference, Crosshair sighed and stood intimidatingly over the boy. “I’m getting tired of this.”

“Okay, okay.” The boy backtracked. “Five, but that’s my final offer.”

Omega touched Crosshair’s arm to call him off before she gave the boy the money.

The boy examined the credits before he supplied the information, “That Imperial officer and his troopers snatched the creature and headed for the cargo docks. Down that way.” He pointed. “Nice doing business with ya.” He ran away from them before they could change their mind about the money.

Omega started off in the direction of the docks.

“Omega.”

She angled back to face Crosshair. “You heard him. Batcher’s this way.”

“And the spaceport is that way. Forget the hound. We have to get off this planet.”

“We never would be escaped without Batcher. I’m not leaving her.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I’m not abandoning her!” Omega angrily tossed the bag of credits at him. “Take the credits. If you wanna go, then go. I’ll find my own way.” She stormed off.

Crosshair watched her go but before he got ready to go his own way, he felt guilt coil in his gut. It was becoming very clear as to the impact she could have on someone and explained why his squad had cared so much for her since he too found himself following her rather than doing the more sensible thing of leaving from the spaceport.

“Fine. We’ll do this your way.” Crosshair agreed begrudgingly as he placed the bag down before Omega scaled the gate to the cargo docks herself. “But my skills are being wasted.” He offered his hands as a means to boost her over the top.

Omega gave him a warm smile, “Noted.” With his assistance she was able to climb over the gate with ease.

Crosshair made the quick climb after her and together, they snuck through the docks looking for where Batcher was being kept.

Omega then heard a series of whines and she saw Batcher’s cage. “There’s Batcher.” She signalled to Crosshair before she analysed the situation around her. “Shouldn’t we free the other animals too?”

“Don’t push it.” Crosshair replied.

They had managed to covertly make their way around to get better access to the centre console but before they could make a move, that dull voice spoke up.

“I thought you’d come searching for your mutt. Yeah, unfortunately for you, Lau has a very strict pet policy. No license means a hefty fine.”

“How much this time?” Omega asked, pretending to play along as the two of them were swiftly surrounded by troopers.

“How ‘bout you give me all my money back? Credits won’t do you any good when Hemlock shows up.” He saw the shared looked between them. “Oh, did you think I wouldn’t piece it together when I found that crashed shuttle? Nothing gets by me. I run this town.” He drew his own blaster. “So, hand over the credits and surrender.”

Omega sighed, “Alright.” She chucked the bag to the Imperial. “Let’s try things your way.” She murmured to Crosshair.

“Finally.” Crosshair waited until Omega ducked to cover before firing the first shot, but he noticed his hand was still no unsteady and his aim was more compromised than he liked.

Omega used the chaos of the firefight to get to the controls and release all the animals, the resulting stampede thinning out the Imperial forces and reuniting her with Batcher.

“I’ll handle this. Take Batcher, and power up the ship.” Crosshair ordered. He provided her cover fire as she got the ship ready and when he saw a break in the blaster fire, he made his move towards the step.

Once he was on board, Omega got the cargo ship in the air and into the safety of hyperspace.

You had remained on the ship to study Tech’s datapad and the various planets and their coordinates whilst the other two dealt with the lead on this particular planet, but its name escaped you- you’d been to so many in this sector already, the names of them were beginning to blur together.

You were doing what you could to try and determine the next, more efficient course of action whilst the others were out but the words and data on the screen were moulding into one pile of unintelligible information. You put the datapad down for a minute and rubbed your eyes as you huffed a tired breath from your lungs. You stretched your neck and adjusted your posture but before you picked the datapad back up, a faint chirping caught your ears.

You swivelled in your chair to see the communications light flashing and you knew you weren’t supposed to be hearing from Echo any time soon. So, when you patched the encrypted message through and untangled it to find coordinates to the moon just outside of Ryloth, you knew there was only one other person who could’ve sent it.

You jumped out of your chair and cleared the steps of the Marauder in one leap before you sprinted to find Hunter and Wrecker.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked urgently as he saw you come running towards them.

You shook your head as you glanced between them. Your breath was heavy from the running but also from excitement as you said, “It’s Omega.”

“Look, I hate to be the one to say it, but what if this message is a trap?” Wrecker broached carefully as the ship flew through hyperspace.

“Who else would know those codes?” You disputed.

“But if the Empire has her…”

“If it’s a trap, then we’ll get out of there but if it is her… we need to be there, Wrecker.” Hunter said as the ship disengaged from hyperspace, and he entered the landing cycle. There was no sign of another ship yet, but he opened the door anyway.

“There’s no one here.” Wrecker murmured, wringing his own hands anxiously.

“Then we wait.” You said calmly though your own heart was pounding.

“The Empire will be able to track this vessel. We need to ditch it.” Crosshair advised as he entered the cockpit after getting rid of the hat and face covering that he had donned back in Lau.

“We will. I’m heading to a remote location, and I sent a coded transmission for Hunter and Wrecker and (Y/N) to meet us there.” Omega responded. She only hoped you’d be with them too.

Now that this reunion was approaching ever closer, he found himself unprepared for what was to happen next. “Omega. It’s- it’s been months. You don’t know if they’re still ali-”

“They’ll be there.” Omega interrupted sharply.

The ship exited hyperspace and as she peered out the window, she saw the welcomed sight of the Marauder waiting there.

Omega dashed down the ship’s steps but paused as she saw no immediate sign of any of you.

A few hours had passed but there was still no sign of the ship and nerves were starting to get the better of you all.

Hunter had begun pacing the length of the cockpit, you had not stopped fidgeting with your vibroblade and alternated between that and examining the hilt of your lightsaber, and Wrecker was busying himself around the rest of the ship.

You saw the uneasy expression on Hunter’s face, and you pulled yourself together enough to be there for him. You caught his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “Just wait, take a breath. She’ll be here, Hunter. I know it.”

