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foreverdolly · 7 months ago

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࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 5 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 6.6k

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“Move.”

He was like an impenetrable wall.

You attempted yet again to step around Feyd, your outstretched hand just barely brushing against the door before the man turned his body, blocking you from the exit. He stood with his arms crossed, using his much larger frame as a barricade. After the. . . events that transpired last night, the only thing that was on your mind was freedom. You needed breathing room, if only for a few minutes. Feyd had been your shadow for the last three days. He hadn’t left your side even for a second.

You wanted to trust him, even against your better judgment, so you tried to believe that it was only because he wanted to protect you. There was still that overly cautious voice nagging at you, telling you that he was looking for weaknesses to use against you later. His all-seeing eyes could be sizing you up, making note of how many bites it would take for him to swallow you up whole. The last thing you wanted was to be consumed by this place. . . Consumed by him.

The events that had transpired in your guest bedroom four days ago had your suspicions rising, and you needed to be certain that you were just paranoid before you could even begin thinking about your fast approaching wedding ceremony.

You had feared your impending fate for the entirety of your life. That had always been the one thing that frightened you most, and yet here you were, bruised and battered. It was crazy to believe that there were people on Geidi Prime that were worse than Feyd-Rautha. . . and yet here you were, depending on him for safety. You needed answers.

How had the guard even entered your room in the first place?

“I won’t tell you again. Move.” Your jaw ached, teeth grinding together as you tried to keep yourself from striking him across that cocky face of his.

The skin between his brow bones wrinkled ever-so-slightly as he stared down at you. It was almost as though he was scolding a small child, watching them flail and cry after their punishment had been dealt. Last you had checked, you’d done nothing wrong. Why were your basic rights being revoked after the attempted murder? Why did it feel like you were the one paying the price?

“Either you come with me and train or you stay in our room until I grab you. You have two choices. Pick one.” The pale Na-Baron almost seemed bored of your antics and you couldn’t blame him.

You’d been fighting him every chance you got ever since he had forced himself on you last night. A silent vow had been made right then and there: you were going to make his life a living hell, only stopping once you deemed he had done his proper penance.

“I like neither of those options. Watching you train has done nothing for me. I want to learn-”

“You don’t need to learn how to fight. Is it not the husband’s duty to protect his wife?” He tilted his head to the side, staring down at you with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Why was he so obsessed with the idea of protecting you? The most he did while the two of you “trained” was block your onslaught of attacks. Gurney wasn’t afraid to hit you in the sparring ring, even if you ended up injured and butt-hurt. He was blunt and told you the ways that you could improve yourself, meanwhile Feyd had been treating you like you were made of porcelain ever since the assassination attempt. You hated it. With your vocal cords still fried from the strangulation, you were made all too aware of the fact that your fighting skills were subpar.

You’d tried goading Feyd into attacking you head on many times, but no matter what you said he still held his punches. The difference between his treatment of you and other’s was startling. Someone could look at him wrong and he was immediately jumping down their throats, ready to strike with lethal precision.

“One day you will have to leave me alone, if even for a few minutes. . . and what then? You can’t always be there-” You were trying desperately to explain, and yet he would hear none of it. He looked almost offended by what you were saying.

“I will always be here,” He was quick to interject, eyes suddenly wild. “I won’t let anything hurt you again.”

Realistically you knew that your heart shouldn’t be pounding the way that it was.

Still, there it was, hammering away in your chest. Every once in a while it was almost as though that dark veil that he had cast over himself was lifted, revealing someone entirely new to you. Someone, as much as you hated to admit it, that was entirely too likable. Loveable, even. His constant changes in personality were starting to give you whiplash. Was he someone completely different when he was around you? Or was he just trying on different faces to see which one you liked better?

You clenched your fists at your side, trying hard to calm your raging emotions. His actions last night were completely barbaric, and yet you couldn’t forget the softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth over yours had plagued your dreams and made it impossible to sleep. It was insane of you to feel this conflicted about something. You should hate everything about this man, and yet here he was, promising to be your protector. More than that, he was promising to stick around, which was arguably more terrifying.

“I’m going then. Will you not be coming with me?” He unfolded his arms, reaching a hand out for you to take.

It hung there in the space between you two, his pale fingers twitching. For a second you contemplated taking it. Regretfully you realized that you had something that you needed to look into.

“I’ll stay here,” You faltered when you saw the hint of rejection in his eyes as he let his hand fall back to his side. “My bruises are tender today, so I’ll just take a bath.”

Why were you trying to make him feel better about your refusal? This was all too confusing.

“Alright then. I’ll see you in an hour.” And with that he turned on the heel of his boot and walked through the door, careful to close it tightly behind him.

You breathed a sigh of relief, moving forward so that you could press your forehead against the cool metal. It felt good against your flushed skin.

“I won’t leave until I hear you slide the lock into place.” His deep voice was muffled behind the thick barrier between the two of you.

You closed your eyes tightly, sliding your hand against the door until you found the lock, clicking it soundly into place. It must have appeased him, as you heard his retreating footsteps just a second later.

Time ticked by as you waited to be free of your newfound guardian. The last thing you wanted was to be caught in the hallway sneaking around. Feyd would surely side with his uncle if you were to tell him all about your suspicions, so you’d rather just investigate on your own until you had solid evidence. You wanted to believe that you hadn’t been set up to die, and yet you had this intense gut feeling that this all went even deeper than that.

Why would they make good on the promised engagement if they just wanted to kill you? It’s not like you were any real threat, other than the fact that you had been blessed with your mother’s gifts. As you were now, you were basically useless, which was a very hard pill to swallow.

Slowly you unlocked the door, scared that the sound might alert someone. You had slipped the knife you had stolen during your first dinner on Giedi Prime into your belt, hiding it under the flowing black gauze of your blouse for good measure. Even if you were caught, you needed some way to protect yourself.

The cold metal bit into your skin as you slid the door open, reminding you that you were safe. You will never let anyone hurt you like that again.

This time you will be ready.

Two rights and then three lefts. You had memorized the way to go in order to get to the left wing for this very reason. The Baron’s defenses would be tight, but his office would be relatively empty around this time. It was just about lunch, and according to Feyd he would retire to his personal quarters. If you could distract the guards for long enough to slip in, riffle around for information, and then get out. . . you’d be home free.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt as you walked through the hall, training your expression to one of stony indifference. Modeling it after Feyd’s, you briskly made your way, hoping that the guards would be confused enough to let you pass without so much as a second thought.

‘I belong here.’ You lied to ourself, trying to bolster your confidence.

A few men in uniform turned to look after you, but no one stopped you. The way to the baron’s office was completely new to you. Feyd had never taken you this deep into the left wing before- only to get to the grand-hall to show you where the ceremony would be held. It was as large and foreboding as all of the other rooms on the giant estate, but the onyx floors had a certain shine to them as though there were flecks of quartz sprinkled throughout. You didn’t want to admit it at the time, but it was a rather extravagant place to get married.

You’d nonchalantly asked if the Baron lived in the left wing seeing as the architecture was seemingly more grandiose. He couldn’t have known that you would try to make your way in this direction on your own because he had let it slip: the baron and his office were located very close to the grand-hall.

“What are you doing over here?” The man’s voice was deeper than Feyd’s, though he was half his size.

The guard at his side looked to be twice your age, and yet the expression in his eyes made you think that he wouldn’t think twice about ripping your head straight from your shoulders.

“The Na-Baron asked me to come and get you two.” It felt awkward using Feyd’s title, stuffy even.

The two blinked a few times in disbelief, looking you up and down as if you were an insignificant worm. It was almost like you could hear their thoughts. You were nothing but a pitiful Atreides, so what were you doing taking orders from someone as important as your soon-to-be husband? They doubted that he would ever confide in you for anything other than warming his bed.

“He told me that the two men standing in front of the Baron’s office were needed in the training room.” The sooner they were gone the better.

Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion, slowly looking behind them at the large door they were currently standing in front of. How would you know that this was his uncle’s office unless you were explicitly told?

“Did he mention why we are needed?” There was still a hint of distrust in the older man’s voice, but it was far overshadowed by fear.

Feyd was unpredictable. Unpredictability and psychosis made for a dangerous combination.

“Another guard confided in him yesterday. Said that the two of you said something disrespectful recently and that he wanted to personally have a word with the both of you. I don’t know anything more than that.” You wanted them so frightened that they would completely abandon all reason. They needed to be gone long enough to give you time to properly search the place.

You watched as their pale faces went a sick shade of pale purple. The two looked like the gossiping type, and if their expressions were anything to go off of then you must be right. They were quick to bow their heads in your direction before jogging off, muttering curses under their breath.

A second. Two seconds. Three. . .

You opened the door as slowly as you possibly could, praying that it wouldn’t make a noise. You waited to see if you could hear any movement, wondering whether or not the inside was being watched as well. Thankfully you heard nothing. The room wasn’t as massive as you had been expecting. It was just about as large as the first bedroom you had been placed in was, but somehow it looked even darker. It still had the strangely textured walls and beautiful floors, same as the grand-hall, but there was something unsettling about it. The only light coming in was through the large window that was located in the middle of the room, but the world outside was a slate gray, so even that was dim. You didn’t have time to look out the large window, no matter how curious you were about your new surroundings. There was something that you had to do. Making a decision on how you should go about this whole predicament was paramount, and you refused to do it after the wedding.

There was still time to try and contact your parents back home if you had suspicions of a possible murder plot.

The Baron’s desk was neat, not a speck of dust marring it’s matte black surface. You weren’t looking for anything in particular. . . just something that would put your mind at ease. Confirmation was needed, one way or another. Either Feyd’s uncle was innocent or guilty. Of what? You weren’t quite sure yet.

You riffled through the papers that sat on the middle of the table, careful to stack them up exactly where they once were. The information in them seemed useless to you. Financial documents- most of them discussing the retrieval of spice. Never once had you stepped foot on Arrakis, so you found them slightly boring at worst and mildly interesting at best. It was then that you started tugging at the very few drawers, knowing that you would be found at any second. There were no sounds emitting from the hallway, but that didn’t mean anything. Most of the people on this planet were freaks of nature it would seem. You suddenly began to doubt that there would be any evidence here of all places.

Asking the guard that attempted to kill you and his accomplices questions would have been the best route, but your fiance had acted rashly before you even had the chance to catch your breath. The time to give up on your investigation was near. Seconds had turned into minutes. Your heart was pounding up in your throat, making it hard to breathe as you opened the last drawer.

It turned out that it wasn’t a drawer at all but a small cabinet. You had to crouch down and squint your eyes in the dark to see inside. The contents would have been useless to you in most cases, but something caught your eye. . . and terrified you in ways that you couldn’t quite put into words.

It was a cabinet filled with marked-

“Did you see his face? It looked like he was surprised to see us.” The male’s voice had you standing up so fast that a muscle in your neck twitched, resulting in a dull pain shooting up the base of your head.

You were about to be caught. Any second now they would be back at the door, and where would you hide in the hallway? The billowy skirt that the ladies in waiting had brought to Feyd’s room this morning nearly sabotaged you as you tripped by the door. They were just around the corner, only a few steps away from his office now.

What would happen if you were caught? Would the wedding be called off? Would you be punished severely?

You closed the door as quietly as you could behind you, running in the opposite direction that the two begrudged guards were coming from. You only skidded to a stop when you saw that this hallway was also heavily guarded, their backs turned to you.

This was the worst case scenario. You were running in the opposite direction where you had come, which meant that you had absolutely no clue where you were going. There was no way that you would get out of this without some sort of formal permission, and two guards were already suspicious of you. Oh, and you couldn’t use the Voice if things started going south.

