#so there's this weird guilt on top of the Wanting Of Things that i'm not really enjoying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randomshyperson · 8 months

Text

Fluorescent Adolescent - Heart Shaped Series

Chapter Summary: Layla's presence brings back some ghosts from your past and for the first time, you want to include Wanda in everything.

Warnings: Typical canon violence, mentions of blood, stitches, and pregnancy nausea, talking about abusive environments (innuendo of different forms of exploration), mild angsty with a bit of comedy as well, some Blackhill drama too | Words: 6.935k

A/N-> This chapter is a bit longer but I tried to put more characters background on it. I know it's late, I've been struggling with my writer's block, but it's finally here. I'm also sorry there's no smut on this one, but the chapter mood was not a sexy one. We will be back to our normal schedule I promise. Also, the extra chapter with their first kiss is almost ready as well! So hopefully, the next update won't take that long.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Series Masterlist

-&-

“Do you really have to do that?”

The question drew a confused laugh from you. With your hands busy with a first aid kit borrowed from Natasha, you can only offer a look to your girlfriend.

"Yes?"

But Wanda snorted stubbornly, crossing her arms before stopping in the doorway of the bathroom in Black Widow's room, who was standing outside with the rest of the team. You were supposed to go back outside right away before Layla had a nervous breakdown at being left with the entire Avengers team while you grabbed the kit to fix your own reaction to seeing her and ending up hurting her.

"I just don't understand why you have to do the bandage. Can't you ask Nat or any of them?" Wanda insisted, sounding very irritated and you had no idea why.

"Well, Layla only trusts me of all the people present and I'm the one who threw her against a snack machine." You half-heartedly explain the whole thing. "If you'll excuse me, sweetheart."

Wanda gave you the room but did so with a grimace that you would probably try to understand later. She's been acting so weird ever since your partner arrived, but Layla's presence is making you worried enough. You'd talk to Wanda after you understood exactly what the other woman was doing here.

Outside, and in the outer courtyard that was more isolated from the rest of the motel, Layla was sitting at one of the tables with the Avengers doing a poor job of disguising the fact that they were on alert for her. Sitting down, her jacket was laid beside her, and she was wearing a tank top that exposed the redness of her new bruise and made you groan low in guilt. Wanda, who hadn't left your trail since Layla appeared, glared at you as soon as she caught the sound.

For the witch, she didn't see the bruise but the beautiful woman with well-defined muscles, a tight tank top and curls that made her look even more attractive than before. And you, who apparently had a long-term relationship with the curly woman and were friendly enough for her to come looking for you.

You didn't even notice the look Wanda gave you, busy opening the kit and mumbling apologies to Layla in Arabic that made Wanda spend the next few minutes imagining you learning another language just to talk to your friend.

She was so distracted by her own neuroses that she didn't notice Natasha approaching, and leaning on the pillar she was also resting on.

"Wow, if looks could kill..." teased the widow, but Wanda snorted lowly, ignoring the phrase and trying to pretend she wasn't watching you pull whatever piece of glass the machine left behind in Layla's back, while you whispered apologies to her for it.

Natasha chuckled at the witch's expression and wasn't intimidated by her aggressive attitude. It surprised her that Wanda, a moment later, was the one who started the conversation.

"Do you think they seem close?"

You had just pressed a cotton pad with alcohol on Layla's wound, and because you were sitting next to her, the woman, grunting in pain, instinctively grabbed your thigh.

Nat raised an eyebrow.

"I bet you ten bucks they've slept together." Replied the widow, and Wanda grunted in disgust before turning away from the scene. Natasha giggled. "Hey, I'm joking."

"Whatever, I'd better get out of here before I blow something up." Muttered the witch in a frown, practically running away from the scene.

Natasha sighed, regretting having taken the provocation too far. She took one last look at you and Layla before turning back to Steve and Sam on the other side of the courtyard.

You were just finishing sewing the few stitches on Layla's shoulder when she called your attention.

"Sorry, I promise I'm almost done-"

"It's not that, يا حلو (sweetie)." She interrupts gently. "I don't think your girlfriend likes me."

You smile, unable to take your eyes off the stitches you're closing. "Don't be silly, Wanda doesn't know you well enough." You retort. " She'll need at least a few days not to like you."

Layla chuckles, pinching you gently for the joke. You finish the stitches next, and as you assess the work to make sure they won't open, she speaks again.

"I've been looking for you." Layla's tone is a little upset, and it surprises you. You look at her, but she continues to stare at the team from a distance. "I thought you might have been kidnapped. Or even killed. I almost went to Valentina to ask." You swallow, ready to apologize when Layla finally looks at you. "And all this time you've been playing superhero with your new friends?"

"Layla, it's nothing like that."

"So what's it like?" She demands with a hard stare. You sigh, hesitating about taking it all in like that, and Layla studies you intently. When she speaks again, it's in another language that she hopes no prying ears can understand. "هل هي مهمة أخرى؟ (Is it another assignment)?"

You look back at Natasha talking to Sam and of course she would know Arabic, but she didn't really seem to be paying attention to the conversation.

Either way, you face Layla and and denies it with your head. You sigh once more before forcing a smile at her. "I'm not here on business."

Layla doesn't seem to believe your words. "Come on, I'm not going to torment you if your girlfriend asked you to steal something for them." She shrugged. "I even heard that they're being treated like criminals now. Decided to act on their own, huh?"

You don't answer right away. You occupy your hands with the bloodstained cotton and the needle thread, saving what can be reused, like the alcohol, and throwing away the rest.

When you return to the table where Layla is still exchanging hard looks in the direction of the Avengers, you lean over to talk to her.

"Valentina didn't send me here." You say. "Like I said, it's not about work. Me and Wanda, we're together for real."

Despite the tense exchange between her and the rest of the team, excitement shines through her irises and she looks at you with wide, surprised eyes, a smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, you didn't say."

You chuckle shyly, looking away from your colleague. "Shut up."

"No, I mean it." She giggles. "Damn, I think I owe Xu Xialing some money." You frown in confusion, and Layla sighs. "She bet you'd put a ring on it before the end of the year, and here we are."

Your ears heat up, but you roll your eyes. "I can't believe you bet on me."

Layla chuckles, gently bumping her good shoulder against yours. "Come on, what do you expect from the founder of the Golden Daggers? She breathes gambling. You got really drunk after the last championship and started whining about how much you missed your little Sokovian witch. I wasn't expecting to owe Xialing 20,000 Yuan either, but here we are."

It's your turn to laugh, covering your face for a moment. "And how is she? Xu Xialing?"

Layla snorts softly, shrugging. "Honestly, I have no idea. But if the club is still standing, then she must be fine."

"You should visit her."

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you." Layla retorts somewhat ironically, and you hesitate, looking away. "What? Why are you acting so weird?"

You chuckled weakly, trying to gather your courage. Finally, you take a deep breath and say. "I'm not going to do these things anymore, Layla. Nothing we did together. Robberies, fights, the club. None of it. I want out."

But it doesn't take Layla by surprise. She remains silent before looking away.

"I guess I expected that."

You frown. "Really?"

Layla chuckles, looking at you again. "Yeah. Since the day you arrived from Italy, acting so... quirky."

"I wouldn't use that word."

"I thought it would be rude to call you a simp."

You chuckle, shaking your head. Layla laughs too, before leaning her good shoulder against yours. It's an affectionate gesture, which she used to do a lot when you were on long robberies and so exhausted that the world would stop making sense. The touch was a way of anchoring each other back to reality.

"You could have told me." She says gently, even if the words hide a certain disappointment.

You swallow, looking down at your shoes. "I was afraid, I guess." You mumble, and she frowns in confusion. You sigh sadly. "I'm not good with these things, Layla. You're my work partner. I thought, if I'm not working anymore, I'll lose you. I just... didn't want that. It was easier not saying anything."

Layla reaches over to entwine her arm in yours and take your hand. "You're an idiot."

"Thanks." You mumble, but she chuckles, squeezing your fingers for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." She says and you look at her curiously. She sighs. "For giving you the impression that we were just work colleagues. You're my friend. You've always been my friend."

You smile, ignoring the sudden urge to cry.

"I'm sorry I didn't call." You mumble. "I didn't want to worry you."

"Nah, it's fine." She assures you with a smile. "It's like Bulgaria all over again. I should have waited for backup, but all I ended up doing was calling you for help. I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that you got me out of that basement wearing the Chief of Government's face." You chuckle nostalgically at the story of what was probably the moment when your friendship and partnership with Layla was settled.

"You want to get even? Tell Valentina about me." It's supposed to be a joke, but it immediately makes Layla tense up.

She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly there's a backpack slamming into her lap.

"Your things are in one piece again." It's Wanda, angry and with red eyes that make Layla frown with some concern. The remnants of her magic leaving the backpack also signal that Wanda has repaired anything broken by the impact earlier. "You can leave now."

You only realized you were still holding Layla's hand because Wanda was looking directly at it. It was your friend who let go first, chuckling weakly at the whole thing while you tried to understand exactly why Wanda seemed about to murder someone.

"Thanks for fixing my stuff, but I still have a few things to discuss with my partner." Layla replies with a shrug, her backpack in her hands. "I'll get something to eat first, I'm starving."

But Wanda steps forward. "There are some great restaurants on the road."

The curly gives a confused snort at the hostility, but you get to your feet before your friend ends up giving a rude answer to a witch who could do a lot worse than push her against a snack machine.

You enter Wanda's field of vision, and much of the fury disappears from her gaze.

"Hey, can we talk?" You ask, and the witch gives the thief one last angry look before allowing herself to be taken to a far corner of the courtyard. You sigh softly as soon as you're alone with her. "What was that all about, Wanda?"

She crosses her arms, her jaw clenched. It's so unfair that Wanda always finds ways to make herself more attractive.

"You told me you didn't have any friends, but you seem very close to that woman."

You hesitate, and that doesn't help your situation. Wanda narrows her eyes at you, and you try not to look intimidated under her red irises.

"It's complicated."

" It's better not to be, darling, because if she touches you again I swear I'll-"

"Wow, you're jealous." You interrupt her sentence as you realize it, a laugh escaping you. "Holy shit, you really are."

Wanda doesn't reply, rolling her eyes and looking away, but you stare at her with a certain intensity.

"No one's ever been jealous of me before." You confess quietly, and despite the color in her cheeks, she looks at you with irritation.

"Stop it." She retorts. "That's not a good thing. You shouldn't try to look on the bright side, I'm not… “ She takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm her nerves. Then, she tries to smile. “I'm just being silly. You should say that."

You chuckle. One of your hands moves up to brush the rebellious strands of hair out of front of her eyes.

"Alright, I'll try. Wanda, you're being silly. There's no reason to be jealous. Better? I kinda sound like those movie characters."

Wanda grunted in frustration, hiding her face in your chest afterward. "It's not fair." She mutters, her voice muffled in your clothes as your hands wrap around her shoulders. "She was all over you, and I can't even be mad at you for being clueless."

You sigh, without breaking the embrace, trying to explain further:

"It was a friendly gesture, I promise. It's nothing like when we hold hands. When Layla and I would go on missions together, sometimes we'd spend so long hiding, rationing food while injured, that we'd start to get a little crazy. The touch would ground us again. She reached out to my hand because I told her I wasn't going to work with her anymore."

Wanda breaks the embrace to look at you. "Because you're staying with me."

You smile and nod. "That's right, darling. Just like I promised."

The witch sighs, sinking her face into your chest again for a long moment. You don't mind and stroke her hair until Wanda ignores the insecurities that have arisen and relies only on you.

She's still hugging you when she mutters: "I'm sorry for snapping at your friend. I'll apologize to her too."

"It's okay, I doubt Layla took it to heart." You mutter, and Wanda breaks the hug to look you in the eye.

"What does she still have to discuss with you?" The witch asked more seriously, with a different kind of concern rather than jealousy now.

You force a smile. "Let's find out."

The new information you passed on to Layla about running away seemed to have some kind of effect on her because when you and Wanda found her again, she was chatting amiably with the rest of the Avengers. Wanda had the impression that Sam was actually flirting with her and felt some weight leave her shoulders even though you had assured her that there was nothing between you.

With the most sympathetic exchange between Layla and the rest of the team, she was invited to stay - Of course, she didn't miss the opportunity to make a few jokes on earth mighty heroes having lunch with criminals, but everyone took it as a joke. And shortly after eating, Wanda noticed that the two of you exchanged a look that meant it was time to talk.

She was ready to deal with her own jealous insecurities when you, who had been by her side all lunch, leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Come on, love, let's go for a walk with Layla." It's an invitation, not just to talk, but to a part of your life that Wanda has never seen. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to control her anxiety, and it helps a little by the look of reassurance that Natasha throws her from across the table.

Layla, now with the bandage securely sewn up, is wearing a jacket again and dark glasses that make her look too cool even for the fugitive Avengers.

Wanda wishes she wasn't so nice and clever in her jokes and comments during lunch either, so it would be easier to hate her.

So far, she has only been able to understand exactly why you were friends.

"I gotta catch a bus, come on." Layla says as soon as you're on your feet. There's no bigger goodbye for the Avengers than a nod, and it makes sense since despite the polite exchange, they're not friends and Layla is still on the wanted list.

You keep your hand intertwined with Wanda's, and at a slow pace, you accompany Layla to the nearest bus stop.

"It's quite of sad you couln't get a car, my friend." You tease, earning a short laugh from Layla. Even though you can't see behind her glasses, you're sure she rolled her eyes.

"I couldn't bring my bike straight here from across the globe, and I wasn't going to attract unwanted attention by stealing a new one." She explains casually. "Besides, there's decent public transportation around here." She winks at you and Wanda. "I will survive."

You reach the bus stop on the corner, it's completely empty but that's not atypical for a corner motel in an isolated place.

Wanda decides to sit on one of the benches, and even though you're standing, you don't occupy her view or try to exclude her from the conversation. You lean against one of the railings and cross your arms, offering Wanda a small smile before facing Layla.

"So, Miss El-Faouly, how fucked am I?"

She chuckles, shaking her head.

"I told you, Valentina doesn't know you ran away." She retorts. "Not yet."

You sigh, and Wanda bites the inside of your cheek. She has so many questions, but you think it's best not to interrupt.

"What does she know?"

Layla shrugs. "She probably thinks you're having another morality crisis." The woman retorts, stealing a few glances down the street. "You've been away before. A few times on vacation, yes? But she'll know what you're up to if you don't come back soon."

You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You laugh humorlessly. "Actually, I've just missed the deadline. It's Tuesday, which means that officially, this is my longest period without contact after a mission. I guess she hadn't come to me yet because what I picked up in Greece arrived in the mail."

Wanda doesn't ask - not about what you were stealing before you joined her. The connection, the freshly healed bullet wound you had when you arrived. She knew you were working.

Layla steals a glance at the witch before clearing her throat.

"What if... you came back?" Your expression hardens immediately, but Layla clarifies; "Just to talk to Valentina, Y/N."

"No, Layla."

"She'll make things more difficult if she knows you've just left. You know that. If only-"

"It's out of the question."

"God, why are you being so stubborn?" Layla replies a little impatiently, her eyes studying you. "Your superhero girlfriend will be fine for a few days without you!"

"Layla." You cut in more seriously, and the girl snorts angrily but doesn't insist. Exchanging a glance with Wanda, you soften your tone. "I'm not leaving her, Layla. I can't, it's not right. Wanda, she... she's pregnant."

Layla widens her eyes, looking between the two of you in shock. "What? Really? And it's yours?"

You and Wanda choke at the same time. With her ears slightly reddened, she gives your friend a deadly stare. "Of course it is!"

The thief shakes her head quickly. "I didn't mean it like that!" She tries quickly. "I just... I didn't know you could, Y/N."

You sigh wearily. "I can transform into any Caborn-based form and you think I'm unlikely to have children?"

But Layla rolls her eyes, suddenly a little hesitant. "That's not what I meant either." She mutters. "I just assumed... you couldn't. Not after all they've done to you..."

But you clear your throat, get to your feet and Layla falls silent. Wanda frowns in curiosity at the interaction, but you're delivering something to your friend.

"Here, for Lagaro. For all the trouble." You hand over your watch and Layla grimaces.

"And my trouble?"

You chuckle. "Af if you weren't dying to see me."

Wanda clears her throat, and you take a step away from Layla before your girlfriend loses her temper again. The curly doesn't notice, busy putting your watch back in her pocket and checking the street again.

"Lagaro will be happy to know you're not dead, Y/N. Not just with the watch." Your friend comments and you nod, moving closer to Wanda to rest one of your arms on her shoulder. You're trying to relax the tension that has arisen there. When Layla looks at you again, her expression is more serious. "Think about what I said. I understand why you can't leave her, I really do. I guess it's the same idea with Marc disappearing to protect me."

You smile. "Marc disappears because he's an idiot, you should have married someone more... present." Layla raises her middle finger at you, but Wanda suddenly feels very silly knowing that all this time, your friend was married.

There's a bus approaching on the corner, Layla sighs as she sees it stop at a red light. She then offers you two a smile.

"Despite the circumstances, I'm really happy for you both." She assures you with sparkling eyes. "Just... be safe, darling. Okay?"

As she hugs you, she whispers something that Wanda doesn't hear and has to ignore the instinct to ask. She doesn't want to pry, but she feels so curious that she almost uses her powers to find out.

Instead, she also says goodbye to Layla and the two of you watch the woman get on the bus and leave.

Once you're alone, you entwine your hands together again and give Wanda a small smile.

"I can almost hear the gears in your mind working, baby." You tell her gently, and Wanda sighs. "You know you can ask me anything, don't you?

She nods, before looking around to see the growing number of lunchtime passers-by. With another sigh, she faces you.

"Let's go back inside."

It's a silent, tense walk back. You can sense that Wanda is nervous, and you fear that she's insecure again, about trusting you, about feeling left out.

The Avengers are no longer outside, whether they're back in their own rooms or out for a walk, you don't need to give any excuses about Layla's quick farewell.

Wanda enters first, and as you close the door, she crosses her arms and waits in the center of the room.

With a sigh, you speak first. "Come on, darling, ask me anything you want." You try to sound as gentle as you can, yet Wanda seems very nervous.

"I've spent so much time studying you. Your missions, your deeds, your disguises." She begins. "Still, I feel like I don't know anything."

"Well, that's because I'm good at what I do." Wanda looks at you seriously and you sigh, forcing yourself to act more serious about the whole thing. "Sweetheart, you know me. You know me more than anyone else."

You try to touch her cheek, but Wanda pulls away. "You say that, but I don't think it's true." She fights back annoyed. "I didn't even know about Layla. What else are you hiding?"

You frown in surprise at the accusation. But instead of starting a fight, you swallow dry. "I wasn't hiding. This is hard for me. I can't just dump my life on you. Sharing... doesn't come naturally to someone like me."

Wanda looks down, a little uncertain. "I just want you to trust me."

"And I do." You assure her, stepping forward to touch her shoulders. This time, she almost melts into your touch. "Look at me, I've been an wanted criminal for as long as I can remember, but I'm here, in a hotel surrounded by avengers, just to be with you. I want to be with you, no matter the risk, no matter what. Not only do I trust you, but I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? You not knowing all the details of my past, of my work, doesn't make it any less true."

Wanda takes a deep breath and lets her forehead fall to yours. You stroke her shoulders, thinking about breaking the distance when suddely she moves away.

"You really have to go, don't you?" She asks with tears in her eyes, and you feel your stomach sink. You shake your head immediately, but something in your gaze makes Wanda's tears start to fall.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Y/N."

"I'll find another way." You assure her, but she turns her back, wiping her face and sitting down on the bed. Wanda hugs her own body and you let your arms fall by your sides. Seeing her cry is always the worst, and for a second, you let your anger get the better of you. "What? Do you want me to leave by any chance?"

Wanda lets out a tearful laugh. "Don't do that."

You snort angrily. "I'm telling you that I want to stay, that I am going to stay. And you're crying, as if you're sure I'm going to leave. I don't like being called a liar, Wanda."

She shakes her head. "Stop."

"No, you stop. I'm telling you something, but you're acting as if I'm going to abandon you. As if you were sure. Do you really think so little of me?"

Wanda chokes, raising pleading eyes to you.

"Of course not!" she retorts. "Don't say that."

The seriousness in her gaze makes you feel ashamed that you'd even considered such a thing. You prepare to apologize, but Wanda speaks again.

"It's your thoughts." She mutters, now she's the one who looks ashamed as she gazes at the floor. "Your mind is screaming that. You're so worried, I can easily hear it."

"Wanda, I...

"It's okay." She cuts in with a tearful voice. "I'm not angry, I think I get it. You don't want to put me in danger, but I'd like you to understand that you don't have to worry about it. I can protect us both."

You chuckle weakly, looking down at your feet. "That sounds lovely, but the last time I left you, you ended up in the Raft, darling. I don't want that to happen ever again."

"And it won't."

"You don't know that." You retort, moving closer to kneel in front of her. Your hands search for hers. "I won't leave you again, Wanda. Not like I used to do to get back to work. We're in this together. Can you please believe me?"