“But-” He broke off as he heard the sound of a ship landing and a whole different type of nerves overtook him.

Wrecker made the first move to look outside and what he saw filled him with pure joy. “Now there’s a sight!”

Take your time. You caressed Hunter’s cheek with a comforting and utterly relieved smile before you ran outside to join Wrecker.

Hunter braced his hands on the back of the pilot’s chair. He needed a minute to gather himself. This was the moment he had been seeking out for months but part of him couldn’t quite believe it was happening.

“Wrecker!” Omega cried in relief as she ran towards him and let him pick her up.

“I wasn’t even sure your message was real!” Wrecker said with a happy laugh as he held her close.

“I knew you’d show up.” Omega closed her eyes and let the comfort of his strong hold overtake her.

“We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Omega opened her eyes to the sound of your voice, and she smiled brightly as she saw you standing just behind him.

You knelt down with your arms open as Wrecker lowered her.

Omega fell into your embrace and nuzzled into your shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if- I thought you might’ve been-” She pulled away with a teary sniff.

You tilted your head as you tenderly wiped away the tears that had slid down her cheek and stroked a hand through her hair, the longer length of it a painful reminder of how much time had truly passed. “I’m right here, nothing happened to me.” You didn’t need to worry her about past events right now- that rehashing undoubtedly would come up later- but this current moment was something to be celebrated and not clouded by anything else.

Omega went to clarify what she meant but Wrecker’s words stopped her.

“We crossed the galaxy four times looking for you.” Wrecker revealed, wiping his own tears away.

“Five.”

Omega glanced past you as she heard Hunter’s voice and the sight of him created a feeling of pure elation that she wasn’t sure she would never experience again.

“But you’re the one who found us.” Hunter said with a smile from the doorway of the Marauder.

Omega started to run towards him.

Hunter darted down the steps two at a time and came to his knees as he held his arms out to her.

Your heart swelled and the emotions of the moment got stuck in your throat. That sight had been one you had been waiting to see for quite some time. You sensed and visibly saw how relaxed and content he looked, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Wrecker put a friendly arm around your shoulder as you both go to your feet, and he saw your reaction to their reunion. He too felt himself getting caught up in it all. Finally, things were looking up.

“We missed you, kid. We never stopped searching.” Hunter said affectionately and as he tightened his hold on her and felt her reciprocate, for the first time since Ord Mantell, he felt truly at peace. He pulled away but kept his hands on her shoulders, “But how did you escape?”

Omega hesitated before saying, “I had help.”

Hunter looked past her to see… well to see his brother descend the stairs of the ship, but what hit him was far more complicated than the relief he had been experiencing a mere second before.

You all followed his eyes and whatever happiness and lightness that had been surrounding you all immediately vanished and was replaced by a palpable tension as you all faced the clone that walked down the steps.

Your hand automatically came to cover your lightsaber.

Omega gaze darted between you all and she saw the shift in body language as well as the serious and distrusting expressions on all of you. It appeared she may have miscalculated as to how this smoothly this particular reunion would go.

“We can do this now and remain by a ship the Empire will be currently tracking, or we can get out of here.” Crosshair said simply.

Hunter placed a guiding hand on Omega’s back and jutted his head to Crosshair as the rest of you boarded the ship.

Crosshair followed them, with Batcher now close on his heels and the Marauder entered hyperspace once more.

Omega stood in the middle of the hallway. None of you had so much as made a sound or really moved since the ship had begun the journey back to Pabu and it was getting rather unbearable. “So… I got a dog! Her name’s Batcher.” Omega said with an uneasy laugh into the dead silence of the ship, but it got no reaction. The four of you continued your standoff with Crosshair positioned down the hall of the ship closest to her room/gun turret and the rest of you closer to the cockpit. All of you had your arms crossed and you, Hunter and Wrecker looked particularly guarded. She took that resulting quiet as her cue to perhaps let you all have it out right now. She took a seat and called Batcher over to sit by her feet and waited.

It was Crosshair who broke the silence first, “Where’s Echo?”

“Working with Rex.” Hunter replied briskly.

Crosshair released a soft hum in acknowledgement before he asked the question that he’d been putting off since he’d deduced it from how Omega had talked to him all those months on Tantiss, “And Tech… he’s- he’s really gone?”

“Yeah. It-” Hunter released a sad sigh, “It was a mission gone wrong and he- he sacrificed himself for us so we could get away. He knew what he was doing but… yes, he’s gone.”

Crosshair’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what mission Hunter was referring to. “So much for Plan 88.” He couldn’t help but say, the grief and tense situation getting the better of him.

“What?” You remarked with a glare.

“You were supposed to stay hidden.”

“We couldn’t do that.” Wrecker said grimly. “Not when it looked like you were in trouble.”

“We couldn’t leave you behind, Crosshair.” Hunter added quietly, some of the fight leaving him as he recalled the events of Eriadu.

“Why? You never had trouble doing that before.” Crosshair retorted harshly.

“Excuse me?” You growled.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t-” Hunter came to stand in front of you, but you stepped past him.

You couldn’t help it, the protectiveness that hit you was all you could act on. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to throw your choices back in his face. You were offered a different path, but you decided the Empire was where you wanted to be. And yet, despite all of that, the moment we found out you needed us, there was no real alternative. We never knew what had happened to you, but we didn’t need to. All we knew was that you were in trouble. We all knew the risks of ignoring that plan… Tech knew the risks. Don’t you dare-”

Crosshair wasn’t prepared to explain what happened to him yet, so he kept up with his provocation instead, “You want to talk about risks? What are you playing at staying around with them?”

Hunter and Wrecker both looked sharply towards Crosshair.

Your posture stiffened. “I don’t know what-”

“I may have been out of action but I’m not blind. If the lightsaber on your belt didn’t give it away, the wanted poster I just saw sure as hell did.” Crosshair spat as he flung it towards you.