If you could sink right into the floor, right in this moment, you would.

The cabinet in the baron’s office was filled with keycards, each labeled with numbers that must correspond to each room. Only two were missing- two keycards that belonged to a room that had been organized on the wall of the right side of the cabinet. Left wing and right wing. The guest rooms were located in the right.

There was no way that was a coincidence. . . not when you were staying in the right wing the night that you were injured. You had been given a keycard at the very beginning of your stay. Not even your ladies-in-waiting had a way to get into your room by themselves. They had to knock on the door and wait for you to unlock it from the inside for them.

So if you had one keycard. . . then who had the other? Had someone broken into the Baron’s room just the same as you had, perhaps?

A sudden grip on your wrist had your mouth falling open, your lungs seizing as you sucked in a breath, your body's natural reaction being to scream. A hand was quick to press to your mouth, muffling whatever sound you could make. The hand belonged to someone tall, their body hard against your back as they ushered you into a small space. They pressed a button on the wall, and all you could do was watch in horror as the door slid closed behind the two of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

It was pitch black in whatever tight space he had dragged you into. A closet, you surmised. Still, you could hear that his teeth were clenched as he spoke to you, voice deep and low as he whispered.

Feyd. You hated the fact that you were so relieved that it was him. His presence here meant that you were safe. All you had to do was come up with some sort of lie as to why you were here. Walking alongside him wouldn’t dredge up any suspicions. No one would be the wiser if they saw the Na-Baron giving his soon-to-be bride a tour around the grounds.

His chest was pressed tight against yours, and suddenly you found it hard to take in a single breath. It felt as though he might press himself straight into your ribcage. . . and maybe you really were going crazy, but you wouldn’t mind it if he did break you. The smoky, spiced scent of him was clouding your judgment.

You were no longer yourself.

“It’s none of your business.” You whispered back, trying to make your tone just as ferocious as his was. It lacked bite though, and he seemed to catch the way that your voice faltered ever so slightly.

“Getting yourself killed the second that I look the other way. . .” He scoffed, and you wished so badly that you could make out his features in the dark. His body moved ever so slightly, as though he was leaning his head back in exasperation. “Do I need to bind your hands and ankles every time I leave the room? Are you that incapable of being without me even for a second?”

“I got lost.” You hissed, the lie sweet on your honeyed tongue. You were getting better at being despicable.

“Well, that’s too bad,” His voice softened, almost as though he was speaking to a child. “Getting lost in these halls isn’t hard to do.”

His grip on your wrists tightened to the point of pain, and for a second fear flashed behind your eyes. You hadn’t feared Feyd since you first arrived on Geidi Prime, and it was as though you were being brutally reminded of just who warmed your bed at night. He could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Those strong fingers were currently immobilizing you now, leaving bruises on your wrist where he held you so ruthlessly.

“You’re a clever little mouse. What are you doing outside of my uncle’s door, hmm?” His hand freed one of your wrists, instead opting to grip your jaw so that he could move your head up.

Could. . . could he see you? The breath loosed from your lungs and all you could do was squint your eyes, begging them to adjust to the darkness. He was in his element here, lost to you in the shadows.

“If the guards caught you then they could deem you to be a spy. You would have been beheaded before I had time to get to you, and I’m sure that they wouldn’t have notified me before the killing took place. They know. . . how I am with you.” He chose his last words very carefully, faltering before he sounded the words out.

“And how are you? With me, I mean.” You regretted the words as soon as they passed your lips, and yet you were curious. Were you nothing more than a pet to him? A plaything for him to take off of the shelf whenever it suited his mood? Perhaps he saw you as nothing more than a conquest.

Your hand shook as you began digging into your side, searching your belt for the handle of the blade that you had been carrying during your explorations of this labyrinthian prison. Slowly you pulled it out, pressing it against his side.

You felt his muscles jump under his shirt as he realized you were now brandishing a weapon. His grip was still vicelike around one of your wrists, but he moved again, slowly looking down at his side to see exactly what it was that you were now threatening him with.

“I could snap your neck right now.”

“But you won’t.” That was the only thing that you were sure of. It was the only truth that you were clinging onto: Feyd Rautha would not harm you.

He moved your head to the side, the blade pressing hard into his side as he leaned forward, squeezing the breath straight from your lungs as his hard chest pressed pressed pressed into yours. Your breasts felt as though they might burst and your heart right along with it. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, causing you to jerk in surprise.

The knife dug into his side and you paled in horror as you realized what you had done. He groaned, the noise echoing in your ear due to your very forced proximity. You needed space. You needed to breathe.

“No. I wouldn’t,” His breath was hot against your cheek as he slid his nose along the expanse of your neck. “Not ever.”

It felt as though something was being pulled taught in your heart. At any second it threatened to tear free. He had galvanized a strange sort of reaction from you- one that you were wholly unfamiliar with. This was all too new and all too much.

“Let go of me.” Your voice shook pathetically, and while it was a command. . . truly, you were begging him.

“You’ve finally learned to tolerate me. Or is this developing into something that you weren’t prepared for?” There was something in his voice. . . something that you were entirely confident that he was incapable of displaying: feeling. “Is that why you haven’t been able to look at me since yesterday?”

“I-I’m angry at you. Why do you think that I would be able to even stomach looking at you after that?”

He pulled away from your neck, the blade of the knife dislodging itself by a few centimeters with the added distance. He groaned again under his breath, his hand moving your face yet again so that he could get a good look at you. Your jaw ached as his fingers dug in ever so slightly.

“No, this isn’t the face of anger.” He sounded sure of that.

And it scared you that he was right. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried desperately to see him in the darkness. Still, all you saw was black.

“Then what is it? If you know so much then tell me.”

“I don’t know. . .” And for a second you thought that you might have won this round somehow. “No one has ever looked at me the way that you do.”

Your lips parted in shock as you stared up into the darkness. Did he always have to pull the rug right out from under you? Just when you were finally starting to get your bearings, he made you feel so unstable. If both of your hands were free then you would have tangled them in your hair. The arm that gripped your weapon slackened, the blade clattering to the floor beside you.

“Then I feel sorry for you.” Your eyes pricked with tears, so you closed the useless things. Still, after all of this, you refused to let him see you cry.

“I know.” He whispered, his voice so gentle that you could weep.

“And I fear you.”

“I know.” His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t want this.”

“I know.” He nuzzled against you, his grip on your wrists finally loosening. He must have known that you wouldn’t try to get away from him.

The fucked up thing was that it felt as though your feet had grown roots, tying you to the spot. All it would take was one good shove and you would be free of him and the closet. And yet. . .

And yet. . .

“I could have sworn I saw someone over here.” The voice outside in the hallway made you jump, your eyes shooting open.

You hadn’t been as careful as you thought you had been. Feyd’s earlier statement was coming back to haunt you. They would have you killed, uncaring as to whether or not you even made it into the bastard’s room. Whatever purpose you had for being in this area would be nefarious in everyone else’s mind. What were you even doing here in the first place? Your suspicions were unfounded, and more likely than not you would have found absolutely nothing to substantiate them. Would your parents be able to retrieve your body? Or would they just burn you without even sending a letter back home?

Feyd’s hand slid up the base of your neck, gripping at your hair. Did he not understand how much danger you were in? Maybe he didn’t care afterall. His knee slid between your legs, forcing them open.

“What are you doing?” You gripped at the back of his shirt, trying to pull him away from you, hoping that there was some place in this cramped space that you could hide. The voices were getting even closer now, searching for where they thought that you might be hiding. It was only a matter of time before they found you.

“Saving your life.” He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand sliding out of your hair so that he could begin undoing the front of your blouse. You could hear the sheer fabric of your tunic ripping beneath his hands in his desperate attempt to get to you.

All you could do was grip onto him for dear life, unable to free yourself to even utter a cry. You were unsure as to how doing this would save you, but you were losing the ability to care much at all. If these were going to be your final moments then so be it.

So you gave in to the desire. You gave into the wanting and the needing. You fed the ache that had been plaguing you.

Your lips moved against his, parting so that you could fully taste him. His hands felt firm on your chest as he finally was able to tear you free of the cloth. The air was cold on your hot chest, and yet his hands were scalding against your skin. You tried to remind yourself that none of this was right, but it wasn’t working. His tongue lapped at the roof of your mouth and your own brushed up to meet his.

More. More. You needed more of him.

Your hands shook as they began pushing up at the fabric of his training gear. The breathable fabric stretched as you pressed your hand against his chest, finally allowing yourself to feel the hard planes of his muscles. You felt his stomach tighten as your fingers glided along his skin. You were unsure as to what you were searching for, but your body was acting on pure instinct. Your fingers reached up and up until they finally slid free of the fabric at his collar bones only to wrap around his throat.

He groaned into your mouth, his thumb brushing against your nipple. It hardened in response to the sudden attention it was getting. His knee pressed further against your thighs, spreading your legs out further for him until he was finally at the apex of your thighs. His hand flew from your breast to your hips, moving them for you against him. The friction caused your head to roll back against the wall behind you, disrupting the kiss as pleasure rocked through you. Never in your life had you ever felt anything quite like this.

He continued to rock you back against his thigh, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on your face. He was watching you intently, hell bent on doing whatever it was that he wanted to do to your body. You were unsure of his goal and yet you didn’t care. Something was building inside of you- a sound, a cry, a sob. . . you weren’t certain. It just felt so good. Too good.

He must have seen your lips part and was quick to press a kiss against them in an attempt to muffle the sound. Your knees felt weak beneath you, and if it wasn’t for his dutiful hands that gripped at your thighs then you were sure that you would have fallen ages ago.

You remembered how he had felt against you the other night and you wondered if that was a reaction that you had somehow unknowingly caused. You wanted to feel him again. You wanted to know whether or not he was enjoying himself, so you freed his neck and instead pressed your hand against the front of his pants. What had gotten into you? What were you even doing?

But he was hard against your hand and that was enough for you to begin rocking your hips against his knee without his prompting hands.

The feeling of your tiny palm cupping him through his pants was more than enough. His hips jerked forward, his eyes flying open at the realization that the object of his lifelong obsessions was willingly touching him like this. He was going to fuck you in this closet if the two of you weren’t found. Feyd didn’t want it to happen like this. . . but he was losing what little control he had left.

He loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you.

“I-”

The door flew open the second he opened his mouth, the bright light momentarily blinding him. His body moved on its own, Feyd’s hands moving from your hips up to your shoulders so that he could turn you, using his body to shield you from view. His chest moved up and down rapidly as he gulped down breaths, trying hard to calm himself and his pounding heart.

There was an unfamiliar man holding the door to the closet, eyes wide as he took in the site of the two of you. It took him a few seconds to really register what was going on in the small broom closet, and then another to fully grasp the fact that he had made a grave mistake.

“I-I-I had no clue it was you, sir.” The uniformed man stepped back, trying to show the Na-Baron respect.

You watched in real time as something pure and terrifying bled its way into Feyd’s expression. It had chills running up your spine.

“Turn your gaze away from her.” His voice was so low that you could barely understand what he was saying. “Now.”The other male quickly got the hint, turning his entire body to face the other direction. His back was ram-rod straight and you watched with a slack jaw as his knees began to quiver.

You wouldn’t want to turn your back on a rabid beast either.

“Just get me out of here. Please.” You spoke as quietly as you could, covering the scraps of material that used to be your blouse tight to your exposed chest.

Killing the random guard in plain sight would attract a small crowd. You watched as Feyd weighed his options, and you bet that the two blades that were still strapped to his back were calling out to him.

Silently Feyd pulled you out of the closet, holding you so tightly to his chest that your arm became uncomfortably pinned against you.

