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✮⋆˙ FOR THE LOVE OF KINDER MAXIS — LN4
College!Lando Norris x Reader / library
Syn. Lando Norris has been sneaking you some sweet treats begging you please to answer his one question — will you go out with him?
It was the morning of a Tuesday, I had a family law class followed by a penology class for the day before getting a break. It was just one of those days where life seemed to be giving me a break from the constant noise and cha—
“Hey love, miss me?” Lando Norris breezed past you, turning around to leave me with a wink. The crinkling of the plastic in my hand suffocated the plastic as my grip tightened over the treat he pushed into my palms while passing me.
Kinder Maxi.
From across the hall, Lando watched with barely concealed anticipation. “Would you smile this time? Would you—” I stuffed the Kinder Maxi into my pocket without even looking at the note. He groaned, smacking his forehead against the locker. This is getting ridiculous. My smile remained hidden behind my pursed lips.
It’s been the same since last month really, Lando surprised me with kinder maxis everywhere I could least expect it.
It started with the barrage of kinder maxis falling over from my locker with a note —
“U up for dinner? - LN”
Which I crumpled and pocketed with a small smile. Counting the 4 chocolates and looking around finding Lando a few metres away leaning against the pole looking at me. What a sly chap.
The next kinder maxi was on my laptop which I’d left in the library to go get some water. Attached with a note again —
“U can’t ignore me forever. Say yes? — LN”
I sighed at his antics. Although undeniably enjoying watching him deadpan seeing me simply bagging the chocolate and the note. It was cute.
The third kinder maxi hit home. Lando placed it outside my dorm door having knocked and dashed.
“I swear I’m not a stalker. Just very determined. - LN”
My roommate found it hilarious. I found it cute. Again.
Since then it has been bags of kinder maxis — sometimes he’ll even throw in a kinder egg — for me to find them scattered across the area of my existence. He would sneak them into my tote or have them neatly placed on my designated desk or on the hood of my car or in one of my gym shoes or on my doorstep after having rung the bell and run off or throwing it through my window.
My favourite happened to be when he would get slightly frustrated and come up to me himself, hand stretched out with a lone kinder maxi with the same words he’d write on the note he’d stick to the chocolate — will you go out with me?
It’d always end up with me grabbing the chocolate and taking a bite out of it while smiling at Lando from wherever he peeks — and he always does — at me. Leaving him confused. His nose scrunched up comically leaving me in a fit with chocolate down my throat.
This Tuesday tho, after having pocketed the chocolate and left Lando flabbergasted yet again, I skipped to my lecture as the bell rang. I had a sweet treat up my sleeve today as well. I reached the class spotting a kinder maxi on my desk again. How much money does this guy have, I thought to myself. These things weren’t inexpensive. However, I happily grabbed it ripping the cover off as I read the note.
“For the love of kinder maxis woman. I know you like these chocolates. Might as well like the delivery guy. — LN”
What a cute guy.
The bell rang again finishing the lecture, I was up in no time rushing to penology. The lecture I shared with Lando. Opening the door I found him hunched over his desk in a green hoodie, hands at the back of his head as talked away with Max. His laugh was so cute to my ears that I felt like melting right away. Especially when he says “Uh huh”
Lord I’m definitely not your strongest soldier.
Max saw me and nudged Lando who glanced at me as he sat straighter looking at me with hopeful eyes. I decided to sit right next to him today. Surprised the lad. Before he could say anything the professor came in. The poor guy spent the entire lecture shocked and happy. Restlessly fidgeting staring at me and playing with the drawstrings of his hoodie.
It was like watching a puppy trying not to be excited.
The bell rang soon enough and Lando was quick to turn to me. I placed a kinder maxi in front of him this time. He gawked at the chocolate and then at me. He looked up again — his beautiful eyes searching mine. I looked up at him with my face resting on my palms.
Staring at him freely this time letting the smile I would bite on show. Hoping my eyes would say everything I was dying to show him. I beckoned at the chocolate with my jaw pointing at the pink little note I had stuck to it.
Lando slowly reached for it, still not believing this was happening. Picking the note —
“Fine, you win. But only because my self-control crumbled faster than a Kinder Maxi in my hands. Pick me up at 7, loverboy. — Y/N”
Before Lando could react, I closed the distance between us, kissing his cheek as gently as I could — my hands cupping his jaw. Lando was too flabbergasted to respond. He turned his head towards me. A bashful smile adorned his face.
“The kinder maxis are fucking magic.”
reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©maxriss please do not copy, save, or translate my stories. this is no place for hate and violence, kindly maintain love and peace.
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🌷Pick a Picture:🍨⊹˚. ♡ What's coming up for you on February?🎀 ⊹˚. ♡
🎀𝗜'𝗺 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹🎀
•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3
❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️
✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!
🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧
🖤If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!
🛍Masterlist🛍
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 1: Queen of Swords, 3 of Cups and 2 of Swords.
This February, everything may feel a little… random. Like you can't see clearly what's happening or what's coming next. And while it can be frustrating not to have all the answers, the Moon encourages you not to force things. Sometimes not knowing what's going on is a sign that you need to take a step back and allow yourself to feel without trying to rationalize everything.
You may be faced with situations this month that you may have been avoiding. Questions may arise about your relationships, your job, or even your current identity. And even though you may not perceive it now, it's all part of a developmental process. The confusion you're experiencing isn't harmful; on the contrary, it's like a "reminder" from the cosmos that there are elements within you that need to be heard. There will be times when you feel like the pieces are starting to fall into place, but there will also be days when you feel completely disoriented. And that's okay. You don't need to have everything figured out right away. It's a month to meditate, not to rush into solutions.
My recommendation would be not to put too much pressure on yourself. If you find yourself in a situation where things aren't clear, you shouldn't force yourself to make sure everything has immediate meaning. Keep an eye on your feelings, pay attention to the smallest details, and most of all, be kind to yourself. Clarity will come when it's needed, you just have to trust the process and yourself.
🧁Song:
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 2: The Sun, 4 of Wands and Queen of Wands.
You might feel like the pieces are starting to fall into place again this February, and that will give you a sense of clarity that you haven't experienced in a long time. You might feel more stimulated, more optimistic, or simply intent on giving your best. If there was something that was overwhelming you or that had stopped you, this is the moment when things begin to take a positive turn.
This month, you will experience thefeeling that something inside you is "waking up" in a sense. Perhaps you were already carrying some uncertainties or fears, but now it will give you the strength to face them, i heard "I'm going to put all my effort" as i was channeling your message. It is a favorable month to start a new project, undertake those dreams that you had saved or take on some circumstance that was going around in your mind. You will notice that the energy will be in your benefit. It is as if everything begins to flow without so much effort, like when you discover the right route and everything seems to be in tune.
Even if something is not exactly what you anticipated, your optimistic attitude and your clarity will help you to continue moving forward with confidence. Enjoy everything that this month brings with it. Sometimes we concentrate so much on the objectives that we forget to enjoy the trip. Take advantage of the minimal things, those that give us happiness in the simple things.
🧁Song:
⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 3: 8 of Wands, The Chariot and King of Cups.
This month feels really "fast" to put it in a way, I think it will pass really quickly for you. Surprises can be a bit disconcerting at first, but in reality, they are bringing great potential. Some circumstances could change in unexpected ways, but that is just one component of the process. Don't worry if you feel that things are not progressing as you anticipated. Sometimes, the most significant transformations appear when we least expect them, and the final outcome can be much more favorable than you imagine.
This month could be a bit of a roller coaster, in the broadest sense. Some situations will evolve quickly, and you may feel like you are on a boat, but don't worry. There will be moments of uncertainty, but if you continue to evolve with the transformations, opportunities will begin to arise out of nowhere. It could be a good time to take a little more risk, as everything seems to be going in your favor.
Don't try to control everything. Life has its own rhythm, and sometimes it's best to allow yourself to be guided by the course of things. The surprises that will come this month will take you to unexpected places, and even though you can't anticipate what will happen, trust that everything has a reason to be the way it is. Let go of what you can't handle and continue to progress with the assurance that better things are yet to come <3
🧁Song:
💐Thank you for reading and tell me if it resonated💐
#kpop tarot#pac reading#pac#tarot reading#tarot community#tarot#personal reading#pick a card#pick a pile#pick a card reading#tarot witch#tarotblr#tarotcommunity#tarotdaily#tarotoftheday#witchblr#tarot blog#pac tarot#pick a picture#free tarot readings#pac tarot reading#pac readings#psychic readings#pick a photo#free tarot reading#daily tarot#free tarot#tarot pick a card#tarot love reading#gilmore girls
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A Love Tested by War
Duke Leto Atreides x Wife!Reader
Summary: A plot against House Atreides is uncovered, and all signs point to you. Despite the growing love between you and Leto, suspicion clouds his judgment until you are taken.
The silence between you had become unbearable.
Leto stood before you, hands clasped behind his back, his golden-brown eyes darkened with something unreadable.
Suspicion.
It had been there for days now.
“I need you to tell me the truth.” His voice was steady, but you knew him well enough to hear what he was trying hard to find. “Are you working against me?”
“You think I would betray you? I would never.”
“The evidence says otherwise.”
You flinched.
He wasn’t raising his voice, wasn’t hurling accusations, and somehow that hurt worse. You had grown used to his quiet nature and his measured words, but this?
This was distance.
This was a wall between you, stronger than stone and colder than the deserts of Arrakis at night.
“I have never done anything but stand by your side,” you said, stepping closer. “I have never been anything but loyal.”
Leto inhaled sharply as if forcing himself not to reach for you, not to soften. “And yet, the messages intercepted, the movements tracked and everything leads to you.”
You shook your head. “Someone is framing me.”
“Then who?” he asked. “Who else has access to the information that was leaked?”
You didn’t have an answer. And that was the problem.
His silence spoke louder than words.
For the first time since your marriage, an arranged, political marriage, but slowly growing into something more, you realized that Leto Atreides did not trust you. And maybe he never had.
Without another word, he turned and left.
And that was the last time you saw him before they took you.
You weren’t sure how long you had been in this dark prison.
The traitors who had orchestrated the plot against House AtreidesVVhad come for you in the night, dragging you from the safety of the palace.
It had been too easy.
Because Leto had not been watching.
Because he had let his guard down around you.
You had screamed for him, even as they bound your wrists, even as they struck you when you refused to kneel.
But Leto had not come. Nor did anyone else.
---
The sound of boots rushing down the corridor, followed by the sound of a blade slicing through flesh.
The door to your cell burst open, the light finally coming in, and there he stood.
Leto.
His bloody knife clenched in his fist.
His eyes locked onto you. And everything stopped.
For a moment, you thought he might say nothing.
That he might simply turn away again, as he had before.
But then he was moving, dropping to one knee beside you, cutting through the bindings at your wrists with a sharp flick of his blade.
His hands cupped your face, tilting it toward the light.
“You’re hurt.” His voice was rough, hoarse. He swallowed hard. "I was so terribly wrong."
Tears burned at the back of your throat. “You left me.”
his regret visible in the way his shoulders tensed. “I know. And it will haunt me until my last breath. But I’m here now.”
“You thought I was a traitor,” you whispered. "I was so scared. I tried to call for you."
His jaw clenched. “I left you. And I will never forgive myself for it.”