You unfurled the paper, and your breathing became irregular saw this was one of the more detailed wanted ads that had been circulated. You crumpled it back up and then glanced to Omega who could only offer an apologetic grimace that she couldn’t warn you earlier, “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

You looked back to the clone, “Crosshair, I-”

“You’re a Jedi and that wasn’t something you felt the need to share?”

“Every day.” You said tightly, “But I couldn’t chance something happening-”

“Well, something’s happened now, hasn’t it?” Crosshair bit back angrily. “Do you have any idea the danger you’ve put us in? Do you even care? You’d be doing us a favour by leaving.”

Even Omega joined Wrecker in shaking her head at him this time.

“Crosshair.” Hunter cautioned as he saw the guilt and shame that flashed across your face as your mask of composure slipped. “She’s not going anywhere. We’ve handled it so far.”

“You don’t know what the Empire is capable or what she is. I read what she’s done, and they won’t stop-”

“We’ve got it handled.” Wrecker repeated again as he noticed the way your shoulders started to heave.

Your jaw clenched. “You weren’t there. You don’t know-”

“I was there on Devaron.” Crosshair snapped. “I was there when you decided to join us. I was there when you decided to spend every day lying about what you are.”

“Crosshair.” Hunter warned again and there was no mistaking the protectiveness in his tone or his stance now.

Crosshair picked up on Hunter’s reaction, but he wasn’t to be dissuaded. “You want to judge my decisions, but you betrayed-”

“You don’t get to talk about betrayal, Crosshair.” Hunter interjected coldly as he came to stand by your side.

You only let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I made my choices in the beginning but when would you have liked me to tell you, Crosshair? On Kaller? But would that have been during or after your attempts to kill the Padawan? Or perhaps you would’ve preferred it on Kamino when Tarkin was there, and you were talking about how great the Empire was and how the Jedi were traitors and what happened to them was justified? Or would you have liked to have a sit down during one of the many occasions you were already actively trying to kill us? Tell me, when should I have entrusted you with this part of me?”

This time he didn’t have a response for you, he just shifted uneasily on his feet and glanced down at the floor.

You continued to speak but there was a distinct sadness to your voice now, “I wished I had been honest with all of you from the start. Truly I do. But after everything that’s happened, I’m glad you’ve only just found out because looking at you now, knowing what I do, I can’t be certain that if you had known what I was on Kaller, that you wouldn’t have tried to kill me too.”

Crosshair went to speak but found that he couldn’t immediately offer the reassurance that was needed.

“You’re our brother, Crosshair, and you’re welcome to stay on Pabu with us but don’t expect any of this to be easy.” Hunter said, placing his hand on your back in support.

“He helped me get out of Tantiss. He’s different now.” Omega remarked quietly.

Wrecker grunted and nodded towards his brother, but you and Hunter made no such moves, instead you both retreated further into the cockpit.

You sat in one of the passenger seats and stared at the paper again as you read the painful reminders of how you’d acted when you’d been separated from them. He’s right, you know.

“No, he’s not.” Hunter disagreed firmly as he knelt before you and untangled the wrinkled piece of paper from your hands. He paid it no attention as he threw it away. He came back and placed his hands on your shoulders as he crouched before you. “Are you alright?”

You breathed deeply and nodded. And you?

Hunter also nodded before he got to his feet and sat in the seat across from you.

“So, when did this happen?” Crosshair asked, gesturing to the two of you. The way you both were behaving wasn’t totally different to how things had been in the months before Kaller, but there was a definite shift that marked something more official. There had been a lot he’d missed out on.

“After Tipoca City.” Omega informed him as Batcher eagerly greeted them.

Wrecker enthusiastically petted the hound as he moved closer to Crosshair and Omega. “About time, right?” He added with a hint of humour in his voice, but the stern looks from the two of you had him clearing his throat awkwardly.

Crosshair simply hummed in reply and found himself wondering just quite how difficult things were about to be.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @dominoeffectsworld, @nightmonkeysstuff, @arctrooper69

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch s3 #hunter x reader #hunter x femalejedi!reader #hunter x fem!reader #hunter x female!reader #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter tbb #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter x y/n #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars #friends to lovers #angst #fluff

147 notes · View notes

mmgwritings · 6 months ago

Text

BEST REGARDS

Characters: Annatar / Númenor!Ambassador

Prompts: With Middle-Earth at war and the potential repercussions for Númenor, Ar-Pharazôn sends one of his best advisors to negotiate with the Lord of Eregion.

Warnings: NSFW; Smut; Canon Divergence; My poorly writing.

We weren't even welcomed, and that should have been my first sign that the initiative was doomed to fail.

When the Númenórean delegation arrived in Eregion, all that awaited us in the courtyard of Celebrimbor's fortress was a group of minor advisors, mere overseers of the lord's household workers.

They did their best; being elves, it was in their nature to be accommodating, polite, always eager to please. But as the days went by, with the dinners they hosted and the tours of the city, their once affable smiles now seemed like mockery to me.

Now, not even those low-ranking advisors would communicate with us. My delegation was relegated to one of the most isolated wings of the fortress, and every day a poor messenger was sent with a missive.

"What do you mean we can't speak with him? All I’ve asked for since I arrived is an audience with Lord Celebrimbor, and now even that is being denied?"

The messenger, visibly uncomfortable, hesitated before responding, "I'm afraid the lord is preoccupied with matters of great importance. He regrets that he cannot meet with you at this time."

I clenched my fists, struggling to maintain my composure, but the frustration bubbled up. "Preoccupied with what exactly? What could be more important than ensuring the stability of these lands?"

The messenger flinched at my sharp tone but remained composed, his elven grace unshaken. "I am not privy to the lord’s affairs," he said softly, "but rest assured, all is being done to safeguard Eregion. Your patience is appreciated."

Patience. I had been patient for days, and it had gotten me nowhere. Each passing hour felt like a calculated delay, as if they were stalling us for reasons I couldn’t yet comprehend. "Tell him," I said, voice steady but cold, "that my patience has its limits."