The two of you walked through the halls silently, his eyes burning holes into the faces of anyone that even glanced in your direction. The embarrassment of being so exposed in front of everyone had you crawling out of your own skin. No one had seen you naked before- aside from the women that had been tasked to take care of you over the years. All you could do to try and keep yourself from crying was stare down at the floor, watching the pale man’s black boots make their way soundlessly through the halls. Everything he did was so graceful it seemed.

The blood drained from your face as you were suddenly reminded of the fact that he had seen your chest completely exposed. He’d felt you, kissed you, and pleasured you nearly to the point of your undoing.

And you had let him. You put up no resistance at all.

Even worse, you wanted him to do all of those things to you. If you hadn’t been caught then how far would you have let things continue? In that moment you realized that you would have let him take you. You knew yourself well enough to know that you would have let him take your virginity in a broom closet.

“No one is looking at you,” He seemed to sense your sudden mortification somehow. “I promise. I’d kill them otherwise.” And you knew he was telling the truth. He was probably taking an internal tally of anyone that started for too long, only so that he could circle back for them later.

All you could do was nod your head and follow him down the hall, stopping only when he reached into his pocket and grabbed his own keycard, letting the two of you back into your room.

You kept your chest covered with your hands as the two of you broke away. You knew that it was pointless, but the moment was gone and your panic had returned tenfold.

“Now tell me,” He turned to face you and you watched as his lips turned down at the corners in slight disappointment when he noticed your sudden modesty. “What were you doing over there? Be honest.”

You couldn’t be honest and it pained you to know that. Feyd was still a Harkonnen. He was loyal to them, not an Atreides.

“Why did you kiss me?” You were answering a question with another question, but you needed to know. Urgently.

He licked his lips, as though he was being reminded of the moment. “No one would ask questions.”

Anger struck you hard in the gut. He had used the moment as a distraction? You felt like an idiot, already regretting the fact that you had allowed him to use your body like that.

“I didn’t mean to take it that far. It’s becoming harder and harder to control myself.” He must have noticed the hurt in your eyes. “I want you. Not because we are getting married. . . but because I want you.” He was being uncharacteristically emotional today.

You weren’t sure what that statement truly meant, but it seemed heavy- heavy enough that you felt the need to be more forthcoming with him.

“I was trying to make my way into the Baron’s office.” A half truth, then. It was easier than telling him everything. “But it was locked.”

Feyd’s eyes never left your face. They were much softer than they had been in the hallway, almost as though all of the hatred had melted away completely. He looked at you like he cared for you. . . and that was scary.

“I don’t know why it hurts so much. . . but it does.” His voice was flat, almost as though he was distracted while he continued to watch you. “I know you’re lying to me. My uncle’s office is only ever locked after dinner, which is for safety reasons.”

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

“Only my uncle has clearance to get into that room. The guards in the left wing only ever act on mine or the Baron’s orders. They’re all loyal to a fault. . . so tell me. Did you get into his office?”

You completely ignored his line of questioning, distracted by something he had said.

“So none of them would allow someone other than the Baron himself to enter that room?” Your voice shook with fear, your eyes widening as all the pieces started coming together.

“No,” He looked confused as your lips parted in a silent scream. “What? What is that face for?”

You felt more alone than you ever had in your entire life. He was out to kill you. . . There would be no escaping this place alive. Your parents had been set up and had given you away to murderers-

“The guard that tried to kill me. . .” You couldn’t keep your voice from shaking. “What wing did he belong to?”

Feyd’s muscles went rigid beneath his shirt, as though he was just now coming to some conclusions of his own. “The left.”

The breath was knocked from your lungs as the full weight of everything crashed into you.

You were stuck on an alien planet with no way home, Feyd Rautha was going to become your husband in just two days, you wanted Feyd so badly it hurt you. . .

And his uncle was plotting to kill you.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

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maiamore · 2 months ago

Text

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like.

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all.

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you.

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.”

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread.

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though.

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way.

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted. His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim.

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening.

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs.

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?”

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear.

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew.

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest.

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop.

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much.

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

“Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes.

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.”

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots.

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button.

“Ya got a thing for stars?”

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left.

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard.

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.”

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug.

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore.

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled.

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise.

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position.

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome.

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum.

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit.

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer you, not at first.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you.

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you.

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning.

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs.

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent.

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different.

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling.

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out.

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled.

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it. You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this.

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help.

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself.

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered.

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move.

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away.

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up.

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you.

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble.

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip.

“Hey!”

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?” You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt.

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly.

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw.

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away.

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips.

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight.

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder.

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over.

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures.

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing.

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit.

“Joel��please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser.

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror.

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder.

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace.

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…”

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it.

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.”

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.”

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt.

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel the last of us

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fanaticsnail · 10 months ago

Text

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface.

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust.

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body.

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck.

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against.

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade.

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more.

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting.

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior.

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name.

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release.

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.”

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard.

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses.

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock.

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours.

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure.

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight.

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.”

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown.

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump.

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip.

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion.

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip.

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain.

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours.

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his.

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm.

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you.

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface.

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain.

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words.

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew.

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it.

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him.

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks.

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him.

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully.

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes.

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest.

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion.

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion.

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock.

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response.

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.”

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss.

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in.

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load.

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated.

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock.

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet.

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless.

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room.

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face.

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection.

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully.

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies.

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you.

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming.

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious.

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours.

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer.

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.”

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers.

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness.

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit.

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks.

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze.

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip.

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption.

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature.

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water.

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord.

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild.

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern.

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him.

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins.

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders.

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin.

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated.

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task.

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin.

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface.

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk.

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you.

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.”

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited.

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now.

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality.

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thatlittlered · 4 months ago

Text

rings of power men | tropes

warning(s): light TROP spoilers, gn!reader used throughout

author's note: most of these will be turned into actual fics :)

-.-.-

Elrond + friends to lovers

GIF by @fukutomichi

As kind as summer, as gentle as the soft rays of sun upon your faces whilst you sit in each other's company and he is weaving, unbeknownst to you, tales of your wit and beauty in his mind; poems he would never dare show you. It was love long before either of you knew what to call it.

Gil-galad + opposites attract

GIF by @fukutomichi

Born and raised the son of kings, Gil-galad has known nothing but duty during his lifetime. A King neither ventures, nor tries his hand at passing affections, and yet the curse of a still beating heart inevitably finds him when his lieutenant and trusted friend Círdan is apprenticed by a lovely lowly elf.

Celebrimbor + soulmates

GIF by @dailyflicks

It is instant, absolute. As if the two of you were born a mystical creature, bearing two faces, four arms and four legs, until the Valar separated you and forced you to spend eternity searching for your other half. In the worst of times and the most unlikely of places, the search has come to cease. Alas, so has the time of peace.

Arondir + forbidden love

GIF by @lousolversons

The Silvan elf comes to respect the race of men for what they are during his time in the Southlands and whilst he dare not admit it, it does pertain with knowing you. It is hard to care for the hateful gazes of villagers when your own gaze is so tender under the moonlight, your hands cold and decisive when you touch him here where no one can hear or see. Though he has not tasted mortality, it must taste like you and the urgency you kiss him with, as if in fear the sun might never rise again.

Elendil + forbidden love, age gap

GIF by @frodo-sam

This man was born to be your dutiful protector, loyal like no other and sworn to serve you as his ruler with everything he has. Loyalty and love tend to melt into each other, merge so that it is impossible to tell them apart. It is a tormenting, silent agreement that neither of you may speak on these feelings and yet, it... overwhelms.

Valandil + childhood sweethearts

GIF by @fukutomichi

To know and love Valandil comes as easy as breathing air. You have been doing both for just as long, you think. Childish adoration blossoms in time until your souls are tethered and he will commit his life to earning rank and making it official, from the streets of Númenor to the edge of the world, where he hopes to travel with you.

Isildur + love triangle, second chance

GIF by @vidalharkness

Isildur has always held a deep admiration for you, a childish infatuation even, but your bond with Valandil always comes before all and he happily accepts things as they are for a long time. Friendship is of equal, if not grander, worth and he considers both of you his dear friends above all. Until Valandil is killed, that is. The love each of you have for him and each other perseveres until grief threatens to swallow you whole. On the precipice of desperation, a teary kiss is meant to bring comfort. Yes, of course. That is what this must be.

-.-.-

bonus:

Adar + enemies to lovers

GIF by @anthemias

Sauron saw in you every weakness, every earthly, pathetic desire to be appreciated and loved when everyone and everything has been cruelly ripped from you. To be part of something larger than the pain eating away at your chest until your days in Middle Earth are over and you can find refuge in the arms of those who unlike you, gave their lives for a greater cause. He saw and took full advantage. Adar sees it now too when he looks at you; the agony of knowing you have played into the hands of evil itself just as he has. There is always a sliver of affection in understanding another, is there not?

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livelaughlovesubs · 4 months ago

Note

Straight up torturing Dazai by only making him cum untouched

I have this problem while writing smut that I forget the character has a dick cuz I over-focus on something else, so most of my fics start out as cumming untouched and I change it later on lol thanks for saving me the trouble

Dom!reader x sub!dazai - reader is gn

Warning: semi public (in an alley), teasing, degrading, marking, hair pulling, choking, sub-space, dacryphilia, nipple play

Edit: does this fic even make sense?

Now he’s done it, fuck, what to do- he didn’t think you’d be this angry.

Normally you weren’t up for doing stuff in public, which is why he used that chance to annoy you to his hearts content. Whenever you two were going home from a mission, wandering down the streets of Yokohama, he’d start being all unbearable and flirty, and the next second he’d run off to god-knows-where to chase after another pretty woman. You were done with all these stunts he pulled, and sadly for him you weren’t as nice as kunikida.

Which is what got him into his current situation. Pinned to the wall in some random alley, you staring at him with an obviously angry expression and the buzzing noises of unaware passengers missing out this spectacle. “Ah fuck…” dazai didn’t know what you were planning on doing, but he had a precognition that it wouldn’t end well for him, so he tried to use his silver tongue to talk you out of it, “heyyyy, y/n~ What’s got you so mad? Don’t frown— come on, how about we take a break and fill our stomachs? I know a good pla-”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked on them, causing him to arch his back off the wall. It was so sudden that he had no time to prepare himself, and accidentally mewled, “ahh, god, y/n, don’t be so forceful with me.” He almost sang the last part, still bearing that annoying smile on his face. “You should have thought twice before acting up.” The grip you had on his locks tightened, making him bend forward to meet your eyes, “just because we are in public it doesn’t mean you are safe.”

That was a threat, right? That was definitely a threat. And yet- he was grinning from ear to ear, unable to stop himself from clenching his thighs together. “Whaaaat? Of course I’m safe, where is the threat huh?” The brunette chirped, and you clasped your hand over your face. “You really want this, don’t you?” You asked, glaring at him from between your fingers. He shrugged, playing dumb.

You stepped closer to him, bodies pressing against each other. “Will you behave after I punish you?” After these words left your mouth, a shiver ran down his back, and he fumbled with your clothing, “it all depends on you.” You smirked, not planning on backing down from such a challenge. And so you let go of his hair, roughly unbuttoning his blazer and shirt, but not pulling it completely off. Then you placed your hands on his hips, lips pressing against his collarbone.

Dazai grabbed a fistful of your clothes from your back and ran his other hand through his hair, panting softly while watching you trying to work him up. He felt you nibbling at his skin, leaving red bruise marks behind. “Haa-ah, haha… you are being too gentle dear.” His breathing hitched when he spoke, though otherwise he was still pretty composed. You payed him no mind, instead you moved lower to toy with a more sensitive part.