For the first time since you met him, Leto Atreides looked at you not as a Duke, not as a husband bound by duty, but as a man.
A man who had almost lost the only thing he couldn’t bear to lose.
His wife.
“I will never doubt you again,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke. “I swear it.”
And when he carried you out of that place, his arms strong around you, you believed him.
Because this time, he did not let you go.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
#duke leto atreides x reader#leto atreides#dune 2021#dune part one#duke leto atreides x you#duke leto atreides imagine#duke leto atreides imagines#duke leto atreides fanfic#duke leto atreides fanfiction#x reader#fanfiction#x female reader#duke atreides x reader#leto atreides x reader#leto atreides x you#duke leto atreides#leto atreides x fem reader#leto atreides imagine#leto atreides imagines#dune fanfic#dune movie#dune x reader#dune imagine#dune imagines
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Blazing Lust - An Aemond Targaryen/Reader/Daemon Targaryen One Shot Story.
Is it pure sinfully hot, totally indulgent, far removed from canon, porn without a plot? Yes. Is it exactly what I needed to write because of my hormonal duress? Also yes. Be warned, it's pretty filthy. Will there be a part two? Maybe. ;)
Words - 1,405
Warnings - Smut (but not any TargCest, they're both just here for you) below the cut. Minors DNI!
It streaks through you, like a hail of comets, a celestial starshine of pleasure, light rushing over your nerves. It’s always like this with them, the masters of mindless pleasure, the two men ravage your senses so thoroughly, it is almost as if they exist solely for that purpose.
The furnace of your desire is stoked to roaring flame, two mouths full of indulgent hunger and filthy promise gliding over you, one settling between your legs, the other sucking at your nipples until they stand pebbled.
The crush of teeth has little pricks of pain skipping down your spine, puddling at your cunt, the heat of a tongue lapping it away with a ravenous grunt. Your silver haired, violet eyed lovers; how easily they have you topping like an ancient tower under the pressure of their touch.
And yet, they’ve scarcely even begun.
You never contemplated that perhaps it might be too much to withstand, but they are nothing if not apt at forcing your regular reconsideration. Could such a thing as too good ever exist?
With them, it is entirely possible. With them, it's never anything less than blazing lust.
Your sweet, breathy moans flutter through the air, adding to the orchestra of sin that is two deeper voices both groaning with desire. Your little sexual soprano is only muted when Aemond moves his mouth to yours, his kisses all hot yearning as he fucks slowly into the lubed grasp of your hand around his cock.
While your tongues dance together, the heat within the candlelit room burning to tempest, Daemon licks at the soaking velvet of your cunt so thoroughly, you know the touch of his mouth will never truly leave you. Gods be good, he’s divine.
The sound of it is filthily sultry, sucking on your pearl as Aemond’s teeth move back to your nipple, the bite going straight to your apex, a connection tingling from the dual stimulus, meeting in a glide of pleasure like satin being dragged over your nerves.
Aemond’s tongue laves over the red indentations from his bite, a slow, long lick gliding up your chest and over your throat, his rumbled groan flowing like wine from his mouth to yours. You drink it back, feeling his cock jerk in your hand as you grip the silky steel of him, your grasp tugging upwards and fingers teasing the head, slowly sliding back to the base once more. You know well by now how to render him mindless by your prowess.
“Fuck,” he grunts, teeth crushing against your lower lip, his reaction warming your insides further, watching dark violet fire dance in his beautiful eye. “Do that again, my little vixen.”
You oblige his gravelled request, your mouths locked, your thighs writhing against Daemon’s face, soft skin meeting the rough prickle of a hint of silver stubble as his tongue draws a delicious circle over your bud, your walls clenched hard around the thick of his fingers. A little crook has you spasming, that nudge so precise, you’re mindless for a moment, panting against Aemond’s mouth as Daemon ruins your sanity with his.
Your hips quake almost violently as he draws it from you, Daemon beating his tongue rapidly over your bud. “That’s it, beautiful temptress,” he encourages, voice all smoke and grit. “Come nice and hard for me.”
It blazes like a beacon through the ink of the darkest night, your lover smiling against your soaking folds, sucking on your bud as you flood his mouth with the honey of your release.
“Gods above,” he smirks, kissing your petals, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. “You all but drowned me.”
A quick trade of places gives you time to cool down, before the intensity Aemond kissed you with is matched as he begins to eat you thirstily, sucking on your slit until you swell against the hard beat of his tongue, Daemon moving astride your chest, a hand beneath your head raising it up, his cock pushing between your lips.
“Be a good girl for me, yes, fuck. That’s it.” He groans, watching his thick cock sinking into your mouth inch by inch.
The pleasure invoked is razor edged yet kitten soft, your hands touring the ridges of Daemon’s chiselled hips and abs as he slowly pumps into the wet grip of your mouth, the pressure of your tongue perfect against the underside of his shaft.
His hands wind through your hair, fisting tight, each deep groan more a predatory rumble as your mouth stretches around him, your eyes meeting his as he watches himself vanish right into your throat.
“You look so very pretty when I fuck your mouth, temptress.”
Your heart skips a beat at his praise while your cunt flutters in spasm as Aemond’s tongue breeches your opening, his nose sliding over the pearl of your sex until his licks return to it, the vibration of his moan searing through you.
His hands stroke scorching paths of heat over your thighs as he makes you melt over his tongue, his groans so rumbling and delicious, you feel weak to your very marrow. They impose such thrilling pleasure on you, your body host to tumbling glimmers, bliss streaking your spine as you feel Aemond move, kneeling before you, his hardness meeting your folds.
It sends a strong shiver through you, your hips bucking, desperate to feel him spear you. “Insatiable little vixen,” he chuckles, the head of his cock sliding over your bud. “I see it, how much this needy little hole aches for my cock.”
The thick head catches at your entrance, the slick drag of him rubbing himself over your slit having you whimpering with the need to be filled, finally stretched wide when he arrows into you. Just that first thrust is a delicious satiation for your ache, Aemond muttering cusses at the divinity that is the wet heat of you clasped around him.
It’s slow and rolling for all of a few seconds before the desire flickering through him demands greater ignition, his sparks roaring into flame as his hips gain power, driving into you deeply, your nails grazing Daemon’s back as you swallow his cock whole.
Your muted moans rend sharply into the air, your body quaking as the dark lust of it sizzles through your veins, lights you up, their hardness heavy within you as they make your theirs. The hot silk of your arousal bathes Aemond thickly, and you wish you could see him in all of his beauty as he fucks you, but watching the intensity of Daemon’s gaze keeps you transfixed, his cusses of how amazing you feel, how you’re his good girl, how well you take him adding to it.
Such praise is mirrored by Aemond, exclaiming at your wetness as his cock glides through it, his nails dug hard into your hips as the thick head of him pounds you deep, sends sparks skittering through you, pleasure spiking hard over every nerve ending inside you.
Both of them become boundless within you, their groans sinfully erotic, deep gritted and full bodied, their cocks dragging at you with more speed as they race towards it. Aemond’s thumb working in slick strokes on your bud keeps you simmering until you bubble over with him, your body keening against his as he fucks waves of white hot into your soaking core, Daemon’s hands clenching in your hair tightly as his release trickles down your throat.
The aftermath is soft, Aemond returning his mouth to you, pressing kisses over your hip, thumb languidly stroking through the mess of your folds, Daemon moving to your side, kissing your neck, his deft fingertips chasing the beads of sweat that roll slowly down your breasts.
“Happy?” he asks, clasping your jaw in a strong grip, turning your head. You receive his mouth in a languid, lustful kiss, your stomach fluttering pleasantly. You might be spent, but these men of yours, gods. How they know how to reignite you rapidly.
“For now,” you purr, your fingers stroking over his wide chest. “I will be even more so when I have both of you inside me, though.”
He arches an eyebrow. “You just did.”
“Not like that,” you whisper, softly biting his cheek. “You know well what I want.”
While Daemon chuckles deeply, Aemond runs his tongue up your thigh, fingers returning to the soaking chasm of your cunt. “I think that can be arranged.”
A/N - Did you enjoy it? Please leave a comment/reblog if you did!
#aemond targaryen#daemon targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen fanfiction#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#HOTD#aemond smut#daemon smut#aemond x you#daemon x you
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Too Much Time - if Shadow was never put into stasis.
Part 1 | > Part 2 < | Part 3
And we're back!! I'm deviating from the game storylines more here because I want to focus more on... well, not that. ALSO: there is a point where the year is said - but I don't want to give exact dates. So you get the last part of them filled with X's to give any dates possible with a 50 year gap :D
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Shadow and Sonic ran all the way to the place he called "home." It was quite far away from the facility. How did Sonic end up there in the first place? So many questions piling up, and not enough answers. He wasn't even sure if his voice worked enough to ask anymore.
It was a nice looking village, built in the forest with trees all around. Houses were scattered all around on the ground and in the trees, with walkways between them all. He could hardly believe his eyes. An entire community, just like this. Technology and nature, co-existing together.
Sonic chuckled. "Never seen a forest village before? Don't worry, I'm sure we can find a place for you to call your own, here. Oh- right! We never finished introductions. Are you able to talk?"
He tried again to speak, only coming out with a broken and raspy "hhhh-hhhhhhh." It hurt to even try. He put a hand to his throat and shook his head, frowning.
"Hey, that's okay! Let's find my buddy Tails, he should have something for you to write on. His house is over here, c'mon!" Sonic walked him over to one of the bigger houses, the only one in sight with a giant metal door alongside the normal one. He knocked on the door. "Tails, you home? It's me!"
The door slammed open. An orange, two-tailed fox stood there with tears in his eyes. "Sonic, where have you been?! You said you'd only be gone for a couple of hours! It's been an entire week!"
Sonic wore a smile - the kind one might have if they were in trouble. "Hey, hey, buddy, I'm sorry! I kinda got caught up with a few things... but look, I'm here now, and I'm okay! I had some help from a new friend," he said, nodding at the new friend as he waved awkwardly. "I think it would've taken a lot longer if he wasn't there. Oh! Speaking of, do you have something to write on? I think he can't talk."
Tails sniffles, wiping his tears away. "O-oh, yeah I do. Come on in!" He waved them inside, and his house was massive. He could swear it was bigger than the outside looked like it could be. Tails handed him a pen and notepad, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "You should learn sign language to communicate more easily in the future, but for now this should work! Go ahead and keep it, I've got plenty."
This got Sonic to rush over, from wherever he'd gone. Shadow didn't even notice until he came back. "Oh, oh! Can you tell us your name now?
Taking the notepad and pencil without another look, he wrote, “Shadow. Been gone long time. What year is it?”
Tails grimaces. This can't be good. Shadow wasn't there for that long, right? ..... right? Tails wrung his hands around one of his tails before nervously saying, "It's 20XX."
His expression instantly grew serious, his ears flattening. ..... 20XX? The last time he saw a calendar, it was 19XX. The weight of realization hit Shadow all at once, making him falter. Sonic was quick to catch him, and helped him over to the couch.
"Easy there, buddy. You alright? Need some water?"
Shadow didn't respond, holding his head with a hand.