The messenger bowed slightly, acknowledging my words without a hint of defiance, and quickly exited the room. I watched him leave, my thoughts racing. What were they hiding? From the moment we arrived, it felt like a well-rehearsed charade — cordial smiles, empty gestures, and evasions at every turn.

I paced the room, the echo of my boots filling the silence. Something was wrong. Celebrimbor was too strategic to ignore a delegation from Númenor. Was he deliberately avoiding us? And if so, why?

Determined not to waste any more time, I stormed out of my chambers and headed toward Celebrimbor’s private quarters. If the lord would not grant me an audience, I would demand one. The halls were quiet, the only sound being the swift rhythm of my footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

But as I approached the entrance to Celebrimbor’s wing, a figure emerged from the shadows, blocking my path. His presence was unmistakable, a mix of elegance and something darker that I couldn’t quite place. It was Lord Annatar. He is not a true lord, just a mere counselor to Celebrimbor

"Going somewhere, ambassador?" he asked, his voice smooth and laced with amusement. His hazel eyes gleamed, and though his expression was polite, I felt an undeniable tension in the air.

I froze. I had only seen Lord Annatar once before, just a fleeting glimpse of him giving orders to the guards. Yet here he stood, as if he had been waiting for me. His aura was unmistakable, commanding yet unsettling in a way I couldn’t quite define.

"Lord Annatar," I said, forcing a calmness into my voice that I didn’t feel. "I need to speak with Lord Celebrimbor. It’s urgent."

His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m afraid the Lord of Eregion is... unavailable at the moment," he replied smoothly. "But perhaps I can be of assistance. After all, we wouldn’t want you wandering these halls alone, would we?"

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lord Annatar was different from the other elves I had encountered — there was something otherworldly about him. His beauty was striking, almost mesmerizing, with an elegance that made my heart quicken against my will. I was a human, and while I was well aware of the allure of elven grace, Annatar possessed a depth that both fascinated and unnerved me.

Yet, I pushed my feelings aside, reminding myself of the urgency of my mission. "I must insist," I said, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. "This is a matter of great importance for Númenor and Eregion alike. I cannot be delayed any longer."

He stepped closer, and the air between us shifted, thickening. "Your determination is admirable," he said, his tone both soothing and compelling. "But sometimes, the best course of action is to wait for the right moment. Patience can be a virtue, after all."

“Patience? All I have been is patient,” I snapped, frustration spilling over. “Every moment I wait only serves to deepen my concern. I need to speak with Celebrimbor now, not later.”

Annatar's expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes —perhaps amusement or interest. “And yet, patience has its rewards, does it not? Consider what you might learn in the meantime.”

I clenched my fists, hating being treated like a bratty little child. “I am not here to learn or be entertained. I am here to ensure the safety of my people. The longer I am kept in the dark, the more perilous our situation becomes.”

He studied me for a moment, and I could feel the weight of his gaze as if he were unraveling my thoughts. “You have a fire within you, a passion that is admirable,” he said finally. “But perhaps the flames of impatience will only burn you in the end.”

“Lorde Annatar, what exactly do you mean?” I asked, my voice steady despite the unease swirling in my gut. I wasn’t sure if he was offering insight or simply playing with my frustration.

He took a step closer, the warmth of his presence almost intoxicating. “You are caught in a web of politics, my dear ambassador. Your eagerness to confront Celebrimbor may lead you into a trap. There are forces at play that you may not yet understand.”

I narrowed my eyes, searching for sincerity in his tone. “And you think I should simply wait and let those forces dictate my fate? I refuse to be a pawn in someone else’s game.”

His smile widened, a blend of admiration and something darker that sent a shiver down my spine. “Ah, but you are no pawn, my dear. You have the potential to be so much more. The key is to choose your battles wisely.”

My heart began to beat faster as I considered his words. Did he know about my plans? Did he have any inkling of my idea to take Ar-Pharazôn from the throne and restore the alliance with the elves?

“Are you saying you have insight into my intentions, Lord Annatar?” I pressed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Because I assure you, my goals are not so easily discerned.”

He regarded me with a penetrating gaze, as if he were peering into the very depths of my soul. “Your aspirations are noble, but not without peril. The political landscape of Númenor is fraught with danger, and those who seek change often find themselves in the crosshairs of power.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. I fought the urge to reveal more, to gauge his true motives. “You speak as if you understand my plight, yet you remain cryptic. If you truly wish to assist, then tell me: how can I achieve my aims without falling victim to those very dangers you warn me about?”

Annatar leaned closer, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “Ah, but where would be the fun in giving you all the answers?” His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, as if he enjoyed the tension between us. “After all, a little intrigue keeps life interesting, does it not?”

I felt a rush of irritation mixed with an undeniable pull toward him. “I’m not looking for games, Lord Annatar. I need guidance, not riddles.”

He chuckled softly, the sound smooth as silk. “And yet, it is the very game of politics that you must master to achieve your noble goals. Perhaps I could help you navigate these treacherous waters, but you must be willing to embrace the art of subtlety.”

“What do you suggest?” I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my better judgment.

“First, let us not be adversaries,” he said, his tone turning serious, yet still laced with flirtation. “You may find that your greatest ally lies in understanding your enemies. After all, the more you know, the more power you wield. And I daresay, you are far more capable than you realize.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm cloak, and I hesitated, torn between my instinct to distrust him and the allure of his charm. “And what do you gain from this?” I pressed. “Why would you want to help me?”

“Perhaps I simply enjoy the company of a determined woman,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “Or perhaps I see potential in you that is worth cultivating. The future is uncertain, and alliances can be the key to shaping it.”

“Why should I trust you in anything?” I challenged, crossing my arms defensively. “You don’t have more power than I do, mere counselor.”