Pinching and flicking his pink buds while sucking on the other one, eating him up, watching his face flush so deliciously. “Ngh- not gonna answer me?” He teased, pulling at your hair to get your attention. You bit down as a result, to tell him to stop, yet he gripped down harder as he groaned, “mhhhm-aaahh~ fuuck.” What a nice reaction, you had to remember this. Slowly you managed to get him hard, seeing the bulge in his pants grow larger and larger. When you finally pulled back and stood straight, he was already sweating, all eager as he cursed at how long you took.

One look and you could tell he was needy, and pretty on edge. His flushed face was actually pretty cute, and his disheveled clothes hung from his shoulders like he was trying to appeal to you. Your hands didn’t stop exploring his body, like they have a mind of their own. Groping and touching his torso. “Look at you dazai, you look like a slut.” You mumbled with a smile, and his body twitched at that statement. “You are so mean y/n, in what world do I look like one?”

While saying that, he pushed his hips out and slipped his clothed further down his arm. “In every,” you answered and kissed his neck. He raised his chin to grunt and pant at the feels, head and back leaned back against the stoney wall with both hands on your shoulder. How annoying, you were still only doing the foreplay, isn’t it time to get past it? And when you sucked on a specific spot that drove him crazy, he was at his limit.

“F-fine, I guess I am a whore,” small break before he continued, “for you. So, touch me more, please?” The boy begged, looking a little embarrassed as he avoided your gaze. “I’ll think about it.” Was all you said in response, before you went back to meekly caressing him. “Uhhh.. y/n, that won’t cut it.” He tried to explain through his gasps and whines, and said, “I need more, something more extreme and lewd.”

“Hmm~? I dont know what you mean.” Using his own Methode against himself, how petty of you. He took your hand and guide you lower, muttering, “then I’ll show you how it’s done.” You shook his hand off and hummed, “I’m good, I’ll do it at my pace.” How devastated he looked, it seems he has finally realised what kind of mess he got himself into. He pouted as he slumped back, defeated, hiding his whimpers behind his palm as he kept on complaining, “how could this ever count as punishment?”

“You will see.”

He could swear he caught a glimpse of you smirking all mischievously, but before he knew it, he had been slammed further into the wall behind him. Followed by your hands squeezing around his neck. “Ah- y-y/n..?” “You are the one who wanted this.” Squeeze. With that you started applying more pressure to his neck. “HnnGh..! Ha-arghh..” He choked, eyes half lidded as he weakly pulled at your firm grip around him. A dumb grin spread across his face as his drool rolled down to his chin.

“Fu- urgh! Fuck, y/n~..!!” A wet spot formed on his pants, and his face twisted into one of raw pleasure. Tongue hanging out, eyes watery with heart shaped pupils and legs shaking, struggling to hold his own weight. “You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Then more strength was applied, then you whispered close to his face, “can you feel how your air is being cut off, and how your body is desperately trying to squirm free?” And you squeezed down even more, making him gag and choke again. “Haaa-nghhh..! K- kill me, guuUh, I dare you.”

He was still looking all competitive, though he won’t be able to hold out much longer. You pushed your body into his, leg slightly rubbing against his leaking bulge, stealing a loud groan from him. Followed by small whines of bliss, “MmnHhh..! Ah- hngG, uh-urgh.!” Such a naughty boy, enjoying all this. Your hands didn’t leave him alone while you kissed his tears away, the contrast of gentleness and ruthlessness made his head spinn. Poor little dazai was trembling so much, twitching and spasming all over.

“Are you turned on because I’m choking you, or because you want to die?” You mumbled against his skin, the vibrations of your voice tickling him, a small addition to the immense sensations he was already feeling. “Mhhff… haha- both?” He answered cheekily, his own strength leaving his body as his instinctive try to push you away failed. “I see~ well it’s time for the last course isn’t it?”

As the icing on top, you pressed down one last time, watching his eyes roll back as his consciousness slowly left him. His head was thrown back while his eyes slowly closed shut. That’s when you whispered into his ear, “cum for me, dazai.” And like a command he couldn’t disobey, his body shook heavily before a white fluid seeped through his pants, dirtying your leg, making it all sticky.

Right as he wanted to scream his lungs out, you clasped a hand over his swollen lips, reminding him how you two were still in public. He ripped his eyes open for a split second, then tightly shut them, and moaning into your forceful palm, “mnghMm, nghhmmmf…!♡♥︎♡”

Without giving him any time to calm down from his high, you pulled away, causing him to drop onto the floor. The only reason why he hadn’t fallen yet was because you were holding and pushing him up. But now his legs have finally given up. He was still unresponsive as you wiped your dirty hands on his clothes. After you were done, you took a last glance at his kneeling form, leaning against the rough wall for support. Some of his cum dripped onto the ground and he was still panting heavily.

These once fierce eyes were reduced to a melting one, full of desire and need. He wasn’t full yet huh. His clothes got dirty at the tips, and his body was marked from the top to the bottom, especially his neck bore a dark crimson ring of bruises. Some tears and other fluids were still flowing across his features, but it seems he was too tired to care right now. Judging by the state he was in, it’ll take a while before he can stand up and go home.

Though that was none of your business anymore, since this was going to be his punishment. You laughed a little before saying, “you better clean yourself up, osamu. I’ll get going first~”

All he could squeak out was a weak, soft whimper.

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marauder-misprint · 1 month ago

Note

Hello!! I’m your new follower and honestly your fics are so good 🥺 I love the “these damn stairs” one and I wonder if u could write part 2 because shy reader and gentle super friendly Remus trope is the best heh.

Thank youuu for following ❤︎

Here is part 2 to 'These damn stairs' and there will be a part 3 because I can't just let it end here :) Might be a few days before I'm able to post part 3 because I got some really good requests in my inbox that I want to get to! (part 3 is here)

'It's a date'

Remus Lupin x reader

2.2k words

cw: fluff

Talking to Remus still felt like you had the eyes of the school on you. This meant that it was Remus who talked first. You would give him a small smile or a wave when you passed him on your way to a different class, but it was always him who came up to your desk before or after a class you had together. It was him who still came to sit with you at lunch; your friends warmed up to him quickly and proceeded to tease you about him when he was gone.

You continued to study with him too. He’d wait for you outside the library before walking with you back to the small table from that first study session. With every passing day, you slowly began to be more comfortable in his presence. You were able to hold a conversation with him. It was a slow growing friendship, but it was growing.

“You’re sure you don’t mind studying with just me?” you had asked once, worrying that he missed all of the attention that he used to get in the library because he was smart and nice.

He just smiled at you, leaning toward you to say, “I really don’t mind. I’d rather work with you over anyone else.”

That left you blushing for the rest of your time in the library that evening. Remus always knew what to say to get that blush to reappear. More often than not, you would leave your encounters with Remus with a pink face and racing heart.

You were thrown off when you showed up to study with Remus on Saturday and he wasn’t waiting for you outside the library. You considered waiting for him to show up but decided to check inside just in case. You found him sitting at a larger table with his friends. There were open chairs on either side of him with the other three boys on the opposite side of the table. The sight sent your mind spinning as you tried to remember the conversation when you discussed studying today. You didn’t recall him mentioning the rest of the Marauders would be there. Plans must’ve changed.

You headed toward a different table, your usual before you started sitting with Remus. You didn’t want to interrupt their “Marauders Study Session.”

However, as soon as he saw you, Remus called you over.

“You know James, Peter, Sirius, yeah? Hope you don’t mind they came today. I’m afraid they need the extra push to get stuff done.”

You do mind but god forbid you say something and make a scene. So you nodded and sat down next to Remus. You attempted to keep your things more consolidated than you usually do. You didn’t want to encroach on Peter’s or Sirius’ space. It took you longer to fall into your studying groove with the entirety of the Marauders at the same table as you; you’re positive that anyone and everyone passing by is confused by it. You felt like an outsider intruding on something sacred. It didn’t help that every time you looked up, you swore at least one of them was looking at you or Remus. You’re a bit uncomfortable. It’s not like you’ve ever really talked to any of them.

“So, erm, how long has this been a thing?” Peter asked after you caught your eye from across the table.

A thing? What on earth did that boy mean?

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve been studying together for a little over two weeks,” Remus said, shooting you a quick smile.

Oh That’s all.

Remus’ answer made the question make more sense. You supposed it was a thing that Remus was studying with one person rather than a herd of girls and essentially playing teacher. You berated yourself for thinking that Peter had meant something more.

“Right, studying,” Sirius said with a smirk.

Nope. What?

You pursed your lips together and train your eyes on your assignment. That is what you had been doing with Remus. That’s all you’ve been doing.

“Shut it, Padfoot,” Remus warned.

He glared at his friends. He had warned them ahead of time to be nice to you, to try not to scare you off. He knows you are shy and more reserved. He didn’t want to cancel studying with you so that his nimrod friends didn’t fall behind on their own assignments. But now, he was beginning to regret inviting them.

Remus reached for a small scrap of parchment and scribbled on it, “Don’t worry about them” before sliding it into your view. You took notice of it and nodded. He lowered his head to get into your view as well. He raised his eyebrows as if asking that you’re okay. You drew a simple smiley face on the parchment. He nodded and returned to his own assignment. With both of your heads bowed in focus, you missed the shared look between the other three boys. You were able to get some work done. The lingering feeling of eyes on you was impossible to shake. You tried to think of a reason why they would be so interested in you, but you kept coming up short. Well, not completely. You had ideas, but each seemed more ridiculous than the last and one was just downright hopeful.

“Is it true you started talking because you got your foot stuck in that damn step?” James asked as he closed a book he was using for his Herbology assignment.

“Prongs!” Remus hissed as your face turned beet red.

“Uh, I guess?” you said meekly.

You tried not to think about that embarrassing day, even if it did lead to your first real interaction with Remus. It wasn’t a moment you wanted to relive.

“Must’ve been some fall though,” James continued, despite the glared daggers from Remus. “Certainly got our boy’s attention.”

Remus’ face was beginning to turn red as well at this point. He really, really wanted James to stop talking; it was at the point where he was debating Silencio.

“Oh? What… what do you mean?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek.

Sirius snorted a laugh. “Sweetheart, you should hear how much he talks about you.”

Your eyes went wide. You weren’t sure what you had expected but it wasn’t that. It took a second for the words to fully sink in. Remus talked… about you? Often? With enough frequency that his friends made note of it? Is that why it felt like they kept staring at you? They were just trying to figure out what Remus found so intriguing about you?

You turned to see Remus holding his head in his hands. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Remus?”

A horrible thought crossed your mind: What if this was all just a prank on you and Remus was collateral? What if he didn’t actually talk about you and now he’d have to admit that?

He ran his hands through his hair before looking at you. His face was bright red, highlighting each scar that ran across his nose and cheeks brilliantly.

“Can we talk privately? Before I murder these gits?” he asked you in a low voice with pleading eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you breathed, standing up and waiting to follow Remus through the shelves.

He led you further than you would’ve expected from the table. You assumed that he really didn’t want the boys overhearing whatever you were going to talk about. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. Maybe he thought you were going to cry at what he was going to say and didn’t want to do that near them.

“I think we’re far enough. No hearing extension charm they’re capable of reaches this far,” he said, leaning back against the wall with some kind of effortless allure.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

You stood a few steps away from him. If something was going to go down, you wanted to have some space between you.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” he said as he watched you with cautious eyes. “Usually their teasing doesn’t get to me this bad.” He let out an awkward chuckle.

“Are they teasing you about being friends with me?” you asked, your chest filling with dread.