"Sonic, I think we should give him some time to process this," Tails suggests, turning to Shadow. "Will you be okay on the couch for now?" Shadow gave a small nod. "Okay. Then we're gonna leave you here for a little bit. Sonic, I need you to come with me for a checkup."
"What? Me?! I'm fine!" Sonic protested.
Tails rolls his eyes. "You were gone for an entire week, Sonic. I just want to make sure that you don't have any underlying sicknesses or anything. And I need you to tell me what happened."
"Ugh, fine..." Sonic follows Tails into another room across the house, leaving Shadow on the couch to process.
In the other room...
Sonic sits on a chair, kicking his legs impatiently. "I hate this part."
Tails shakes his head, grabbing some instruments. "Well, it's important that I examine you. I know I'm not a doctor, but I can at least pick up enough to know if you need one. Now, what happened?"
Sonic kicked back and got comfortable while Tails did his thing. "Well... you know how I told you I saw some drones that seemed suspiciously Eggman-style? They weren't even trying to go towards our home, though. So I figured maybe he was going after something else, which, y'know... that would be bad if it was some powerful doomsday crystal or something. So I followed them. I guess I must've gotten ambushed though, because the next thing I knew, I was waking up underwater. Except it wasn't water. I could still breathe."
Tails stopped and cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I was in some weird glass-cylinder-thing. It was barely wide enough to hold me, and I couldn't get up any speed or momentum to break it. It felt super weird. But then Shadow showed up a couple days later and broke me out! And now we're here, so it's all good!" He gave a thumbs-up and smile.
Tails threw up his arms. "Sonic, they put you in a stasis tube! Gah, you're so lucky Shadow was there! Do you remember anything other than that and escaping?"
"Uhhh... I think I felt a tiny pain in my arm while I was out, but it was barely noticeable. Like someone pinching me." Sonic rubs his nose.
Tails' ears droop. "Sonic.... I'm gonna have to do a couple more invasive tests now. I need to know what they did to you, and since you don't know..." Tails rummages through his drawers and gets a needle and syringe, which gets Sonic standing up on the chair.
"Oh, no! I don't need that! I told you, buddy, I'm fine!" Sonic crosses his arms.
Tails sighs. "I just need to draw a little bit of blood to test. And I'll need a quill, too. Just... sit back down, and it'll be over before you know it. Look, I'll even get some chili dogs for you after." That did it. Sonic sat back down and stretched out his arm, still trembling a bit behind the hero facade.
"Well, why didn't you say so? Draw away!"
........
........
Tails placed the blood and quill in his machines for testing. "Alright, that's going to examine everything automatically, and it'll be about an hour before it's done. Want to check back in on Shadow?"
"Sure! I want to make sure he's doing okay. Race you there!" Sonic disappears in the blink of an eye, getting a groan out of Tails.
"Sonic.... You know I can't ever keep up with you when you go that fast!" Tails follows after Sonic, stopping short when he sees Sonic standing over the couch, holding a piece of paper. "Sonic?"
"He's... gone. I only found this note on the couch." Sonic shows Tails the note.
"Unfinished business. Back tomorrow. - Shadow"
Sonic and Tails share a worried look between themselves.
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Okay, why is writing so much more fun than I remember it being? I love color-coding things along the way too!
#sonic the hedgehog#sonic#shadow the hedgehog#shadow#tails the fox#tails#fanfic#sonic the hedgehog fanfic#sonic fanfic#shadow the hedgehog fanfic#shadow fanfic#writing#shadow is awake for 50+ years#mute shadow#he didn't talk for 50+ years so his voice degraded into nearly nothing#experimentation#experimentation tw#this is so fun i'm gonna be writing for a while#sonadow#slow burn#it's going to be a while before sonadow takes off here
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Ah fuck it's TOH finale anniversary apparently *the worst flashbacks you've ever seen*
#uh oh girl that means its my catastrophic breakup anniversary#which means its time to curl into a ball in a corner and cry#i avoided the show for 8 months afterwards because i used to watch it with him and he introduced me to it as well#so it was really soured for me and i would get stomach pain anytime id try to watch it#it felt like something you want to avoid forever. like a place where bad things have happened to you and you feel like just by visiting#that place that thing might come rushing at you again#i only managed to watch the finale when i convinced a friend to see it with me. i needed someone there to overshadow the bad#so i could think to myself 'this isnt a show you watched with him this isnt something that is him this is a show youre watching with your#friend right now. with your friend who is here and you can watch it together.'#but i still hate being reminded of the finale specifically and of the anniversary of it#like ah yes the day my whole life fell apart and i should have killed myself on the spot#i would be better off dead
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not to harp on you (same anon who asked the previous questions (you still didn't answer the other questions i sent btw)) but may i ask why you're neutral on the use of ai?
i actually got this ask last night whoops i won't be super detailed (i will in fact be super detailed) but it comes down to the fact that i don't give a shit. I see a lotta of people being like "yk I may be bad at writing but at least I don't use ai on my essays" and i just... don't understand why we're shitting on people like that. a lot of kids just want to graduate, yk? and besides, most of the time they're talking about high schoolers, who are well enough informed to choose whether they want to use chatgpt on an essay or not, to which i still don't care what they choose it's like vaping in my mind, somehow, except vaping is more joked about compared to the usage of ai (from what i've seen, your experience can be totally different!). sure, vaping has been around longer, but keep that same energy. one destroys the lungs and the other destroys the brain, why joke about one and shit on the other? there's a difference between an elementary schooler using it and a high schooler. one could argue that an elementary schooler is stunting their growth but high schoolers actively choose to use it. i don't particularly believe its lazy because some teachers nowadays allow their students to use chatgpt as a resource and ai isn't actively killing people like vaping, unless i missed a murder robot being created or something. an actual take i've seen is that "ai is theft" which is true when it comes to art... but in this "ai is theft" context, the person was talking about using ai on an essay. it's a problem that people apply ai theft to everything. ai can't steal words. and again i can understand why some high schoolers choose to use it. they might be there just to graduate. i don't think that makes them losers or anything, or that they're destined to fail in life. it just makes them want to graduate. and this "anything is better than ai" take is also a bit funny to me because these are the same people who would find a robotic arm cool, or use their phones because believe it or not, a robotic arm is ai. yes, ai steals art off the internet to generate art and uses a lot of resources. i'm not going to argue that point, i agree that ai is bad that way. but I PROMISE YOU a lot more shit uses ai than you think.
that fucking Roomba? yep. ai
nearly every Google service? ai
fucking Spotify?? ai, along with YouTube Music, Pandora, etc.
it makes me wonder what people think "artificial intelligence" stands for? like, it's not limited to the internet, it's simply more advanced in the context of the internet. fucking cash registers are ai sit your holier than thou ass down I remember when Spotify admitted to using ai and people lost their shit. even back then it was stupid to me. do you expect Daniel Ek to recommend you songs himself??? and believe it or not, ai can create things that are pretty good! a guy once told ai to create a recipe that was better than Gordon Ramsay and according to the dude, the recipe was pretty damn good! he may have been biased against Ramsay, but the fact that an ai recipe didn't taste like shit still says something, yk?
"oh ai stole that recipe from the internet" firstly: no it didn't. it COMBINED different recipes to make one.
secondly: … how do you think people cook??? no recipe is original bucko. that ketchup and chocolate spaghetti you made was probably made back in the 1700s
even SHAKESPEARE had inspiration. the bible! he was able to use that inspiration to build his own thing! ai, in that particular cookinng instance (ai art is theft), was basically doing the same thing i know i sound like an ai glazer right now, but i promise you i'm not. 1: let's not import ai quite literally fucking everywhere. i don't want to be judged by a computer screen if i ever got arrested and had to go to court. ai learns from data systems, and if that system includes a bias, then what the ai outputs is also going to be biased. i would highly prefer if we kept it limited to the internet and machinery (many vehicles also use ai via a GPS system) 2: as ai is used more commonly, more people lose their jobs simply because ai is "easier" to train, and possibly more "obedient." i once saw a completely pro-ai guy say something along the lines of "the great depression was caused by humans ai wouldn't do that..." i was sick. ai systems would eventually wear down and cause errors in, say, a banking system, which is why its so expensive to maintain. is it convenient? yes, but also risky as more humans just don't feel a need to work because ai can do it. 3: art theft, as i mentioned before. you've probably heard this to hell and back so i won't explain much. 4: back to point 2, ERRORS. if something goes wrong somewhere, who's responsible? how did it happen? more often than not, multiple people are working on different parts of ai at different times, and because AI systems are (sometimes) simultaneous in, say, generating a response or art, WHAT exactly went wrong is difficult to pin down. if we can't do it confidently, why are we relying on it so heavily? are we ready to face a potentially fatal mistake if something crucial goes wong? i'm not, which is why you won't ever see me talking positively about ANY care that relies SOLELY on ai. if it falters and veers to the right a little too much, someone probably broke six ribs 5: it gives parents an excuse to just not be parents. again, you've probably heard this before so I won't go too into detail, but if you can't be bothered to raise a kid, then don't have one. "o-oh but it's tradition for my fami-" fuck them?? adopt your kid out to someone who'll actually love them. I have zero sympathy for people who throw a tablet in front of their kids and don't spend an ounce of time with them otherwise.