Annatar raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement. “Ah, but you underestimate the influence that knowledge can wield. Power is not solely about titles or positions; it can also be found in the secrets and strategies that lie beneath the surface.”

I held his gaze, searching for any hint of deception. “So you think I should simply take your word at face value, then? You may have the charm, but charm alone does not inspire trust.”

“True,” he admitted, his tone suddenly serious. “Trust is earned, not given freely. But consider this: you are standing at a crossroads, and the decisions you make now will shape your future and that of your people. I may not hold a lord’s title, but I possess knowledge of the intricacies of Eregion and its politics that could prove invaluable to your cause.”

“Yet, you haven’t shown me any reason to believe you,” I replied, my heart still racing. “Your motives are shrouded in mystery, and I cannot afford to align myself with someone I cannot trust.”

Annatar stepped back slightly, his expression softening. “Very well, I respect your caution. But perhaps in time, you’ll see that our paths are more aligned than you think. Let me prove my worth to you, and then you may decide if you wish to trust me.”

I hesitated, grappling with the allure of his proposition. Despite my better judgment, there was a part of me that was intrigued — perhaps even tempted — to explore what he had to offer.

“How would you prove that I can trust you?” I asked, my skepticism still evident. “What assurances do you have that your intentions are genuine?”

Annatar smiled, an enigmatic glint in his eyes. “Trust, like any valuable treasure, requires demonstration. Allow me to show you the power of knowledge.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have eyes and ears throughout Eregion. I can gather information about Celebrimbor’s inner circle, the potential threats you face, and even the whispers of dissent among your Númenórean allies.”

I considered his offer, intrigued despite myself. “And in exchange for this information, what do you seek? What’s the catch?”

“Only a partnership,” he replied smoothly. “I do not seek to manipulate you; rather, I wish to work alongside you. Together, we can forge a stronger path forward for both Númenor and Eregion. You want to restore the alliance with the elves, and I can help you navigate the complexities of elven politics. In return, I ask only for your openness and trust.”

“That seems quite a lot to ask for,” I said, my heart racing as I weighed my options. “How do I know you won’t turn on me when it suits your purposes?”

“Because, my dear ambassador,” he said, a hint of flirtation returning to his tone, “I see potential in you that others do not.”

The air between us thickened with an electric tension, the kind that sent shivers down my spine. Annatar’s presence was intoxicating, and I could feel the magnetic pull drawing me closer despite my instincts urging caution.

“You speak of partnership,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “but you make it sound so enticing. Yet I can't help but wonder what your true intentions are.”

He took another step closer, our eyes locked, and I could see the depth of his allure reflected in those hazel irises. “My true intentions,” he mused, his tone low, “are to create a future where we both thrive. But I must admit, it is also the challenge of engaging with a spirited human like you that captivates me.”

A warmth spread through me, and I fought to maintain my composure. “You are skilled with your words, Lord Annatar. But I refuse to be charmed into naivety.”

“Charm can be a powerful tool,” he replied, his voice smooth as silk, “but I offer more than mere words. I offer you the chance to change the course of history, to reclaim the alliance with the elves. And I will be by your side, guiding you through the intricacies of this new world.”

My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I was torn between desire and wariness. “And if I choose to trust you? What will that mean for us?”

His smile deepened, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “It would mean we forge a bond stronger than mere politics. A partnership rooted in ambition and, perhaps, something more. Imagine the power we could wield together.”

As his words hung in the air, the tension between us crackled like fire, and I realized that I was teetering on the edge of a choice that could change everything.

As if sensing the tumult of emotions swirling within me, Annatar reached out and gently brushed his fingers against my hand. The touch sent a jolt of warmth through me that made my heart race even faster.

“Imagine what we could accomplish together,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. The contact felt intimate, almost possessive, and it stirred something deep within me.

I looked down at our hands, the contrast between his ethereal grace and my own human warmth. Because deep down the truth was right there: he could survive anything, and I was just human. The risks were bigger to me.

“You make it sound so simple,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly. “But the stakes are too high. I can’t afford to be reckless.”

Annatar’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slightly, closing the distance between us. “Sometimes, taking a risk is the only way to find true strength. Allow yourself to feel, to trust in this moment. We are both drawn to something greater than ourselves.”

His fingers lingered on mine, and I could feel the tension between us shifting, intensifying. The world around us faded, leaving only the two of us in that charged moment. My mind raced with uncertainty, but a part of me yearned to surrender.

“But I built my life being cunning,” I said, my voice steady as I pulled my hand away, creating space between us. “I know how to read people, to see through their games. I know I’m being led on.”

Annatar’s expression shifted slightly, the playful glint in his eyes fading to something more serious. “You are wise to be cautious, especially in a world filled with deception,” he replied, his voice losing its flirtatious edge. “But not all gestures are manipulations. Sometimes, they are simply invitations to explore the possibilities.”

I narrowed my eyes, unwilling to let his charm disarm me completely. “You may speak of possibilities, but I cannot afford to be swayed by mere words. My life has taught me that beauty often hides darkness, and I won’t fall for it again.”

He stepped back, respecting the distance I had created. “I admire your strength,” he said, his tone earnest. “But know this: the greatest alliances are forged through understanding and trust, not fear. You may believe you are the one leading, but there are forces at play far beyond our control.”

“Then prove it,” I challenged, my heart still racing. “Show me that you are more than just a pretty face with a silver tongue. If you truly believe we can achieve something greater together, then earn my trust. I won’t follow blindly, no matter how tempting the offer.”

Annatar studied me for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. “Very well,” he said slowly, a hint of respect in his eyes. “Let us start with transparency. Share your ambitions, your plans for Númenor and the alliance with the elves. And I will do the same. Perhaps then we can determine if our goals truly align.”

I straightened my shoulders, feeling the weight of authority settle over me. “If we are to forge any kind of partnership, it starts with honesty and control, Lord Annatar,” I said, my tone firm. “I won’t allow myself to be dazzled by your charm without understanding what you truly bring to the table.”