You wrapped your arms around yourself to brace for the worst. Remus was popular. He was so well-liked. He was so good with people. And you liked to stay out of the spotlight. Some people thought you were a little standoffish, but so be it. You could see where his friends were coming from.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders. And you looked up to see Remus’ warm eyes.

“They are teasing me about being just friends with you,” he said softly.

You rolled your lips against each other. What did he mean by that? Just friends?

“Because I do talk about you a lot. I practically only study with you. I go out of my way to cross paths with you so I can see your smile. I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I stare at you from across the Great Hall when I don’t sit next to you.” He paused for a moment to see if you had any reaction yet. “And this is going to sound mean, but I’m so glad you fell on those stairs. It brought you into my life.” He waited again. “Please say something, love.”

“Okay,” you said as your cheeks tinged pink. “So they aren’t making fun of me? This isn’t some kind of prank?”

“No. It’s not a prank. The only one being made fun of is me because I wanted to wait longer.”

“Wait longer for what?”

“Listen. I meant it when I said you are pretty. I meant it when I said I don’t want to study with anyone else. I mean it when I say I can’t get you out of my head. I just wanted to wait longer to be sure… sure that you’d say yes. Sure that you like me.”

You tilted your head.

“Of course I like you, Remus.”

“But as more than friends? Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

Your breath hitched. Had Remus just said a bunch of sweet things about you? Yes, and it made your face feel hot. But it was the question that really sealed the deal. He wanted to be sure that you’d say yes.

“I’d really like that.” You broke into a wide smile. “You thought I wouldn’t say yes?”

Remus let out the breath he was holding and mirrored your smile. He pulled you into a tight hug before answering.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time we studied together. I didn’t want to move too fast. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to jump you or something.”

You laughed into his chest and he slowly let you go.

“So all of that back there, that was them being tired of listening to you pine?” you asked.

“Seems like it. I told them to be nice to you, but I guess I didn’t tell them to be nice to me.”

“I mean, I’d say it was pretty nice of them to get you a date,” you said teasingly.

“I’m still the one who asked!” he tried to defend himself.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, but would you have asked if they weren’t here?”

“Not today, no. Maybe in another week or so. I told you, I was waiting to be sure.”

“For a smart bloke, you really should’ve known that if you asked me out on the stairs, I would’ve said yes.”

“Wait, what?” He looked down at you in surprise.

“Merlin, I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s part of what made falling into the stair so mortifying.”

“Those damn stairs, right?” he chuckled as you started walking back to the table. Then he cleared his throat. “So, Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“It’s a date.”

The three boys were working when you returned. When they looked up, they had matching looks of anticipation on their faces. Neither of you said anything as you sat down and started to work. Without speaking, you seemed to agree that you weren’t going to say anything unless they asked.

“So?” Peter asked. “Did Remus grow a pair?”

“Always had a pair, Peter,” Remus said dryly.

“Moony,” he whined before turning his attention to you. “Did he… you know?”

“Well, she might not know. Because if he didn’t, how would she know?” Sirius said.

You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head.

“What if he did and she said no? That’d be something,” James mused. “Although I don’t think they’d be so… content? Peaceful? Somber? Pleased-looking?”

“But wouldn’t they both look much happier if he asked and she said yes?” Peter asked.

“Oi! We are right here,” Remus interjected. “I asked. She said yes. You are to stay away from us in Hogsmeade. Now, work. I want to see finished essays.”

“Our boy became a man!” Sirius said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Padfoot. Essay. Now,” Remus commanded before shooting you a wide grin.

You could tell that he was pretty proud of himself too.

tags: @allformoony, @oursweetmoony, @moonyswifee

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin

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thef1diary · 10 months ago

Text

Love Unwrapped | L. Norris

Summary: after mutually breaking up, you and Lando drifted apart. However, on your birthday, Lando shows up unexpectedly with a gift, reigniting old feelings.

— part of the Birthday Bash fics

warnings: angst if you squint, fluff.

pairing: lando x fem!ex!reader

wc: 1.6k

main masterlist taglist form

As you sit alone in your cozy apartment, the soft glow of the moonlight casting dancing shadows on the walls, you can't help but feel a twinge of loneliness. It's your birthday, but this year feels different somehow—empty, without the usual excitement and celebration.

Just as you resign yourself to a quiet night in, there's a sudden knock on the door, interrupting your thoughts. Surprised, you glance at the clock. Who could it be at this hour?

Opening the door reveals a familiar figure standing on your doorstep, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his lips. It's Lando, holding a small gift bag in his hand and a larger bag in the other.

"Hey," he says, his voice warm yet tentative. "Happy birthday."

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. "Lando? You remembered?"

He chuckles softly, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Of course I did. I just wanted to stop by and wish you a happy birthday. Mind if I come in?"

You step aside, allowing him entry into your humble abode. "Of course, come on in."

As Lando enters, you can't help but notice the subtle changes in his appearance—the confidence in his posture, the newfound ease in his smile. It's as if he's grown in the time since you last saw him, even if it was just one month ago.

"Take a seat," you offer, gesturing towards the couch. "Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?"

Lando shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, thanks. I'm good."

You both settle onto the couch, the awkward silence hanging between you like a thick fog. It feels like it's been so long since you've been alone together like this, and the unfamiliarity of the situation is palpable.

"So, um, how have you been?" Lando finally breaks the silence, his voice hesitant.

You sigh, a mixture of relief and sadness flooding through you. "I've been okay, I guess. Just trying to keep busy with work and stuff. How about you?"

He nods, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, same here. Work's been keeping me pretty occupied."

You nod but hold back on mentioning that you have been following his season in Formula One, watching every race despite the ungodly hours it required you to wake up at.

The conversation falls into a comfortable rhythm as you catch up on each other's lives, sharing stories and laughter like old times. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, there's a sense of familiarity between you that refuses to fade.

Suddenly, Lando reaches into the gift bag and pulls out a neatly wrapped box, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I, uh, got you something."

Your eyes widen in surprise as he hands you the gift. "You didn't have to," you mumble, aching to tell him that his presence was enough.

"Open it."

With trembling hands, you carefully unwrap the gift, your heart pounding in anticipation. When you finally open the box, you're met with the sight of something you've always wanted—beautiful dainty necklace adorned with smaller diamonds, one that you'd admired countless times in the store but could never bring yourself to buy.

You've been saving up for this dainty piece for a while, but never expected that Lando would give it to you as a gift.

You're speechless, unable to find the words to express your gratitude. Lando watches you anxiously, waiting for your reaction.

Finally, you manage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "Lando, this is... It's amazing, thank you.”

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you can't quite place. "I saw you staring at it at the store a while back, so I thought this would be the right moment to get it for you."

You're overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, by the fact that he remembered something so small yet meaningful. It's a reminder of why you fell for him in the first place.

"You know," Lando begins, his voice soft but filled with sincerity, "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately... about us."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, uncertainty mingling with anticipation in the air between you. "Oh? What about us?"

He shifts slightly on the couch, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "I miss what we had," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken longing. "The late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the way we just... fit together."

You swallow hard, the memories of your time together flooding back with startling clarity. "I miss those things too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando reaches out, his hand finding yours in a gesture that feels both familiar and foreign. "I know we said we'd remain friends," he says, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand, "but... I can't shake the feeling that there's still something between us. Something worth fighting for."

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken longing and uncertainty. For a moment, neither of you knows what to say, the silence stretching on uncomfortably.

He wasn't wrong, you had parted as a couple but still promised to remain friends. That promise was left unfulfilled because of your different lives taking you on different paths. It was the reason why you had broken up in the first place.

Then, you gather your courage, meeting his gaze with determination. "I feel it too," you confess, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you. "But... I'm scared, Lando. Scared of our love not being enough for each other again."

Lando nods in understanding, his eyes filled with empathy as he squeezes your hand gently. "I know," he murmurs. "But maybe... maybe we can take things slow this time. See where it leads us."

The idea fills you with both excitement and trepidation, the prospect of rekindling your relationship mingling with the fear of repeating past events. But as you sit there together, the warmth of his hand in yours, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, this time things will be different.

As the night wears on, the comforting embrace of conversation wraps around you and Lando like a warm blanket, easing the tension that had lingered in the air.

The soft flicker of birthday candles illuminates the room as he holds the cake for you, waiting for you to make a wish and blow it out.

You look at him before closing your eyes, already knowing what you want to wish for before blowing out the few lit candles in one quick breath.

You say, "I can't believe you got me a cake," as you cut into the rich chocolate cake and give him a slice on a plate before taking one for yourself.

Lando chuckles, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Of course I did. After all, what's a birthday without cake?"

You smile, the sweetness of the gesture warming your heart. "It's delicious. Thank you, Lan." The nickname easily slips from your tongue, as if you never stopped saying it, and his heart warms knowing the feeling of familiarity never died down.

As you continue to talk and laugh, the clock on the wall ticks closer and closer to midnight, marking the end of your birthday. But for now, in the glow of moonlight and the warmth of Lando's company, time seems to stand still.

Eventually, the inevitable moment arrives when Lando has to leave. You walk him to the door, the weight of the conversation earlier hanging heavy in the air between you.

Lando turns to face you, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. "I don't want to rush things," he begins, his voice soft but determined, "but I also don't want to let this chance slip away."

You nod, meeting his gaze with hope, feeling the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "I don't either," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a gentle smile, Lando reaches out and cups your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through you. His thumb brushes against your lips, feeling the softness he desperately wants to feel against his own lips.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice still soft in fear of ruining the moment. Placing your palm on his cheek, you nod.

Without wasting another moment, he closes the gap between you, placing his lips on yours.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the middle of your apartment, joined by the shimmering moonlight. As you fall back into the familiarity of his lips on yours, you realize that this is where you belong—here, in Lando's arms.

It's a kiss filled with promise and possibility, a kiss that speaks of new beginnings and endless love.

When you finally pull away, your heart is pounding in your chest, the warmth of Lando's lips lingering on yours like a sweet memory.

"I'll give you some space to think about it," he says, his thumb brushing against your skin in a tender caress. "But just know that I'm here, whenever you're ready.”

You nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. But as you watch him leave your apartment, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips—a smile filled with hope for the future, and the possibility of love rekindled.

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @sya-skies @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @landoslutmeout @barcelonaloverf1life @megudaeggu @c-losur3 @oliviah-25 @regalbanshee

#lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fluff #fic #thef1diary fic

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darkwitchoferie · 6 days ago

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Pillow Fight

Summary: You’ve been friends with Jisung since he moved back to Korea to become an idol. He’s one of the best people you know so it’s no surprise you’ve fallen in love with him. It is, however, a surprise to you that he might feel the same way.

Cw/tw: unprotected piv sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, vocal Jisung, teasing sex, nipple play (both)

Wc: 3.4k

This fic is part of a series of unconnected best friends to lovers fics, the others of which can be found on my master list.

You didn’t bother knocking on the door, instead letting yourself into Jisung’s apartment. Minho had told you that he’d left it unlocked when he’d left for the night. As much as you loved hanging out with both Jisung and Minho, it felt like it had been ages since you’d had some one-on-one time with your best friend. Objectively, that may not have been true. But, being that you were more than a little in love with the man, it certainly felt like it.

It wasn’t surprising that you’d fallen in love with your best friend, at least according to your other friends. They’d all insisted that you’d been in love with him for longer than you’d realized and, after nights of agonizing over it, you had to admit to yourself that they may have been right. He was so sweet, so caring always, hilarious, not to mention his looks, how could you not be in love with him.