ironically, i've got this while trying to get sources for this post. point 4: errors. there's a ton of other points i didn't even mention, like scamming (people are so gullible nowadays) and laziness (if i EVER read a fic on ao3 and it's ai i'm crashing tf out). but this post is probably getting too long so: TLDR: i don't care for most usages of ai (also yes anon i'll answer your questions soon you asked some heavy ones so)
#if this is the post that blows up i'm killing myself#because as I mentioned previously#you get crucified nowadays if you aren't 100% fuck ai#I felt like the latter half of this post didn't need sources but you can ask if you need them#anyway yeah please don't crucify me :]#that tradition part may sound harmful but some traditions are actively harmful#like forcing babies upon women but that's a talk for another time#jk i'll never talk about it. my blog is meant to be lighthearted and silly#I have a lot of things to say today actually so uh a lot more posts may come out today#i'll probably never bring up this post again because AI discussions can get pretty heated#hellsite#support anarchy (this is a massive joke)#people who are too anti-ai are annoying and people who are too pro-ai are also annoying#mfs complain about the world being judgmental but then turned around#and shit on the first mf they see that dares to breathe of their phone#“but ai is actively contributing to the harm of the environment” sorry bro but i don't particularly care that much#the world is in an especially bleak place now and humans have been harming the environment since we've evolved from neanderthals#NOT to say that i support pollution or anything! just saying that i find that point in this case (AI) mundane at best#i want to be able to breathe clean air and walk on soil don't throw your shit everywhere#this might be a massive hot take since everyone must take a side nowadays#maybe i'm a little nihilistic but if we want to start somewhere to combat pollution it has to start with humanity#don't forget we created and/or amplified all of our issues#this might be messily formatted but give me a break i was in a rush#fourth ask (i think i'll check later)#wouldn't it be funny if i posted immediately after this post to cover it up#i'm not going to do that though (pretty sure i just contradicted myself lol)#look if i do post multiple times today (like answering anon's questions that i left unanswered for a month whoopsies)#then it isn't going to be because of me wanting to cover this post up k? k#done rambling#I sound so old saying “nowadays” I promise i'm not lol I'm part of Gen Z
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i do need 2 work on rewiring my brain so that my immediate very first thought whenever i dont do a small task (like brushing ny teeth taking a shower picking up my room etc) isnt 'We Should Kill Connor ." this would be pretty good for me to do. putting this on the list
#its difficult. i used to be rly good abt not doing kms type jokes bc i did when i was younger and then i stopped bc of um . stuff#nd i think it rly was good for me nd then ykw started making them a LOT and now i do them constantly and ik itis bad for me like. as a guy#whos been suicidal since i was 7. yk. ik itisnt good for me but its hard#idk. i need 2 try 2 stop making them again. like idt ppl who make them r evil I personally dont tend to use them very seriously#it rly is judt a like. Ugh something annoying happened i should kms. but like. witht he we should kill connor joke its Less and less a joke#and more just feeding into ummmmm. the bad parts of my thing that i have to be vague abt so ppl dont worry.#Im not planning anything its not that. its just a belief i have that is ummm concerning to many but very comforting to me and keeps me sane#but i dont like 2 talk abt it . bc ppl tend to get worried its rly not anything that bad its judt likeee. I know that thing is true and#there isnt anything i can do to stop it from happening so i made peace with it ages ago and its comforting that i dont have 2 like. worry#abt whatll happen bc ik whatll happen#sry im being vague ive like. i think ive mentioned it a couple times and ppl get very concerned (my old psych literally told me verbatim#That sounds so terrifying.) and likeee. there have been times its scared me a lot like i can remember a few times i woke up having a panic#attack bc i didnt want to do it but i know thats whatll happen and its fine. but it wont be any time soon#it keeps me from doing anything honestly bc like. why rush FJFNFJNFNik itll happen eventually no matter what i do so even when it gets bad#enough i think abt it im like. yk. it helps. i kind of lost a bit of vagueness. please dont worry abt it fr like. it keeps me sane it keeps#me calm. but anyways i say all this to sayyyy that like. idk it might be a while b4 i commit to trying to stop making jokes like that just#bc like. i have a lot of other stuff abt me i need 2 fix first but i think it would probably be good for me if i stopped. sigh. which suck#bc like its been said time and time again that like. Im going to kms is just like. it encapsulates feelings very well there r like no other#exclamations that fit. aside from the like. Krill my shellfish type things but thats the reason i slipped back into just saying kms in rhe#first place so. UGH. and theres so many fucking stupid tjmblr ones. like no im not going to sub Kys for Go step on a lego >_< bc like... im#not 1. 5 or 2. 27. the 2 ages i think ppl would say shit like that.#sry my vendetta against 27 year olds is neverending idk i just dont like whatever happens to tumblr users of dhat age. ive mentioned it#several times inwont go into it and im probably near out of tags anyway#ive got 7 more spend em wisely one supposes. idk. its just difficult. ik its judt words and shit and im sure i cn come up with good#alternatives. theres judt like not any rhat r like the same vibe without also reinforcing My stuff in an unhealthy way. idk. idkk#like not that making kms jokes is gonna make me do it anytime soon but like yk . ik i cant blame my self loathing spike on this alone#bc ive like. Beeeeeeeen going through some stuff thats contributing way more#but i do think before i started making these jokes again my self loathing and like. rhe amt of time i thought abt it was less . idk#sui ment#<- jic i tried not to be like. too much. but you know
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try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)
tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint
word count: 3.1k
“i’ve always wanted to try that.”
issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly.
“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him.
“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober.
“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.
“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts.
“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen.
fuck.
issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck.
you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice.
you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth.
“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.”
that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.
somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you.
“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.”
he really can’t afford rent anywhere else.
—
you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning.
what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again.
why did you tell him that?
your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option.
you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.
you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met.
you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know.
but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable.
you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions.
maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that.
but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again.
your phone buzzes in your hand.
it’s a text from him.
[10:17 AM]
mattsun: [link attached]
your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus.
your phone starts moaning at max volume.
you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.
milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping
there’s no fucking way he just did that.
[10:19 AM]
mattsun: smth like that?
“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!”
he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you.
“just trying to ease the tension-“
“by sending me porn?!”
he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“
you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it.
he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last.
guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap
mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday
repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone
each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room.
you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to.
‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.
‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.
‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours.
you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them.
he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.
you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.
because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates.
your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you.
he does, a week later.
—
you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly.
maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him.
maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed.
he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear.
he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention.
he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be.
yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair.
what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.
“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.
“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room.
he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants.
—
he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert.
he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.
he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body.
you’re completely naked.
you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything.
but it’s enough.
he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you.
when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight.
is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does?
your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face.
when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him.
he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight.
you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you.
he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat.
when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t.
he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you.
he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after.
it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t.
he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers.
the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt.
when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations.
it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance.
“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up.
he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore.
when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own.
you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck.
“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.”
he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him.
“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“
he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that.
“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“
“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.
the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you.
he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers.
“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.”
he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.
“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.”
he never had that much self-control to begin with.
his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes.
when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear.
“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.
“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him.
you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in.
there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done.
you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand.
“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“
“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams.
pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you.
he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.
you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.
“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“
you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.”
he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling.
“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.
“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?”
“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.”
you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.”
you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it.
#banner by @/cafekitsune !!#matsukawa x reader#matsukawa issei#matsukawa smut#haikyuu smut#hq smut#hq x reader#haikyuu x reader
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Weirwood Tree
Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.
Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)
Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)
Word count : 3k
A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.
“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water.
“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes.
The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.
The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws.
“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”.
“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position.
“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead.
“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”.
The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman.
“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent.
“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled.
“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly.
“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”.
The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water.
“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked.
She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying.
“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”.
The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him.
“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued.
The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about.
“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said.
Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet.
“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”.
He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room.
“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip.
As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders.
“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
She turned her flushed face to him and smiled.
“Yes, we're going for a walk,”.
Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions. He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance.
Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his.
“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face.
“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester.
From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention.
As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots.
“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”.
Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”.
“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”.
“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug.
They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.
“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw.
“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears.
“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”.
“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter.
“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship.
As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake.
“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”.
“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born.
“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly.
“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”.
Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.
“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed.
They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart.
The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary.
They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots.
Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach.
After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line.
“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood.
“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel.
She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin.
“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.
Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying.
“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.
“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes.
During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them.
“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased.
“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”.
Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own.
“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together.
“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.
Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal.
The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring.
The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed.
“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly.
“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied.
“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”
Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.
“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed.
He smiled but shook his head.
“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions.
“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.
Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured.
As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst.
The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion.
“A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her.
“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Come meet him,”.
Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow.
“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face.
He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before.
Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back.
“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe.
“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.
#cregan stark#cregan stark fanfic#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark x female reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd fanfiction#tom taylor#fanfiction#hotd#hotd fanfic#house stark#cregan#cregan fanfic#cregan x oc#cregan x reader#cregan stark x oc#cregan stark x you#cregan stark headcanons
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 38: Shattered
Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 8,520 words
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying
A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.
Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!
11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts.
John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light.
He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.”
The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there.
“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.”
The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you.
Nightmare.
The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them.
His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you.
He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that.
Maybe someone was, but not in reality.
What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures?
A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest.
He’s crying.
He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing.
He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them.
“It’s okay.”
Kyle.
His sweet Kyle.
How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team.
What a failure he is.
He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing.
They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly.
“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half.
How he’s missed this.
“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny.
“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds.
“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.”
“I full-heartedly agree.”
John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door.
“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.”
John clears his throat. “How is she?”
“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair.
“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks.
“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.”
“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks.
“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.”
“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says.
Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.”
All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own.
That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier.
He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha.
Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can.
He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs.
It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take.
He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage.
That’s something he’s been trying not to think about.
They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next.
He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can.
They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger.
That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again.
But what comes next?
What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you?
Could they leave you alone again?
Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs.
They have time.
He has to make sure you’re okay first.
You’re not okay.
You’re so very far from okay.
The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room.
There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.
It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them.
You hate it.
You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything?
They left you.
They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do.
You’re not them.
You don’t want to be like them.
Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first.
Fuck them.
The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection.
Or worse.
You’d get picked up by someone else.
Graves. Shepherd.
If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead.
You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass.
You still haven’t spoken to them, though.
You can hardly stand to look at them.
Fuck them.
Just the thought of them makes you want to scream.
Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything.
You hate it.
Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them.
It makes you want to scream.
Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again.
Fuck them.
You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do.
Fuck. Them.
You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore.
It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there.
You were tortured there.
It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you.
Dr. Keller cares.
It’s her job to care.
Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive.
She’s the only one you want to forgive.
Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world.
You should have been their world.
They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first.
They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change.
You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first?
The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass.
You thought you were dying the first time.
You could only be so lucky.
The bond.
It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t.
Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first.
‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain.
Fuck yourself.
Fuck your omega.
Fuck your pack.
Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more.
Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.
Fuck Kate for choosing you.
Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass.
Fuck them all.
You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side.
Fuck. Them. All.
You don’t want him here.
He does it now, usually in the mornings.
You hate it.
You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort.
He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain.
You don’t want to.
So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it.
The sea.
They brought you to the sea.
John remembered. He did it for you.
The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger.
You hate it.
Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her.
You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you.
You don’t want them.
Fuck, you desperately need them.
Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t.
You can’t reach out.
You can’t take his hand.
How desperately you want to.
You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch.
“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.”
Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie.
Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness.
Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired.
If you fall, you’ll never get up again.
It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore.
You don’t feel like anything anymore.
You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever.
That will certainly make things easier.
But will it make things better?
No. Probably not.
It’ll make things worse.
But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now.
How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted.
Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing?
What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now.
How badly it would destroy you.
“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close.
You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally.
He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing.
He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it.
“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.”
“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says.
“She needs her alpha.” He argues.
“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.”
“I can’t give her that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now.
John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it.
“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.”
He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost.
He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head.
That’s a long jog.
If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight.
It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again.
Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t.
To the beach and back, then.
She’s like an angel.
The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is.
The Garrick beauty is genetic.
Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her.
“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.”
“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever.
“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?”
You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting.
“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit.
You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do.
“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed.
“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks.
What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books?
“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure.
“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.”
You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you.
You want to do it.
You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller.
“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe.
“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger.
“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more.
“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.”
You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now?
“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time.
“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.”
“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US.
“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.”
You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing.
You’re smiling.
You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long.
She’s funny too.
Stinky men.
They are that.
Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement.
You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller.
“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you.
“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.”
“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.”
“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile.
You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered.
Oh.
Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered.
Oh.
“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller.
She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.”
You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her.
That’s not possible. You know it’s not.
“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.”
“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.”
“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say.
Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter.
Another smile tugs at your lips.
You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to.
You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be.
“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here.
Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable.
You hate it.
“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.”
He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better.
“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.”
“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology.
It shocks him to stillness and silence.
The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you?
He never existed.
He left you behind.
He never cared.
Anger begins to bubble within you.
“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”
“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop.
They’re all listening.
It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to.
Fuck them.
“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you.
“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!”
You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too.
“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation?
“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump.
His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt.
“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it.