Wanda lets go of one of her hands to stroke the loose strands of hair away from your face. "Why is it so hard for you to get away from Valentina?" She asks, and the red irises explain why she can read the insecurities in your mind. You hesitate, but when you make a move to pull away, the grip on your hand tightens. "What's different between escaping her and escaping Hydra?"

But the hesitation in your eyes turned to confusion. "Escape Hydra? Wanda, I've never escaped them."

It was then her turn to be confused. "B-but I thought... your records. You haven't worked with Strucker for years. I assume-"

"That I just left them? Like you did?" You add, suddenly upset. Wanda says nothing and allows you to let go of her hand to sit down next to her on the bed. You sigh before speaking again. "I never ran away from Hydra, Wanda. My program was a success. And because of that fact, Strucker was allowed to command yours." You say, without meeting her gaze, your hands fiddling with the loose threads of your jeans. "Even if he made mistakes, even if volunteers kept dying, he could still be in charge. Because it worked for me, so it would work for others."

"What happened to you?" she risks asking and you sniffle.

"What happens to valuable merchandise, of course." You reply darkly. "I was sold." Wanda chokes softly, but you force a sad smile and keep talking. "I was 10, maybe younger. The program was complete, Strucker decided it was time to show off his new triumph. At his request, I created my first fixed identity at that time, to make it easier to find clients. To have a trademark, I guess. But with each buyer, they wanted something different. The Slayer, Mighty Samuel, Scorpion, Dark Diamond, any weird name they wanted. Any face they needed. For any service they paid for." The way your jaw tenses makes Wanda understand what is hidden between your words. Everything that was left out of the Shield and Avengers files, simply because they didn't know you were all those people.

Wanda reaches for your hand, interlacing your fingers together. "If it's too painful, you don't have to talk about it."

You squeeze back, shaking your head. "No, it's fine. I can talk about it, it's been a while. And Val, hm, she put me in therapy for a while. So I could talk about the program, my past, for her records."

"Tell me about her." Wanda asks because this doesn't just sound like a contractor and employee relationship. You sigh, nodding.

"I was 16 when the CIA caught up with me. It was no challenge, of course. But the agent who found me, Valentina Fontaine, had intel on me. At the time, Hydra and Shield shared the same name, so I couldn't tell who was a friend so easily. But Valentina? Oh, she knew a lot. She didn't care about the coats of arms one would wear, she just had a particular interest in special individuals. But she didn't approve of the way I was being enslaved. Barbaric she called. She charmed me, so, so easily. She was always very good with words. Manipulative. She got me to take her to my owner at the time, said she would give me my freedom." You sighed tiredly. "But when I took her to him, the rest of her team revealed themselves. They killed anyone who tried to fight and imprisoned the rest. My master, my boss." You correct yourself as you feel Wanda complains about the title. "He swore he was going to kill me for the betrayal. So Val shot him in front of me, and said that from then on, I owed her my life."

"You don't owe her anything. You know that, don't you?" Wanda retorts immediately, but you move uncomfortably as if the idea was already craved in your mind, and remind Wanda of how Bucky feels about the Winter Soldier and everything Hydra has put him through.

"I can think about it rationally, but practically? No, it's not that simple." You murmur, adjusting yourself to turn your whole body towards Wanda, your fingers playing with hers. "Valentina didn't use me, not like the others did. She bought me a place, gave me a name." You laugh weakly. "Of course, she couldn't say she'd got me in a dirty shed in Madripoor. No, she had to lie. She let me be Lady Fontaine, a distant relative of hers. She paid me very well for any service. I could travel wherever I wanted, have my own teams. I was free."

"As long as you kept working for her."

You swallow, agreeing. "Yeah, as long as I kept doing the job." You mutter. "But for someone like me, the life I had before, the deal was not bad, not at all. The whole sense of freedom. But then... I met you. Suddenly all those expensive things I could buy, all the adrenaline of a new robbery, everything stopped making sense if I didn't have you by my side.”

Wanda smiles tenderly, leaning in to steal a kiss from you. It's quick, but deep enough to make you sigh against her lips.

"Nothing and no one will ever keep us apart again, detka. I promise." Wanda whispers, her arms going to your shoulders so she can hug you and sit on your lap. You melt into the warm sensation, hugging her back with the same intensity.

It takes you by surprise, of course, and a moment later, Wanda hurries away.

"Is something wrong?" But she's already stumbling out of bed, running for the bathroom. "Wanda?" You barely get to your feet and hear her throwing up. First, your body goes into full alert, and then you sigh and relax as you remember: Pregnant girlfriend.

When you reach the door, it slams shut in your face, still shining with red magic. You chuckle.

"Don't come in here. It's disgusting." Wanda grumbles from inside, but you shake your head in disbelief and open the door, reaching up to hold her hair, calming any protests with a caress on her back as Wanda flushes all her lunch down the toilet.

"Can I run you a hot bath?" you suggest, still holding her hair. Wanda nods weakly, and you smile briefly.

You walk away to the bathtub while hoping that her state is enough for her not to notice your racing thoughts about keeping a pregnant woman in those conditions.

-&-

Wanda gets shot in the stomach. You wake up with a jolt.

The motel room is poorly lit, and you realize you've fallen asleep sitting up. Wanda sleeps deeply beside you, and you sigh before leaving the bed.

The bathroom light is the only one on in the room and gives away the previous activities - Wanda's nauseated state for almost the entire night. Perhaps the events were the reason for your nightmares.

Knowing that your girlfriend would easily notice your discomfort and end up waking up due to the nature of her powers, you left the room to get some air, and maybe push those thoughts away.

Given the time of night, the motel was quiet. But the figure smoking on the balcony made you take a deep breath.

"Hi, Nat."

The widow wasn't startled, she'd probably heard you coming out. She mumbled the greeting back, taking a long drag before offering the item to you. Your response was a dismissive nod.

"Sorry about the smoke." She says, and you scratch your eyes for a moment, shrugging in a sign that you weren't really bothered by it.

The next moment, you ask: "Rough night?"

Natasha gives a small laugh. "You have no idea." She retorts, attracting your curiosity. But the concern in her eyes is for Wanda's safety, she realizes, and quickly clarifies: "Nothing affecting your little witch, relax."

Despite feeling a weight leave your shoulders, you adjust your body towards the widow. "I know we're not friends and that this is a situation of necessity, but I'm grateful for the way you're keeping us safe. If there's anything I can do to help you with your problem, please don't hesitate to ask."

The sincerity of the words surprised her for a moment. And then, after another swallow, Nat laughs lightly and comments: "If you have any solution for a broken heart, I'll take it."

You frown, absorbing her words for a moment. Nat almost immediately looks away, busy smoking as if hoping that the cigarette would take away all the pain she was feeling. Your mind is racing with all the things you've been entrusted with about the widow, be it work-related or the little socializing of the last few months.

You don't have enough to know exactly what Natasha is saying, but it occurs to you that she must really need to speak to someone about it, at least enough to mention it to you.

"What happened?"

The next laugh that escapes her is a sad one. "Nothing you can fix it."

"I wasn't intending to anyway." You respond gently, offering her a smile. "I'm just here to listen. If you need to talk to someone."

"I have people to listen to me, thank you." She snaps back, and you sigh tiredly before stepping away from the edge.

You nod and retort; "All right, Romanoff, sorry for intruding." And you turn away, heading for the stairs.

But from the balcony, Nat only lets you go down two steps before saying; "I was engaged. Past tense." And you raise a frown in surprise at her, only for Nat to sigh, looking like she's going to burst into tears at any moment. "Like I said, it's nothing you can help me with."

But you rest your waist on the railing and keep looking up. "I'm sorry, the Captain is an asshole-"

"What?" Nat cuts you off with a grimace. "I wasn't talking about Steve!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed you two-" But Nat bursts into laughter, and you shut up. It's better that she's laughing than crying anyway.

Wiping away tears of laughter, she shakes her head. "I understand why Wanda likes you. Your cluelessness is hilarious."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Nat chuckles briefly, taking one last drag before putting out her cigarette. She rests her elbows on the edge and looks down at you.

"Agent Hill was my fiancée." She explains, more gently than before. "We had a plan. One that didn't involve me switching sides and ending up fleeing across Europe."

You offer Nat a look of understanding. She sighs, looking away so you don't see her tears.

"Let me guess, Miss Hill believes you prioritized the Avengers over the life you planned together?"

Nat chuckles humorlessly, humming in agreement. She looks at you again with watery eyes. "Don't you think she's right?"

You sigh. "I think things are more complicated than that."

"They certainly are." Nat mutters tiredly. She swallows dryly, pushing her own emotions away before looking at you with a certain determination. It's going to be about you now. "How long are you going to keep this up, Y/N?"

It's your turn to sigh and cross your arms. Your gaze wanders away. Natasha decides to press.

"There are hundreds of bounties on you." She says. "You've annoyed too many people."

"I know."

"And Wanda needs to see a doctor-"

"Natalia." You cut her off, and her given name catches her off guard. She falls silent, staring at you intently. You sigh. “"I'll go where Wanda goes. No more leaving. I'm tired of running away."

Natasha remains quiet and thoughtful for a long moment. When she suddenly laughs dryly and offers you the cigarette again, you think it's best to accept.

"I think I just got Maria's point." She mumbles in annoyance, and you're a little taken aback by the tears in her eyes. But you try to take a drag on the cigarette, and start coughing, and it works to make Nat laugh and help you instead of crying. She takes the cigarette back, and gives you one last pat on the back, her hand staying in place instead of moving away. "That girl loves you with all her heart, Y/N. She'll follow you if you ask her to, so I beg you, make your decisions with your head, not your heart. Don't put her in danger that you can't protect her from."

You look at Nat. "Do you think that's what you're doing for Maria? Protecting her?"

"This isn't about Maria and me."

But you pull away from Nat's touch, looking at her hard. "I think it is." You insist seriously. "I can't protect Wanda from anything, and I don't need to. She's infinitely more powerful than I am. And I certainly won't be plotting decisions without her. If she decides to leave with me, that's her choice. Not any of yours, and maybe that's the problem with the Avengers, huh? You have a bad habit of putting your members in no-win situations."

Nat forces a smile. "Yes, we're the ones who are wrong not to want Wanda running around with a thief." She ironizes it, and you swallow, your gaze tired and disappointed. Nat is upset, and well, you're the easiest target here. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. "Excuse me, for not wanting her in Madripoor, surrounded by the Chinese Mob!"

You sniffle lightly, shaking your head. "Do you know who's in Madripoor, Natalia? Your old colleague, Sharon Carter. The one who sacrificed her career for what you and Steve did. The one who was abandoned by you two without hesitation. Just like Clint did it, for whom Wanda's twin brother died and for whom she accepted this position. He abandoned her without looking back. Because that's what the Avengers do for each other, isn't it?" you retort angrily. "But I am the villain. I'm the one who stays and takes care of Wanda no matter what and makes her my priority, and I'm still the wrong one. Even though I'm not the one who let her end up in a fucking straitjacket, locked up like an animal!"

You don't realize you're screaming, but for a whole moment, all you can see is that damn newspaper photo of how Wanda looked, how she was captured. Nat's cheeks are wet, but she doesn't lose her posture.

You chuckle humorlessly. "You've got a damn nerve acting like you're better than me, Romanoff. Especially you."

"Don't go there." She warns with a dangerous look, but you shake your head.

"What would be the point?" You retort. "I'm over the past, but I can't say the same for you. You're pushing Agent Hill away because you're afraid of who you were, you're afraid that anger is still there. You're not giving Maria the choice to love you completely. And I'm not going to make the same mistake with Wanda."

With one last hard look at Nat, you turn to leave. Deciding that you need to take a walk and calm your nerves before going back to your room.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #heart shaped series #wanda maximoff series

323 notes · View notes

jooniperbonsai · 8 months

Text

Thanks For The Sub (ksj) | Chapter One

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Chapter One length: 11-14k 18,371 (OOPS LOL)

Release date: Fri. January 19, 2024.

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: After a clip of you sucking at video games goes viral, you've become somewhat famous, with thousands of subscribers now tuning in each week to see you play. Overnight, you've gone from a sexually frustrated grad student who reads smut in her room to a gamer girl (or rather, a not-gamer girl). This would have been the perfect job, except it was never the job you wanted. Desperate for money to pay for grad school, you bounce between your new gig and working at a local restaurant to pay the bills, where your hot coworker-now-boss Seokjin plays many of the lead roles in your sexual fantasies.

Seokjin, two years post losing his fiancé and job within the same day, is tired of the rut he's dug himself into and wants to start over. Now 30 years old, he's stuck managing his family's restaurant where he harbors an insanely inappropriate crush on you on top of carrying one hell of a secret: Seokjin is also known as Jin, a successful gay-for-pay camboy on the streaming site Worldwide Handsome.

When the stress of the upcoming semester and the pressure to stream becomes more than you can handle, you seek out some much-needed stress relief online, only to discover a man who looks a little too much like your boss is staring right back at you.

Warnings for Chapter One: Swearing, cheating (not between main characters), big age gap between lesser characters that can be uncomfy, sex work, gay sex work when the worker is actually not gay (but everyone is chill about it), <- allusions to queer fetishization bc of this, feelings of shame and guilt, feelings of failure/depression, improper restaurant safety procedures, the existential crisis of your late-20s/30s that we all seem to go through, off-handed references to kpop culture including fanfics because I'm a clown and need to call us out sometimes, silly literary tropes, references to pregnancy (NOT reeader), boss-employee power dynamics, allusions to queer BTS members or relationships, cameos of au Seventeen Members (Wonwoo and y/n are besties). NSFW sex stuff: big dick Seokjin (of course), Seokjin with rolled shirt sleeves and cutting things in a kitchen, Daddy Dom Seokjin makes himself known, blindfolds, camming (obviously), f/m masturbation, lots of dirty talk, sex toys, degradation kink, praise kink, sexual fantasies at the worst moment, kink exploration, a lot cum (sorry), I mention the omegaverse as a joke, a sparkly pink dildo, seokjin has a massive collection of toys and he intends to use them, seokjin and reader are constantly horny, reader is kind of inexperienced, implied exhibitionism kink, implied voyeurism, implied public sex.

a/n: it's here (and longer than I intended but oh well!) this fic is inspired by a combination of fics from the lovely writing community on here, the copious amounts of smut I read, a dabble of my friends or my own experience, & the high drama of kdramas. I felt really compelled to write this fic after rereading "tip 143 (for ∞ seconds of love)" by minilouvre on ao3. I feel like the camboy/person trope is so fun to explore and I wanted to try my own take on it with our Seokjin, who doesn't seem to get as many fics written about him but absolutely deserves it. I also wanted to create space for a fic that explores the weird transition of late 20s-30s that both BTS and I (and maybe many of you) have experienced in the last few years. I hope you enjoy! I keep my inbox open, so lmk your thoughts!

xo - h

That’s it baby cum for me.

Such a good little slut for Daddy.

Wish that dildo was my cock.

Fuck this is so hot.

The tip jar was going wild. The mute button tapped long ago, tonight was by far the most successful night camming Seokjin had ever had. He would definitely be able to afford that new gaming PC after this.

Thank god. After three hours streaming, he was getting tired of riding the glittery pink dildo. It was cute–a Christmas gift from one of his loyal subscribers– but admittedly, he hadn’t prepped well enough before putting it in an hour ago, and when he let out a pained groan as he sank down on it, he immediately knew he would be feeling it tomorrow, and maybe the next day.

His only consolation was the five new top-tier subscriptions he’d received while experiencing searing hot pain. He’d clearly appealed to someone’s kink. Well, there was always something for everyone.

Seokjin knew this well. Today was his two-year anniversary since his first livestream on Worldwide Handsome, an international gay live cam site. During those two years he had seen just about every kink requested, from wax play to autoerotic asphyxiation to something called the omegaverse; he’d sifted through the internet and researched enough on each request to decide which ones he’d be willing to perform, and which kinks were too much outside of his comfort zone.

Now, with an apartment full of gifted costumes and drawers full of just about every type of sex toy known to the human population (and perhaps even some aliens if those toys held any accuracy), it was obvious that Seokjin was a knowledgeable and successful camboy who could fulfill so many men’s fantasies.

Except for the fact that Seokjin wasn’t actually gay.

Which is, as it turns out, also something people are into.

Two Years Ago

It wasn’t that Seokjin ever intended to be a gay sex cam worker, much less a camboy at all, but two years, four months, three weeks, and twelve hours ago, Seokjin hopped on a plane after finishing a week-long conference in Los Angeles. He’d booked the first flight out, eager to come home to his fiancé.

During the week, he hadn’t heard much from her. He understood, of course. She’d mentioned before he left that during that week she would be busy catching up on work and finalizing a really important project with a looming deadline. She’d been stressed about it the morning he left, practically shoving him out the door with his suitcase.

But he missed her desperately, especially with the distance between them, and he was hoping he could regain some of that intimacy by trying phone sex. They’d been having less sex recently, probably from the stress of work, but he still craved her every single day, just like he did when they were in college.

For most of his and Soon Yi’s relationship, they were insatiable. In college, they were known for being embarrassingly public in their displays of affection, with Yoongi once catching them in the kitchen at a party with Soon Yi’s hand down Seokjin’s pants and Seokjin’s hands up Soon Yi’s shirt. At first, Seokjin wondered if he always felt so horny because of his raging hormones and the fact that Soon Yi was the first person he’d had sex with. But even three years later, on the night he’d proposed, they had to leave the restaurant he rented out so they could have sex in the car.

Soon Yi was charming. She matched Seokjin’s wit, always ready to keep up with a joke and take it to the next level. She fit in effortlessly with his group of friends, remembering their birthdays and always showing up with a tiny treat for them, even if they hated celebrating. His parents adored her the moment they met her. She was frequently fawned over when she visited his work to bring him lunch or to just stop by and say hello.

When his boss, Mr. Choi met her during the company’s annual gala, he told Seokjin she was enchanting, she was the moon that lit up the evening sky. Mr. Choi was also incredibly drunk when he said this, but he wasn’t wrong.

Soon Yi glowed through Seokjin’s darkest nights like the moon.

That’s why when she denied every video call request he made during his trip, Seokjin knew something was wrong. He felt desperate and needy, something he’d never experienced during their relationship.

As he laid in his hotel bed, touching himself to their memories, a strange need overtook him: he wanted to remind her that despite all the work stress, they always got through everything together and ultimately, being intimate might help with reconnection.

So at the end of his boring conference, he flew back, planning on surprising her when she got home with a delicious meal and sexy massage. Maybe he’d even use those silly novelty heart-shaped handcuffs Jungkook got him as a gag gift.

He was ready to rekindle his love for the moon.

What Seokjin wasn’t ready for was the fact that when he walked through the door of his house, the only moon he saw was that of Mr. Choi’s naked ass as he thrust into Soon Yi on the dining room table.

As it became immediately apparent, Soon Yi’s “work project” was clearly what was playing out before him as he watched the only woman he’d ever been in love with writhe in ecstasy underneath his much older work superior.

It would have been one thing to lose his fiancé, but in witnessing this entanglement, Seokjin also knew he’d lost his job. Due to the blur of his memory, his brain trying to erase what he’d seen, he wasn’t entirely sure when they realized he was home. However, by the time he had grabbed another duffel with some fresh, non work-related clothes from his dresser–after he breezed past his unmade bed that probably didn’t smell like him anymore–Soon Yi and Mr. Choi were half dressed and sheepishly waiting for him near the entry.

Seokjin couldn’t bring himself to look either of them in the eyes as he stated his resignation letter would be on Mr. Choi’s desk the following morning.

When he arrived at Jimin and Jungkook’s apartment to crash, that’s when reality set in. What would he do now? He had no house to live in, no job to make money from, and he just lost the love of his life.

His head was splitting from the idea of car payments, a mortgage under his name for a place he wouldn’t be living in, having to tell his parents, calling the wedding venue and paying that awful cancellation fee on top of not getting his deposit back. The extra zeros in his bank account were depleting fast and it wasn’t like he would be able to sleep on Jimin and Jungkook’s couch forever.

After two weeks of dodging family phone calls, desperately applying to every job that didn’t sound like a scam, waking up in the middle of the night from the lumpiness of the couch or Jungkook’s horrible snoring, Seokjin felt like he was out of options.

“I’m going to call my parents and tell them. Maybe I can work at the restaurant for the time being while I wait for callbacks. I have some money in my savings for my own apartment. I just can’t keep doing this,” he said.

“Hyung, are you sure? You know that we don’t mind you being here as long as you need. Really, it’s not an issue.” Jimin was gentle as always, the concern on his face knitting his eyebrows together.

But Seokjin knew he was avoiding the inevitable, so when he nodded and then called his parents, their warm voices on the other end felt like a sign he’d made the right decision after all.

The next week, Seokjin began working at his family’s restaurant, filling in for shifts that were short, typically in the kitchen. Chopping and prepping the food for the chefs, dish washing, and anything that kept his hands busy were welcome distractions from the painful reminder of what awaited him outside of the restaurant.