Annatar raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering across his features. “You have fire in you, don’t you?” he remarked, his admiration palpable.

“Absolutely,” I replied, my voice unwavering. “My aim is clear: I plan to dethrone Ar-Pharazôn and restore the alliance with the elves. We face a growing darkness, and I refuse to stand by while it threatens us all.”

“Ambitious,” he mused, a hint of admiration in his voice. “But you must realize the dangers of such a pursuit. Ar-Pharazôn is not an easy foe to overcome.”

“That’s where you come in,” I countered, locking my gaze with his. “I need someone who can navigate these treacherous waters, someone who understands the intricacies of elven politics and can help me strategize, just as you said. But this alliance has to be mutual; I can’t afford to trust someone who is merely playing a part.”

Annatar's smile softened, as if he found my assertiveness refreshing. “And what makes you think I would want to play a part? Perhaps I’m genuinely interested in your cause,” he replied, his voice taking on a more earnest tone.

“Prove it,” I challenged, stepping closer, reveling in the power shift. “Show me that you’re willing to stand beside me, not just as an advisor but as a partner who believes in our mission. I need someone who can think on their feet, someone who isn’t afraid to act decisively.”

He regarded me, the playful glint in his eye replaced by genuine interest. “You’re asking a lot. Loyalty in this game is hard to come by.”

“Then earn it,” I said, undeterred. “Be the ally I need, and in return, you’ll find that I’m not just a mere human. I’m cunning, resourceful, and not easily swayed. I can be a formidable force.”

The air between us crackled with tension, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. “You have a way of making things sound… irresistible,” he admitted, his tone shifting to one of vulnerability.

“Then let’s make this irresistible,” I said, my voice lowering as I leaned in closer, capturing his full attention. “You provide the knowledge and insight, and I’ll bring the ambition and will. Together, we can not only reclaim what is ours but reshape the future of both Númenor and the elves of Middle-Earth.”

In that moment, I could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes — an appreciation for my boldness, perhaps even a hint of admiration. He nodded slowly, entranced. “I’ll follow your lead, then. You have my loyalty, númenórean, but know that you’ve captured my interest in more ways than one.”

As I spoke, I felt the air between us thicken with a tension that was both exhilarating and dangerous. “If we’re going to make this work, we need to consider every angle. I have ideas about how to approach the elves, but I need your insights to navigate their intricacies,” I said, my voice steady as I maintained eye contact.

Annatar’s gaze was intense, a spark of something deeper flickering in those hazel depths. “You’re right to think strategically,” he replied, his tone smooth and inviting. “But it’s not just about words. Sometimes, the best plans are forged in action.”

“Forged?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow, but I found myself drawn in by the way he spoke, his voice low and rich.

“Yes,” he said, a slight smile playing on his lips as he gestured for me to follow him. “Let me show you something. There’s a place where ideas take shape, where metal bends to the will of the creator.”

I fell into step beside him, my heart racing, though I hadn’t quite realized where he was leading me. “You think I’m just going to follow you without question?” I challenged lightly, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“Not without question,” he replied, his voice laced with an alluring confidence. “But with curiosity. Trust me; you’ll see.”

As we walked through the winding halls of the fortress, I couldn’t help but admire the way he moved — graceful and commanding, every step calculated yet fluid. His presence seemed to draw me in, and I found myself leaning closer, watching his hair sway gently, smelling his strangely earthy scent.

“Think of it this way,” he continued, his voice a murmur. “The forge is not just about shaping metal; it’s about creating something powerful together. Just like our plans. We can take the raw materials of our ambitions and mold them into something formidable.”

I nodded, my mind racing with the possibilities. “You make it sound so simple,” I said, my voice softer now, barely above a whisper. “But it’s a complex game we’re playing.”

“True, but complexity can be beautiful,” he replied, his gaze lingering on me as if he were studying the very essence of my ambition. “Sometimes, all it takes is a spark to ignite the fire.”

As we reached the entrance to the forge, the heat radiated from within, wrapping around us like a warm embrace. The rhythmic clang of metal against metal resonated through the air, and I felt an unexpected thrill at the thought of what was to come.

Annatar paused, turning to face me, his expression serious yet charged with something else. I took a deep breath, feeling the energy pulsing around us.

He stepped closer, guiding me through the space filled with flickering flames and the scent of heated metal. “Look at this,” he said, gesturing toward a glowing piece of wrought iron, still malleable in the heat.

His proximity sent my heart racing, the heat of the forge mirrored in the heat of his gaze. I met his eyes, feeling the pull between us intensifying as we discussed our plans.

As the conversation flowed, Annatar’s intensity seemed to fill the forge, and he glanced toward the smiths working diligently at their tasks. “You’ll want to see this without distractions,” he said, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and the clang of hammers faded as they exited, leaving just the two of us in the warm, flickering glow of the forge.

I watched them leave, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension settling over me. “What exactly do you have planned?” I asked, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest.

Annatar stepped closer, his presence enveloping me as he reached into a small, intricately carved chest nearby. “Something that represents our potential,” he replied, his voice low and inviting. He opened the chest and revealed a stunning ring, glinting with a deep, mysterious light.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, captivated by the way the light danced across its surface, catching hints of color as if it held secrets of its own. As if it were alive. The band was intricately designed, adorned with delicate patterns that seemed to shift and shimmer in the dim light.

“This ring was crafted for a purpose,” he said, lifting it from the chest with a reverence that made my heart skip a beat. “It symbolizes the bond we can forge — an alliance that can withstand the tests of time and adversity.”

I studied him, feeling the weight of his gaze upon me as he continued. “But it’s more than just a ring; it’s a reminder of the power we can wield together. Imagine the possibilities if we combined our strengths.”

“And what do you expect me to do with it?” I asked, my voice steady but tinged with intrigue. “Wear it like a promise? An oath of loyalty?”