“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly.
“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.”
He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue.
“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels.
“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-”
“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!”
You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all.
“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.”
The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all.
“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!”
He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it.
The bond.
You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all.
The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore.
If you fall, you’ll never get up again.
John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude?
Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind.
Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body.
“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.”
The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being.
Liar.
His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through.
The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever.
Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly.
Liar.
He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave.
So many things he should have done differently.
You can’t change the past.
Liar.
He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them.
Not without taking drastic measures.
He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state.
You did it because they left you.
You did it because you thought the abandoned you.
Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again.
‘You let me be tortured.’
Christ.
He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below.
You think they left you.
He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language.
He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words.
Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger.
“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them.
“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp.
“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.”
Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight.
“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts.
They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured.
“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit.
“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.”
Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary.
She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll.
It was necessary, but at what cost?
If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress.
She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate.
But how?
How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer.
You need someone, and it can’t be her.
If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing.
You need someone.
An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win.
She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can.
She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.
She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away.
Just in case.
One can never be too careful.
She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her.
The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe...
She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.
“Johnny, I need your help.”
She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later.
NEXT ->
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#task force 141 x reader#poly 141 x reader#John price x reader#captain price x reader#Kyle Garrick x reader#gaz x reader#Simon Riley x reader#Ghost x reader#John mactavish x reader#soap x reader#alpha/beta/Omega dynamics#a/b/o#omegaverse
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Fool's Gold || Part I
Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.
Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader
Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au
Word Count: 10k
Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses
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“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”
Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook.
Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises.
On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month.
When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence.
“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”
He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again.
“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”
Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence.
“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”
Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”
Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”
He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously.
“I don’t know.”
Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again.
“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”
“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”
“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”
“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.
“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”
Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?”
Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”
Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him.
“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.
“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”
Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”
Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer.
“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.
Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”
Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery.
At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now.
Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love.
Only power.
The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white.
You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands.
The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle.
To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did.
He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too.
He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin.
Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head.
A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone.
Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him.
Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.
As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you.
You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month.
The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.
Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof.
Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there.
Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.
To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words.
At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be.
Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention.
A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you.
So he tried not to be unsettled.
He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning.
He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground.
He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.
Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?
-
-
-
The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance.
The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him.
It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.
Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely.
There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax.
He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat.
The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids.
“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”
The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly.
Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.
“Well?” He prodded.
Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”
Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”
“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender.
Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought.
“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly.
“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on.
“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”
Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”
Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”
“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”
Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.
“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk.
Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding.
It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons.
Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two.
“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”
The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.
“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”
Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.
“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”
To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”
Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them.
Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”
Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information.
“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant.
Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful.
A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open.
The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead.
Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space.
The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you.
You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance.
You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well.
“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him.
Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her.
“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now.
His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed.
Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights.
“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee.
Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?
“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze.
Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other.
But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything.
“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well.
You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief.
He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”
You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne.
He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous.
“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”
You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak.
Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster.
Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side.
It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.
“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands.
“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?
He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later.
“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway.
“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment.
He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”
But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again.
“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”
Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you.
You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him.
A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer.
His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.
His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look.
Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.
Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud.
“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes.
Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink.
“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.
But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions.
“Jungko-”
Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold.
“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.
Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form.
“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest.
“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.
“P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air.
Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke.
“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout.
Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now.
“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.
You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”
“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression.
He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation.
“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more.
“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”
Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”
You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”
Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”
But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous.
“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability.
“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”
The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.
“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow.
Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.
Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.
“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”
You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.
“I want a divorce.”
Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it.
It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment.
You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.
“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.
Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.
“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”
Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.
Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly.
“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump.
You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone.
“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”
He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”
Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”
It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak.
“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”
You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him.
And that was something he needed to make sure you knew.
“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”
Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”
“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick.
“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”
Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation.
It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare.
He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.
“Good, then we’re done here.”
He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.
“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”
Jungkook tilted his head in response.
“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”
Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”
He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.
Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony.
Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing.
His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze.
What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness.
But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce.
Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.
You were quite the enigma.
But he was going to enjoy the challenge.
A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!
#jungkook mafia au#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#bts x reader#jungkook fic#bts au fic#bts au#jimin#jeon jungkook#bts jungkook#jungkook bts#mafia leader jungkook#bts fic#jungkook x y/n#bts series#jungkook series#jin#yoongi#namjoon#hoseok#taehyung#jungkook#seokjin#suga#rm#jhope#v#jungkook ff
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eyes on the prize
a/n: me writing a fic where rafe is actually wholesome and nice? i didn't see it coming either... this idea just came to me when you were all voting for the kinktober fic a while ago, and i was prepping that it maybe could go in this direction and then ended up falling too much in love with the fantasy, so i simply had to get it out of my system.
summary: “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.
warnings: mma!rafe cameron x reader, smut, college au, study buddies to lovers, soft!rafe, autumnal vibes, takes place in the beginning of november, studying, friday the 13th references, scaredy cat!reader, violence, mma fights, kissing, semi-public sex, clothed sex, dirty talk, manhandling, ripping pantyhose, size kink, spit kink, hole inspection, penetrative sex, unprotected sex
word count: 2626
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“So,” you hesitantly broke the silence that had fallen over both you and the partner that had been assigned to you on this current project, “did you get up to anything fun on Halloween?”
Glancing up from the thick book Rafe’s bored gaze was rushing through, it instead lingered on you for but a moment as his mutter reverberated in the quiet corner of the university’s library, “uhm, yeah. I popped by a party for a bit.”
“The one at delta neu?” a glint flickered in your eye as soon as he offered you a nod, “me too! Though I went home kinda early, so we might have missed each other… what did you going as?”
“Jason,” he simply uttered.
“Jason who?” the soft smile didn’t fade from your lips as his short answer hadn’t landed the way he’d hoped.
“You know,” his brows furrowed slightly at your cluelessness, repeating once again as if the name alone should be enough for you to understand, “Jason.”
“…Jason Statham? Jason Momoa?” your eyes squinted as you quietly attempted to hit the bullseye, “uhm… I can’t really think of any other famous Jasons right now…”
“No, Jason from Friday the 13th. You know, the dude with the hockey mask and the machete.”
“Ah, him… yeah, I haven’t watched those movies,” you shrugged, “but, cool costume.”
“Wait, you’ve never seen Friday the 13th?” he tilted closer to where you sat across the table from him, “not even the cheesy remake?”
“Nope,” you simply returned your gaze to the textbook beneath your fingers.
“Seriously?” his eyebrows didn’t float back down yet, “well, I don’t know if I should be offended that you’ve never watched that masterpiece before or jealous that you get to experience it for the first time, but either way, that’s a problem we need to fix.”
At first, you thought you’d entered the wrong building.
That was until you rounded the corner, and your gaze fluttered up from the map still open on your phone, guiding you to the mysterious address your study partner had texted you, asking you to meet up with him there before the rest of your plans could unfold, that you discovered that you hadn’t stumbled into the wrong place.
Though that wasn’t the only thing you discovered in that moment as the culmination of that enlightenment was spotting Rafe in the middle of the industrial and cold gym, going through the tail end of some drills with his trainer.
As he went through the combinations and grunted like a guard dog, sweat dripped down from his brow and rolled so low that it cascaded over his already glistening and bare chest.
You hadn’t really noticed how your feet had stopped or how your pulse had picked up so fiercely that you could feel it between your thighs before his own eyes located you and he flashed you a smile.
“Hey!” his voice cut through your trance as he patted his coach on the shoulder and began to near the edge of the ring.
“H-hi,” you blinked, shaking your fuzzy head slightly to clear it, “I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff,” you briefly waved a hand to the gym around you and tried your best to rip your stare away from his heaving chest.
“Yeah,” he began to loosen a glove, “sorry I asked you to meet me here, I’m just really busy these days cause I’ve got a fight coming up.”
“Oh, well we don’t have to have a silly movie night if you don’t have the time,” you averted your gaze, recalling how before you’d been paired with him on the assignment for Callahan’s class, you hadn’t even been sure of what his name was. You’d just known him as the hot guy, three rows behind you.
“No, no, I want to, unless of course you’ve changed your mind.”
Blinking back up into his eyes, you smiled, “definitely not.”
“Well, great,” a grin spread across his lips, “then just give me a second,” he cast a brief glance over his broad shoulder at the locker room, “and then we can head back to my place,” a notion you hadn’t expected would have ended with you up on the back of his motorcycle, a terrifying concept that you’d somehow been unable to deny as the crush that had blossomed and bloomed within your heart for him had made it near impossible for you to say no to a single one of his suggestions.
“You never told me what you went as,” Rafe hummed beside you, causing your eyes to tear away from the horror movie buzzing on the TV.
Blinking over at him next to you on the leather couch, your fingers began to fiddle with the blanket you’d slumped over yourself, “oh, well I didn’t wanna buy anything new, so I just went through my closet and ended up going as Britney Spears because I found the skirt of my old school uniform. I don’t even remember why I brought it with me the last time I went home, but–, ah!” a shriek suddenly shuttered through your form as your eyes accidentally fluttered back towards the screen just in time to witness the villain sink a large blade into the head of one of the drunk teenagers, “oh my god!” your frame couldn’t help but jump at the fright, nearly tossing the blanket across the room as you instinctively hid your features in the mass of Rafe’s bicep.
As your heart raced and thumped in your chest, you felt Rafe’s shoulder begin to move before you heard his laughter.
“Shut up, it’s not funny!” you smacked him lightly in the chest, though kept your vision darkened by his shirt, “so I’m not desensitised to the horrors of scary movies, big whoop!” a mutter then slipped out of your lungs, “fuck, why did I agree to this? I’m probably gonna have nightmares for weeks…”
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a movie,” you felt his palm find your arm in a soothing rub as his voice hummed directly above the crown of your head, “and the scene is almost over.”
“I can’t look…” you felt yourself lean more into his touch.
“…do you want me to describe it to you?”
“No…” you lingered in the security of his warmth and felt the terror slowly melt from your bones. Cupping a hand on the side of your face to shield your eyes from the horrors on screen, you carefully plucked your face just shy out of his safety before you uttered, “…just tell me when it’s over…”
The blaring light from the television reflected against the side of Rafe’s face as he gazed down into your eyes and breathed, “okay,” his stare slowly dipping and fluttering down towards your lips.
It wasn’t till now that you noticed how close you’d accidentally scooted to him as you weren’t far from just sitting in his lap.
Sharing his breath, your mind went entirely blank and only switched back on when you’d closed the distance betwixt your lips and now found yourself kissing your study buddy.
Thankfully, your brain didn’t get a chance to begin spiralling as it only took Rafe half a second to reciprocate the sudden move and kiss you back.
His strong hands found the small of your waist buried beneath the woollen blanket before he began to drag you closer, pulling you so near that you actually did wind up sitting in his lap, your fingers fluttering against his buzzcut as his own scooped down over the curve of your ass.
When the movie gently humming from behind you was long forgotten and your soul instead had drifted straight to heaven, you felt Rafe tilt his head back to breathlessly utter, “come watch my fight…” his forehead still pressed against your own.
Scarcely picking up on the words behind his honied hum, you breathed, “what?”
Reeling back just enough for his eye to catch your own dazed pair, he said, “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.