Soon Yi was pregnant. Seokjin found out one day when he stopped by to grab a load of his things to bring to his new apartment. While both he and Soon Yi agreed to sell the house, it appeared she was taking longer than him to pack. He figured this was because she would be moving in with Mr. Choi, who lived in the penthouse of a luxury apartment complex downtown.

During their meeting with the real estate agent, Soon Yi had scribbled her new contact information and mailing address onto some forms with Mr. Choi’s details. Wealthy people always operated on their own timeline, one where they could hire a moving company to have everything neatly packed and stored within hours.

Seokjin, however, was limited to an ongoing loop of back and forth where he crammed his car full of silverware, lamps, and his MapleStory figure collection Soon Yi once mocked him for collecting. As Seokjin continued to pack away his belongings, he saw it. In the guest bathroom outside of the kitchen, there were two positive pregnancy tests in the garbage can.

Soon Yi was pregnant and the father wasn’t him. The last time they’d had sex was three months ago. She would have known by now if that were the case.

A wave of nausea rushed over him, and somewhere between bouts of gagging and wiping tears from his eyes, Seokjin realized that things were truly over.

Two months passed, and still he couldn’t find a job. While the restaurant gig was taking care of some of his bills, it was only a matter of time before Seokjin would be unable to take care of himself. At 28 years old, he’d have to move back in with his parents, which was next to impossible in terms of space, not to mention the fact that his brother and wife were living with them while their apartment was being renovated to better accommodate a life transition of their own: they were expecting their first child.

Given his semi-recent discovery, being around a pregnant woman was something Seokjin didn’t particularly want a reminder of.

“I don’t know what to do. Something has to give,” he said one day as he sat in Yoongi’s living room. A thick coat of snow was covering the earth outside, though from the sweat running down the back of Seokjin’s neck, you would never be able to tell. Yoongi always kept his home at the exact opposite of the climate outside, trying to quell the possibility he would have to experience any physical discomfort if he dared to ever leave his house, which he rarely did.

His friends all sat around him, quietly sipping their whisky or beer while the flashing light from the TV casted a kaleidoscope of colors across the coffee table. Hoseok nudged Taehyung, who’d fallen asleep at some point between the long pauses in conversation. Seokjin couldn’t blame him.

It was late, much later than the invitation Yoongi extended typically lasted, but this meetup was different. Everyone had always known Seokjin to be optimistic. From a goofy dad-joke-making 18 year old until now, he’d consistently been a source of light. When Taehyung’s grandmother died a few years back, it was Seokjin who made him first smile again with a spot-on impression of his own halmoni as they slurped bowls of naengmyeon.

His hair was shaggy and unkempt, his smile fading quickly from his face after cracking a joke. His jokes were also darker, less silly and eye-rolling and more self-deprecating and sarcastic. It was like his life was draining from him before their eyes, and it was becoming nearly impossible to stomach.

But concern doesn’t always lead to action, which is why they were sitting around in Yoongi’s living room hoping the whisky would give them some inspiration to find a solution to Seokjin’s problem that he wouldn’t immediately turn down. They’d scoured job sites together earlier, and anything in Seokjin’s former profession only led to him suggesting his next boss better be a woman or else he might have to keep his future girlfriend away from corporate events or dining tables. Other careers in his field were met with similar disdain.

Seokjin wasn’t always this way. In college, he didn’t know what kind of job he wanted or where he wanted to end up, so he majored in acting, hoping that it would lead him where he would eventually develop some sense of passion.

In a sense it did. During an internship with an entertainment company shortly after he graduated, his attention to detail, natural charisma, and flexibility showcased a skillset he didn’t even know he had, which resulted in him being offered a position in their corporate headquarters the following fall. He’d been there ever since.

But Seokjin didn’t want to return to the same life he’d had. So much of his life up to this point had been the same, and it clearly didn’t work out for him, so why continue on? The only issue was that he once again felt like he was 18, trying to decide on a path to follow when he didn’t even know who he was anymore. Nothing was appealing to him.

“What about video game streaming?” Namjoon suggested. “You love games, and you have all the equipment. You used to talk about doing that all the time.”

“Yeah, hyung. You’re also really good at talking and stuff, so it would be fun to watch you do it!” Taehyung perked up at this suggestion, shaking off his sleepiness to contribute to the conversation. “I’ve seen how much streamers make with all their sponsorships and stuff, they don’t even have to work another job!”

The energy in the room picked up slightly as they waited expectantly for an answer.

Seokjin grunted. “Okay, look. I would love to do that. That’s my dream job. But you’re forgetting something important. Those streamers didn’t just jump on the internet one day and then got thousands of subscribers and sponsorships to pay their bills overnight. Some of them took years to build up their following before they even started making money off of it. A lot of people actually lose money from game streaming. And I need money now. I don’t have that kind of time!”

Taehyung deflated, settling himself back into the couch next to Hoseok, who gave him a tender pat on his thigh.

“But what if…what if you did a kind of streaming that made you money pretty much right away?” Jungkook offered quietly.

Seokjin glanced over at his youngest friend, who was holding his empty whisky glass in his hands instead of looking at him.

“What do you mean? Is there some kind of gaming livestream service that does that?” Now Seojkin was curious.

“Um, well, not for gaming, exactly. I was just thinking. Um, you could always do like an OnlyFans or something? I have a friend who does it and she sometimes makes $1000 a night. And that would take care of–”

“You mean being a camboy? Jungkook, seriously? Listen I know we’ve all had a bit to drink, but that’s a ridiculous idea.” Seokjin snorted. “Besides, the market is flooded with people doing their own sex work. Maybe your friend is just really pretty or something to make that much from it, but I highly doubt I would make any money off OnlyFans because no one would even see me!”

Jungkook nursed his bottom lip between his teeth as he was dismissed, his body mirroring Taehyung as he fell back into the couch cushions.

“Hyung is right,” Jimin added finally, having spent most of the night settled quietly next to an even quieter Yoongi. “He wouldn’t make much money on OnlyFans. All the men on there are either ugly or buff, and Seokjin-hyung looks way too gay to appeal to that market.”

Yoongi, who was sipping his whisky as Jimin spoke, spluttered into the glass as he lost his composure, falling into a fit of laughter. From the other side of the room, Hoseok joined in, clapping and gasping for air between laughs.

“Excuse me? What the hell does that even mean? Yah, stop laughing! It’s not funny!” Seokjin fought the smile that was trying to form on his lips. Okay, it was a little funny.

“Well, hyung, isn’t it obvious? Remember that one time we went to a gay bar and all those guys I tried to pick up tried to pick you up instead?” Jimin sighed as he glanced at Seokjin before reaching across the coffee table to grab a handful of cheese balls.

“We’ve been over this. They weren’t trying to pick me up. They just told me I was really handsome and had fuckable lips. And they’re not wrong!”

“Wait when did you guys go to a gay bar? Where was I?” Yoongi cleared his throat, finally recovering from his laughing fit.

“You didn’t want to come, remember? I don’t know why you’re asking this, you never want to go anywhere. Anyway that’s besides the point. Seokjin-hyung and I went to the gay bar and he stole all of the guys I was hitting on because they wanted to make him their baby girl!”

Hoseok wiped a tear from his eye and chuckled. “Yeah, no, hyung I’m sorry but if Jimin is being passed up at a gay bar for you, you clearly give off that vibe. I can see it. You look all soft and plushy and like you would be the perfect bottom.”

Seokjin tried to fight off the heat that was creeping up his neck into his ears, but after a few glasses of whisky, and the ungodly temperature of the room, it was a failed mission to avoid being flushed.

Jimin shot a glare at Hoseok, who shrugged. “What? I meant it as a compliment!”

“Well, thanks I guess. Now I know I look like I’m gay. That doesn’t seem to solve my problem here!” Seokjin looked over at Namjoon for backup, but all Namjoon seemed to be able to do was give him an apologetic smile.

“No, I know, I know. We got off topic.” Jimin said, “Sort of. Listen, like I said before you wouldn’t be successful on OnlyFans, just because of what they market. But you could always market yourself differently. And I’m thinking, if you really need to make money fast, you could always work with what you’ve got going for you.”

The entire room went silent.

“Wait,” Namjoon said, “you don’t mean…” His eyes flitted to Seokjin and widened in alarm.

Slowly, everyone shifted as they realized what Jimin was suggesting, Seokjin evidently being the last one.

How was he supposed to work with what he had when what he had was apparently drawing a different crowd of people from the one he was interested in? What did Jimin mean by marketing himself differently? Was he supposed to just stream on websites that were exclusively for gay men?

Oh. That’s exactly what Jimin was saying.

“Wh-Jimin what the fuck? You mean I should be a gay camboy? I know we just talked about me being attractive to men, but I’m not interested in them that way!”

Jimin huffed. “Well obviously I know you’re not gay. Otherwise we might not be in this situation.”

Seokjin winced.

“Sorry, that was unfair. It’s just…hyung, you’ve been so not like yourself lately. And you’re right, something needs to change. I know you’re not gay, but this still could help. Haven’t you heard of gay for pay? Like in porn and stuff a bunch of straight actors will fuck each other or some gay guy because it pays more than straight porn. It’s the same thing.”

“Only you don’t have to actually fuck anyone. Maybe you should remind him of that,” Yoongi added.

“Right, exactly! Look, you don’t have to do it. But it could help you get by and pay bills in the meantime until you find something else that you want to do. And there’s a lot of sites where you can stream even once and get a direct payout the next day. It might be worth a shot.”

Seokjin thought about it for a moment. It didn’t sound completely awful. From what he’d seen from the times he saw cam sites out of curiosity, most of what happened was masturbating and talking to people. And he didn’t hate people. But something about it made him nervous.

“I don’t know if I’d be okay with being watched. That seems embarrassing.”

“Oh please, the number of times you and Soon Yi fucked basically in public is astronomical. You’re practically an exhibitionist,” Hoseok teased.

“That was different! I was with her! Now it would be everyone watching just me up close and personal. Namjoon-ah, talk some sense into them. This is crazy, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if it actually is, hyung,” Namjoon said lightly. “Jimin-ah and Hobi have made some good points. And I think…I think if you weren’t even just a little bit curious you would have immediately said no instead of going back and forth with them over it like how you flat out said no to the other stuff. Maybe you’re feeling a bit shy because it’s been a little while and you are trying to heal through the breakup and stuff, but you also don’t have to do it or you can do it once and change your mind after if you want.

“It just doesn’t seem to me like this is the worst option for you. You get to talk to people, you can maybe have fun. You don’t see the people on the other side anyway, so if you wanted to pretend they were girls instead of guys you could, or turn off the comments probably? It’s not real sex though. And even if it was, is that so wrong? It’s not like you would be cheating on Soon Yi for doing this. I mean-”

“Thanks Hyung! I think we get it!” Jimin interjected, raising his eyebrows at Namjoon as if to say shut the fuck up.

Seokjin felt his stomach sink. Is this why he was panicked at the thought? It wasn’t real sex, but it almost felt like he would be doing something wrong by doing this. Not morally against himself, but someone else. Maybe he was still hanging on to Soon Yi in ways he didn’t fully realize.

He felt almost like a heavy weight was pressing on his chest and forbidding him from moving on. What would happen then if he tried doing this for himself? Would the weight still feel the same? He wanted to know.

“Ah, fine, I’ll think about it.” He looked over at Yoongi, who looked relieved that the conversation was nearing its end. “You have anything to add to this? A final voice of reason?”

Yoongi snorted as he jumped up to stretch. “Nah. Except, as your former roommate, ‘Seok’s got a point about the exhibitionism thing. You were way too into showing me your dick all the time and walking around naked when we roomed together.”

The room erupted into laughter, Seokjin himself joining. This time his smile didn’t immediately fall from his face.

Slowly, everyone else stood, bodies unwinding from furniture and each other. While Jimin ordered Jungkook and himself a taxi, Seokjin waited with him.

“My only issue is, how do I pretend to be gay? Won’t they know I’m not?”

Jimin scoffed as he nudged a sleepy and tipsy Jungkook into his shoes. “I don’t know hyung. You have an acting degree. Use it.”

A few weeks later, Seokjin held his first stream, nervously engaging with the handful of viewers trickling in and tried to deflect the discomfort he felt in his new spotlight.

“Um, hi everyone. My name’s Jin. Thanks for coming. You can probably tell, but this is my first time and I’m really nervous. I hope you enjoy the show.”

Seokjin decided to shorten his name for his streams to help him feel like he was embodying a different persona, someone named Jin who may actually be gay. It wasn’t a big change, but it was nice to give himself some separation from Seokjin, the guy who was doing gay for pay to afford a new life.

Unfortunately, Jimin’s suggestion for Seokjin to act wasn’t as easy to implement as he’d hoped. Within the first half hour, viewers of his stream had noticed he was still nervous, and started asking him questions to get him to unwind, and hopefully undress.

“Ah, yeah, uh, anal. I’ve done it once or twice, it’s nice.” It wasn’t a lie, he’d tried anal a few times with Soon Yi and did find it nice, but he also knew that this wasn’t what the question was asking.

“Do I have a boyfriend? No, I’m single.”

Slowly he began undressing, the heat of his half-truths causing him to feel like he was burning up.

“Are you really gay? Well, what kind of question is that? I’m here aren’t I?”

That question seemed to satisfy his audience for another half hour, until a new thread of people trickled in, asking him the same questions. He was running out of ways to answer.

I don’t care if you’re straight. You’re still hot.

When he read this comment, he exhaled deeply. And from that one reaction, a flurry of others joined in.

Yeah, idc either. You’re still so pretty.

So hot if u were straight. Maybe I’d convert u. ;)

I’d let you put it into my ass and let you pretend it was a pussy.

For some reason, these comments began to fuel him. The attention was kind of nice. It reminded him of how he used to feel.

Maybe he didn’t need to act gay to get what he wanted. Maybe he could just enjoy the pleasure of the compliments and company and see what happened from there? The weight he had been carrying around in his chest was feeling a bit lighter, and the comments were helping distract him from the pinches of guilt that he was doing something wrong. Because he wasn’t.

Here, he was Jin, a sexy, flirty guy who could shine in the sky of his own making.

Jin, the moon.

That’s it. He was the moon.

Present

“That’s it, give it to me. Please, I’m gonna cum.” Seokjin hoped the words he moaned at his camera were true. He was so tired, and he wanted to be free from the stupid dildo.

Lately, Seojkin has been having a hard time cumming on stream. He wasn’t sure why. For so long it had never been an issue, but streaming had begun feeling less like a fun way to relieve stress and more like an actual job.

Never before was he so popular with his stream, and while it’s nice to see a larger deposit being made into his bank account each week, every time he came home from the restaurant and knew he was scheduled to do a cam show, his stomach knotted up with dread.

The last time he felt this feeling was a little over two years ago, when hopping on planes to fly to mundane conferences or sitting in board rooms for morning meetings consumed all his time. Even during the period he was jobless, there was a tiny part of him relishing the fact that the work-related dread was over.

And it returned with a vengeance. Seokjin tried everything, ventured into new kinks and even the game features of the website with the hope that he would feel the rush he used to love from streaming. But nothing really worked. It was now just his job.

He didn’t even want to stream for so long tonight, but because it was his anniversary, he wanted to make sure he ended on a good note to thank his viewers.

One thing Seokjin’s viewers loved was seeing him cum. It was the part of his stream when he always earned the most tips. Jimin had been right.

If Seokjin knew anything now, it’s that he had many assets worth using to finance his life, and his pretty face coupled with his big dick seemed to work for him.

But even as he stroked himself, precum dripping down the head of his cock, and even though he was riding the dildo in a way that would hit his prostate and finally give him an easy out, he could feel the edge pulling away.

“Fuck,” he grunted. He was losing it. He doubled down, rocking his hips to see if hitting a different sweet spot would do the trick. But it was to no avail; his cock was softening.

On his nightstand, his phone pinged, which only could mean one thing. Seokjin always turned his do not disturb mode on during his work hours, only allowing phone calls from his family or one alert from an app to pierce through the silence. This one was the alert.

It meant Y/N was online and you had just started a live stream of your own.

You were one of this month’s top gaming streamers, bringing in more viewers than Seokjin had ever received during his top months of streaming. You were popular not because you were good, but because you were the exact opposite.

You were awful at most games you played, jolting at jumpscares over and over, losing in first rounds of Fall Guys or Dead by Daylight. One time you jumped into a game of Fortnite and were eliminated by a potty-mouthed child the second you landed. Your jaw hung open as the tiny, high pitched voice called you a bitchass before falling into a fit of laughter that had Seokjin himself in tears.

You were inspiring. Sexy. You received dozens of comments every stream about how pretty you were or how great your laugh was, which you often didn’t read out loud but always offered a humble nod and show of thanks when you did. There was something about you that hit up the world around you, and though he wouldn’t so much as utter it out loud, Seokjin had a massive crush on you.

But Seokjin was also sort-of-not-really your manager. Unlike all the people pining over you in your comment section wishing they knew you in real life, Seokjin actually did. He saw you three times a week at his family’s restaurant that he was strong-armed into managing while his parents took the opportunity to finally travel and see other parts of the world.

Seokjin stayed, not because he needed the money. Not that his pay was all that much anyway.

Camming was incredibly lucrative for him, cementing his income in a way that allowed him to pay rent in a very nice apartment downtown. Seokjin was also someone who had always been smart with his finances and knew how to invest in the best trends.

When his house with Yoon Si finally sold (after four months of her taking her sweet time to gather her last belongings and sign off on him putting it on the market), Seokjin took his cut and applied it toward a better streaming setup and some lower level stocks…and a special edition MapleStory figurine to celebrate the new chapter in his life.

Seokjin’s family never seemed to question how he was able to afford his fancy apartment given how much money he made at their business. Well, they did ask once, but Seokjin orchestrated some simple lie saying he worked in cryptocurrency, and that seemed to be enough of an explanation for his family. No one wants to know how crypto works, which in the end worked in his favor.

He’d planned to leave the restaurant about 8 months ago, but then you showed up one day asking about a job. The restaurant was within walking distance to your university, where you were getting your master’s degree in early childhood education. While the program you were enrolled in had some funding, you’d told Seokjin’s mother you were a student and in need of work. The following Monday, Seokjin walked in and found you with an apron tied around your waist, your bright eyes and smile shining back at him. He couldn’t bring himself to leave after that.

A few months after you’d started working there, Seokjin and you had become somewhat friends, sharing stories about past jobs (minus some key details on Seokjin’s part), student observations you had to do for school, and your interests. You mentioned casually you were a livestreamer for gaming, never alluding to how popular you actually were.

Eventually, Seokjin convinced you to give him your username, batting his eyelashes dramatically and promising he would be your cheerleader. For some reason, that seemed to work, and later that night, Seokjin tuned in to your stream, one man among the thousands. From that moment on he let his crush become a safe thing where, like his own viewers, he could fantasize from behind a screen. Maybe soon he would actually ask you out on a date, taking your coworker relationship and transforming it into something more.

And then a month ago his parents left, leaving him with the roles and responsibility of manager. Which meant he was an authority figure who could arguably do whatever he wanted. Similar to how his boss in a way was an authority figure who could get whatever he wanted. That idea turned Seokjin’s stomach sour. He could never do anything about this crush now, not while you worked underneath him. It was too familiar and distorted, and he never wanted you to be in the position he was once in. It was completely inappropriate.

But try telling his dick that.

Two days ago, Seokjin witnessed you in the kitchen bending over to pick up onion peels that had fallen to the ground. You definitely weren’t aware, but your skirt had ridden up a bit while you were working, and that meant he could see a tiniest delicate trim of lace on your blush colored panties.

And despite the fact that Seokjin was 30 years old and had believed he’d gotten past his boner-in-public-just-from-seeing-underwear era during his teen years, he was evidently wrong. Because those panties and soft looking curve of ass didn’t just belong to anyone; they belonged to you.

This wasn’t the only time he got hard for you at work. Sometimes on days when there were no customers, he would watch you study at one of the tables, where you were prone to stretching your body after long periods of staring down, trying to unknot the tense muscles caused by sitting almost completely still as you tried to comprehend what you were reading.

During those stretches, you would often let out the most sexual moans and sighs as you felt relief and it was enough to have Seokjin tucking himself under his belt like a horny school boy. God, what he would do to hear you moan underneath him, because of him.

He thought about recording you stretching. He was addicted to your voice, your soft sighs. It would be so easy to just “leave” his phone in the booth behind you. Then he could hear it forever while he imagined what else made you moan. Did you like your nipples sucked? Did you sigh when you were being stretched open and felt full? How did you taste?

And then Seokjin pulled himself together and realized how sickeningly perverted he was to be thinking about you like this as he stood hard and aching in the middle of his parents’ fucking restaurant.

He wanted you. So much so that now as he worked his cock in his fist, he let himself fall more into fantasy, one where you were watching, curious about the many toys and gifts around his apartment, wondering how you could reach the limits of what you wanted and needed to make you scream. He imagined that across town, you weren’t firing up your computer for a night of cozy games, but rubbing your pussy at the same speed he was stroking himself, wet and begging for him to cum all over those gorgeous tits, that wet tongue–

Seokjin groaned as he came, his entire body trembling as a thick load erupted all over his hands, chin, and chest. Normally he could control the direction to minimize the mess but this orgasm caught him a bit off guard, almost completely lost until it crept up with a burning need and coated him. He hadn’t felt that good in a while.