“Y/nnie!” Jisung rounded the corner from his kitchen to the living room, immediately enveloping you in a tight hug. You squeezed back just as hard, hoping that would keep him from noticing the way you melted into his arms. “I set up the living room all comfy, got snacks, there’s pizza on the way, and I got Mario Kart set up. You’re so going down this time.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed. You’d never lost Mario Kart, not to Jisung anyway. “I’m starving though. Kick your ass after food?” You offered with a bright smile.

“You’re not going to! But sure, we can wait for your demise until after food.”

Settling into the mound of pillows and blankets Jisung had cleared space for on the living room floor, the pair of you chatted, catching up while you waited for pizza. Thankfully, he was a tactile person so there was no problem with you leaning into his space all the time. You probably shouldn’t have done it, it usually made your fantasies that much more vivid later, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You were into the fourth round of Mario Kart, you having won the previous three, when – just as you were rounding the last curve – a pillow hit the side of your head, causing you to crash and Jisung to overtake you, winning the last race.

“Han. Jisung.” His celebration was cut short very quickly at the venom-masked glee in your voice. “You absolute cheater!” You grabbed the pillow and pummeled him in his chest and shoulders with it.

“Ah! Mercy! Mercy!” He pleaded, laughing. You let up just a little and he grabbed one of the other pillows, getting a good smack into your side while your guard was down. His apartment was filled with both of your laughter as an all-out pillow war started. At some point, you ended up with two pillows, using the larger one as a shield, while he was what could only be described as duel-wielding pillows.

Then, out of nowhere, he lunged at you, forgoing his pillows to tackle you into the mound of remaining pillows and blankets. His fingers immediately found the ticklish spot on your ribs, mercilessly attacking as you laughed and squirmed under him, your own pillows quickly forgotten. You reached for him, intending to return the tickle-attack, but he swiftly grabbed both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning your hands above your head.

You both seemed to realize the position you were in at nearly the same time, laughter dying out as he hovered over you, one hand splayed over your ribs, the other still holding your wrists. Your legs were splayed wide, bracketing his hips.

He stared down at you, the teasing grin slowly sliding off his face. You could feel the tension between you shift. What had been playful less than a minute earlier suddenly took on a new, thicker tension as he took too long to move off of you. You watched as his gaze dropped down to your lips and back up again. You couldn’t help mirroring him – you’d stared at Jisung’s lips often enough when he talked, wondering what they’d feel like against every part of your skin that having them this close was both a dream and almost physically painful.

You couldn’t hold back the whine that escaped you when he shifted as if he were going to move away. His eyes flashed, some emotion you didn’t quite recognize hidden in their depths. He tilted his head, as if asking a question, then slotted his lips perfectly against yours. Your hands flexed in his grip, aching to touch him and unable to do so. He felt your hands move and shifted his grip, releasing one hand but entwining his fingers with the other, clinging tightly as he brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, tilting your head so he could deepen the kiss.

His hand slid around to the back of your neck as he swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning lightly in response to your whimper as you opened your mouth to him, letting his tongue slide over yours. You buried your now free hand in his hair, tugging gently on the strands. He pulled away, just enough to shift and press soft kisses to your jaw and back toward the sensitive spot under your ear.

“Tell me to stop, Y/nnie,” he muttered against your skin, right by your ear. “I can’t,” he swallowed and you could practically feel his Adam’s apple move with how close he was. “I don’t think I can stop if you don’t make me. Please. If you don’t wa –”

“Don’t stop,” you cut him off, voice breathy, tightening your hold on his hair. “Please, don’t stop.”

He groaned, pulling away from your neck to claim your lips again, his hold on your hand almost painfully tight. This time it was you pulling a whimper from him when you nipped his bottom lip. His hand slid down from the back of your neck, over your collar bone, down your side, to your hip. You swore you could feel the heat of his hand through your jeans, searing into your skin.

His hand slowly slipped under the hem of your shirt, thumb gently rubbing against the skin of your belly. You arched slightly, pressing against his hand and silently letting him know you were okay with him moving higher. His hand slid higher, your shirt moving up with it. It wasn’t until he had to pull away from your lips that you realized he’d also have to let go of your hand to take your top off. You sat up a bit, letting him pull your shirt off while you reached behind yourself and quickly undid your bra.

“Hang on, did you do that with one hand?”

You giggled. “Yeah, Ji. I’ve had a lot of practice getting the damn thing off.”

“Can you take it off without taking off your shirt too? I’ve heard girls can do that.”

You laughed again, some part of you relaxing, thrilled that Jisung was still the same man he’d always been, despite the new situation you were in. “Yeah. Tight long sleeves are harder, but yeah, I can.”

“Awesome. How ca –” he stopped dead as you finished removing your bra, tossing it toward the couch beside you.

“How what?” you asked with a sly grin.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/nnie,” he breathed. You’d always kind of suspected Jisung was a boob guy. Now, with the way his gaze was locked on your chest, you knew it. Distantly, you were aware you should probably be self-conscious, but the heat in his gaze left no room for you to feel any kind of doubt. You reached out, tugging at his shirt until he pulled it over his head, tossing it away. He leaned back over you, pressing you back into the blankets and pillows you hadn’t been using for the pillow fight, and reclaimed your mouth.

You decided right then that you could kiss Jisung forever and never get bored with it. The way his lips pressed and slid against yours, the sounds he made when you tugged on his lower lip, the way his tongue tangled with yours made you want more even while he was still kissing you.

He pulled slightly back, enough to talk but you could feel his lips move against yours. “I want…. Y/nnie, I want to see all of you. Please? I need –” he moaned, feeling your hand slide between your bodies to undo the button and zipper on your jeans. He helped slide your pants and panties off, tossing both toward the rest of your clothes. “Look at you,” his fingers danced up both your calves, slid over your knees, his palms coming to rest on your thighs to hold you open to his hungry gaze. “You’re so pretty, Y/nnie. So beautiful.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of one knee as his right hand traveled further up your thigh. You moaned when his thumb gently swiped over your lips. “And so wet already. You’re so good to me,” he smiled, coming up to press open mouthed kisses against your belly, sucking a couple hickeys against your ribs, working his way up as he slid his fingers over and between your pussy lips. At the same moment he reached your boobs, wrapping his lips around one nipple, he slipped his middle finger into you. You gasped at the dual sensation, back arching toward him, hand coming to tangle in his hair again.

He gently sucked on your nipple, pulling away a little to lave over it with his tongue, until it hardened completely. Then he switched sides, doing the same to the other, as his free hand came up to fondle the boob he’d just had in his mouth. Distracted by the feeling of his lips and tongue on you, you were surprised when his ring finger joined his middle one inside you. You moaned low in your throat, knees coming up to squeeze against the sides of his hips as if trying to hold him to you.

His thrust his fingers into you at a steady pace, fully ignoring your clit, while laving attention on your tits. He sucked a hickey into the side of one, while rolling your other nipple between his thumb and index finger then switched sides – kitten licking your nipple and gently pinching and plucking at the other. Moans and whimpers seemed to be constantly falling from your lips, so much so that you were pretty sure it was all morphing into one sound.

He pulled his mouth away, grinning up at you. “So sensitive, my baby,” he teased, thumb continuing to brush over your hardened nipple. He leaned in, blowing a stream of air over the same nipple, chuckling when your hips rolled against his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him, not that he saw, and carefully raked your fingernails over one of his nipples pulling a whine from him. Judging by the look he shot you, he was as surprised by the sound he made as you were. Using one leg and his own surprise, you quickly flipped the pair of you over. Grinning down at him from where you now sat over his hips, you scratched your nails over both his nipples at once.

“Oh shit.”

“Mm, I know. Feels good, doesn’t it baby?” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, not that you needed one, before bending over him and licking over one nipple then the other. Beneath you, you felt his cock twitch in his pants and couldn’t have stopped yourself from rolling your hips against him if you wanted to. You covered your own moan at the feeling by wrapping your lips around his nipple and gently sucking.

“Oh god baby. No – ugh – wonder –” he cut himself off as you swirled your tongue around his nipple, then gently bit down before moving over to give the other the same treatment. You smiled to yourself when you felt his hips kick up against you.

You trailed kisses and licks across his pecs, then down over his abs, sucking hickeys into the spots that made him squirm. He buried the fingers of one hand in your hair, the other tightly fisted into the blankets under him. Gently biting his abs and smiling at the whimpered moan that pulled from him, you brought your hands to the button and zip of his jeans, quickly ridding him of both his jeans and boxers. Once freed, his hard cock bounced against his abs, leaking precum.

You pulled away enough to comfortably situate yourself on your knees between his spread thighs. You let your gaze travel all over his chest, admiring the hickeys you’d left, the sheen of sweat, and the way his chest rose and fell rapidly. You locked eyes with him, smiling sweetly as you scratched your nails up his thighs. He groaned out, hips lifting of their own accord.

“Who’s sensitive now, baby?” you teased, grinning at the whimper you received in response. You refocused on your goal, his cock. You looked down, admiring him for just a moment. He was, for you, the perfect length and thickness, with a curve that looked like it’d feel amazing buried in you. Words left you for a moment, but if you’d been able to, you’d have told him how pretty his cock was. You leaned down, licking a thick stripe up the underside of him, swirling your tongue around his leaking tip when you reached it.

“Baby,” he whined out, cutting off into a choked moan when you wrapped your lips around him and took the first two inches of his cock in your mouth. You set a steady rhythm, bobbing your head in his lap, listening to the pretty moans falling from your best friend’s lips. His hand found it’s way back into your hair and he gripped it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He didn’t try to guide your movements, just held on. “God, look so good, baby.”

Your pussy clenched with every moan, every mumbled praise, you pulled from him until you couldn’t take it anymore. It felt like you were teasing yourself now. You pulled off him, his hand falling from your hair, and crawled up to settle over his hips.

“Y/nnie?”

“Yeah, Ji?”

“I don’t have any condoms,” he flushed, embarrassed.

“I’ve got an IUD and I’m clean. You good?” He nodded frantically. You bent over him, basically laying on top of him, to claim his lips in a deceptively soft kiss. Your hips rolled where you were, rolling your wet lips over his cock. He groaned into your mouth and kicked his hips up against you, causing you to smirk against his lips.

Pulling away, you shifted so you were hovering over his cock. His hands tightly gripped your hips as you sank slowly down onto him, giving yourself time to adjust as you went. You wanted to close your eyes, absorb the pleasure you were feeling, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from his big, boba ones, staring up at you like you hung the moon for him alone. Finally, hips flush against his, cock fully buried in your cunt, you sighed out your pleasure, tilting your head back and just feeling, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of being full.

His hands left your hips, smoothing up your sides, and quickly finding that one spot just below your ribs that had you squirming at the first touch, then bursting into laughter when he dug his fingers in to tickle you. He laughed with you, but both of your laughter cut off into moans with the way it jostled your bodies. His hips kicked up again, thrusting just a little deeper into you.

You rolled your hips, bracing your hands on his abs, and setting yourself a comfortable rhythm. You’d never much liked this position, your knees and thighs always ached fairly quickly, but as you looked down at Jisung, watching him come apart under you, you figured you’d be able to push through the discomfort when it came. His hands slid up from the spot on your ribs, both coming up to cup your boobs.

You tossed your head back, moaning, when he rolled both nipples between his fingers. You let your hands slide up to his nipples, gently tugging on both.

“Oh god. I need – mm – I need –”

“What do you need, Ji?” He pressed a hand to the small of your back, pushing you forward against him. The hand on your lower back shifted to hold your hip so he could thrust up into you. Your hands quickly shifted from balancing on his abs to bracing on either side of his head to hold yourself somewhat up. Your back arched a bit at the new angle and the way he rubbed against your g spot this way. He leaned up, wrapping his lips around one nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god,” you groaned out, feeling him rake his blunt fingernails down one side of your back. Your arms wobbled a little, so you relaxed, laying yourself almost flat on him. His mouth had to leave your tits, but he switched to open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder as he held you tightly against his chest.