You’d never seen a fight in real life before.
Not boxing, not mixed martial arts as this was, not even a juvenile one in a schoolyard.
At one point, when you thought all hope seemed lost, when Rafe got pinned by his opponent and blood was trickling down from the cut at his brow so clearly that you could make it out from the second row seat you found yourself planted in, he somehow managed to turn the tides and capture the boulder of a man in a lock so fierce it made them nearly melt into one pretzel-like being.
As he flexed his arm around the other’s throat with the rest of his limbs restricting him as well and rendering an escape near impossible, Rafe’s eyes then flickered up to catch your wide ones in the crowd. A grin appeared on his features as he held your stare a moment longer, watching as you shyly began to mirror his smile, before he tightened his hold and squeezed till the opponent opted not to bruise his pride and tap out, instead going limp in the grasp.
Once the trophy was in his gloved hand and he’d leapt out of the ring, on his way back towards the locker room, he zigzagged through the cheering crowd and caught onto your arm, dragging you with him as he exited the buzzing hall.
“That was insane,” you heard yourself babble as he pulled you through the corridors down towards the backroom he’d been in prior to the fight, “I mean, I know I went into it kinda blind, but I had no idea it would be like that,” adrenaline still rushed through your veins as he tugged you over the threshold and closed the door behind you, swiftly dropping his trophy to one of the long benches, “sure, it was as insane as I probably imagined, but the way that you moved, the way you slipped in and out like you were made of water or something, I mean, that was beautiful–,” the fighter then suddenly cut your rambling short as he yanked you to his sweaty form and pressed his lips to your own. However, as his feet shuffled and your spine collided with the back of the door to the small locker room, your fingers fluttered over countless of the spots where he’d been hit, causing you to jerk back and ask, “wait, shouldn’t you have someone check you out?” your eyes flickered from the cut splitting his brow to the various fresh bruises already beginning to blossom and reveal their true colours, “are you okay?”
“I’ve never felt better in my whole life,” he tried to lean back in to capture your lips once more, though you tilted away just in time for him to miss.
“You sure? Because–”
But your words were quickly snuffed out as his hands then flew up to grasp the sides of your face to force you to notice the glint in his eye and the desire dripping in his tone, “just shut up and kiss me,” he commanded before he practically devoured you whole.
As Rafe’s tongue danced against your own and made you feel dizzy in his tight embrace, his fingers then blindly fumbled for the lock and twisted it with a click that harmonised with the throbbing that had appeared between your thighs as soon as the fight had commenced.
A low growl rumbled deep within his chest and melted into your mouth as he then plucked you off of the ground and lifted you into his arms. Broad palms spreading wide below your bottom, he brought you as close as possible, causing the skirt you wore to ride up and crumble at your hips. The thin barrier of your pantyhose and the underwear beneath nearly incinerated from the heat that sparked as his hips greedily rocked against your covered core, lending you to feel just how hard he was in his shorts.
“I want you so bad,” he groaned between pecks, his fingers digging into your softness.
“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your victory or something?” a light giggle bubbled out of you.
“I thought that was what I was doing,” he smirked before dropping you back down onto the ground, making you gasp at his sharp movements as he suddenly spun you around to face the closed door, “unless you have a better idea of how we could celebrate,” he nipped at your neck, making your eyes flutter.
“I–…” your teeth briefly captured your bottom lip as his front pressed against your back, and your spine instinctively arched back into him, “no, yeah, this one’s g-good…”
“Good,” he murmured in your ear before his fingers found your pantyhose in a pinch and ripped a big hole in them, nearly splitting them in two as he exposed your underwear, “do you want it?” he gripped your hips and titled them for his hard-on to perfectly nudge against the soaked cotton.
“Y-yes,” you panted, even just that one word haven been a struggle to utter through the fog he’d cast you into.
“How bad?”
“So bad–, Rafe, please,” he made you squeak desperately, “I just–, please…”
Cheek smooshed against the door, you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he then kneeled down behind you. Both hands still firmly planted on your hips, keeping you in place for him, they only strayed for a moment in order to shove your skirt the rest of the way up and letting him see the wet spot decorating your panties.
“Oh, shit…” he groaned as he tugged the gusset of your underwear all the way to the side, a string of your glossy want clung to the fabric till it snapped back against your aching core. Nearly salivating as he inspected your holes, his fingers dented your ass as he pulled you apart, splitting you open that much further and watching intently at the way your drooling cunt throbbed in anticipation for his touch.
As if your pussy’s embarrassingly leaky state wasn’t enough, a dollop of his spit then roughly landed upon your folds, the lewdness causing you to let out a moan as he swiftly rose back up to his full height without as much as a tickle to your tingly petals.
The next thing you knew, the adrenaline coursing through you both drove Rafe to free his length from its confines and, without as much as another kiss, slammed inside of your weeping pussy in one fell motion.
Balls nuzzled tightly against you, the very tip of him nudged against a part so deep inside of you that it made you lose your breath as he took a moment to savour the sensation, freezing up within you and huffing against your cheek as you gasped for air through your whimpers.
“Oh my god!” one of your hands curled back to crawl at his waist, “Rafe!”
“Now,” his hips slowly drew back, dragging his fat girth back out of you and letting you feel every little detail of him, “you just gotta be a good girl, stand right here for me,” only the bulbous head of his cock remained, keeping you plugged up as he purred in your ear, “and take it like the perfect little prize you are,” he then buried himself once more with such vigour that his heavy sack tapped sloppily against your puffy clit, “can you do that for me? Will you be my reward?”
© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#mma!rafe#mma!rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fanfic#drew starkey smut#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron au
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Husband!Simon isn't a pious person, but he sits beside your bed in the hospital, praying to God for not taking his love, his only light in this abyss away.
He prays every night and day and lets out an audible gasp when you finally wake up from the coma.
Husband!Simon forces his tears back when he finds out you only remember who he is, but forget the relationship you two have, and all the moments you two experienced due to the crash.
Husband!Simon brings you the photos you two took before, picking through every of them, answering every question you ask, even though you sometimes ask the same questions because you can't remember things well due to concussion. He’s willing to answer them thousands of times.
Husband!Simon who brings you knitting needles, teaches you how to crochet, just like the way you taught him before.
Husband!Simon who struggles to bake the cookie you used to make for him, burnt a few plates of them before he finally succeeded, can't help but smile and his eyes widened when you manage to recall a few steps of the process.
Husband!Simon who never missed your rehabilitation session, watching you working hard so you can regain the ability to walk quicker.
Husband!Simon writes down every single detail you start to remember again. The place you two first dated at, the bakery you loved to go with him, how he met you and fell in love with you.
Husband!Simon who needs to go on a mission, restraining the bitterness and anxiety to leave you again, afraid that something bad might happen again, but you reassure him so he reluctantly drags himself out of your ward.
Husband!Simon is confused when he comes back from the deployment, rushes to the hospital, and finds you telling him to stand by the door of your ward.
he watches you slowly walk towards him, step by step, wobbly but eventually, you stop in front of him, and hug him tightly in your arms.
"Welcome back, Si."
Husband!Simon who finally let himself cry against your chest in months, after hearing you greeting him and calling just like before.
extend this trope with 🐬 anon’s request
#cod imagine#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#cod x reader#cod x you#ghost x you
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Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness
daryl x fem!reader
wordcount: 4.7k
warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut under the cut, perv!daryl (not really, he just has a lil crush), male masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral f!receiving, mutual pining
a/n: i have never written something so descriptive ohmygod. do be warned lol, hugs and kisses byeee <33
Daryl knew there were unspoken boundaries when it came to you.
A thin line of loose salt, that whispered to him. Beckoned him huskily to dust his fingers through and have a taste, but daunting enough for him to keep his soles rooted in the dirt, salivating from a distance.
It wasn’t because you were already spoken for in any way; if anything, you kept your romantic interests simmering farther on the back burner than he did, which spoke volumes in itself. Or because you were younger than him, a couple of years wasn’t anything to turn a nose up over, especially nowadays.
It was, however, the place you held amongst your people. You were like bright, shiny gold within the group, dared not to be corrupted or led astray. The heart that kept everyone’s beating, even in the darkest of times, soothing hope into the atmosphere with your infectious smile.
Oh, and you were Rick's younger sister... which he hated to admit, only tempted him more. And he wasn’t quite sure as to why.
He’d mulled it over too many times to count, noting everything about you that allured him so intensely.
He liked the contrast between you two; like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a mid-summer storm. You were soft, fresh as clean linen and he was dark, brooding. He often fantasized about taking that sweet innocent nature of yours and painting it with his essence. He knew it was wrong and constantly shamed himself for having such perverted thoughts about his best friend's sister. But, god, how could he not?
Not when you pranced around him daily, teasing him with your velvety, feminine voice and kind touches. Touches that sent brisk shivers down his spine, sure to leave him breathless and bothered — another thing he secretly liked. You were addictive in that sense, he’d distance himself the minute he felt the familiar rush coursing through his veins and then crave it immediately once it was gone. A drug he couldn’t help but relapse from.
And it didn’t help that you were always so keen to assist him, doting on his every injury or problem with such gentle attentiveness and sincerity. That might be what he liked the most. It was fascinating how pure you remained in a world so plagued, always ready to nurture. It soothed a deep, restless, and scarred part of him, finding solace in it.
He'd come to learn you were like that with everyone though. So, he found himself grappling with things to deter your attention his way, playing dumb and clumsy just to have your sweet scent fill the nearby air. He felt like a horny teenager with a hopeless crush. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet, here he was once again, feet dangling off your kitchen counter as you searched the cabinets for some aspirin to aid in his 'headache'.
It wasn't a complete lie per se - his sensitivity to light gave him troubles quite often but, whether it was enough to complain about or not, could be debated.
Nonetheless, he sat for you patiently, listening to your quiet humming as you searched about. He loved when you did that, singing your soft melodies under your breath mindlessly. It was such a girly thing to do, but it was comforting in a way, an airy blanket warming the silence.
"Ah, here it is!" drew him out of his thoughts, and he cast a glance at your bright smile of accomplishment. You popped the cap open swiftly, shaking out 2 little white pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.
“Let me know if you need any more. They should kick in soon, but I know how tough migraines can be,” you soothed, your sympathy never faltering. He bowed his head quickly, not wanting you to see the flash of guilt that surely crossed it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he tossed his head back, swallowing them both with a shivered grimace.
Wiping the water droplets from his chapped lips, his eyes found yours again and noticed a small smirk hidden in your features. “What?”
You let out a chuckle, reaching for the glass he held to wash, “Oh nothin’... just don’t think I’ve seen you cringe like that before, is all.”
His brows furrowed at your statement, “So?” he questioned further.
“Walkers, blood, rotting flesh… never. But an itty bitty pill?” Your laugh grew louder, finding the situation even more amusing as you explained it to him. “Whatever,” he scoffed, hopping off the counter with a smirk. He knew you would be expecting him to leave after that, you had helped him with his ‘issue of the day’ and there was no reason to linger any further. But he did.
Daryl scanned your frame as you washed the few dishes that were in the sink, chewing on his thumb habitually. You wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with a faded band logo printed on the front and some beaten-up blue jeans that seemed to cup your ass perfectly.