As he panted and focused his eyes back onto the screen, his comments were flooded with praise and tips, viewers exclaiming how this might have been his best orgasm they’ve ever seen, which was saying a lot considering some of his subscribers had been with him from the very beginning, and there had been some pretty fantastic orgasms.

He wouldn’t deny it, though. He felt looser in his joints, calm washing over him and breaking apart the bitterness that was in his gut from how lackluster streaming had been recently. He wiped his chin with a grin and reached for the towel next to him, ready to wrap up his show. As he delivered his thank yous, one comment drifting through the chat stopped him dead in his tracks. His post-orgasmic high was crashing as panic flittered into his stomach.

Did you guys hear him moaning a name as he came? Who the fuck is Y/N?

She had to leave. If the king couldn’t overcome his malice, she knew she couldn’t stay. No amount of love she had for his son was going to make him see that. She’d told him she loved him despite the scar that ran over his left eye and down his soft cheek. She vowed to be good enough to marry him, do whatever it took. Yet the king and queen had laughed at her, had their guard hold his foot on her back so she couldn't stand up from her deep bow.

Laughed as they stood from their thrones to welcome the guest’s arrival: the consort for their son. The prince stood with them, silent as he followed them through the open doors. Quiet like how he used to be back in the first days of when she met him last summer. In memory, she couldn’t even fathom how he was anything like the man she’d grown to love. Yet, looking up from the pulp of the floor, she’d seen him return to that man.

Hadn’t the days she’d spent walking those palace gardens with him been enough? They’d stood together under the plum blossom tree in the middle of winter and he’d promised that he would love her even while the buds were hibernating.

“We can watch them become flowers together in the spring,” he’d said.

He had taken her to his bed that night. Used his sensuous tongue to lap at her sweet nectar. He devoured her heart and soul. Climaxed with her and held her through the heavy snow.

Where was that man now? She didn’t know.

She waited until well after nightfall, when even the latest bird twitterings were silenced by the call of sleep. She knew she couldn’t bring much, but she managed to slip into the kitchen after dinner to pull together a few scraps for the road. Where would she even go? The nearest village was at least a two-day walk and if he sent his men for her, she knew word would spread before she’d even arrived.

Unless he didn’t send anyone for her, she realized, her stomach dropping with nausea. He wouldn’t send anyone for her. She knew this. It’s why Prince August stood in the throne room, lethal as ever, even with no sword in his belt. August. Sugar. Whichever person he decided he was in the moment. Her nickname for him didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t sweet. His desire for power showed the bitterness in his heart. He had given in to his parents’ wishes, despite the times he swore he would never give them the satisfaction.

He was cruel. But even worse, she believed he wouldn’t be. She was a fool.

It was the darkest part of the night when she left the servant’s quarters. She’d miss the ladies and all their kindness, but she knew she couldn’t serve August his breakfast in his bedchamber after this. After knowing that the sheets she once laid in with him were now being laid in by someone else.

She took the back route, near the interior of the garden, ducking behind the ornamental shrubs and skirting past the watchpost the guards usually abandoned at this hour with ease. All that was left was to make it through the courtyard and she would be free.

She padded her way along the path. A light breeze of the pre-dawn was catching, fluttering the branches of the newly blossoming trees around her and blowing petals in their wake. She caught one in her fingertips and fought a sob. Plum blossoms.

Should she take one with her? For the memory? So that she could always have a part of him with her?

No, she decided. It would be too much to remember this. Once she passed through those gates, she would not be the same woman she was. Holding her breath, she let the petal go, hoping wherever the wind carried it, it would find the peace she too was looking for. It swept to the end of the courtyard, over the gate that was now her future.

This was a sign, she mourned. Not all promises were meant to be kept.

With a final look at the place she’d learned to call home, the man she’d learned to call home, she opened the gate, ready to forge into the unknown.

“Petal,” she thought she heard his call, his nickname for her. Though when she turned around, he was nowhere to be found.

She must’ve imagined it, wished for the impossible. As she took steps through the gate, she looked out at the world around her, the plum petal a few feet in front of her. Maybe she would take a piece of him with her, after all. It was too tempting not to.

She moved, trying to ignore the tug she felt back toward the palace, the invisible string of fate she thought that tied her to August trying to tangle her back in. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t go back.

She bent down, clutching the petal tenderly in her palms and letting the first tears fall.

“So that’s it, hm? After all that, you weren’t even going to wish me goodbye.”

She rose swiftly, whipping around to the voice’s owner.

There, leaning against the outer palace wall, was August.

The alarm on your phone chimes, pulling you from the book in your lap. You’ve been reading all afternoon, the sun now taking its final bow before plunging the world into darkness. Soon you’ll have to turn the lights on, then it will be time for work. On your only day off.

You groan, stretching your neck as you allow yourself to come back to reality.

To some, it would be hard to call your job “work”. Many people dreamed of being professional game streamers. Who wouldn’t want to be paid to sit online, play games, and talk to people?

You don’t. That’s the problem.

Your ascent into gaming stardom was a fluke. About 9 months ago, you were in between semesters for your grad program and looking for ways to unwind. Your oldest friend, Wonwoo, was a pretty successful streamer who often hosted game nights to play with his viewers and friends.

You frequently watched his streams, letting his soft voice be the perfect background noise as you studied and formulated the next lesson plan or behavioral assessment. You’d known Wonwoo for what felt like forever at this point, being his first subscriber, first moderator, and first kiss (not in that order). But your middle school kiss outside of the convenience store never led to anything more than that, as desperately as you’d wanted it to.

Once he moved across the country, you let your crush die with the distance. The years turned faster and your twenties were spinning by with the revolving door of lovers you’d watch him pine over, cry over, and in one case, almost marry. Streaming then became one of your main forms of connection, and your role as his moderator tied some part of you to him out of loyalty. To imagine him as anything other than a friend now feels ridiculous.

But that loyalty you have is also to a fault. When Wonwoo’s usual streaming friends bailed one night during a tournament, you subbed in…for a game you didn’t even know how to play.

And to make matters worse, this was a game that required talking to each other on-stream, which meant you not only sucked major ass at this game, but Wonwoo’s 700 viewers that day were also subjected to your constant frustrated squeaks, swears, and embarrassed maws as you tried to key-smash your way to victory but ended up throwing the entire team’s game with your incompetence.

Wonwoo wasn’t mad, though many others were. He knew what he was getting into when he agreed, and his streams operated with very few rules: no hate, no spam, and we are in this to have fun. And he did have fun. By the time the first round was over, he and most of the chat were losing it over your commentary.

As he wiped tears from eyes and took in a breath, he read his comments. “‘Damn, I never heard a chick threaten someone with a plunger like that before’. Yeah, I’ll give it to you, Y/N, you got really creative with your insults in that. Hey, PartyShitty thanks for the sub! ‘I can’t BREATHE’, yeah I’m still trying to get it together. W00000000000000000ziiiiii–damn that’s a lot of zeros in that username–thanks for the 5000 points! ‘Is she hot’ uh, I mean, I don’t—

“Oh shit, LetsGetIt15, thank you for gifting twenty subs! ‘Please, Y/N, start your own channel. I’ll be the first subscriber.’ Actually, no, I’ll be. But really, that's not a bad idea.”

Wonwoo navigated the rest of his stream with ease that night, but after it was over, he called you to try to convince you to start your own channel.

“It could help with school at least! Or you could get that special edition of that one book you like with the dragons or the blue alien porn stars or whatever it is.”

“They’re neither of those things, they’re actually–”

“Whatever they are! The book that has people fucking nonstop and some plot. You know, the special edition cover that you keep talking about in your close friend story that you won’t buy?” Wonwoo said. “The point is, if you start streaming you could finally buy it and then stop talking about it and I won’t need to see sections about how hot you think their alien or fairytale or demon whatever cocks are.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his exasperation. “That won’t stop with me getting that book, just so you know. And if it bothers you so much, I can take you out of the close friend story. I didn’t even know you looked at my stories that much.” You didn’t know he still used Instagram at all actually. He very rarely posted. He mostly lived on his Discord channel talking about games with his subscribers or other friends.

Regardless, it was nice to know that he was trying to be aware of your interests, even if it was incredibly embarrassing. Although the copious amount of smut you read wasn’t something you always wanted to broadcast to the public, you’d still made some friends from online book communities over the last few years and enjoyed keeping them in the loop of your reading list.

Also, Wonwoo had a point. Streaming could help paying some of your school expenses…or get you more books. You told him you’d think about it, and while you weren’t completely in love with the idea of streaming, it did provide you with some steady income until you landed your job at the restaurant.

After that conversation, you haven’t discussed smut or cocks since, and you’re honestly relieved, not because Wonwoo is hard to talk to about things, but because you are. Which is why streaming always feels a little uncomfortable and your position ironic, because you can barely have conversations successfully unless you really know the person to ramble about your interests to, or you can occasionally eke by with small talk.

But streaming requires the spotlight being on you in some way at all times. It’s your face that is fixed to the corner of the screen, monitoring your every reaction. It’s your voice that echoes into the mic and responds to your chat. Sure, you have mods and some streamers don’t interact with their chat at all, but you don’t want to be like that. You’ve been on the other side before, and know that most people are just lonely and looking for connection. .

From the moment you decided to do this, you were aware that because you were now a “gamer girl” you would be subjected to the three extremes of the comment section: chronic oversharers who tell strangers all their personal baggage perhaps in the hope that you will assume some role of therapist to them, people coming to insult your gaming (which is the point so that can’t impact you) or physical appearance, or sexually explicit comments.

Over the months, you’ve seen many things flitting by on the screen, deleted in haste by your trusty mod squad, but it doesn’t stop the fact that you still see them.

Those things you can handle. They are impersonal and a direct copy-paste of the same thing.

But when people compliment you? That makes you want to bury yourself under your covers and never come out. Because the compliments are always personal and touching a part of you that is authentic.

The people in your chat want to know you. They want to know what kind of music you like, your favorite foods and books. They ask if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner, compliment your hair or the shirt you’re wearing or your gaming setup. It feels intimate. Almost like you could find these people and touch them and let them know you.

But they can’t. Because the only thing that drew them to you, the part where you’re this funny, positive gamer chick who sucks at video games but is down for whatever, isn’t real.

Spring Day Streams Y/N is a persona. You don’t stream because you’re her. You stream because you have to be her in order to survive.

And now she’s taking up more time. Last month’s streams landed you Streamer of the Month, which thanks to the exposure, brought dozens of new subscribers and thousands of points, and that helped take care of some of your expenses for the new semester. Some. You’re still behind on your credit card bill.

Also, more people means more expectations for streaming. So you’ve kicked up your streaming schedule from twice weekly to three times a week, with you occasionally hopping onto Wonwoo’s channel even if you aren’t streaming to mod.

When you aren’t glued to your computer, you’re usually at the restaurant, in a cramped kitchen where you do the prep work, often alongside him, your sexy coworker-but-now-boss, Seokjin.

The man you are quietly obsessed with. You can’t think about Kim Seokjin without thinking about all the positions you want him to fuck you in.

Which is also why you’ve been devouring books lately. When you’re home, you throw all your energy into the escapism they provide, especially ones where you can get yourself off to whatever fantasy Seokjin effortlessly slips into.

For every hot mob boss, corrupt CEO, longterm best friend, dragon-rider, fairy, demon, alien, ghost, or hockey playing love interest you can find, Seokjin is sure to fill the role. A hot merman looking for someone to help him grow legs and something else? Seokjin. A Grinch who inherits his family’s Christmas tree farm and discovers how much he loves to ho ho ho? Seokjin. A god who tears apart the underworld to find his lost lover, and then during the reunion fucks her on the throne of Satan while she wears the crown? All Seokjin.

Unfortunately, his transition from co worker to boss has made your fantasies all the more dirty.

It’s been incredibly difficult for you to handle the fact that any flirtation you two previously shared in the months before he was your boss can no longer continue. But it’s also incredibly hot.

Fantasies of him eating you out on the counter have been replaced with the fantasy of him shoving you in the back office and fucking you on the desk while wearing one of those perfect-fitting dress shirts he often parades around in.

And when he rolls up the sleeves to help in the kitchen? Fuck, it’s humiliating how wet you get.

The entire thing is pathetic really. He’s just standing there half the time, lecturing everyone on proper kitchen hygiene and ensuring one of the cooks doesn’t use expired seasonings for his eomma’s secret sauce.

And you’re standing next to him clenching your thighs together because when you’re this close, you can just make out the freshness of his cologne and feel the heat of his body close to yours.

When someone fucks up, he has a tendency to take over, chopping with unmatched precision and self assurance, trying to keep his voice even and usually failing as everything builds in intensity until he’s accidentally speaking at a million miles an hour and lecturing until his face turns red.

If someone were to pass by the shop, they’d probably mistake his shouting for anger, but you’ve come to understand Seokjin is just passionate about things. Usually when he comes down from his tangent, he’s embarrassed and apologizes, and not long after the entire staff is laughing along with him as he cracks a joke at himself for his inability to tone it down.

Which to you makes him even hotter. Seokjin is able to see his faults and work with them, not against them. He holds himself accountable. He’s nothing like the haughty men you’ve gone on brief dinners with after downloading dating apps for the hundredth time while you’re drunk. He’s actually funny, knowing the right way to use humor and tell jokes, never at someone else’s expense, and definitely without being disgustingly crude.

All those clowns you suffered through drinks with always made comments and digs at other women or referenced their cock like they were setting up some goofy scene from porn and you would find it hilarious and endearing.

Seokjin isn’t like that at all. He probably refers to his dick as a penis and would blush to high heavens if he knew how horny you are for him. He’s unwound you, and he has no clue. Maybe if it hadn’t been literal years since you’ve last had sex you could tone it down.

With working all the time and going to school, it’s already been hard to even go on singular dates here and there. And since the prospects were frankly awful, sex is just something that has had to go onto the back burner for a bit, but you seemed to scorch the fucking pan by forgetting to turn the heat off and now you are burning and hungry.

With a final sigh, you put the book down, annoyed that you didn’t have time to finish it today or at least get to a good part where you could insert yourself into the role of the palace servant and Seokjin as the Prince. Based on the reviews, there’s sure to be a hot sex scene coming up involving using a sword in a particular way that has piqued your curiosity.

In a moment of depravity earlier, you’d snaked one hand down the front of your panties to rub a few damp fingers around your clit to take the edge off.

You check the time on your phone, already aware that you don’t have time to cum before streaming. You already hit the snooze button twice. The spicy stuff will have to wait.

Defeated, you stand up, turning on the lights in your apartment as the sun finally fades away and the dark creeps in. You eat a bowl of cereal while doing your makeup, what little of it you want to put on. Finally, you fire up your PC, trying to ignore the irritation you’re already experiencing from being so high strung and unsatisfied.

The second this stream is over, you’re going to make sure you cum until you pass out. Until then, it’s time for work.

“At what point am I supposed to become good at this again?” You ask Seokjin as you attempt (and fail) to julienne carrots.

When you arrived at work at an ungodly hour this morning to prep for the weekend rush, Seokjin had already started the coffee.

Your empty cup now idles next to your scrap pile of too-wide carrot blocks that’ll have to be pulverized by the blender and repurposed in another recipe.

Seokjin chuckles as he buzzes about the kitchen, reaching tenderly around you to grab your mug for a refill.

“That all depends on how much you practice.”

“So should I expect a large carton of carrots to be delivered to my home this evening with the instructions to have them julienned by Monday?” You tease, as you split another carrot down the center, half of it flinging off the prep counter and onto the floor.

Seokjin smirks and bends down. He picks up the carrot and deposits it into the garbage bin. “Two cartons, actually. Given how many carrots we’ve lost already today, I need to make sure at least some of our inventory lands on the customer’s plate and not just into the trash.”

“How considerate of you,” you chide, and put down the knife, reaching out to accept your newly filled coffee mug. Seokjin’s hands are red from the constant washing and chopping of potatoes, which you recently learned he’s allergic to.

As well as garlic, and you’ve already voluntarily peeled and minced that for the day. That much you can do without guidance, but anything besides your imprecise chopping is on the list of knife skills Seokjin wants you to improve upon.

This is fair, given how dangerous your previous cutting methods have been. Once Seokjin saw the way you tried to stab at a watermelon, it was over. Now you often come in an hour and a half early before each shift to practice.

And to also be alone with Seokjin before he is forced from the kitchen to deal with other duties.

“Thank you,” you say, as you take the first warm sip and shiver. It’s freezing outside, and it’s only supposed to get worse.

There’s snow forecasted for the weekend, which could mean one of two things: everyone stays home and avoids driving, or they all leave the house in one show of silent agreement and fill every nook and cranny of the restaurant to order bowls of sundubu jjigae or crisp and hot pajeon.

Seokjin predicts that because a warm front is moving in afterward, people will utilize one of the only days of snow you’ll likely get this winter to gather together.

Valentine’s Day is soon, and the city has started to prepare. Storefronts have begun switching out new year sale signs for pink and red heart motifs, with spas and restaurants offering couple specials. The perfumeries have moved from campaigns advertising the perfect Christmas gift to ones of sexy, decadent colognes sure to transform a man into his inner beast.

And then there’s the chocolate. It’s like the air in the neighborhood the restaurant resides in smells different, less greasy and grimy and more sweet. Everywhere you turn there’s pastries, cakes, bonbons, crepes, chocolate dipped nuts and other confections that just looking at makes your teeth sore.

With the district washing itself in a pink glow, more and more couples have been braving the cold, landing in the restaurant after weighing themselves down with shopping bags.

You’ve seen what’s in them, often tripping over or kicking at least one bag each shift while you attempt to bring an order to the table and spilling the contents. This year seems to be popular for matching couple outfits. You’ve seen a lot of pairs in their early twenties wearing or recently acquiring sweaters that have the same characters or color combinations. With the temperatures dipping into a bitter chill this week, some have elected to wear cute but inconvenient sets of mittens that allow them to hold hands as they stroll.

When it snows in the city, the world gets quieter, cleaner. Even if people shuffle around in the bustle of novelty experiences, how they show their love, from brushing the snow off each other’s coats or taking kissing selfies in front of snow fallen trees, it always makes you feel a little softer, a little more at peace.

Snow is really romantic.

“What?” Seokjin asks, which alerts you to the fact that you’ve been staring at him as you let your thoughts run, a dopey grin splattered across your face.

“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about how much I love the snow.” You break eye contact, feeling the heat of embarrassment flood your cheeks.

“Ah, yeah. It’s supposed to start soon,” he looks at you thoughtfully before looking back down at the tofu blocks he’s draining.

A silence falls on you, the once normal pause now becoming a bit awkward.

“What do–”

“I just–”

You both stumble over each other, trying to fill the unnatural pause you’ve reached, which has you laughing and Seokjin cracking a wide grin.

“What were you going to say?” he asks, and then motions for you to get back to your carrot desecrating.

“Ah nothing. You were going to ask something?”

You slice a carrot, this time less match stick and more shaved. Damn.

“Oh, um. I was going to ask you what you like about the snow. That thought kind of came from nowhere and I was trying to follow.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying not to offend you. Is he nervous?

Your mouth draws into a thin line. Can you risk saying what you were just thinking? Is it inappropriate to talk about romance in front of your boss, who you’ve thought about kissing in the snow at least three times a day? You don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You’re aware of the ways in which Seokjin’s new position of authority weighs on him.

While he’s always had more authority due to being the owners’ son, it isn’t like Seokjin walked around the place with a power complex before his promotion. You two had become something akin to friends in the months you’ve worked together, falling into occasional flirty banter as you shuffled around each other to mop floors or wash dishes.

You know he used to work for a large company a few years ago but quit to help his family with their restaurant. You also know he loves MapleStory and is always showing you his newest splurge from their online shop or the latest piece to his collection.

He doesn’t have any pets, but sometimes debates getting a dog and then when shown support, he dismisses it with boisterous laughter, talking about how he doesn’t have the time and if he ever wants to get a dog, he will have to buy a house. Usually once he lands on discussions of a house, he gets a little more quiet, perhaps a bit sad.

He has an older brother who has one child and another on the way, a major reason for his parents’ decision to travel now, before the new baby arrives. His brother and brother’s wife have visited a few times while you were working, but Seokjin’s mother had mentioned that her son and his wife recently moved into a new house outside of the city, and with the new addition joining sometime in the spring, it can be a bit exhausting to pack up the car for a few hours of visiting time.

While you haven’t experienced Seokjin as an uncle, you know how much he loves being one, excusing himself from the front of the shop to Facetime with his nephew from the back office, where you can hear his voice carry with high pitched impressions and jokes or random songs he babbles to the youngest Kim.

Knowing him in this way feels a bit awkward now that he’s the one signing your paychecks. Since his transition, he’s been a bit more formal with you, you assume trying to be respectful and professional.