Annatar stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him mingling with the warmth of the forge. “It can be all of that,” he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper as he held the ring up between us. “But more importantly, it signifies trust. Trust in each other, trust in our goals.”

His proximity was intoxicating, and I felt the urge to lean in, to close the distance that remained between us. “Trust is earned, not given,” I reminded him, my heart racing as I locked eyes with him. “You must prove that you are not just a fleeting ally.”

Annatar smiled, a hint of playfulness returning to his expression. “Then let me prove it to you. Allow me to place this ring on your finger, and let it be a testament to what we can achieve together.”

I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing with the implications of such an act. But the allure of the ring and the man before me was too strong to resist.

“Very well,” I said, holding my breath as I extended my hand toward him. “Show me what this alliance means.”

As he gently slipped the ring onto my finger, I felt a rush of energy, a binding connection that intertwined our fates. Annatar’s fingers brushed against my skin, sending a spark through me that ignited a sense of both anticipation and dread. I realized then that this was more than just a promise — it was a pivotal moment that could change everything.

The air crackled with tension as the ring settled on my finger, the weight of it both exhilarating and daunting. I glanced up at Annatar, my heart racing, only to find his gaze locked onto mine, filled with an intensity that made the world around us fade.

He whispered my name, his voice so smooth that seemed to resonate deep within me. “This is just the beginning of what we can create together.”

His proximity felt intoxicating, and as I met his eyes, I could see a flicker of something more than just ambition — something that hinted at desire. The forge, with its flickering flames and the remnants of heated metal, seemed to fade into the background as he stepped even closer, the heat from the fire echoed in the warmth of his presence.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in, closing the distance between us.

My breath caught in my throat, and I felt a rush of vulnerability.

In that moment, the tension reached a breaking point. Annatar’s eyes flickered with a mixture of mischief and sincerity, and before I could process what was happening, he leaned down and captured my lips with his.

The kiss was rushed — soft yet urgent, a mingling of fire and ice that sent shivers down my spine. I felt his hand cup the back of my neck, drawing me closer, deepening the kiss as I instinctively responded. My heart raced, and I was consumed by the moment, the world around us fading into nothingness.

As our lips moved together, I tasted the warmth of his mouth, caressing your tongue with mine. Then I felt his nails sliding down my neck, the promise of something untamed.

Just as I began to melt into the moment, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. “You see?” he said, his breath warm and heavy against my skin. “This is what we can achieve when we trust each other.”

I blinked, still reeling from the kiss, the intensity of it coursing through me. “You know this complicates things,” I replied, trying to regain my composure, though I could feel my cheeks flush.

“Complication can be a catalyst for greatness,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Embrace it. Together, we can harness this power, both politically and... personally.”

I took a deep breath, the gravity of our connection settling over me like a cloak. “Perhaps you’re right,” I admitted, my heart still racing. “But know this, Annatar: I won’t be just another pawn in your game. I will play my part, but I will do so on my terms.”

His eyes gleamed with admiration and something darker, a challenge that hung in the air between us. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, his voice smooth as silk.

His lips pressed against mine again, this time with more urgency. My hands touched his face and slid down to his hair, gripping the strands tightly as if I needed to anchor myself to him.

Annatar's hands slid down my neck, reaching around my back and pulling me closer as if we could have even more contact. I don't know how, but somehow we moved far enough apart to enter an adjoining room with a set of sofas.

Gently sliding his fingers up my silk dress, Annatar pulled me onto his lap as he sat on the couch. My legs spread to trap his body beneath mine. The feeling of a few layers of clothing separating my pussy from his hard cock was delirious.

As I imagine it was for him. A tiny involuntary movement of my hips made Annatar close his eyes with a longing sigh. "Is it one of your plans to end me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," I said, this time intentionally pressing myself against his cock, feeling the heat radiate through the fabric. His breath caught, and a soft groan escaped his lips as he tilted his head back, momentarily lost in the sensation.

I watched him, reveling in the way his features shifted between pleasure and restraint. With a smirk, I leaned closer, letting my lips brush against his pointed ear, teasing him further. “You know, I could be very persuasive if you allow me to be.”

His hands tightened around my waist, fingers digging into the silk of my dress as he pulled me even closer. “Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he replied, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down my spine. “But the question is, how far are you willing to go to achieve your goals?”

“Further than you can imagine,” I breathed, feeling bold as I began to grind against him, the friction igniting a fire within me. Annatar’s breath quickened, and I could feel his body responding to every movement.

His hands roamed up my back, fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And what if I want to distract you from those goals?” he asked, his tone playful yet serious. “What if I want to keep you right here, under my control?”

The challenge in his words only fueled my desire. “You think you can keep me distracted?” I replied, a sly smile on my lips. “You underestimate my determination. But…” I leaned in, letting my lips brush against his once more, lingering just enough to feel he leaning over to seek my lips “I could be persuaded to enjoy this moment a little longer.”

With that, I pressed my lips against his, a slow, deliberate kiss. I felt his tongue entering my mouth, he is a skilled lover, it seems. I responded with equal fervor, deepening the kiss as our mouths moved together.

“Fuck", he whispered against my lips, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs, pulling me even closer, as his other hand caressed my breast, his skilled fingers finding my nipple beneath the silk. “If we continue like this, I won’t be able to focus on anything but you.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” I teased, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, my eyes sparkling with mischief. I quickly untied the ties that held the dress together, pulling the garment over my head and leaving myself dressed only in my underwear made of a transparent purple fabric. My nipples show through the fabric, hard with anticipation.

Annatar’s eyes darkened with lust, and he leaned in, capturing my right nipple between his lips. A moan tore from my throat, I didn't know I was so desperate for his touch.

Without much haste, he gave all his attention to my nipples. Nibbling gently, sucking them hard. I was already very wet and trying to satisfy myself with involuntary movements on his lap when he stopped. I opened my eyes and saw the result of his attention: my breasts marked by purple hickeys, my nipples red and hard and sensitive to the slightest touch.