His mind wandered before he could stop it, imagining how soft and warm your skin must be underneath all those clothes. How soft and warm your hands would be wrapped around him, or better yet, your pretty lips taking him deep with a moan. He felt his own jeans tighten slightly and quickly diverted his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat as if it would erase those thoughts from his brain.
“Something else you need, Daryl?” You glanced over your shoulder, wrists deep in soapy water.
“Nah, uh, thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said and beelined for the door praying to god you didn’t see his flushed face and half-hard cock poking through his pants. He was so fucked. Couldn’t even look at you anymore without sprouting boners and picturing you on them, milking him greedily.
He rushed down the porch and across the lawn, bursting into his shared house with Carol just next door. He didn’t even glance toward the kitchen to see if his friend was home, desperate for a cold shower to level him out. The house was dead quiet anyway, leading him to assume Carol was out for the day.
"Such a fuckin idiot," he cursed himself under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to his room. You probably knew honestly. Could tell how pathetically bothered you got him, and just put on a friendly face to keep from embarrassing him.
He left the bathroom door open in his distress and hastily shed his clothing, stepping into the tepid water. Immediate relief flooded his senses, feeling the cool stream wash away the sweat and grime the day had caked on. Pouring some homemade soap he was given into his hand, he scrubbed at his skin, determined to rid himself of your previous interaction along with the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about you that way, it just wasn’t in the cards.
For starters, you would have to want him too, (which he knew would never happen), and even if you did, how the ever living fuck would he explain that to Rick?
‘Oh hey Rick, I have a massive hard-on for yer sister, you okay with that?’ Fuck no. Just thinking about that conversation had him cringing in awkwardness and he shut the idea down instantly.
But there you were still, invading his thoughts with your dreamy laugh and perky attitude. Why did you have to be such a goddamn tease?
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall trying to regain some composure. He gulped down deep breaths of moist air, willing his body to calm itself down, but it was fruitless. The image of your body, pushed up against the wall under his hands, wet and flushed, bubbled to the surface. He groaned. Daryl knew what he had to do. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten off thinking about you, and he damn well knew it wasn’t gonna be the last, but it still felt wrong each time, pumping his cock when you were just next door. His body craved the relief though, relief only indulgence could satisfy.
He hissed as he dragged his fingers along his shaft, gripping at the base and beginning to pump slowly. He was painfully hard at this point, each squeeze raking shivers over his damp skin while he choked out quiet moans. With his opposite hand, he flicked the water to a warmer setting, pitifully hoping the heat and steam would resemble something close to your body against his. God, if only you were here.
He sped up, swiping his thumb over his sensitive tip with each pass, sending jolts throughout his body. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned deep and husky, not a care for the noise filling the empty house.
You were there, clear as day in his mind, moaning along with him as he pounded into you, cunt gripping him like a vice. Your breath was hot and pitchy against his ear as you begged him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to cum deep inside you. His cock twitched at that, he was already so close.
“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he whined, humping erratically into his long-forgotten hand. The muscles in his stomach quivered in bliss as he stroked himself, lost in his detailed imagination. You were cumming, trembling around him in languid spasms with his seed spilling out of you, and Daryl was over the edge, tossing his head back moaning your name as he unloaded, letting the steamy water wash it away.
It took him a few minutes to recover, catching his breath slowly and trying to avoid the guilt that would soon be settling in. What would you think of him if you knew what he did behind muffled walls? How he thought of you in such dirty ways, when you’d only ever see him as a dear friend. He wondered what you might be doing now. Traipsing around your cozy home, oblivious to his rapid, lustful heart meters away.
The water was beginning to run frigid and he let out a defeated sigh. Absentmindedly, he reached past the curtain for a towel and stepped out, drying his hair off roughly and then wrapping the towel around his waist, turning to the bedroom for fresh clothes and much-needed sleep. His mind ached to be thoughtless, consumed by the abyss of unconsciousness.
He should have known the world stopped playing fair long ago.
In a single moment, his heart stopped and his stomach dropped to the fucking depths of hell.
There you stood, feet frozen to the floor with his crossbow in hand, like he willed you into existence. He stuttered, his mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. He was sure his eyes were the size of saucers, he could feel them ready to pop out of his skull and run away. There was no fucking way this was happening.
Several beats passed. The silence deafening between you both and for a moment, he honestly debated stepping back into the shower. Pretend you were a figment of his tortured imagination and just hope you’d go away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen ghosts.
“You uh- you forgot your crossbow when you rushed out today,” you finally broke the silence, solidifying your genuine presence. He glanced down to the bow and then back at you, lost for words. Did you hear him? He moaned your goddamn name, quite a few minutes ago though… had you been standing there long? Were you angry?
His racing thoughts were interrupted when you stepped towards him, leaning the bow against the doorframe and moving closer. Instinctively, he took a step back, “Thanks,” he replied shakily, but you kept moving closer. He noticed your gaze then. It wasn’t on his face, but on his abdomen, at the hem of the damp towel hanging off of him. Your eyes had a gleam to them. Something dark and lustful.
No. Surely, he was reading you wrong.
“Daryl,” you spoke, and he audibly gulped, nervousness and absolute embarrassment flooding his system, “is there something you need to tell me?”
He didn’t answer you, instead deciding to burn a hole into the floor with his shame. He couldn’t look at you. You knew. You had heard him and were teasing him about it and here he was, a coward who couldn’t even admit to it. And you had every single right. He crossed that salty line years ago, with his first sinful thought about you. Feasted on it, deluding himself into thinking all was okay as long as his actions didn’t physically involve you.
He barely registered your advances when he finally raised his head. You were so close he could feel the heat of your breath against his burning skin, the luscious scent of vanilla and pine filling the air.
“Can I see?” you asked quietly.
He nearly choked on his own spit. Your hand was skimming along his stomach lightly, suggestively toying with the towel that covered him up. “Huh?” His mind was blank.
“Can I see you?” you repeated, and all he could do was give you a curt little nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to just yet, but rendered acquiesced. Your hand pulled at the fabric softly, letting it drop to the floor revealing his manhood to your hungry eyes. Nothing was making any sense. Surely, you did not feel this way too. Surely.
There were those whispers again. He shouldn't have let you do that. He should be recoiling, shielding himself from your gaze but he was statuesque, like you had drank the life out of him with one simple look.
"Were you thinking about me touching you?" Like you had to even ask. The answer was written in plain sight, right there on his forehead and in his bashful eyes.
"M'sorry, I-" he had no clue how to even begin this kind of apology, remorse coursing through his veins rapidly. The dots weren’t connecting, not yet. "I know it's wrong, I shouldn't have-,”
And then he felt you, pressing your lips against his softly — timidly as gentle hands feathered across his waist, coaxing him into you. Your kiss was buttery, lips so smooth and sweet he wanted to drown in them. You tasted like fresh honey and vanilla ice cream, hints of minty toothpaste caught on your tongue. It was intoxicating to say the least, swarming his brain with a muted buzz and he whimpered, much to his surprise, melting into your touch quicker than he would like to admit.
“Y/n, y/n, nah we can’t,” he heard himself say as he came to his senses slowly, but he wasn’t pushing you away. Why wasn’t he pushing you away? You couldn’t, right?
“Please,” you whispered against him, low and sultry. Who was he to deny you? God Daryl, get a grip.
“Y/n, no,” he repeated, allowing his tone to take some authority even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. You stepped back from him then, a hurt expression painting your features and he felt his heart squeeze. “Why?”
His brain was scattered. This felt like a nightmare; another cruel joke sent his way to haunt him for the rest of his life. There just always had to be a price, didn't there?
"He doesn't mind, you know?" you whispered and his eyes were on yours instantly. You traced soft shapes across his stomach, sending those shivers down his spine and effectively turning him into putty.
"What’re ya talkin' about?" He needed to regain his composure, he could barely breathe with you this close, eyes raking his naked frame with desire.
"Rick... you and me. He doesn't care," you stated, "thinks it's cute actually... my crush on you."
Your crush on him?
"He trusts you, Daryl, with everything. You're pretty much the only person he would want me to be with." He hadn't thought of it that way, only ever assumed voicing his attraction to you would result in his head on a platter, or his dick… or both.
You began peppering his neck with small kisses, trailing them down his chest and over his puffy nipples. He hissed when you nipped at one, licking over it after, soothing the burn. "Ya sure?"
You nodded.
"Ya sure ya want me?" he asked dubiously. His question was answered when you grabbed his hand gently, guiding it inside your cotton underwear, letting his calloused fingers trace your soaked folds. He could have cum then and there, spreading your slick up and down between his fingers like it was liquid gold. Fuck me.
"This all fer me?" he panted, succumbed to a state of disbelief at your evident arousal. You were so wet around his fingers, pulsing and bucking slightly with each feathered stroke. "Were ya listenin' ta me?"
Hair fell over your face as you nodded sheepishly, gazing down to watch his fingers massaging you. You bit your swollen, cherry-red lip, “Couldn’t help it, you sounded so- so good.”
Now that... that got him going. Imagining your pretty cunt dripping in your panties, listening to his gasps while he fucked himself to the thought of you. Who knew the golden girl would be so naughty?
Daryl felt his confidence build, watching you fall apart for him from such simple touches. The last wire holding him back snapped and he needed more. He had waited for this moment for so fucking long.
You whine as he retracts his hand, only to be completely shut up when he places the thick digit on his tongue, sucking greedily and sloppily. It was better than he ever could have imagined, similar to the honey of your lips but so much more sweet. He went back for seconds. And thirds. Until he was dropping to his knees, deciding to lick the goddamn plate clean.
You enveloped him in the best way possible, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder as he tugged on your tight jeans, pulling them down enough to fit his head. His tongue pressed flat against your clothed pussy, and he sucked, tasting a mixture of your sweetness and residual laundry detergent on his tongue. His moans burned the back of his throat, desperately trying to hide them but you weren’t having it, tugging on his chocolate locks for more. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, honey.” Good lord. He silently thanked each lucky star of his that the house was empty before emitting a guttural groan between your thighs. If this was all he got from you, a little taste of the sugar you were made of, he would die a very happy man.
He took your clit between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Your underwear was so wet with your arousal and his spit that it was practically see-through, just calling for him to pull aside. “Please,” you gasped.
“Hm? Wha’s that?”
He’d heard you just fine. He wanted to hear you again, and again. He was greedy and you were so damn sinful, “Please, need them off, need you.”
So, he complied, as any sane man would, shimmying them down your hips as he sucked and nibbled each inch of newly exposed skin. You watched him intently with half-lidded eyes, rocking slowly to let plush skin engulf his senses like a cloud. He felt you playing with his messy hair, taking small strands between your fingertips and moving them behind his ears to see him better. The gesture struck something deep within him. You were so kind, so focused on this moment and him, he’d be damned if he let it continue on the hard damp floor of his bathroom. No fucking way.
He stood abruptly, catching you off guard. “Bed,” he muttered, capturing your lips again in a haste. He couldn’t get enough. He didn’t want a minute to pass where he wasn’t tasting some part of you. Any part of you. Sweet, sweet honey.
You led your bodies backward till your knees hit the mattress, wasting no time as you crawled up to his pillows, taking him with you.