Then without warning, he quickly flipped the pair of you so you were on your back, his cock still buried in you.

“There,” he smiled down at you. “I always knew you’d look gorgeous under me.”

“Oh yeah? Think about me often?”

“All the time, baby. Every time.” You moaned, cunt clenching around him at the implication in his words. “Do you like that, my baby?” he rolled his hips, gently thrusting into you. “Do you like knowing that every time I touch my cock it’s to thoughts of you? That every time I make myself cum, it’s your name I’m moaning out?” You moaned and whimpered in response to his words. “God, baby, you sound even better than I ever imagined.”

You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to claim his lips in a messy kiss. He kissed down your jaw and neck, hips picking up speed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, one hand buried in his hair, the other clutching his back to keep him close to you. You felt and heard his moans against the skin of your neck, every one an echo of each of yours.

“Getting close baby. Need to feel you cum on my cock. Can you do that? Please? Need to feel you milk my cock, baby.” You nodded frantically, feeling your orgasm tightening your belly. He pulled slightly back, just enough to slide his hand between your bodies but still having his face buried in your neck. He rubbed quick circles against your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Need to see your face,” he moaned out, pulling away enough to look down at you when he felt your walls start to flutter around him.

Your hand slid out of his hair, clutching at his biceps, as the coil in your belly tightened. You stared up into his enraptured eyes as your back bowed off the blankets and your orgasm washed through you.

“God. So gorgeous baby. Love you so much. Look so good coming on my cock.” His hips picked up speed, chasing his own orgasm and fucking you through yours, until finally, he stilled and you felt his warmth flood your insides.

He collapsed on top of you for a moment, before gently pulling out and rolling over to lay on his back beside you as you both worked to catch your breath.

“Next time,” he said through shaky breaths, “I’m eating you out, make you cum at least twice to make up for not doing it this time. Make you sit on my face.”

You smiled, rolling to look at him. “When’s next time?”

“Mm, lemme take a nap, get my strength back.” He pulled you against his side.

“Sungie?”

“Hm?”

“Heat of the moment or did you mean it?”

“What?”

“You said you love me.” You didn’t fully have your breathing back under control, but it was enough to prop yourself up with a hand on his chest and look down at him, watching him flush. You couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed because he’d said it, or because of when he’d said it.

His fingertips gently danced over your lower back. “I mean it,” he whispered.

“Good,” you grinned, leaning down to claim his lips in a quick kiss. You pulled away just far enough to say, “I love you too.” The arm around your back tightened, pulling you flush against him.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x reader #skz x reader

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shadesofmauve · 19 days ago

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Alliance Normandy SR2 interior redesign: Introduction

The Normandy is a sexy sexy spaceship, but the interior we see is defined by game play: corridors are extremely wide so Shepard doesn't get stuck on the scenery, the crew is sparse because animating crew members takes resources and NPCs are also obstacles Shepard could get stuck on, you need larger spaces for camera angles, etc.

I wanted to see if I could redesign the space to fit a crew of 70–90... ...and I got carried away.

This post covers the rules I set myself and the basic process. Each deck will get a separate post (check back for links):

Intro

Loft

Command deck

Crew deck

Engineering deck

Hangar deck

Design rules

Keep major elements in basically the same places. This is the Normandy as she exists in my fic Sunset & Evening Star, and readers shouldn't have to study a floorplan!

Use only space that's 'available' in the game. If we can access it as the player, it's fair game. If it's a mysterious void in-game, I assume it's full of Important Spaceship Parts and the only access is for ship maintenance.

The elevator shaft is vertical. No Willy Wonka/ST turbo lift shit.

*There are inertial dampeners; if there weren't none of this would work. But as an author I like to imagine that any system can be overloaded.

Step one: Align & scale the deck maps

I aligned the deck maps around the elevator, the only element that shows up on every one. Each is shown at a different scale, so I eyeballed their relationship based on furniture, which is the only thing required to have a relatively consistent size. This is a big assumption; game designers resize whatever they need to! Shepard's bed, for instance, has pillows about a meter square. Presumably they needed room to made the pixel dolls have sex. Shepard's bed can therefore not be trusted, and to a lesser extent neither can anything else.

(There are also floor panels that look a lot like standard 4'x8' construction sheet stock, but A) developers can re-size those as needed without the player noticing, and B) If we're still using imperial units to construct spaceships in 2184 I hope the reapers eat us.**)

**...that said, I used a scale of 1px:2ft to draw this. I'm so sorry. I'm American and I've done construction, it's easy for me to visualize. (The scale was two inches to the pixel, if you're curious.)

Step two: Redesign over the existing space

This is where I saw how much I could fit in the space the game design allowed (given my guesses on scale). Y'know, the fun bit that I thought I'd be spending most of my time doing!

(I was so wrong).

Redesign goals

The Alliance refitted the Normandy for an Admiral. Admirals don't captain their own ships, so I needed to account for an Admiral and their staff as well as the captain and crew.

Align bunks fore-aft, so that the most common major inertial vectors* will hit sleeping crew in the least dangerous direction.

Plumbing should be stacked when possible. (I don't know spaceships but I know about plumbing columns. Glamorous!)

Step three: Adjust to the hull

One modeler figured the ship had to be ~370 meters long to fit the decks as-is, which would leave them using only ~20% of the length. One dev is quoted as saying she's 170m. Fan estimates comparing it with other ships suggest somewhere from 210–230 meters.

The hangar deck is the one*** place the interior aligns with the exterior for certain. The hangar needs to fit two kodiaks in the space between the bay door and the elevator, and each kodiak needs to fit 12 people plus the pilot. Additionally, as the lowest deck the hanger is limited in width by the inward curve of the hull (and that limit changes based on how low you go, which is why the drawing above includes a front elevation).

***Yes, we also see Joker piloting right up in the nose. This is impossible to achieve and also stupid, so I've elected to ignore it.

Sizing it to the smallest reasonable hangar — and after drawing a rather stubbier kodiak — I managed a 194 meter hull; ~217 if you include thrusters. At this size the liveable area takes up just over a third of the hull length. It's still an awful lot of nose, but that nose means 136 meters for the main gun, which for my purposes is still a rail gun (so size matters). Sadly it can't be a hull-length gun; it would run into first the elevator, and then the eezo core.

I did NOT pretend to figure out where the Make Spaceship Go parts are, or the Keep People Alive parts. There's a LOT of 'wasted' space; assume it's all in use and accessible through engineering access-ways, though how comfortable or safe they are is questionable.

———

Thanks to @swaps55 for the amazing high-res screenshots of the game maps, and to @faejilly and @sheepishwolfy for the long-ago talks about crew size that started all this!

#mass effect #mass effect meta #mass effect lore #fire the headcan(n)on #The Normandy SR2 #Alliance Normandy SR-2 #Sunset and Evening Star #Normandy redesign #Normandy SR-2 redesign

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viagracex · 2 months ago

Note

Heyyy queen I was wondering if u can write a George clarke fan fic about the song bed cem or the song how deep is your love or the song never be like you what ever ideas come to mind thank u queen

Chasing the Fire

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: maybe it's all in my head, but i bet we'd have really good bed chem. (based on the song bed chem by sabrina carpenter)

warnings: sexual content and smut

note: I love this song and tried to write this so it tied into the lyrics as best as I could. I hope you like it and I’d love to get more requests!

2.4k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

It happened so fast. The party was loud, and you were only half paying attention when you saw him. George.

White jacket, thick accent, messy hair that he had clearly run his hands through too many times that night. You were in a sheer dress that felt a little too bold when his gaze flickered down your body, but you didn’t care.

“Hey,” he said, casual, like he wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.

“Hey,” you echoed, playing it cool.

You talked for a second—literally, maybe sixty seconds. His friend nudged him, distracted him, and before you could find another excuse to stay, he was gone.

But not before you followed each other on Instagram.

You couldn't stop thinking about George as you scrolled through his Instagram that night. His feed was a mix of artsy black and white photos, candid shots with friends, and the occasional shirtless beach pic that made your heart race. You found yourself imagining his accent, replaying your brief conversation over and over.

You weren’t proud of how much time you spent on his page.

Videos of him laughing, of him looking devastatingly good in dim bar lighting, of him in some oversized hoodie that made you think about how easy it would be to steal it after a night together.

You couldn't help but fantasize about George as you lay in bed that night, your mind wandering to places it shouldn't. You imagined his strong hands running through your hair, his accent low and husky in your ear. In your mind, he was tender yet passionate, taking his time to explore every inch of your body.

You pictured the two of you tangled in soft sheets, his muscular form pressed against yours. His kisses would start gentle but grow more urgent, leaving you breathless. You could almost feel the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble on his jaw.

George would know exactly how to touch you—where to caress and tease. His fingers would trace delicate patterns across your skin, sending a shudder through you. You imagined looking into his eyes, dark with desire, as you moved together in perfect synchronicity.

In your fantasy, George was attentive and giving, focused entirely on your pleasure. His stamina would be impressive, your lovemaking lasting for hours as you discovered each other's bodies. Afterwards, you would lay entwined, trading lazy kisses and soft caresses as your heart rates slowly returned to normal.

You fell asleep with these vivid images playing in your mind, your body tingling with unfulfilled desire. Part of you felt a little guilty for letting your imagination run so wild about someone you'd barely met. But a larger part of you hoped that someday, somehow, fantasy might become reality.

God, the chemistry would be unmatched.

You wanted him.

You wanted him so bad.

And when his name popped up in your DMs, you nearly dropped your phone.

George: That dress was dangerous, by the way.

You: What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.

George: I’d like to see how interesting.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over your phone, but there was no need to play shy. You both knew what you wanted.

You: Are you free next week?

The hotel room was dimly lit, golden from the bedside lamps. You heard him before you saw him, the click of the door shutting, the deep inhale like he was trying to steady himself.

You turned, your heart pounding. George stood there, his white jacket discarded, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt that hugged his muscular frame. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the silky slip dress you'd chosen for the occasion.

"You look even more dangerous than last time," he murmured, his accent making heat pool in your stomach.

You took a step towards him, drawn like a magnet. "Good dangerous or bad dangerous?"

His lips quirked into a smirk. "The best kind of dangerous."

In two strides, he closed the distance between you. His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," George confessed, his voice low and husky.

"Me neither," you breathed.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, and then his lips were on yours, soft at first, then more insistent. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. George’s hands traced down your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The passion you had imagined ignited instantly between you.

"You're even more stunning than I remembered," he murmured against your lips.

His voice dipped into a teasing rasp, heat pooling in your stomach. You ran your fingers through his messy hair, just as you had dreamed of doing. George’s hands roamed your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake. In one fluid motion, he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

"I've thought about this moment since I saw you in that dress," George said, his voice low and husky. He laid you down gently, then hovered above you. "You're absolutely perfect."

His praise made you flush with desire. George slowly undressed you, kissing each newly exposed patch of skin. When you were bare before him, he sat back to admire the view.

"Gorgeous," he breathed.

You reached for him, impatient. George chuckled and quickly shed his own clothes. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin. You couldn't wait to touch him everywhere.

George kissed a path down your body, setting every nerve ending alight. His clever tongue teased and tasted. You writhed beneath him, overcome with sensation. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he flipped you over.

"On your knees for me, love."

George's strong hands gripped your hips as he positioned himself behind you. You shivered in anticipation, your skin tingling where he touched you. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, and whispered in your ear.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his accent thick with desire. "So beautiful, so perfect for me."