You understand where he’s coming from, but you miss the past connection you two had formed. And that seems to dictate your response.

“I like how romantic snow is. How it not only makes the lights twinkle more, but how people do cute things in it. Snowball fights, drinking hot chocolate, building snowmen. They change their behaviors for the snow. To celebrate love in it. Last time it snowed here, I saw one girl push her boyfriend into a snowbank.”

Seokjin laughs as he begins popping the tofu blocks into containers. “That sounds awful,” he says.

Your heart plummets. “Oh,” you squeak.

His head darts up to catch your expression and his eyes flash. “Oh, no no! Not like that. I mean, being pushed into the snowbank. That poor guy was probably soaking wet and freezing after that!” He waves his knife in his hand wildly with his gesture and then quickly deposits it into a sheath before stepping over to your workstation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

You recover. “Oh he was. He also got his revenge by pulling her in with him. And she wasn’t even wearing a coat.”

You watch Seokjin’s tense shoulders relax. His broad frame is so close now, towering over you. He smells a little like the earthy starch of potatoes, but you like it.

“I, uh,” he says, his voice becoming more raw. “I like the snow too. You’re right, it is romantic in a way. The snowflakes getting caught in your hair, you huddle closer to someone to share body heat, it’s nice.”

As if on cue, your bodies inch a little closer to each other. Seokjin reaches his arm forward, brushing along yours as he grasps one edge of the workstation to lean in.

“Yeah,” you reply lamely.

You blink up at him and he smiles back. You both sit there for a moment, neither of you moving, just studying the other’s expression.

Then, he leans in.

Your breath catches, and his other arm lifts up above you on the other side, caging you to the workstation.

Your eyes close from the intensity. He’s so close that you feel the fabric of his rolled shirt sleeve graze against your cheek.

All it would take is him leaning in and searing his lips onto yours and you would fold for him. You know this.

This is what you often fantasize about, the two of you in this position. That’s the power he has over you, his smooth seduction, your willingness.

If he asked you right now, you would strip down and bend over this workstation, let him fuck you with your nipples brushing against the cold steel of the counter, carrot shavings squishing against your face as he impales you with his cock.

It would be so easy, he just needs to ask you.

“Y/N,” he says, a bit more distant now, but you shudder at how roughly he says your name.

“Mm?” you hum, forcing your eyes to reopen. Seokjin has pulled away from you. How long has he been just looking at you standing here with your eyes closed?

“Turn around,” he says.

Wait, what?

You stare back at him blankly. Is he reading your mind?

Seokjin rolls his eyes and laughs, holding up the package of dried seaweed that was above you on the shelf. He tosses it on the counter behind him.

“Are you still here or did I lose you? I said turn around.” You freeze, confused.

He did all that to reach above you for some seaweed? Is he fucking with you? And what does he want you to turn around for?

“Wha–”

You open your mouth to ask but Seokjin moves in, his hands on your wrists as he takes you and spins you around so you’re up against your workstation, his stomach resting on your back as you stand sandwiched against him and the cold counter. You clench your thighs, suddenly aware that you are wet.

Fuck.

“You need to focus,” he says low in your ear. You take a shaky breath.

Focus. How are you supposed to focus when you imagined this exact scenario exactly one minute ago?

“I, what?” Your words fail you as you stand there, stunned and aroused but also completely confused about what he wants from you. This entire situation is a mindfuck.

Seokjin’s hands leave your wrists and make their way to your hands as he moves you like a puppet.

“Y/N, were you even paying attention? We just went over this. God, I swear, I’ve told you. You need to be present in the kitchen space. You’re lucky I resheathed the knife for you while you were on another planet. You could have easily gotten hurt.” Seokjin scolds you overhead.

Oh. You look to the right and see the kitchen knife you were using back in its protective shell and not where you left it, which, come to think of it, was incredibly close to where your hands were now on the counter under Seokjin’s. Yikes.

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling a prick of shame seeping through the fog. Seokjin isn’t trying to fuck you against the counter; he’s trying to make sure you don’t cut your finger off.

He tuts above you, his grip still firm as he directs you to the uncut carrots and chopping board.

“Tsk, honestly. You’re ridiculous. What am I going to do if my best girl is hospitalized after losing her hand because she’s too busy daydreaming about snow storms instead of having basic kitchen awareness? You know, I could send you home over this. Make you unable to come back until you rewatch those kitchen safety videos with the fake blood and awful actors. Seriously.”

You shiver at his words. He’s so busy setting up for a rant, you almost miss it.

“Your best girl?” You ask lightly.

Seokjin stills, your joined hands hovering over the cutting board. “Oh, uh. You know what I mean. You’re the best….girl we have on staff. You know.”

You don’t. You’re far from the best girl on staff. Seha has a degree in culinary arts. She’s usually the one who has everything prepped days ahead with perfectly formed cuts. She manages the kitchen cleanliness with rigidness. She even barks orders at Seokjin when he’s in the kitchen because he isn’t as clean as her.

If she wasn’t out with the flu, none of this work would even need to be done. Maybe Seokjin is getting sick too. He’s been feverish looking and a little uneasy around you all morning, and clearly he’s now being delusional.

“Ah,” you concede, and give your hands a shake to urge him to continue.

“Right, anyway. You’re getting better at your cuts, but I’m losing money quickly with all your sacrifices to the floor goblins. And we don’t have much time left before the others start coming in, so let’s finish this up.”

You let Seokjin guide you, literally hand-over-hand, as he restructures your positioning on the knife and angle of the blade to slice through the carrots a lot more cleanly and easily.

“That’s it, good. You’re doing such a good job,” he breathes.

You feel his exhale along your spine. God, you’re a pervert. He’s just trying to help you better yourself, and all you’re thinking about is how dominating he seems right now and how much you want to please him.

God, if he calls you a good girl you know you’re going to moan audibly. That’s how bad he’s got you.

You keep working, and once you get the hang of it, Seokjin’s grip loosens, allowing you to finish the bag by yourself. But his hands are still on yours, even if you’re the one in control.

After a while though, it’s becoming too much to handle. Him bent over you like this is limiting your range of motion, making it hard to wipe the sweat on your hands or move your scrap pile further down the counter.

He’s also a human furnace, the space between you still so limited that you’ve begun sweating under him.

In one particular cut of carrot, the sweat caused by the joint heat of your hands causes you to lose your grip, shooting it down onto the floor.

Reflexively, you reach down to grab it, but with Seokjin still attached to you, it proves to be an immediate disaster.

You throw your body into a bend, which forces you back, your ass grinding directly into Seokjin and being met with something very large.

You gasp and Seokjin grunts, swiftly releasing your hands, which are actually balancing you in your bend.

You fall forward, smacking your head into the edge of the counter as you go down.

The kitchen echoes with an embarrassing clang as your forehead ricochets off the metal.

“Fuck,” you groan, a sharp pain shooting through you..

You scramble to recover, one hand going to your head as you steady yourself, rubbing the soreness. Seokjin flails above you, panicked.

“Oh shit! Y/N I’m so sorry! Oh my god. Are you okay? I shouldn’t have let go, I just was–” Seokjin rambles as you stare up at him, trying to get him to steel himself.

“No, fuck, ouch, it’s okay! I’m okay. Seokjin, can you please just get me some ice and help me up?” You aren’t sure you can get yourself up as your vision swirls from the heat of the pain. You really went down hard.

Seokjin ceases his flailing and shouting, leaning down and picking your body up off the floor with impressive strength and carrying you to a clean workstation in the center of the room. He sits you on top of it, making you now almost his height.

Holy shit.

Once sure you’re not at risk of flopping over, he walks over to the ice maker with a clean kitchen cloth and folds some ice cubes inside.

You reach for the cloth, but he refuses to hand it over.

“Yah! No. Please let me do this, I can see the bump forming already. I’m the one who caused your injury.” He gingerly lays the cold cloth against your head. You wince.

“‘Snot your fault,” you pout, trying to ignore the pain. “It was an accident. No one caused it.”

Seokjin sighs and places his free hand behind your head, discouraging you from angling away like you’ve subconsciously been doing.

“It is my fault. I let go of you. After just lecturing you about kitchen safety. God, what kind of example am I setting? I’m really sucking at this boss thing.”

You reach up, placing your hand on Seokjin’s wrist to remove it from the ice. But he doesn’t relent. You keep your hold.

“Seokjin, you’re not a bad boss. God you’re literally the opposite. Everyone here loves you. You’ve only been the manager for a little while. Give yourself some time. And keep in mind both of your parents ran this place, and now it’s down to just you.”

You feel the tendons under his wrist adjust, his grip a little looser. Seokjin’s wrists are soft and tan, a thin coating of hair trailing up his forearms and under his sleeve. Your grip loosens too, and you let your thumb brush back and forth through the hair.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t supposed to be the manager. My brother was supposed to manage the restaurant when my parents were ready to retire. That was always the plan, anyway. But things change. When they were getting their apartment ready for my nephew to arrive, I think they realized how tight space can be living in the city. We grew up in an apartment complex not too far from here and it always felt like we were on top of each other.

“Which, we kind of were. My brother and I shared this tiny room that had bunk beds, and we lived that way until he went away to college. I used to always smack my head against the ceiling when I was a teenager and woke up in the middle of the night. My forehead would get huge bruises on it, probably a lot like the one you’re going to have on your head.” He frowns.

“I guess my brother didn’t want to see his kids living like that either. I never minded it so much, but maybe that’s because I was the younger one. Not having any privacy during puberty or dealing with me during puberty was probably a nightmare for him.”

You shoot him a sympathetic smile. “It was nice of you to take over on his behalf then. I know you used to work for major companies in the business district downtown. This must have felt like a sacrifice.”

Seokjin’s arm falls away from your head, your soft caress pulling away with it. He sets the cloth down next to you. He worries his bottom lip into his mouth and then shakes his head.

“No, it was never like that. I’m sure eomma filled everyone and their brother’s ears with stuff about me. ‘Seokjin is our business minded son! He’ll make a great leader!’ ‘Seokjin is talented in the kitchen and spent his whole life working for us. We trained him well!’ ‘Don’t worry about him abusing his power. He knows exactly how it is for everyone!’” Seokjin’s says, his voice inotating the same pattern of his mother.

“Well, she wasn’t wrong. You are all those things,” you argue, lacing your fingers in his. You know it’s not necessarily appropriate behavior between a boss and his employee, but at this moment, you’d argue Seokjin needs a friend more than anything.

“I’m not, though, Y/N. I didn’t sacrifice anything to do this. It wasn’t some great act of loyalty where the son with a promising future gives up his dream for his family business. In fact I had to beg my parents to let me work here! Because I, their failure of a son, lost everything and had nowhere else to go! And the shit I ended up doing to even keep myself afloat…I’m not a great leader. I’m nothing more than a fraud.”

Seokjin rakes his free hand through his hair.

“I had a good life before this Y/N. A good job, a nice house, a fi-...just..I was living a dream that I no longer have for myself is all. But at the time I was on top of the world and now I feel like such a fucking failure.”

Seokjin looks like he’s falling apart, eyes darting madly as he shifts around, suddenly transforming into nothing like his usual cool, goofy self.

You need to stop this from getting worse. To distract him and stop him from talking himself into a pit of despair. If Seokjin’s mouth is occupied somehow, he can’t continue with all the negative self-talk.

A stupid idea flashes in your head. You don’t even think before you roll with it.

“Jesus, I can’t even manage properly. I messed up Mino’s paycheck a few weeks ago and I’m still not sure how it happened. I’m just not–”

Your lips connect with Seokjin’s, your legs wrapping around his waist to tug him closer as you move your body against his. Seokjin returns the kiss in earnest, parting his mouth to welcome your tongue as you lap the words out of his mouth.

His plush lips feel so soft against yours, his taste a bit bitter from the coffee you both drank earlier, but you find yourself craving more of it, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth with the hope that maybe you can absorb it.

Seokjin groans in response, gripping your hand tighter, his other settling on your lower back as he pulls you closer. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear every atom in your body is vibrating at a higher frequency from his touch. You want to feel him everywhere.

You break the kiss, and see Seokjin’s eyelids are heavy, almost like he’s drunk. You’re about to move back in, to tongue along his sweaty, long neck, suck on his protruding Adam’s apple.

That’s when you hear it. The slam of the back door as your coworkers arrive.

Seokjin jolts back, breaking the hold you have around his waist with your legs.

His mouth looks a little red and swollen. And his eyes are wide, panic flashing across his face.

“I–I’m sorry!”

Before you can reassure him, tell him that you’re the one who should be sorry, you started this, who crossed this line between boss and employee by kissing him, Seokjin bolts from the kitchen.

You sit for a minute, stunned, and then look around, taking in the scene around you. The carrot shavings all over the counter, the discarded one still on the floor. Your knife is unsheathed again. There’s containers of tofu and seaweed just abandoned in a pile next to a large pot.

And you can feel the puddle forming under you from where the ice has begun to melt. What the fuck just happened? What mess did you just get yourself into?

The rest of your shift, you’re anxious. Especially because you’re short-staffed due to the weather forecast, which has led to three call-outs from people who commute from across town. That means you’re performing multiple roles: taking orders, bussing tables, seating customers, and getting appetizers, drinks, and side dishes ready for each group of people coming through the door.

Seokjin was right in his prediction; you guys are slammed. And because there’s less staff, that means Seokjin is orbiting around you, following behind with cleaning rags as you finish bussing or running into you in the narrow doorway as you both attempt to fetch an order from the kitchen. You’re both flushed and sweating, the hairs on the back of your neck now matted down.

Your mind is swirling around that kiss and its consequences, but you don’t have time to lose focus; the minute you finish one thing, you’re pulled into another task for a temporary distraction.

Only to be thrust back into the reminder of this morning when Seokjin lightly caresses the small of your back as he squeezes behind you to grab more plates.

If either of you ever need a break, you don’t say so, only pausing in between rushes to pee, take a bite of something, and chug water before you’re thrown back out into the mess.

Finally, after you elect to work a double, it’s closing time.

“Y/N!” Seokjin calls you from the front as you scrub the grime off a stack of dirty dishes.

Your pulse quickens. You’re the last one here. The storm kicked up an hour ago, and since you live the closest, you shoved your coworkers out the door so they could get home before the roads were a mess.

You dry your hands on your messy apron, pulling out your phone and wincing at the slew of missed calls, texts and notifications. You were supposed to stream again tonight with a bunch of other girl gamers as a part of a “Galentine's Day” collab, playing dating simulation games as a warm up before jumping into some first person shooters.

You’d reached out to cancel once you saw the stress tugging at Seokjin’s face, his jaw set, his brow constantly furrowed. While the other streamers were completely understanding, you still have a ton of notifications from your social channels asking if you are okay and some texts from Wonwoo and a few other friends asking the same.

You’ll fill them in later. But now, you have to face Seokjin.

He’s sitting at a freshly wiped-down table, counting the drawers and preparing the deposit slip.

He ushers you over and gestures at the stack of cash, silently asking you to verify his numbers. You comply, the room silent less the shuffling of bills or coins under your fingertips and your habitual mouthing of the numbers to ensure you don’t lose count.

He nods at your final calculation, jotting the number down on the sheet and placing the bills together. You turn and begin to head back to the kitchen.

“Wait,” he says, and you freeze.

Your stomach is quickly turning into a bundle of knots. You suck your lips into your mouth as you spin back around, Seokjin’s eyes meeting yours.

“I…” Seokjin takes a deep breath before continuing. “Listen. I’m really sorry about this morning. Today’s just been a whole mess and I really shouldn’t have been airing my frustrations to an employee like that. It was inappropriate and immature. I know better than to behave this way.”

Did you say your stomach was in knots? You mean it’s filled with heavy, sickening lead. “Oh, right. Uh, don’t. I mean, I started it. I just…you were panicking and I didn’t know what to do and I thought maybe this would help.”

Seokjin’s brow furrows, a frown on his face. “Why are you apologizing when I’m clearly the one in the wrong here? Ah, no let me finish! I’ve always prided myself on my professionalism and ability to keep personal matters out of my work. And I failed in doing so, which takes advantage of you since I’m your superior. You not only felt a need to comfort me but also stop me from spinning out. I’m truly sorry Y/N, about the oversharing and the um, kiss. I definitely gave into my emotions in a moment of weakness. Please forgive me, I promise I will never touch you again. This won’t happen again.”

His head droops and he looks down, clearly ashamed.

Oh. So he doesn’t want this. Which, why would he? He’s right in that he’s your boss, and clearly Seokjin values his reputation and his job because they’re a reflection of not just him, but his family. Why risk that with someone like you?

You swallow the lump in your throat along with any response. There is the boundary, you know better than to cross it.

As you move again, Seokjin rises from the table. “Y/N…you know what? You go home. The storm is really coming down.”

“But, there’s still mopping and all those dishes left,” you croak. Your voice is so hoarse from being dehydrated and talking all day that you barely recognize it as your own.

“Don’t worry about those. You look and sound exhausted. It’s not your job to take care of everything. Go home, enjoy your romantic snowy trek,” he smirks, “and get some much needed rest. You’ve more than earned it.”

When you arrive home, your body slugs onto your bed, finally giving into the fatigue you’ve ignored all day. Your feet ache, your stomach now settled enough from your walk that you are starving. And you smell awful.

As much as you want to fall asleep, you know that you at the very least need to eat something.

With a groan, you rise, hobbling to your kitchen to make some instant ramyeon. The collab stream is now over, you learned this while finally checking your phone on your way home and seeing a thank you message blasted out by one of the streamers. Oh well.

You suppose you could get back to your book, see what Prince August and his lover are getting up to in their reunion, but that seems like more brain power than you’re willing to give.

You elect to eat, then take a shower, rinsing the grime of the day off you. When you step out of the shower, you see an ugly looking bump and purple bruise on your forehead.

That’s right, you’d already forgotten about your injury from earlier. You touch it lightly and recoil from the sharp pain. Damn, maybe you should’ve checked to see if you were concussed earlier. You didn’t realize you hit your head that hard.

You decide to ice it before bed, crawling under your covers and trying to rest while you play back your day.

How you started is so significantly different from where you are now. When you woke up, you were eager and excited to be around Seokjin, to learn new skills and feel light and warm in his presence. Now, the idea of going back to work in a few days, to have to muddle through the rejection you got tonight and try to get back to a baseline makes you feel nauseous.

Seokjin wants to make this all water under the bridge, and you want to do that for him. But it’s nearly impossible when he’s, well, him. He doesn’t understand how much more difficult it’s going to be to look at him because you’re not walking around with a face like that: perfectly balanced and delicate features and a full, delicious set of lips.

God, he really did taste fantastic. You wonder what would’ve happened if you two weren’t interrupted. Would giving into his emotional need for comfort have given you more? You know it’s wrong to think about, because you're the one who took advantage of him, not the other way around.

He can say he took advantage of you with his power imbalance or whatever, but you’re the one who was seconds away from licking down that thick neck or grinding back onto that massive cock.

Fuck, that’s right, Seokjin is huge under all those clothes and your ass got to experience rubbing against it today. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he seemed like he was a little hard.

If Mino and the others had been just a little later, you might have seen it. They might have walked in on you on your knees as you choked on it, Seokjin’s moans and whines echoing in the kitchen.

Because now from kissing him, you got a taste of those little noises he makes. And the memory has you becoming slick and needy.

It’s late. Too late to read your smutty book, especially since you’re not at the next smutty scene yet. August and his beloved are just reuniting. You’re sure it’s bound to be good, but you don’t have that kind of patience right now. You need to cum, to get your ideas about Seokjin and what he firmly set as a boundary out of your head once and for all.

Which means you need to give your fantasy of him out of your head too. You shove the ice pack you’ve been holding to your head aside, ready to relieve some tension.

You reach under your shirt and gasp when the chill of your icy hand plucks at one of your nipples. Yes, you need more of this.

You touch the other one with your other hand, disappointed that it’s warm. And then you get a fantastic idea. You grope around for a moment until you feel the cold cloth housing the ice cubes from your freezer and pluck one out. It melts quickly in your hand, but the cold water is stimulating as you feel it run down your forearms, a droplet or two rushing down and reaching the heat of your armpit. You pull the large shirt you use as pajamas up further with your other hand, fully exposing your chest and stomach to the chilly air of your apartment.

The ice cube drips over your navel. You hiss as the new sensation floods your core with warmth. Some of the water pools in your belly button, a satisfying dampness taking over your body. Then, you drip the melting ice cube onto each nipple and relish how erect and sensitive they’ve become from your arousal.

Your breasts are plush, something you love to grab and tug as you play with yourself. They’re heavy, the weight of gravity tugging them down instead of staying up as porn once made you believe was possible.

You can understand why people sometimes get caught up playing with tits all the time. They’re arguably fun to play with.

As the ice cube warms and shrinks, you become more curious, taking it between your fingers and swirling it directly over each nipple, a shock of cold hitting them and your hips bucking in pleasure. More. Whatever you’re feeling right now, you need more of it.

You rip your sleep shorts and panties off in desperation, splaying your legs open and aiming yourself up so the last drips of the ice cube can fall directly onto the folds of your pussy, a few dribbles landing right on your aching clit.