My breath was already coming in short pants when Annatar took me off his lap, laying me down on the couch without much delicacy. "I've never been with a human, it's interesting how you respond so quickly"

"I've never been with an elve, and I hope you're not that quick." I retorted with a mischievous smile.

Gently pining me back against the plush cushion of the sofa, Annatar’s eyes glinted with mischief and desire. "Of all the things you could say, you just pick the most dangerous one?” he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he sank to his knees before me.

My heart raced as I felt the cool air of the room against my skin, the anticipation sending a thrill through me. He looked up at me, his gaze filled with a mix of reverence and hunger, and I could feel my pulse quickening as he slowly began to push my underwear.

“Let me taste you,” he whispered, his breath warm against my thighs, making me shiver with anticipation as he left soft kisses on my thighs. I could hardly contain myself, the heat pooling low in my stomach as he leaned closer, moving my left leg over his shoulder while one of his hands was busy tracing my poor nipple.

With deliberate slowness, one of his hand He reached between my legs, his thumb easily finding a good place to make gentle circles.

At that moment I felt enormous pleasure not in his movements, nor even in the indecent position, but in his eyes fixed on mine. This act of observing me was more filth than any other.

My bare skin was exposed to his eager mouth. But first, he said "Please", with shining eyes, full of eagerness. How could I deny him?

"Yes", my voice sounded like a wanton whore. It was horrible, it was so fucked up, it was so good.

The sensation of his warm breath against my pussy made me gasp, and I arched my back, craving more.

Annatar looked up at me once more, his expression one of pure devotion. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through me. Then, without another word, he dove in, his mouth capturing me in a way that made my entire body quiver.

I gasped as his tongue flicked against my clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. He was skilled, and he knew exactly how to drive me wild.

“Oh, Annatar,” I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair as I instinctively pushed my hips forward, wanting more of him. “Don’t stop.”

He responded with a growl of his own, his mouth working me with fervor, each motion sending jolts of ecstasy through my body.

When I moved too much I felt a pinch on my nipple as a reprimand, if I behaved I was pleased with a brief pulse of his fingers inside me. It was a game I never lost.

I felt my legs begin to tremble, the pressure building as I was teetering on the edge of bliss. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place as he focused entirely on my pleasure.

“Just like that,” I gasped, my breath hitching as he applied just the right amount of pressure. He knew my body as if he had memorized every curve and contour, every sensitive spot that would send me spiraling into bliss.

I could hardly think, lost in a haze of pleasure as he devoured me, his tongue swirling and teasing with expert precision. The world around me faded.

“Please, I’m so close,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper as the tension within me built to a nearly unbearable peak. Annatar responded by intensifying his efforts, his tongue moving faster, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

He didn’t stop, continuing to lap at me gently, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from my body until I was left breathless, panting.

Then Annatar pulled back, his mouth shining with my arousal, with a satisfied grin. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he looked up at me, two fingers entering me slowly.

I could hardly respond, the intensity of what he done. All I could manage was a breathless smile, my eyes closing to the feeling.

How can someone be so close and yet so far?

Picking me up like a feather, Annatar lifted my hips, adjusting my body into a favorable position for his observation. He was still wearing his tunic and had his pants on underneath, so I took advantage of the moment to remove his clothes. In the middle of removing the ties on his tunic, he kissed me. I felt my taste on his lips more than anything.

"I want to do something," I said, pushing him to sit on the couch. He was still wearing his pants when I sat on his lap.

"Anything" he says.

Motivated, I kissed them as my fingers slid down his abdomen, feeling his muscles and following the path to his groin. He was extremely hard and when I slid my hand inside his pants, I felt that he was much bigger than I expected.

Annatar moaned into the kiss as I pulled his cock and adjusted myself over it, sliding my wet pussy down the length of his member. It was, in fact, much larger than I had expected. It filled me completely and for a moment I stood there waiting to adjust.

Sensing my slight discomfort, Annatar pressed her thumb to my clit. "You're perfect, you take me so good." he whispered.

Beneath his appreciative words and his skillful fingers I moaned. A wave of pleasure overtook me as I moved, riding his cock, feeling Annatar's lips on my neck, my nipples.

It didn't take long for my movements to become erratic, in fact, it happened the moment I felt his pre-cum slip down my pussy and he squeezed my ass against him, forcing his cock even further so he could fit.

Any composure Lord Annatar had was gone. The elve was losing himself in his own pleasure, his hair, which had once been perfectly arranged in a bow, was a mess, with some strands sticking to the sweat on his temple or even to the sweat on my breasts, his mouth red from our kisses, his eyes bright and dilated. He was a vision.

""Make me cum," he demanded, that husky tone not a plea at all. "I want to see my cum dripping out of your pussy."

I opened my mouth, in surprise and also from the sudden thrust he gave his hips so that his upward movement met my downward movement. Reaching behind me, my fingers groped his balls. Caressing them as best I could while my pussy squeezed his cock intermittently.

That was probably the beginning of the end for him.

I watched as he closed his eyes and threw his head back, his lips parted in a gasp. I got even more excited and rode his cock with more determination. "Did you like that?" I murmured, sucking on his exposed neck.

My own orgasm was close, seeing him a mess made something in me tighten. I was in my own world as I shivered and held myself tighter to him, just as he did as he held my body in his arms, his lips on mine, hearing me moan in torture. I felt more than anything his hot cum, his cock throbbing in my pussy.

When it was over, we didn’t do much. He held me and let us both fall sideways onto the couch, holding me close. When our breathing had evened out, Annatar brought my hand, the one with the ring on it, to his lips.

"I think we are equally persistent in our persuasion," he said, an exhausted smile on his face.

#mmgwritings #tolkien im so sorry honey #the rings of power #annatar x reader #annatar smut #sauron x reader #halbrand x reader

118 notes · View notes