This moment right here, this feeling… he wanted to bottle it up. Freeze time and just stare, immerse himself into every tiny detail. It felt almost criminal to continue. You were a vision, panting and squirming beneath him; so much electricity and anticipation bouncing between your yearning bodies. Could you really want this just as much as he did? Was he truly that oblivious, all these years? Whatever that answer may be, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up. Not with you.
Your hands on his face coaxed him back to reality, molding into your touch like clay. Eager lips chased his as he pulled your shirt off and as much as he wanted to freeze time and memorize each freckle of you, the more skin each other touched the more obscene the kiss became. An unartistic jumble of spit and hands and moans and thrusts.
In all the time spent pining silently for the other, you both could care less about grace.
No, he needed to hear you. Listen to every octave of moan you had in you, all at once. He needed to know each and every spot that had you whimpering and begging, this second. If time did decide to stop at any given moment he needed to have you, be you, feel everything you had to offer, and soak in it till his skin pruned.
His lips sucked and bruised their way down to your navel, and then past, kissing up your folds with lustful intent. The sounds you made above him had him seeing stars and he wanted more. His tongue slipped past your lips, finally diving into the hive of your sweetness, rolling his tongue languidly over your clit. Your hands were everywhere around him, fisting at the sheets, the pillows, and then his hair as you desperately tried to push him closer. He didn’t mind. He’d gladly suffocate between your thighs, a death he’d welcome compared to the ones he fought from outside every day.
He dove lower, smoothing his tongue over your entrance but not delving past quite yet.
“Daryl,” you gasped above him.
Looking up between your legs, he caught a glimpse of your face tossed back in pleasure and he groaned, having to ground his hips into the mattress below to relieve some pressure. “What d’ya need, sweetheart?”
He’d give you anything. The moon if you asked for it — anything to keep those pretty sounds coming from your lips. “You, you, please you.”
“How so?”
He knew he was teasing you. He’d drawn back from your glistening slit, pressing little pecks everywhere that he could reach. Your hips, your pelvis, the little crease between your thighs and your cunt. That spot drew a deep moan from you, so he focused on it, sucking and licking till it was bright red and your hips were rolling so violently he wasn’t sure how he kept his lips on you.
“In, please,” you choked out, tugging him by his shoulders to move back up. He wasn’t done yet.
“What? Ma fingers?” he toyed further, continuing his kisses everywhere but where you wanted him. “Hm?”
He brought his thumb up to your clit, pressing lightly at first, rubbing lazy, torturous circles. His lips were on the inside of your thigh, so close to your entrance but seemingly so far. He knew you wouldn’t take much more of this, you were practically sobbing above him blubbering nonsensical curses about how much you ached.
“This pretty cunt wanna be filled, that it?”
His thumb pressed firmer.
“Uh huh,” you nodded, begging him. Oh, that sound would surely be the death of him.
He finally brought his lips to your supposedly aching entrance, delving deep with his tongue. The noises he made as he lapped on your honey were flat-out pornographic, and you writhed below him, drinking everything he was giving to you. Honestly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He wanted to draw this out for hours, make up for every bit of lost time but seeing you like this, so needy for him had his resolve shattering by the second.
With a final peck to your weeping folds, he crawled his way up back to your face. You latched on to him instantly, sensing his give and taking absolute advantage of your moment. His hips rolled into yours slowly as your tongues danced and he hardly had to guide himself with how wet you were, his tip finding your entrance easily and slipping past. You moaned rolling your hips again and he nearly bottomed out, a long deep groan ripping out of him. If he thought your lips were buttery, lord save him.
Perching himself on his forearms, he held still, watching for any signs of discomfort. He assumed you hadn’t been with anyone in a while and he certainly knew he wasn’t small, if he’d grace himself with any sort of compliment.
Sensing nothing but pleasure as your walls pulsed around him, sucking him in further, he gave, snapping his hips harshly into you. Your moans were lewd on his lips, traveling down his throat and feeding the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach.
“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he groaned again, spiraling from the fact he was actually inside you this time. Not in his hand, pretending you were fucking shower water.
No, you were beneath him, latching onto his muscles like your life depended on it. He drove deeper, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air. He hit it again, and again, needing to feel you explode around him. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he pounded into you. God, you looked so pretty like this. All cock-drunk and needy.
He brought his thumb back to that spot on your clit. He needed you to cum soon, he wasn’t gonna last much longer seeing you like this and there was no way in hell he was going to finish before you. Your hips stuttered beneath him, walls squeezing around him and he knew you were close.
“Come on, pretty girl, you got it,” he whispered in your ear, sucking the lobe gently between his teeth. That must’ve broken you, because then you were cursing, spasming for him which triggered his own orgasm. Your cunt milked him, his seed spilling down your thighs exactly how he had pictured earlier and it was a fucking sight. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had imagined this whole thing.
He fucked out both through the waves of release, and a bit past, dropping his head into your neck to muffle the obscene groans coming from his lips. He didn’t want it to stop, but your overstimulated senses ached for reprieve.
“Dar?” you whispered once you'd both caught your breath, guiding his stubbled cheek from its hiding spot. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with so much adoration and happiness he had to hold himself back from whimpering. Never in a million years would he thought he’d get you, and here you were, looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass. The same way he looked at you for years, it was jarring to see it reciprocated. How had he missed it?
You leaned forward, tenderly capturing his lips with your own, soothing him as you always did. He knew there was so much you wanted to say, that he wanted to say, but you didn’t need to talk about it tonight. Tonight you would simply soak in each other, a gift you both thought you’d never get and one you would never let go.
He felt you giggle against his lips, and he pulled back with a lazy, fucked-out smile, "What?" he mumbled curiously.
"How's the headache now, big guy?" you teased playfully and he realized then, you'd known he was fibbing today. Saw right through his measly excuse to spend time with you.
He blushed to the tips of his ears, bowing his head to hide it, "Oh, shuddup," he mumbled, attacking your neck in kisses and nips.
Your cheeky ass was gonna pay for that tonight.
#daryl dixon#the walking dead#daryl imagines#daryl dixon smut#daryl x reader#norman reedus#daryl dixon drabbles#twd drabbles#fem!reader#twd daryl#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x reader#daryl smut#norman reedus smut#y/n grimes#daryl x grimes reader#twd smut#daryl twd#twd fanfiction
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The Love And DeepSpace Men- Boyfriend Headcanons + Scenarios/ Imagines Pt. 2
parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader requested: myself bc i craved writing something sweet genre: perhaps tooth rotting fluff fluff warnings: none unless you want cavities a/n: every day i wish they were real and every day i have a lads brain rot and i would gatekeep these ideas but i would never so here ya go ! lmk if i should write more of these ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა enjoy reading ! first part is here if you haven't read it! Pt.1 any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆
Xavier:
The type of boyfriend who will finish your food whenever you can't finish it. He'll let you eat his food even when you say you're not hungry or you don't want anything. If the food he gets isn't something you would want, he'll make sure to buy something for you even if you say you don't want it.
You can expect his hand to always sneak into your lap when you lay in bed together after a long day. Gently embracing your lower stomach and whispering sweet nothings into your ear before you both fall asleep.
If you can't sleep, he'll try to join you for midnight snacks and watch whatever's on TV. He's trying his best to stay awake but you can already see him dozing off, clutching the stuffed plushie you won at the arcade.
Scenario:
You two sat on the soft grass, surrounded by a blanket of stars that painted the dark canvas of the night sky, eagerly waiting for the shooting stars to streak by.
"Xavier do you have anything in mind for what you're going to wish for?"
He turns to you, his gaze softening and a gentle smile spreads across his face. "I don't need to wish for anything else if my wish has already come true- I'm looking right at her."
Zayne:
He keeps all the little trinkets you've given him by his nightstand at home and his desk at work. That way when he wakes up you're the first thing on his mind, not that you left his mind in the first place. Each time he glances at them, he's flooded with happy memories and filled with anticipation to return to your embrace.
The type of boyfriend who puts a blanket over you if you fall asleep on the couch and eventually carries you to your shared bed.
Puts a ridiculous amount of sugar in his coffee that kind of leaves you concerned for your lover's sweet tooth.
Scenario 1:
You two lay in bed together, enjoying the lazy morning, not wanting to get up as if doing so would mean the day truly had to begin. You trace the outlines of his bare chest, your fingers dancing over the area where his heart beats.
“What are you doing?” he asks curiously as he watches you glide your fingers gently around his chest.
“Finding your heart and seeing who lives there,”
He lets out a breathy chuckle, a smile curling on his lips. “No one is there right now.”
You frown at his response, a playful pout forming on your lips. He cups your cheek, finding your reaction to be amusing and adorable. “That’s because the owner of my heart is currently right in front of me.”
Scenario 2:
As Zayne rushes to get ready for an emergency call from the hospital, his glasses are perched on top of your head.
“Zayne, aren’t you forgetting something?” you hinted, leaning in for a goodbye kiss.
“Ah yes, thank you.” He retrieves his glasses and you mock a pout. But he leans down, brushing your lips with his with a sweet kiss, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I love you. Please don’t stay up waiting for me again.”
Rafayel:
Sometimes he can be your boyfriend but sometimes he's also like your child from how much you baby him
He needs to be close to you at all times. The type of boyfriend who is all over you all the time. He needs to be close and touching you at all times. If you got hot from cuddling, he'll have either his hands or legs over your body because if you were apart for more than a second he thinks he might explode.
The boyfriend who stays up making something special for days and stays up overnight just to make it perfect just for you.
The type of boyfriend who adjusts your do not disturb on your phone so only his notification pops up whenever you're on do not disturb.
Imagine swimming in the ocean, you're enveloped in his embrace as you both gaze at the moonlight and stars above. He holds you close, resting his chin gently on the top of your head while you nestle your hand and head against his chest. It’s perfect like this. Just two of you near his homeland, the sea. Just him and you in your own world where you both find peace with the gentle sounds of the waves surrounding you both.
Sylus:
At the beginning of your relationship he redecorates his entire home so that you'll like it more and feel more inclined to stay over and stay the night at his place.
He only has a soft spot for you and only you. You see a side of him no one else does and not just that but his super silly side.
Sometimes he'll lift you onto the counter or lift you up to get what you need on a high shelf just because he wants to hold you.
The type of boyfriend who gets on his knees or sits down to be on the same level as you when you don't want to look up at him anymore. If he was sitting, he's definitely pulling you to his lap because you're not going to be the only one standing!
The type to hold all of your shopping bags and pure for you when you’re out shopping together. He does not complain about holding your purse at all, not that it would ever bother him in the first place. Also does not complain about holding all of your shopping bags, it’s literally light work for him and he would encourage you to buy more things of whatever you wanted.
Imagine after a long night at an auction, you two stumble back into your shared home not breaking the kiss. Your hands rest on Sylus’s neck, slowly sliding down as he murmurs sweet phrases against your lips. His strong arms wrap around your waist as he carries you bridal style, guiding you both toward your shared bedroom.
#xavier x reader#xavier x you#xavier x y/n#zayne x reader#zayne x you#zayne x y/n#rafayel x reader#rafayel x you#rafayel x y/n#sylus x reader#sylus x you#sylus x y/n#xavier love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#xavier lads#zayne lads#rafayel lads#sylus lads#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace fic#love and deepspace scenarios#lads x you#lads x reader
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