Heat, that’s what you actually feel. Fire and ice swirling together in a decadent and hot pleasure. You reach over and grab another cube, this time skipping the teasing and touching the ice right to your clit. It’s a lot. Too much. Not enough. The pain shooting through your clit is also full of so much pleasure and you don’t want to stop.

You rock against your hand, rubbing your clit with your fingers as the ice melts, mixing the wetness of the water with your own, getting you messier, hotter, hungrier.

The memory of Seokjin holding the ice pack flits through your head, how cold his one hand was as it held yours, similar to the chill of your own hand as you grind it against your pussy. You need something inside of you. Now.

And unfortunately for you, all your toys are currently dirty. When you finished streaming last night, you made good on your promise to fuck yourself until you passed out, which means your collection of dildos and vibrators are now discarded in a pile next to your bed that you’d intended to wash after work today.

You insert a finger and sigh. It’s not enough. The angle is too awkward and you can’t get far enough in. Seokjin’s hands are much larger than yours, capable of pumping his long fingers deep within you, to get to the part of your core that is aching. If he were here right now, he could be itching that scratch, a smug look on his face as he comments on how soaking wet you are for him and commands you to cum.

Ugh. You said you wouldn’t think of him, yet here he is again, stirring up inside your fantasies. You can’t give in, you need to distract yourself, look at another face so you can feel motivation.

You remove your fingers, wipe them on the damp washcloth next to you, and reach over on your side table for your laptop.

You don’t watch a lot of porn, finding the videos often too fake, but you’re desperate. You scroll through the website, quickly losing some of your arousal as you click through pages of straight porn, the ones you know that will have some awful plot, or the woman has some nasal and fake moan that kills your buzz. Or the guys are so ugly, proving that porn always has the male gaze in mind.

You just need to cum. Today has been awful enough, and knowing you have to stream tomorrow again is already causing you to wind up. No, this is necessary stress relief. An unwinding. Make it dirty and to the point.

You click over into the other categories. You need just a man, someone else who isn’t Seokjin. You hover over the male masturbation tag, still disappointed. Then you see a banner ad for a camming site: Worldwide Handsome, Hunks From Around the Globe. That, you think, seems more promising.

Live cams are interactive, more with immediacy. Usually the guys on them are hot or gay or both and just ready to jack off for money and give in to some dirty talk. Even the gay camboys don’t always care if women are viewing. Money is money.

You click the banner, praying this doesn’t immediately give your computer a hundred viruses that will delete all your coursework you’ve saved to the harddrive.

Luckily, it’s a legitimate website, much like OnlyFans, just with the emphasis on queer men from every country. You might just be saved.

There are so many categories to choose from: couples, kinks, trans, bisexual, furries, just chatting, BDSM, interactive games, private rooms. It’s a little overwhelming. You select the “solo” tab, which, of course, has the most videos under it, and begin exploring.

You click on one that seems promising, but quickly exit out because the user has fallen asleep and it feels too intimate.

In another, the streamer is yelling at his chat for outting him to his parents, and you exit out of that as well.

You’re about to give up when you refresh the page, but then a recently started stream catches your eye. It’s quickly gaining views, and has a little “1” next to it, probably to indicate that this streamer is the most popular one in his category.

The title for the stream is Unwind with me. Late night play with Daddy which makes your core throb a little with promise. The thumbnail is black, which is a little odd, but you’re curious who this “Daddy” is and how he plans on helping his viewers unwind. Because that is exactly what you need. In his associated tags, there’s a tiny banner at the bottom that urges you forward “all genders welcome”.

You click the link, and the video itself is black, but there’s still hundreds of comments fluttering through the chat. Is your stream broken? This sometimes happens when you stream too, but after a quick refresh you realize that the screen isn’t black. There’s a little bit of light pouring through whatever is covering the camera, detecting some movement through the veil.

“You don’t know how stressed I am today,” a low voice groans.

Whoa. You lean closer, tapping the volume button on your laptop to the max and leaning back. God, whoever this guy is, he sounds hot. This might actually work to get you off and get over Seokjin.

You balance your laptop on your knees and roll your hand down your stomach and between your legs, finding your aching clit and sighing as you delight in your touch.

“I know we don’t always play games like this baby. I know you usually like it when I beg. But I can’t play like that today. It’s been so long since I got to fall back into what I desperately, absolutely need.”

His voice is so seductive yet also comforting in a way that’s familiar. You feel more of your arousal dripping out of you, and you scoop it up to swirl it around your clit, feeling a little twinge of that white hot pleasure return to you.

“And what I need is to take the edge off, to remind all of you who is in charge. Some of you have been very, very bad lately. Haven’t I given you enough? A two-year anniversary stream? I gave you all my cum didn’t I? All of it.”

The chat is going nuts, comments replying with “yes Daddy” accompanying tips that vary from twenty bucks to one thousand dollars spilling in. You check his timestamp. He’s only been live for five minutes and he’s already getting this much? Even your most successful streams take hours to reach a little over a thousand after royalty cuts.

To his credit, though, if you had a grand to drop on him, you just might, and that’s going by his sexy voice alone.

“I let you watch me spill from my cock, let you see me touch myself. And you were greedy. Don’t think I don’t know what you did. I saw your questioning comments, trying to shame me for muttering someone’s name in pleasure. But I’m not ashamed. I’m proud.”

Fuck, what you would do to have this guy moan your name. You feel your orgasm approaching and rub yourself harder, a soft squelch echoing through your room.

“You took what I gave you for granted, you fucking whores. And now, you need to be punished.”

You’re so close, the little peaks of pleasure starting to build up higher in intensity.

The mystery man stops talking, and you along with the chat, begging for more.

“Please,” you moan at your screen.

Suddenly, you hear it, a wet, slick sound. Fuck, is he touching himself?

“It’s been a long day. All day, I was working and I was so horny because some people in this world can’t stop fucking teasing me, tempting me to punish them, just like you.”

You feel the tremor of your first orgasm, but it’s not as sharp, more like a hint of what is to come. You pinch your clit between your fingers, sighing a little bit at the relief of pressure.

“You’ve all been very bad. And until you show me you can be good, I’m going to pump my cock and not let any of you see. You think you can do that? You think you can be my good little subs and prove to me you’ll behave?”

Oh god. Fuck. He’s insane, he’s so hot and insane, and you’re also insane, nodding along. The condescension is so hot, and it reminds you of earlier in the kitchen, when Seokjin scolded you for not being safe with the knife. His voice got rough just like this guy. And it makes you feel so needy and desperate.

Please, you beg silently, just like how you did this morning. I’ll do anything.

Almost as if he knows this, you hear a moan carry through your speakers. You assume he’s reading the comments and tips with promises to behave. You clench around nothing, really wishing at least one of your toys was clean for you to use to feel less empty. You’re never falling asleep without washing them again.

“Good, that’s what I like to see. Now remember, you don’t get to cum until I get to cum. Go ahead and play with yourself for me, get yourself all worked up. And then be good and listen. I’ll tell you what to do next.”

Whoops. Well, the first one didn’t count. You aren’t satisfied.

He groans, signaling that he’s stroking himself again, rough jerks you can hear from the way his hands are sliding over his (you assume) lubed cock.

“You want to see me cum? You want to earn it all over you? You know what you have to do, my pretty little subs. Work for it. And not a penny less.”

In a frenzy, the tip jar continues to buzz in the bottom corner, the graphic of coins depositing into it glitching out a bit as it fails to keep up with the volume of tips. While he’s the most popular streamer on this site, it’s not as though the website is the only one of its kind, and that means that his couple hundred viewers are putting in the work and the cash.

You watch the numbers rise next to the tip jar as his subs showcase their double entendre: both his subscriber count soars and his comments flood with loyal submissives.

Please, Daddy. Please let me cum.

I’m sorry Daddy. I’ll be good, I swear.

Remove the blindfold please! I need to see your big cock!

Ah, it’s a blindfold. Of course.

The graphic of the jar changes, exploding and sending animated dollars and coins across the screen. This is wild. His viewers have already met the milestone. They’ve just raised ten grand in less than 15 minutes. That has to be some kind of record.

He tuts and the sound of it punches your gut. Why does he sound so familiar? “Tsk, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I knew you could do it. You want my forgiveness that badly, huh? Okay, I’ll give you what you need. I’ll forgive you.”

Your pussy is throbbing. You’ve had to scale back the touching, feeling a weird sense of obedience to this camboy that you can’t describe.

There’s a ruffling sound and the camera jolts before light pours into view, a blur of shapes and colors you can’t make out greeting you until it comes into focus and you’re met with a massive, leaking cock.

“Holy shit,” you moan, finding your footing on your bed and moving your resting hand from your inner thigh back to your clit.

The camera is framed from the user’s toned abs down to just the top of his thighs, showing off his heavy, tight balls and red, angry tip.

“Is this what you’re begging for?”

Yes, you shudder a breath. Yes.

Large hands with long knobby fingers run along his thighs, one sweeping under to cup his balls while the other works his shaft, thumb sliding over his slit to rub precum around the tip.

“Alright, then.” He begins pumping, smooth, tight jerks that have him squeezing his length and encouraging more strands of precum to leak out. He falls into a steady rhythm and you mirror the pace on your clit, gasping for breaths as you become all the more sensitive now that you have a visual to follow.

“My face? Oh, no. You didn’t earn the right to see that. Don’t start with me. If you want to see my face when I cum, you have to reach the next milestone. You know the rules.”

You don’t know the rules, but you hope someone else will be desperate enough to reach it for you. You’re dying to know what he looks like.

Almost instantly, the money animation explodes on the screen again. A $5000 tip. Jesus Christ.

“Ah, of course mapl3stor33, I should’ve known it was you. Always so good to me. Because of you I got to get that new collector figurine. Thank you. Well everyone, because of mapl3’s generosity and mmm…loyalty…fuck. I guess I’ll let you get your full fantasy. Let you see my face as you imagine you get to make a mess of me, milk my fucking cock all over you and let me make a mess of you.” He’s moaning as he speaks, pausing between sentences to pump himself harder as he gives “Maple” a proper shout out.

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. It’s one thing for you to create the fantasy, but him acknowledging it with some judgment, as though you’re not good enough to even fantasize about him, it’s leading you quicker to your undoing.

His pace builds to a heavy, slick rut. His hands are slightly red, almost like how yours looked after washing the dishes before Seokjin kicked you out.

Wait. Red hands. His look similar to Seokjin’s, with the same knobby long fingers. And the figurine and Maple…like, MapleStory?

There’s no way. No, you’re clearly just losing it with your fantasies. This one is taking it too far.

“Fuck, yeah that’s it baby. Touch yourself. Be good for me. Where do you want my cum? Oh, you dirty slut, fuck, yes. Okay, I’ll cum all over myself. Just for you. Shit. Almost, come on.”

Your fingers are still following his lead, unable to stop, so close to finishing, to the release.

He moans, his hands blurring as he strokes fast and hard, jerking into himself. And that’s when you know. You heard that moan. You caused that moan.

With a final solid, slightly whiny grunt, he backs up. His face coming into frame, and the first strands of thick white release cascades across Seokjin’s chest as you focus in on the pure bliss washing over him, his head thrown back and mouth shaped into a delicious “o”.

“Oh, fuck. Take it, take my cum. Yes, that’s it. That’s my best girl, so good for me. Such a good girl.”

The second you hear the praising fall from Seokjin’s mouth, he takes you over the edge with him. Your body rockets into your orgasm with a heavy clench of your core, feet losing their solid hold below you as you begin to shake and succumb to the feeling.

You’ve unwound, the tension of your body unfurling as you’re cast out to sea, your body bobbing along each wave with a newfound euphoria. Out here on the water, the world is silent except the ring in your ears. You bask in the peaceful ebb until you feel a tingling in your fingertips and toes calling you back, forcing breath back into your lungs with a heavy pant.

Once you recenter, you gaze back at the stream, confirming that this is the smiling and grateful Seokjin you just saw three hours ago.

He called you a good girl. He came all over his sweaty chest. And he’s the top streamer on a gay sex cam site.

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #ksj #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #kim seokjin

150 notes · View notes

minnielvr · 1 year

Text

future reference - hwang hyunjin

˚ ༘ pairing bf! hyunjin x fem reader

˚ ༘ genre hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

˚ ༘ wc 826

˚ ༘ warnings angst, reader is insecure

˚ ༘ note this shit was hella self indulgent!!

you had just gotten back home after yet another bad day and all you could do was look in the mirror, judging each part of your body. your brain pointing out all of your flaws. the acne on your skin, the frizzy, unbrushed hair sitting atop your head, and so many other things you just hated about yourself.

why does he even love you? what does he see in you thats so special? your boyfriend, hwang hyunjin, was practically sculpted by the greek gods. he's tall, handsome, strong, and oh so sweet. he's everything a woman could ever want on this planet. but for some reason, he chose you. and you did not know why.

of course, you knew he loved you. he says it every day. and if thats not enough, he buys you the most expensive jewelry and the most lavish clothes. not to mention the dates he takes you on, fancy 5-star restaurants all the time. still, you couldn't help but think, why?

with all of the voices in your brain you hadn't heard the door open and close, or the voice of hyunjin telling you he's home. when he walked up to your guys shared bedroom and saw you staring at yourself, he knew what was happening.

"hey sweetie, everything okay?" he asked right by your ear as he snaked his arms around your waist.

"y-yea everythings fine." you tried to get out of his hold, but he didn't let you.

he led you over to the bed and laid you on the bed, then he slipped in next to you. he pulled the covers over you two and grabbed your waist and turned you towards him.

"whats going on in that pretty little head of yours hm?" he asked.

"hyunjin its nothing really. just some stupid stuff." you tried to dismiss the subject.

"hey nothing that you feel is stupid. your feelings are valid okay?" he reminded you. "so, what're you thinkin' about?" he asked once again.

"i just felt..weird today. i started to wonder why you love me." you admitted.

the look on his face was a mixture of shock and sadness, but most of all guilt. how could he let you think like that? now he was angry at himself. had he not been doing enough to show you his love?

you could sense that hyunjin was about to start beating himself up for it, so before he could talk you decided to explain yourself.

"im not saying you don't do enough because you definitely do! i appreciate it really and i love you so much for that. but i cant help but think why me hyunjin? theres so many other girls who're better looking than me and don't act like this. i mean, all the girls in the idol industry are better than me so, why?" you had word vomit, you didn't mean to say that much, but it just came out. and now you could see tears in his eyes.

"y/n..i-i'm so sorry you feel this way. how did i never notice? god i'm such a bad boyfriend." he chuckled at himself while trying to wipe away the tears. and before you could say anything about how its not his fault he continued on.

"i want you because you're...y/n. you better than any girl out there. you're pretty and smart and super funny, but what i love most is that you have the biggest heart ever. more than any of girls in the idol industry. you're so kind to me y/n. you don't love me just for my looks or for my money, you love me for who i truly am. and thats the same reason i love you. you're perfect in my eyes." at this point there was several tears rolling down his cheeks, but neither of you cared.

"hyunjin..." you started at him sweetly and brought a hand to his cheek to wipe away the tears, ignoring your own. "god i love you so much," you chuckled, "what would i do without you?"

"no, what would i do without you, my y/n? my beautiful girl" he embraced you and held you close to his chest. "one day, im going to tell everyone in the world that you're the love of my life okay? im going to yell it out from the top of a building." he said.

you giggled. "one day, i want to be able to call you my husband." you looked up at him from his chest.

his eyes went wide, and so did his smile. "you mean that?"

"of course." you assured him.

"okay then, i know i dont have a ring or anything yet. but just for future reference, will you marry me?" he asked with a big grin.

"hyunjin!!!" you shoved your face back in his chest and laughed. then you looked back up at him.

"just for future reference, yes hyunjin, i will marry you."

384 notes · View notes

ghoulfuckersincorporated · 4 months

Note

Wait, how would Cooper feel about thigh high stockings with some of those heels? Possibly a garter belt too? Or even just knowing that his partner has them on underneath whatever they usually wear? My mind goes blank when I see them on a pretty lady (or a man or anyone else really, I'm bisexual) Something about wearing them also makes me feel super hot but also powerful? Is that weird?

Oh, they feel very powerful, Anon. That's definitely not weird. In fact, I'd argue that that's one of the main selling points of them. It's very empowering and confidence-boosting to feel desirable and sexy.

That's why Cooper would absolutely adore seeing you in the entire get-up. He'd also like seeing you be so confident...

I think it would start small, maybe him gifting you your first very nice set of lingerie for your first Valentine's Day together. To you and your current financial situation, nice lingerie is simply defined as "a cute-ish top and bottoms that match and aren't completely ratty".

It's been about a year since he and Barb officially divorced, and about four months since you and Cooper started dating. You're both still quite low-key about it, not wanting to deal with the drama or the guilt of making Barb feel bad, but you're wild about one another. Coop likes being with someone who is more down-to-earth like he is, someone who he could really see raising chickens with him. You enjoy the older man's kindness, his generous nature, all the things he can show and teach you from years of life experience.

You aren't inexperienced, sexually, but the things you've tried aren't exactly adventurous. He catches you reading a steamy novel one evening, though, and suddenly you're getting quite the interrogation about what naughty things you like while he tickles you and kisses at your neck. And trust me, you will be divulging that information; he's a patient man, and if he has to wait until the next time you have an extra glass of wine with dinner to ask again, he will.

One of the things you eventually mention, lips loose after too much New Year's champagne, is how you've always liked the idea of dressing up in sexy lingerie, high heels and all, parading around a tied-up man like a prowling seductress.

So, naturally, you're over the moon when, a week before Valentine's Day, he gives you a gorgeous satiny bra and panty set and some stockings to go with. The sizing is perfect, of course, because he's so wonderful about attention to detail. The garter belt confuses you when you try it on, but eventually you manage to wrestle it all into place, and you're blown away by your reflection in the mirror. Cooper insists you don't show him what it looks like on until the day of, and you keep to that. But after your romantic dinner together that evening, you find yourself almost overly giddy to get out of the nice dress you'd chosen for your date. He's been shooting you heart-stopping glances all night, running his eyes up and down your body like he knows what you're hiding underneath your clothes.

Which, of course, he does.

When you finally get home, he takes great pleasure in slowly peeling you out of the thing, revealing the black satin and silk and the little bow between your breasts. Your feet have much less traction than usual against the hardwood floors in the stockings, but you're sure in your step as his eyes on you give you a huge confidence boost. Leading him to his bedroom, you push him down on the bed and kiss him for a long while before telling him to stay put, disappearing from the room and reappearing with a few lengths of rope in hand, his white cowboy hat on your head.

A few minutes later, his arms are outstretched just enough to keep him from being able to reach his body with his hands, the knots around his arms and the headboard posts nice and secure. He taught you the knots, and you'd really enjoyed learning them, but you still didn't think it had been fair of him to test your knowledge on them while he made you cockwarm him. But that's a score to settle another day.

You enjoy taking your time teasing him, running your tongue and nails along his chest and stomach, noting the way he shivers as you run your fingers along the waistband of his slacks. After he pleads a little, you free him from his open fly and tease him with your lips and tongue until he's pleading again. You smile wickedly at him as you move back.

Balancing on your rear and your palms, you lean back as far as you can while still staying upright between his knees, slowly and intentionally running your silk-clad feet all along the planes of his bare chest, appreciating his physique as you tease all the way up to his collar bones. A giggle leaves you when he cranes his neck to allow himself to nibble at your ankles, but the playful little kick you give him to the forehead sends him staring you down with a heat in his gaze. When he's settled down, you move your feet back down to the trail of hair that leads to his twitching, throbbing erection.

"Dirty tricks, little lady." he growls when you start to gently rub your smooth sole back and forth across his cock. You've managed to sniff out this particular kink of his between all the "secret" little glimpses at you after you take off your heels at the end of the day, the glut of compliments about how pretty your feet are, the regular pedicures he happily pays for. The massages where he can barely conceal his growing erection. You'd thought it a little strange at first, but he didn't judge you for your stranger proclivities, so you tried your best to grant him the same grace.

Plus, it was really quite hot how worked up he got about it, and you certainly didn't mind all the gifted shoes.

Since you've already been working him up and teasing him, he quickly reaches his end. You're both a little shocked by exactly how hard he cums, and how much, jet after hot jet spattering across his chest, his stomach, and your stockings, a low, guttural groan leaving him as you continue to gently pet at him until he pleads with you to stop. You can't help but notice that he seems like he's having a hard time meeting your gaze.

The whole display is incredibly erotic to you, despite what you may have thought about this sort of thing before. You'd never considered how much you could enjoy having a man you actually liked and trusted thinking your feet were very, very sexy, and now the whole thing has you ready to plant yourself down on him and never get off.

"Well, are you gonna untie me so I can return the favor, darlin'?" he asks eventually, face and neck still pink as he finally seems to gather up the courage to look over at you. You grin, slinking forward to lean in and kiss him deeply, running your fingers through the cooling rivulets of semen painting his toned chest.

"Mmm, I dunno, cowboy." you tut, pulling his hat from your head and giving your hair a seductive shake as you place it onto his. "I sorta like you like this. I'm thinking about maybe taking you for a little test ride."

His muscles flex against his restraints as he grins impishly at you. You have him under your control, and you intend to keep him that way for quite a while. Your pretty lingerie will definitely be destroyed by the time you're finished with each other, but no worries; he's got another of the exact same set hidden in the closet, ready to replace it so you can have one to actually keep.

He's just thoughtful like that. 😈

To the innocent anon: I'm sorry I used your submission to write foot job porn. :( Well, I'm kinda sorry.

I do feel at least a little bad, scout's honor.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #prewar!cooper howard #cooper howard headcanons #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

84 notes · View notes

propertyofkylar · 10 months

Note

The opposite of degradation kink. Like, kylar watched so much bdsm porn/hentai that he thought he had a degradation kink, thus him showing pc his drawings of her stepping on his chest/face in the abduction event. But when him & pc try to do kinky stuff and pc calls him a creep/freak and slap him or something he just. Panics. Chicken out. Thought he would like that but actually it’s a big NO, a trigger even. End up crying and being pampered by pc.

entropy!! your MIND!!! this is insane. i love it. i have to write this RIGHT NOW

m!kylar and gn!pc

"You're sure this is okay, Kylar?"

Kylar chewed on his bottom lip, but nodded nonetheless. He still seemed hesitant and you frowned. "And you remember the safe word?"

He nodded again. "I--I can handle it. I want this."

You nodded too, crawling on top of where he was lying on his bed. Kylar's breathing grew faster as you got closer. "Okay," you whispered, clearing your throat and trying to slip into character.

"This is what you want, right?" You murmured, sliding a hand down Kylar's chest. He looked at you with wide eyes. "Pathetic." Your hand stopped on his crotch and he sucked in a breath. "And you're already hard. Such a desperate little thing."

He whimpered as you straddled him, rubbing your crotch against his. "You want me so bad. It's pathetic," you reached down and squeezed his clothed cock harder than you normally would, eliciting a soft moan from Kylar. "I know you've been thinking about me like this all day. You're so obsessed. What a freak."

At the final word, you felt Kylar's body freeze. You looked at him and noticed his eyes were unfocused. Calling him a freak clearly had bothered him and you felt a rush of guilt. "Kylar, are you okay?"

For what felt like the millionth time that night, he nodded, but you knew him well enough to know he was upset. "Kylar. We're doing this because you wanted to. I promised you I would stop if you felt uncomfortable and I meant it."

You reached out to touch his hand and felt him trembling. "Okay. I'm stopping. We're not doing this," you climbed off him and moved to lay next to him.

Kylar looked away, mumbling "I--I'm sorry," and you could tell he was about to start crying. You sat up and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he immediately buried his head in your chest.

"I thought it would--," Kylar began, but got choked up. His next words were barely a whisper. "I didn't like you being mean to me."

Hearing that made you feel even guiltier. "Oh, Ky," you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm sorry, baby. I wouldn't have said yes if I knew it would upset you."

"N--no, it's my fault," Kylar stammered. "I just thought that it would be fun for us. But it wasn't."

"It's okay," you said soothingly, stroking his hair. He leaned into your touch. "It felt weird for me, too. I don't think you're pathetic. Or a freak."

Kylar sniffled and looked up at you, his face wet. "You really don't, right? You mean it?"

You kissed his forehead and felt his tension lessen. "I don't. I love you the way you are," you confirmed.

A small smile started to form on Kylar's face. "Yeah. You love me."

You held him for a few additional moments before speaking again. "Here's what we'll do. How about you and me take a nice bath together instead and we see where that takes us?"

Now Kylar was fully grinning. "That sounds nice..."

You kissed him and felt him smile against your lips. "Then come on, love. Let's go."

Even though it was a short walk, Kylar held your hand all the way to the bathroom.

#WHOLESOME KYLAR ALERT !!#degrees of lewdity #dol #kylar the loner #dol kylar #writing #kylar x reader

150 notes · View notes

trulybetty · 7 months

Text

12 x ring - joel miller x f!reader

prompt: ring pairing: sequins!joel miller x f!reader word count: 514 notes: fluff, no outbreak, no y/n, no reader description, mention of pregnancy, small mention of clothes not fitting, general bad day mentions summary: sometimes valentines is a little less gestures and more just having your person

x. masterlist

The day had started on the wrong foot from the moment you'd opened your eyes it'd felt. You'd been halfway through your morning routine when you'd remembered that it was a mandatory day in the office. Four months pregnant meant that you were in that weird limbo of your clothes now struggling to keep up with your rapidly changing body and you had struggled to find work-appropriate clothing amongst your wardrobe.

Joel had tried to reassure you, complimenting everything you tried on from his seat at the edge of the bed. You'd made him sit before he could leave the room, needing his voice of reason, but you were already feeling overwhelmed so his words did little to ease you, instead frustrated you further.

Then in the whirlwind of a week of appointments, soccer games, worksite dramas and one leaking sink, you'd completely forgotten it was Valentine's Day. Then by the time you realized it, sat in the driveway trying to find the energy to make it inside after a longer than average work day, the self imposed guilt heavy on your shoulders.

To make matters worse, a sudden pang of realization hit you — your wedding ring wasn't on your finger. Panicked, you retraced your steps in your mind, remembering the last time you'd seen it on the bathroom counter while you were getting ready maybe? But you couldn't be sure.

Stepping up onto the porch and opening the front door, Joel greeted you with a warm smile as he stepped down the stairs, the delicious aroma of Pad Thai filled the air. “Hey, how was your day?” he asked, wrapping you in a hug.

You melted into his embrace, the tension of the day beginning to ebb away. “It was long, and... Joel, I’m so sorry. I forgot it was Valentine’s Day, and I’ve been so caught up, and now I can’t find my ring. I think I lost it,” you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He chuckled softly, pulling back to look at you with a twinkle in his eye and a raised brow, “First, I'm glad you're home. Second, don't worry about Valentine’s Day; I actually think it’s more a you holiday than me thing. And third…” he paused, reaching into his pocket and pulling out your wedding ring, “you did leave it at home, on the bathroom counter.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as he gently slid the ring back onto your finger. “I wanted to surprise you,” he continued, his voice soft as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I’ve been practicing making Pad Thai, I know it’s your favourite and I figured after a day in the office, I don’t know–” he trailed off, “thought it might make the day better.

You wrapped your arms around him again, this time with a laugh through your tears. “I can’t believe you... it smells amazing. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Joel kissed the top of your head with a laugh, “I think you did it by just being you darlin'.”

#x29 valentines #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #sequins!joel #tw: pregnancy #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

103 notes · View notes

gnomishcunning · 6 months

Note

Re: requests, literally any nsfw for Zevlor? I love one (1) sad old tiefling

i, too, love one sad ole' tiefling. he and karlach own my wholeass heart. some of my own headcanons/portrayals of him snuck into these, hope ya don't mind.

(please send me more asks about zevlor i love him so much)

nsfw below the cut! MDNI

in general-

zevlor's a hopeless romantic in the truest of sense. his entire life has been about devotion - he joined a group of soldiers that you can't quite, he's a paladin who lived by his oath for decades, and he followed the literal god of guardians. he believes in devotion, and that undoubtedly leaked into his concept of relationships

maybe back in his young soldiering days, zevlor had some one-night stands, maybe an occasional fling or two. but his devotion to his duty came first, and he sadly never found time to fall in love like he wanted, or start a family.

so, if you somehow managed to lure zevlor into your bed? you need to know it's because he loves you. even if he hasn't told you.

he's an old, broken paladin. he's not willing to risk heartbreak and further grind down his sense of self-worth, not with everything he's been through.

he's already lost everything that made him who he was. he can't loose you, too.

the first time around? it's all sweetness. he approaches your naked body with a sort of reverence, like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. that this is actually happening.

his attention to detail is paramount. he's trimmed all his talons to a dull sort of safety, he's got warming oil tucked into his belt-pouch, hell - he brings his own contraceptive herbs, if he's with the type partner where that's a concern. he'll eat em in front of you if that helps.

consent is the sexiest thing, and he unwraps you like a present, carefully asking with every piece of clothing removed, dipping his head to press kisses to every new bit of your beautiful self revealed to him.

His hands tremble as they travel over soft skin, careful on every curve he covers. he's constantly checking in, making sure you're okay- can he touch here? caress you?

it's admittedly a very vanilla affair, but it's probably the most tender, loving sex you'll ever have.

he's going to want to top, and gods, how can you say no to that face?

you'll come first. no matter what. he presses kisses down your body until he can attend your clit or cock with careful flicks of his tongue, he'll dribble oil onto his fingers in front of you so he can slowly work you open, taking one finger, then two-

and gods, you just know he'd have amazing hands, right? callused and dextrous after a lifetime of sword-wielding, but ever-so careful and exact.

he won't want to take you until you've made a mess of the bedsheets, and when he does? he wants to take you in missionary so he can reach you everywhere, kiss every bit, and watch - commit every bit of this to memory, just in case he never has the opportunity take you apart, ever again

he's going to do his gods-damned best to insure you both cum at the same time. he'll press careful kisses to your mouth as you fall apart, one hand cupping your chin, just so he can watch your face as you cum

he's not a very loud moaner, but he repeats your name on loop until he finishes.

he gets hella clingy afterwards, and if you two have the right kind of relationship where he feels safe enough to be vulnerable which of course you two do, he'll probably cry afterwards

thankfully, this becomes a regular occurrence for both of you

in terms of kinks? zevlor's a bit of a mixed bag. he's got a lot of things he's passingly thought would be very hot to try with a partner, but he may carry some weird guilt about it.

in kinky, bdsm terms-

i'm a firm believer he's a switch, and he's equally willing (and wanting, tbh) to take both roles on, depending on the night. while bdsm wouldn't be a lifestyle-like thing for him and the majority of y'all's sex is vanilla, there's definitely occasions where he wants to indulge. and they're usually like, specifically-planned and orchestrated occasions, set to consume a whole evening, for both the kinky sex and the aftercare.

safewords include the faerun equivalent to the stoplight system (which i'm still working on), or something simple and straightforward that both of you can easily remember.

'bridle' is what comes to mind off the bat

he's absolute delighted if his partner wanted to take care of him, and yield without a fight. if he verbally protests he should be taking care of you, just say you wanna show him how much you love him. he'll fall apart in moments.

as a submissive? his biggest kinks would be praise and body worship, especially contrasted with some light verbal degradation. he's got some guilt to work through, and it's nice to do that with someone he trusts implicitly. but focus more on rewarding good behavior, rather than punishing bad behavior. he's disappointed enough in himself.

it's worth mentioning, this man is the furthest thing from a brat (for the most part). he wants to be good and get praised, since nothing else gets his heart beating as fast - but if you're being a tease, he's not above squirming and cursing at you in infernal

bondage is a yes, but he prefers one particular facet: rope. shibari's equal parts art form and bondage, and he'd appreciate the care and attention to detail that goes into it.

ironically? you wouldn't need bondage to hold him still. he's pretty damn good at following orders, and he's definitely eager to please. i don't think he'd be into 'good boy', but call him a 'sweet lil soldier'??? hahahaha oh wow

sweet and reassuring aftercare is a necessity, there's like a 95% chance he'd cry in a weird, cathartic sorta way. he's definitely a candidate for subdrop, so watch for that.

regardless of how pretty he is when he falls apart, he'd additionally play dominant with just as much eagerness. just say you trust him implicitly, he's incredibly handsome and attractive when he's in-charge, and you want him to take control. he'll more than happily agree - he's enthusiastic about it, especially when he sees how excited you are about the concept

speaking of- titles. Master sits weird with him, but "Sir" and "Commander" are both on deck. he kinda a fun lil illicit thrill using his old title in the bedroom. it'd go a long way to restore that ole' Hellrider Commander confidence, ngl.

he's a very firm, but very kind dominant, if that makes sense? he issues his commands, wants and expects them to be followed. his rewards good behavior with praise and petting (hair, or elsewhere on your body)

he's got a very good understanding about the lengths and limits of subspace given how well he knows you, he's incredibly attentive about how far his submissive has sunk, mentally, and he'll take them as far as they're looking to go- whether that's just taking their mind off a situation with some sweet tending and an orgasm or three, or totally obliterating their brainpower in a positive way with the paladick(tm) treatment

very into getting his partner to the point all they remember his name, designation, and 'please'. equally as fond as leaving hickies/marks/love bites all across their body, especially where people might be able to see. leaving physical evidence of his effect on his lover is a big turn-on

as equally into bondage and rope as a dominant as he is a submissive. it's a hobby he occasionally indulges in, and he enjoys prettying you up in fancy hemp ropes he probably dyed himself

he's fan-fuckin-tastic with aftercare, it's kind of insane. he's soft and careful, getting you a glass of water, he draws you a warm bath and helps you clean up, and then lures you back into your body from the weird, floaty world of subspace with soft touches and sweet praises. he'll get you snacks afterwards if you need them, and do just about anything you'll ask - from reading a book out-loud so you can listen to his voice, to granting you another orgasm if needed.

for the record if y'all want deets about how he is with a brat or an obedient submissive, someone needs to bite the bullet and send the ask, otherwise this post is gonna extend into forever

#zevlor x tav #bg3 #zevlor

87 notes · View notes

basu-shokikita · 8 months

Text

Possibility, a Toki from a different reality

So @dalberadiata has an AU where Toki never left the cult and, therefore, never joined Dethklok. But the call of destiny is much stronger, so he accidentally catches a glimpse of Dethklok when they're visiting Norway and pretty much instantly becomes infatuated with Skwisgaar. The interest isn't one-sided and Skwisgaar teaches Toki about the world of music...and many other things. 🎸💘

I've been wanting to do something with this AU for a while because I'm fascinated with it. So, after many talks, I decided to write the scene where Toki wears non-religious clothing for the first time. More specifically, the clothes Skwisgaar lent him. Needless to say, this is a Skwistok AU 🥰

You can also read this work here!

Hat in his hands, Toki looked at his feet. Or rather, the lack of them. Covered by the dark robe he had been wearing everyday for the past 8 years, it was like he was floating on the floor. Some kind of ghost that still managed to trip on his non-existent feet sometimes.

His eyes kept going back to his legs, his arms, his torso, his neck even. All dutifully covered so there was nothing in sight, nothing to tell apart. Not even the top of his head was safe, protected by the hat of the same color of his robe. He was one undefined silhouette not to be confused by a mere mortal wearing vulgar clothes or showing skin. At least, that’s what his parents had taught him.

He was always to be covered, never to expose anything. Never to embarrass or as shame the family with his indecency. Long ago were the days where he was allowed to wear a simple t-shirt and shorts for his daily duties. He was a real member of the family now and he had to behave as such.

His eyes met his own hesitant reflection, worry scattered all over his features. Should he really be doing this?

“Eh, Toki,” Skwisgaar put down the black magazine he was reading. “Don’ts..think abouts it too much.”

Toki glanced at Skwisgaar in the reflection, and simply pursed his lips in response. He knew Skwisgaar meant well, but he had no way to understand. He had no idea what this meant for Toki, the weird guilt swelling in his gut just from his thoughts. The feeling that his parents, his dad especially, had always been right about him. That he was a failure to the family and the whole town.

He tossed the hat on his bed, as if that would make his dad’s eyes stop glaring at him from inside his mind. He wanted this. He wanted to do this.

“Okay.” He said, more to himself than Skwisgaar. “Turn around.”

“Whats?” Skwisgaar squinted like he hadn’t understood him.

“Turn around.” Toki repeated, this time gesturing with his fingers.

Skwisgaar grimaced for a good couple of seconds before throwing his palms into the air and turning around. “Talks about overkills…” He muttered under his breath but Toki still heard him.

Not that he cared, this wasn’t about Skwisgaar, it was about him and he wanted it his way. This was hard enough as it was, he didn’t need Skwisgaar’s prying eyes on top of it. Toki inhaled deeply and then closed his eyes. He counted until 10, an old trick to calm down his anxiety that he had learned from a nice old lady at the local market a couple of years ago. Then, he exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.

His stare wasn’t all quite confident, but he had to make do. Determined, he brought his hands to his collar and started unbuttoning his robe. It had exactly 16 buttons, so he took a while to undo them. The buttons were worn out and old so they always took several pulls to get off the buttonholes. One time, as a teen, Toki suggested getting new ones but his mother gave him a glare of disappointment that made him never want to ask again.

Undone, the robe fell to the floor and Toki’s first instinct was to immediately pick it up and carefully fold it to place it on his chair. However, his fingers hesitated when he was inches away from the floor.

He remembered the first time he refused to wear the robe, because it was uncomfortable to wear, to move in. Because he thought it was ugly, because he was tired of following this charade he had never wanted to be part of.

His dad ordered him to take off his clothes and made him stand in the snow for hours, with nothing to cover himself with. At some point he lost consciousness, and when he recovered it, he was shivering in his bed. His dad told him, just as cold as the snow that he had been surrounded by, that it was his own doing for rejecting the Lord’s graces.

A few years later, Toki fell off the mountain while running errands. He slipped with the ice and rolled for a few meters before crashing against a rock. He managed to limp his way down, though his sides really hurt and he was pretty sure he was bleeding from his leg. When his mother saw him, the first thing she was worried about wasn’t him, but the robe.

She made him take it off, quickly tossing the snow off it and washing it to remove Toki’s blood. Not even a glance of concern when Toki was stitching himself as she dried the robe next to the fire and carefully sewed the holes back. Toki watched his mother treat his robe with more care and gentleness than he had ever received from her.

When, just two years ago, Toki had taken his picture with them. It was his first official family picture. During his childhood, he had only seen his parents in the framed photographs around the house, never seen himself, like he wasn’t allowed to be part of it. So, he was pretty excited, to be finally acknowledged by them. He tried really hard not to smile when the town’s photographer came to take it.

However, when he saw the final picture, he felt nothing but cruel disappointment. Because the person in it, between his two parents, didn’t feel like him, it didn’t look like him. With the serious face and the dark robe, he looked like any other member of the sect. Nothing to tell him apart from the rest, and that’s exactly what his parents had wanted all along for him.

Toki straightened instead, not even giving a spare glance to the robe on the floor. He proceeded to unbutton his dark purple shirt, trying not to feel self-conscious when the skin of his chest began to reveal itself. He always undressed looking away from the mirror, it was a habit his parents had taught him. Dress with the mirror, undress without it. Flaunting one’s own skin, even in private, was sinful.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Skwisgaar’s head move. “I’m not ready yet!” He said, trying to inspire obedience but his voice came out squeaky instead.

Skwisgaar grumbled but he didn’t try to take a peek at least, and Toki was relieved. Undoing his pants took him way less time than the rest, and he just let it join the robe on the floor, along with the shirt.

The clothes Skwisgaar had lent him were resting on the edge of his bed and Toki hesitated again. Was this really him? Maybe he shouldn’t mess with the order after all. Maybe he shouldn’t be tempting…he didn’t even dare to think of the word. His eyes wandered around the room, until they finally fell on Skwisgaar’s mane.

Luscious bursts of golden cascading down his shoulders, leading to that black leather jacket that had enraptured him since he first saw him and the tight black pants that followed, finishing up with the elegant black boots of the same color. He was beautiful and, just as important, he was free. And Toki desired that freedom just as much as he desired him.

He made up his mind and grabbed the shirt first before forcing it down his neck and torso. Then, he spread the pants and shoved his legs inside. It was definitely tighter than he expected, and he had expected a lot. As he struggled to make his groin somehow fit comfortably between the fabric, he realized Skwisgaar was most likely a smaller size than he was. The last touch were the black combat boots that, ironically, were a tad bit too big for his feet.

With one last exhale, Toki took a glance at his reflection and almost didn’t recognize himself.

His usually hidden shoulder-length brown hair was exposed and slightly disheveled from the movement. His torso was adorned by a short-sleeved black shirt with an over-designed skull and the name of a band he didn’t know in red letters. The shirt had probably been loose on Skwisgaar but on Toki it fit just right. The faux leather pants made noise whenever he moved and, just like he suspected, made his crotch stand up. Packed with combat boots, they made him look like a rockstar, even if he could still see the reluctance in his expression.

Toki tried smiling, then he tried frowning and struck a pose. He put a hand on his hip and one foot in front of the other one and feigned the smugness he often saw on Skwisgaar. It made him laugh to see this much arrogance in his face, however, and he ended up cracking up in front of the mirror. Sighing, he stood straight and contemplated himself. It was weird, and it definitely didn’t look like his usual self. But maybe it could be.

Maybe this could be him.

Also, he could finally see his feet step on the floor, how crazy was that? Toki Wartooth, finally allowed to have visible lower limbs. Absolutely insane.

“Oh, heys.” Skwisgaar said, walking up to him with a smirk. “Has I met you befores?”

“Pfft.” Toki snorted, though couldn’t erase the coy smile on his face, especially not when Skwisgaar wrapped an arm around his waist.

“You looks good in my clothes.” He said, eyeing Toki’s body. His stare stayed for a little longer on Toki’s lower abdomen before it went up again. “Ja?”

Toki averted his gaze, chuckling lightly. “I look like you.” He said, feeling his cheeks heat up from Skwisgaar’s attention and proximity to him.

Skwisgaar took a whiff at his collarbone. “Smells like me toos.” There was something suggestive about his eyes, and Toki could’ve sworn the room was getting hotter despite being in the middle of winter. “Heh.” Skwisgaar seemed satisfied by the reaction and pulled away. “Wants to gets out of here?”

Toki didn’t expect that, though he wasn’t against it. “Where are we going?”

“There’s ans a metals show in the towns.” Skwisgaar said, his eyes were smiling at Toki with tenderness he hadn’t seen before. “I can gets us there.” His thumb slightly brushed Toki’s chin. “Hm? What you says?”

Light blue eyes got starry from the idea alone and Toki swallowed heavily. His first metal show ever…he imagined a raging crowd and killer instrumentals. An imposing vocalist growling incomprehensible lyrics, the chaos and sweat in the atmosphere…

His heartbeat sped up from anticipation and Skwisgaar smiled at him. His first metal concert would be with Skwisgaar of all people. Toki couldn’t help thinking it was the perfect date. A nod. “Let’s do it.”

Skwisgaar’s smile turned into a grin as he laced his fingers with Toki’s and dragged them away from the room. Toki allowed himself to be led, excitement bursting through his chest.

When he walked past the door frame he turned around and gave his old clothes one last look before leaving.

He would never look back.

#metalocalypse #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwistok #my writing #tw religious guilt #tw child abuse #no beta we die like men etc #they're speaking norwegian in this btw which is why skwis is the only one making mistakes

92 notes · View notes

c0smoshit · 1 year

Text

Guilt ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Familiar faces with not so pretty words appear in Cloud's dream

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!!, fluff too, traumatised Cloud, HUGE FF7 SPOILERS, Not proofread!!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ This fic contains really big spoilers from the original game that haven't appeared yet on the remake!!!

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 4.705

Aerith

Wait

"Why didn't you save me Cloud?"

What?

"You tried to kill me"

It was Sephiroth not me... What is going on?

"You left me to die there, don't you remember?"

Suddenly the voice that took all the space in that weird unlighted room came into vision. She was backwards, her long hazel braid adorned with a cute pink ribbon on top and that characteristic red jacket beyond a long dress... It was really her.

Did I die and went into a purgatory for what I had done? Am I in some sort of limbo?

No it can't be. I saw her die in front of me, this is just some stupid dream...

"I miss you Cloud"

...Right?

Her face was soft and full of live, her green orbs overshadowing the rest of her features. She looked so... real

He stayed silent as the girl approached him slowly, smiling sweetly as her dress followed her steps graciously. He kept thinking about that day, the day she let go of him, cradled in his arms as her lifeless body sank itself into the water, returning to the lifestream.

Something felt odd, her face wasn't as lively as he remembered it to be. Her face was like a ray of sun, always emanating energy and happiness to her surroundings. Now her face felt empty, altough she was smiling, it was like there wasn't any true emotion behind her factions.

"Why did you let me go?"

She kept talking, and with every word that fell from her mouth he felt himself growing deeper and deeper into sorrow.

Of course I remember her, I miss her too and I'm was very aware that I had tried to kill her on top of that translucent glass.

It wasn't him, he had done everything that he could to stop himself from slicing her in half. But no matter how hard he repeated to himself that it wasn't his fault, there was always this agravating voice inside of his head that blamed him. He still felt like it was his fault, he should've been stronger, he should've been a SOLDIER.

A hand touched his shoulder, making him tense up, there was someone else here too. His eyes fell first to the recognizable black gloves and he didn't have to turn around to be sure he'd be met with dark spiky hair.

Why couldn't I be like him?

That question often flooded his mind, ever since he was just a kid who just wanted to pursue a dream. Life could've been easier if he had just became a SOLDIER, deep down he thought that if he was stronger maybe you'd like him more.

"I thought you were strong"

A huskier voice spoke now, much stronger than the one that spoke earlier. The hand had such a powerfull hold on his shoulder Cloud pictured himself being buried into the ground just by the force of it. And he wished it was his strength instead.

"You could've protected her, protected me"

I know, I fucking know.

"Aerith will no longer talk, no longer laugh, cry... or get angry..."

He remembers himself saying that in front of that self-centered son of a bitch. Many times had he crossed his path and promised everyone that he'd kill him, but instead he was just being controlled by him. Forcing him into doing things he didn't want to, give him things he wouldn't let slip out of his grasp.

He felt grief, he felt embarrassed but on top of those feeling he felt lost.

He was already a grown up and he didn't even know his true self, everything about his life seemed... fake.

Like someone was just piloting him and he was on the passenger seat.

He also felt weak.

An adjective he had learnt to totally despise over the years.

He couldn't enter into SOLDIER because he wasn't strong enough, he couldn't save Tifa from that fall because he wasn't fast enough, he couldn't save Aerith from Sephiroth because well... he wasn't good enough.

When he was just a child he thought Tifa's friends were childish and weak, that he wouldn't be like them, that he wasn't like them.

But turns out... maybe he was the weak and childish one.

He then felt himself being dragged into the void, everything went dark around him. A pitch-black blanket covered him tightly, or what he thought it was.

Zack and Aerith were now gone, he was floating alone.

His limbs were numb, his eyes were closed for an instant before they were opened again. A familiar sandy path appeared right in front of him, an old truck resting on the side of it. He then saw the tall metalic structure, something he had crossed multiple times when he was younger. Houses adorned the little village in an almost perfect circle, red roofs and white bricks.

His younger him walked in front of him, steps full of energy and youth. He felt somewhat jealous of him, he had so many dreams and fantasies he pursued. Little could expect that boy to happen in reality.

The little boy ran before he could grab him, vanishing from his vision as another person came into it instead. Altough he was backwards, anyone could know who he was. Long white hair and dark clothes, eyes full of rage and power as he tilted his head to see Cloud.

Soon the houses were light with red and orange flames, the air becoming dense and har to breathe through the ashes and the imminent warmth.

"What about MY saddness!?"

He also pictured himself shouting that to Sephiroth, words full of rage and saddness. The man he trusted the most, the man who he thought was so strong and, just someone who he could follow his steps. He was now laughing at him, speaking to him as if he was rubbish, some sort of puppet.

He was tired of him, tired of seeing him everywhere. He remembers his confusion that day, his anger and his saddness. He thought that wasn't the real Sephiroth, that this was just some sort of joke.

He hated him, he wanted him dead right in front of him but he hated himself more. He hated that he probably wasn't going to be strong enough to even touch him.

He was just a traumatised kid.

Then you appeared, trapped bellow a wooden board. You had the most frightened eyes he had ever seen, you were sweating, screaming and begging for him to save you.

"Cloud!"

He tried to run to were you were, to shout that you were going to be okay, that he was going to rescue you and take you back home without any scratch.

"Please..."

When he saw you going limp on that board his heart clenched. Not again, god, he would sell his soul to the devil just to save you. He couldn't see you like that, not when he could save you.

"Hang on!"

He shouted to you as he began lifting the rusty board from you, helping you out from the fire. Your body fell and he managed to catch you, you were hot, really hot. This wasn't good.

"It's alright"

He tried to reassure you, he knew he wasn't the best with words but he tried. Why couldn't he be like one of those cool heroes who managed to save everyone and always have such good words to say?

You didn't open your pretty eyes, your breathing was getting calmer and weaker. He held you tightly to his body as he felt the warmth of the fire enveloping both of you.

He couldn't do this anymore, first Zack then Aerith and now you.

He couldn't lose you, you were his last hope on this tragic planet. You two had been through hell and back together, you couldn't die that easily right?

"Please answer me"

He shook you lightly, patting your cheek as he tried to wake you up. But none of that worked, you felt heavier on top of him... lifeless.

He felt himself tearing up, not you. He needed you, you couldn't just be gone that easily. He held you tightly to his body as he let himself cry into your shoulder.

Your smell was mixed with the smoke, your relaxed muscles sprawled on top of him as a little tear shed from your eye. He was devastated. The girl that had helped him through everything, who offered him a shoulder to cry on whenever he needed it, who lended him a warm bed and fresh food with such a sweet smile. She was now dead on top of him and it was all his fault.

"Come on"

A wave of guilt washed over him, he still hasn't thanked you enough for all the shit you had done for him. All the sleepless nights you had spent taking care of him and his stupid wounds.

His arms lifted you in bridal style, just like he did with Aerith. No, this time it could be different, it had to.

Your head rested on his shoulder and he could've found that view cute if you weren't fucking dying on his arms. He hated this, the scorching fire enveloping both of you as he tried to find somewhere to go. His head spinned and ached, he needed to get you somewhere safer.

But the more he ran and ran, the more blurry his surroundings became. His legs were burning, his lungs too, but he needed to save you.

And then... darkness again, his skin was no longer sweaty thanks to the burning flames.

You were still on his arms with your eyes closed and no signs of breathing. He quickly hugged you close to his body, begging you to wake up to just talk to him, open your gorgerous eyes for him to see just one more time.

But you didn't, instead you felt... lighter, as if your soul was slowly leaving your body. He could still smell the soapy shampoo you used that lingered on your hair, a smell that always brought comfort to him.

It wasn't fair, he was tired

Tired of seeing everyone die right in front of him, the time he had spent with them and the bonds he had created with them now becoming just memories. And he couldn't do anything about it, he should've done something sooner.

He often wondered why was he alive, why not him, why did poor souls of innocent friends had to die and not him.

"Cloud"

He quickly shoved his head off your shoulder, eyes trying to focus on your own ones. But you were still asleep on his arms, what? It was your voice who said his name, why didn't you wake up?

His mako eyes flicked up and looked into the void, there was nobody there, it was just... darkness.

"Cloud"

Your voice called him again and it echoed though his ears, where were you? Well, first off were was he?

Your words were laced with sleppiness, coming out a bit groggy and husky. You were calling him but your lips didn't move when you talked.

He felt someone shake his shoulder but when he tried to look at whoever who was touching him he saw emptiness. The shaking became harsher, but it didn't feel like someone strong was shaking him. It was more like if someone wanted to wake him up, it reminded him of his mother and how she woke him up with gentle shakes. But a kiss wasn't placed on his cheek or forehead so he was pretty sure it wasn't her.

An anguish pain struck his forehead, his skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat as he sat on top of a mattress. The room was dark except for the dim moonlight that entered through the window, blocking the chilly air.

His hands fisted the mattress hard, knuckles white before his eyes locked with yours. Thank god you were safe and without any burn scars or serious wounds. Your hair was messy and your eyes were practically forcing themselves to remain open.

He then noticed your hand holding your reddened forehead, it looked like someone had punched you right in the middle of it.

"Are you alright?"

You muttered a quiet "oww" before his own forehead began to hurt again. That was when he realised what could've happened and boy did he felt bad.

He suddenly remembered where he was and what was happening, you two were resting in an inn as Tifa had decided that it was the best idea before the night reached your path. Both of you shared a pretty nice room, your bed a few inches appart from his, divided by a cute wooden bedside table.

He remembers your excited and happy face when you first saw the bedroom, an emotion he couldn't understant. I mean... It was just a bedroom. But that was something that he absolutely adored about you.

He didn't know why or how but you always managed to make him feel the way you did. Wherever he saw a normal room you saw a cozy cute room that was absolutely perfect to rest in after a long day. Whenever he saw a cloudy and boring day you saw the opportunity to go out and let the rain wash over your body, running and smiling around.

"Are you alright?"

His breathing was still uneaven, the sour taste of seeing you lifeless on his arms still lingered on his tongue. He nodded quite quickly at your question, still disorientated.

"You were making weird noises in your sleep and then... And then you started moving around"

He listened carefully to what you were saying but his eyes finally took in your state. You were sitting besides him on his bed, your puffy eyes and your messed up nightgown showed that you had probably just woken up.

"I tried to wake you up and when I did you sat up so abruptly that our foreheads smashed into each other"

So that was the reason of his weird headache, touching it as he saw you mimick his actions. He was incredibly sorry, he shouldn't have woken you up in the first place and when you tried to help him get out of that horrific nightmare he just hurt you.

He kept apologising to you, telling you how sorry he was for waking you up like this. But you only smiled at him, shuffling closer to him and telling him that it wasn't a big deal.

"I just had a bad dream, that's- that's all"

His words were followed by an evident sad tone, keeping to himself the actual nightmare he had just seen.

But when he tried to explain to you that it was nothing he was met with two warm arms surrounding his middle part. His hands stayed akwardly on the sheets, letting you hug him before he gently returned the hug.

He didn't know he wanted your hug but he needed it. You felt so warm and nice just like a blanket wrapped around him in a winter night. He never wanted to let go of you, god since when had he gotten so emotional?

A flash of images about the earlier dream he had passed through his eyes and he had to force himself not to hug you tighter to his body, just to feel that you were real. To ensure that you were there with him alive and breathing.

But you were the one that hugged him tighter, pressing your chest against his as you laid your head on his shoulder your mouth just bellow his ear. His mouth was slightly open and his cheeks grew hotter, clearly not used to this closiness with someone.

But he pushed those thoughts away, akwardly placing his hands around your waist. He was so glad you were here with him, so glad that it all was a bad dream.

He hated hugs, he hated when people invaded his personal space, but having someone that gave you a warm hug after an almost traumatic experience felt just right. You actually cared about what he had to say or what he wanted to do, you were there when he needed you.

He felt stupid for all the times you offered him a hug and he ,arrogantly, declined them. This felt like heaven.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Your sweet and soothing voice ringed through his ears in such a perfect way he would have melted on spot. He didn't know what was happening to him but he just was so emotional with you. Maybe it was because he didn't really have anyone to calm him down after a bad dream.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, he couldn't lie to you but he didn't want to open up to someone about his feelings too. He was taught that feelings were for weaklings, thst he didn't need them. He felt stupid for having them but he couldn't help it, he was just a guy after all.

"Aerith was there"

He started speaking without wanting to, he finally broke that akward barrier with you. He felt your breath hitch for an instant and before you could open your mouth he talked again.

"She was with Zack and they were-"

He cut himself off by clearing his throat a bit, thinking about the words he was going to use.

"They were... blaming me for what happened"

Your eyebrows furrowed and now you cut him off before he could speak again, your head pulling off from his shoulder, eyes facing his neck as you held him close to you.

"It wasn't your fault"

"Don't blame yourself for what happened, you did more than enough"

Your words hit him harder than a brick, he expected you to say something similar but those words actually coming out of your mouth made his heart clench.

"You were there for both of them, you protected them. But sometimes things don't go as you expected"

He didn't know when you had placed your hand on his cheek but he leant against it, his eyes know facing your gorgerous sleepy ones. He had always found you really pretty, he liked the way you smiled and how you laughed at dumb one-liners.

But or course he would never say that to you.

He stared at your face like a lost puppy, listening intently to what you were saying. He could listen to you for hours and he loved doing it whenever you two were together with the rest of the group. He actually sticked closer to you whenever he had the chance, the way you friskily moved your hands or the gestures you'd make. You were so... natural and charming.

"Aerith must be proud of you and so must be Zack, you were by their side the whole time"

Your thumb started stroking his cheek, keeping your movements gentle and steady. He could've fell asleep right there, his hands still rested on your waist and when he noticed he quickly retrieved them.

He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, not when you were helping him so much, holding him on your arms, whispering through the night breeze such reassuring words.

He can't recall the day he felt this safe and good with someone, not even with his own mother. He sure had heard before some motivational words coming out of Barret or Tifa's mouth but your's were deeper than theirs. He needed to hear them, he needed you.

"It's all Sephiroths fault, how could I have trusted him? You almost..."

He opted not to continue, it was probably the best option because he didn't want to talk about your death again, not in front of you. He had already talked too much about his dream.

Your hand trailed itself up to his shoulder, faces close together before your lips moved again.

"We'll take care of him, together"

Your last words were matched with a tender squeeze on his shoulder, bringing him the comfort he didn't know he needed. His eyes rested on yours, inspecting them carefully, taking mental images of them.

"You're a tough guy Cloud, no white haired weird guy could take you down"

He smiled a bit a your description and so did you, offering him a wolfish grin before whispering again.

"His hair sure didn't age well"

He let a little chuckle escape his lips, forgetting for an instant why were you up in the first place. After that silence fell all over the room, the only noise that could be heard was the gentle sway of the leaves and the slight night breeze.

The moonlight hit your face, making it glow in an almost ethereal way and he swore he felt the time freeze. He was so comfortable right now with you by your side, he never wanted this to end.

You both looked into eachother's faces, eyes trailing over the tiniest little features before always returning to both of your eyes. This was prolonged for almost three minutes, both of you just breathing and admiring each other, waiting for someone to do something.

"You should get some rest"

Your voice broke the silence again, but not in a good way as earlier. He saw you depart from him, your warm body left his, he didn't want you to go that quickly.

How much time had passed since you sat down with him?

"No"

A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping your movements. He didn't know where this sudden movement came from but he didn't care if it made you stay.

So you silently complied, sitting down with him again and as magnets attract each other, your bodies crashed together again in a warm hug. He couldn't give a damn about the fact that you were practically crushing him above the bed, he was happy to have someone to hold to in these awful nights.

He wasn't usually like this, he did not fucking know were this demeanor came from but he knew that he liked you like this.

Your body rolled itself so it rested by his side, no longer on top of him wrapped like a blanket. Your hands wrapped around his head, holding his face close to your chest while his own hands held your waist tightly, afraid to let go of you. His blonde spiky hair trickled your arms, he looked so cute like this; wrapped tightly against your chest like a little kid, eyes closed and slightly furrowed eyebrows.

"Sleep tight, Cloud"

He loved how his name rolled off your tongue, he could picture your mouth slowly making a little "O" shape when you said his last letters.

You were so good, maybe too good to him and for what? He was just an arrogant quiet guy who only cared for himself (or so is what he thought about himself) He admired you, your strength to lift yourself up when you had fallen to the ground with a heavy "thud! ", how you put other people's feelings or even lives before your own one, how you managed to easily forgive pieces of shit that had caused you or the group a bad time just because you were too emphatic.

And here you were now, holding him like he was made out of glass, he would cry right now. But he didn't, he sticked to just holding you tightly to him, assuring himself that you were there with him. You rubbed his hair gently, carefully massaging his scalp, he felt as if a goddess was massaging his head instead, and it wasn't far away from reality because he really saw you as an angel.

Your little snores made his heart flutter, you had fallen asleep on his arms, your hand no longer caressing his hair. And he quickly followed you, drifting off to Cloud 9 before he could even admire your asleep form.

That night he had the best sleep he'd ever had since months, craddled nicely on your arms as if he was a little kid who had slept on his mommy's bed after a bad dream (that was indeed what had happened). Your limbs were tangled together, your head resting on top of his as the blanket was quickly replaced with your body. He really couldn't thank you enough.

This was the first time he had sleep with someone like this and he surely would do it again. But it wasn't just somebody it was you, you were special.

His mind drifted to images of you, the day he first saw you on a dress Aerith had told you it was made just for you, and it clearly was. That time when you stopped by Costa del Sol and you and the girls played along the sea, barefoot and splashing water at each other. That day back in Midgar when you had found stray cats and quickly petted them, held them in your lap as you rubbed their belly and earnt some purrs.

He didn't know why but he just wanted to keep you to himself, hug you until he died in your arms.

He also loved how your hair smelt, a fresh fruity scent that he was now delighted to enjoy for as long as he wanted to. Your hands and how they worked wonders on him when you gave him a massage or when you treatted his wounds. Your eyes, god they were so gorgerous he could spend the rest of his life staring at them.

But his mind also drifted to your limp state on his arms, was that a future vision? He remembers he had some weird flashes of Aerith's dead when he first was with her. He was deeply worried, he didn't know what his mind or his body were actually capable of and he didn't even wanted to know.

He knew something was wrong with him since he was just a child, he was different to the other kids. Maybe if he acted distant and cool they would play with him or maybe not.

Deep down he knew he only wanted to feel wanted, to feel loved. He had spent his whole life pushing those feelings away, it would only complicate things. But it just felt so good to be held like this, to hear those quiet but deep words. He wanted you, he had loved you since he had met you, you were... god he can't even describe you.

All this Shinra and the world being destroyed was so tiring for him, why did he had to solve everything? He was sick of hearing that name, sick that the only purpose of his life was to stop him, to go after him. But he had started all this, he needed to finish what he had caused.

But on nights like this, he only craved for you, for you to just be there for him, hold him tightly to your body as you told him that nothing would go wrong. To dry his eyes when he fell apart, to massage his hair. He wanted you.

You were there with him, he was glad that this wasn't some shit he had made up inside his head.

Your hands tugging his hair were the reason the woke up, slowly opening his eyes, praying that you'd still be there. And you were, greeting him with the sweetest smile he could have ever seen. Your tired eyes stared down at him, eyebrows slightly furrowing a bit as you woke up too.

This was a sight he wanted to see way more often.

165 notes · View notes