You felt him slowly push inside, stretching and filling you completely. You both groaned at the exquisite sensation. George set a steady rhythm, his hips rocking against you as he showered your neck and shoulders with kisses.

"That's it, love," he encouraged. "You feel amazing."

His praise spurred you on. You pushed back to meet his thrusts, drawing him even deeper. George’s fingers dug into your hips as he picked up the pace. The room filled with the sounds of your passion—skin on skin, breathless moans, whispered endearments.

"You're taking me so well," George panted. "Such a good girl for me."

His words sent a thrill through you. You arched your back, silently begging for more. George obliged, driving into you with rough thrusts. He slid a hand around to tease between your legs as he continued to pound into you. The dual sensations were overwhelming.

"Say it again," you breathed, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He did. And then he gave you exactly what you wanted.

You could feel the tension building, a delicious coil of pleasure tightening low in your belly. George's skilled fingers worked in tandem with his powerful thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, love," he encouraged, his voice rough.

You cried out in ecstasy as waves of pleasure crashed over you. George held you tight as you trembled through your release. He slowed his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks.

"You're so beautiful when you cum for me," he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

Before you could catch your breath, George flipped you onto your back. His eyes were dark with desire as he gazed down at you. "I'm not done with you yet," he growled.

He hitched your legs over his shoulders and entered you again in one smooth thrust. The new angle had you seeing stars. George set a punishing pace, driving into you relentlessly.

"You feel so good," he praised. "So tight and wet for me."

You could only moan in response, overwhelmed by sensation. George's muscular body moved above you, a thin sheen of sweat making his skin glisten in the low light. He looked like a god, and you were helpless beneath him.

"Tell me how it feels," George commanded, his accent thicker than ever.

"Amazing," you gasped. "You feel so good. God. Please don't stop."

George groaned, clearly affected by your words. "I couldn't stop if I tried. You're addictive."

He lowered your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. The change in position had him hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You clung to George, your nails raking down his back as he drove into you relentlessly. His muscular body pressed you into the mattress, surrounding you completely.

"You’re unreal," George praised.

You whimpered at his words, arousal coursing through you. George's lips found your neck, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin. You knew he'd leave marks, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You wanted everyone to know you belonged to him.

"George, please," you begged, though you weren't sure what you were asking for.

He seemed to understand, reaching between you to circle your clit. The overstimulation had you crying out, trembling beneath him. George's thrusts became more erratic as he chased his own release.

"That’s it, one more—cum with me," he commanded. "I want to feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name as waves of pleasure once again washed over you. George followed soon after, groaning against your neck as he found his release.

You laid there, still breathless, your body warm, spent, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.

George propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with that damn smirk.

"So…" he murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare stomach. "I can say that it was very interesting indeed."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, it was."

His grin widened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours.

"Round two?"

You pretended to think about it. "Depends. Are you free next week?"

He chuckled, rolling on top of you again.

"Let’s start with tonight."

As George's lips met yours once again, you couldn't help but marvel at how reality had surpassed even your wildest fantasies. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was better than you could have imagined.

His hands roamed your body with a confidence that made you weak. You ran your fingers through his hair, relishing its softness. It was even more luxurious than you'd dreamed, perfect for gripping in the heat of passion.

And speaking of passion... your eyes couldn't help but wander down his chiseled body. You bit your lip, a mixture of awe and anticipation coursing through you. Oh my. Finally getting a chance to appreciate his body—and god, he was even more gifted than you'd dared to hope. No wonder you felt so full earlier.

George caught you staring and smirked. "See something you like?"

You blushed but met his gaze boldly. "Just admiring the view."

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I aim to please."

"Oh, you certainly do," you purred, running your hands down his muscular chest.

As George began trailing kisses down your neck, you closed your eyes in bliss. His touch was electric, igniting every nerve ending. You'd imagined your chemistry would be good, but this was on another level entirely.

Your body responded to his every caress like it was made for him. Each brush of his fingers sent sparks dancing across your skin. He took his time exploring every curve, as if committing you to memory.

You explored each other's bodies for hours, finding new ways to bring each other pleasure. George was insatiable, his stamina impressive. He took you in every position imaginable, each one bringing new sensations and delights.

As the night wore on, your passionate frenzy gave way to something slower, more tender.

Eventually, exhaustion settled over you both like a warm, sated haze. Your bodies remained tangled beneath the rumpled sheets, your breath still slightly uneven, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync. George's arm draped lazily over your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare hip. Neither of you spoke for a long time—there was no need. The weight of the moment, the unspoken understanding between you, said everything words couldn’t.

The dim hotel room hummed with the quiet intimacy of two people who had just unraveled each other completely. Your fingers toyed with the strands of his messy hair, brushing them back from his forehead as he studied you with hooded eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. “So,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction, “was that as good as you imagined?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress your grin. “Better.”

George chuckled, his fingers tracing idle circles on your bare skin, his touch still sending little aftershocks through your body. There was something electric between you, something undeniable—like you were two forces drawn together by something deeper than just attraction. It wasn’t just the way his body fit perfectly against yours, or the way his voice alone could make you shiver. It was the way you felt in his presence, like the air between you was charged, like every glance, every smirk, every teasing comment had been leading to this moment. The chemistry between you was unreal, like something out of a film, impossible to ignore, impossible to fake.

And the scariest part? You knew this wasn’t just a one-time thing. It wasn’t just lust or fleeting excitement. This was something potent, something addictive, something that had already begun weaving its way into your thoughts, your bones, your breath.

George tilted his head, that knowing smirk playing at his lips—like he could read your mind. “I can hear you thinking from here,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Just… wondering how the hell we have this much chemistry.”

His smirk softened into something almost contemplative. His fingers skimmed your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “Me too.”

The weight of that admission settled between you, heavy with unspoken things. A promise. A challenge. A warning.

Because once you’ve felt this kind of fire, you’ll spend forever chasing the burn.

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amoristt · 2 months ago

Text

trust i seek, and i find in you.

part 2 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // gi-hun is tooth-rottingly sweet, violence, canon thru the canon cuz idc let me live, reader is a angry wet cat a/n: this is kinda like a pilot fic cuz theres gonna be three parts to this hehehe and relationship building is hardddd this chapter is kinda mid but trust me the next two r peak

This wasn’t part of the plan.

He wasn’t part of the plan.

Your goal from the moment you’d arrived- win at any cost.

Even after the first round of Red Light, Green Light you remained determined. You slapped your palm over the glowing blue button despite the open cries and protests of the opposing side and sauntered back into your corner of the dormitory, disappearing in the sea of bodies. Being sent home was only a minor setback- you were all too quick to jump head first back into the games knowing damn well it could cost you your life.

You didn’t care. That just meant either you died, or you left richer than you could ever even fathom. A win-win in your book, and the first had been easy enough. If it truly was just simple children's games, surely, you’d have a good chance of outplaying your competitors. You grew up more often in the streets playing with the scrappy neighborhood kids than you did inside your own home. There were very few games you hadn’t played, and honestly, gotten quite good at in your youth.

So you had thought.

Truthfully, dalgona had shaken you up. Even though you’d chosen a circle by triangle, a lucky guess, you never quite had honed up your fine motor skills. Games that required decent aim, mind games, or even the more physical games like tag? Sure. Wrestling? In the bag. You were confident. But having to carve out shapes in thin sugar, and doing it timed while gunshots popped off all around you?

You remembered how bad your hands shook the entire time, your mind screaming at your lungs to just fucking breathe properly so you would stop trembling like a leaf. Distress and agitation only mounted when you noticed many of your competitors finishing, panic setting in. All you had to do, was be gentle.

But you had never been gentle a day in your life.

Sweat had gathered at your forehead and you on the precipice of losing your cool when the timer only had a mere 3 minutes left. You were definitely dead. You were sure of it. Your hands were too shaky, your pressure control was essentially nonexistent. The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your ears, beat by beat.

Then, you saw him for the first time.

A man with dark, thick hair lifting his honeycomb to the light before licking along its backside frantically. At first, you didn’t know what you were looking at. But then you realized how after every lick, he’d hover it over the light overhead again. It stunned you- how had you not fucking thought of that? You, along with most everyone who was leftover, started to do the same. The sugar was sweet on your tongue. You barely even registered it.

Your shape was free in less than 40 seconds, and you showed it to your guard for approval before you were escorted out of the room. As you went, you passed the man by, who was still hard at work. Though contradictory to your goal, you hoped he’d make it in time. Your breath left you in a sigh of relief when he’d wandered back into the dormitory afterwards, alive and well.

After everyone that had survived filled the room, you took one look around and realized how much… Larger a majority of your competitors were. Women were far and few amongst all the men. It made you nibble at your lip, anxious. Sure, you were tough enough, a little rough around the edges, but brute strength was brute strength. And already, groups were forming, with one in particular that made you squirm. A larger man with tattoos sprawled over his neck and into his face, equipped with a bad attitude, and lackeys nipping at his heels everywhere he went.

You needed to make some buddies if you were going to make it. But who would openly accept you? You’d done very little to even make contact with anyone, being liked enough to settle into a group. Who could you approach?

Then, it dawned on you.

And you knew the perfect ice breaker.

When you’d found him in the endless ocean of people, you felt a twinge of hope ring through you. His dark hair was stark under the bright lights. He was smiling, laughing, with a group of people. Though it was a team entirely composed of men, one of them was an old man, meaning that they weren’t favoring power and sheer size over all else. Maybe they’d find use in you, too. It was probably your best shot, so, you swallow down your anxiety.

Though it took a couple seconds to build your confidence, you managed to leave the comfort of your bed and cross the massive floor of the dormitory. When you stood before him, his and the eyes of three other men you’d never seen before burning holes through you, you don’t think there was a time in your life you’d truly felt that small until then. There was so much at stake.

“Um,” You started, fidgeting with your sleeve. Talking was never your strongest skill. “I just wanted to say thank you, uh, for the dalgona game. I probably wouldn’t have made it out if you hadn’t, started, y’know…”

Your voice died in your throat. Not a single one of them made a peep. It made you want to turn around and scamper back into your little cave. Fuck it. Who needed friends. And you’re about to, too, when the man suddenly erupts into a smile so boyish, so genuine it almost takes your breath away. Up close now, you could see him better. Some light facial hair, rosy cheeks, and a curl to his disheveled hair.

He was cute.

“You’re welcome, it was nothing, really!” He said, and his voice was so kind. Maybe integrating wouldn’t be as hard as you’d believed initially- this man had a warmness about him. Something inviting. But you knew that you needed an in, a reason for them to let you stick around. It wasn’t going to be strength, that was for sure. Maybe speed, but you weren't even sure if any games would require that. And though you had street smarts, your analytical skills were less than impressive.

So, you take a chance, and you decide to use some of that good-natured temperament against him.

“Um, if you don’t mind,” You’d forced out, trying to maintain an even tone. “I never really got to play games as a child, my, uh, my mother was very strict. She preferred I spent my time inside and, y’know, coloring and stuff.” You feel like a fucking idiot, word soup falling from your lips pathetically. “...I’m a bit at a loss for what’s to come. Could I, maybe… Maybe hang around you guys?”

Almost everything you had said was a bold, outright lie. But you needed an in.

There’s mixed glances all around. The curly haired man's eyes immediately flick to the man on his left, who sat proud with an intimidating glare. He didn’t bother to hide the way he sized you up, glancing up and down. The old man had seemed far away, a smile painting on his lips that you couldn’t quite understand.

Suddenly you’re 8 years old again, standing before a group of your classmates trying to kindle some forms of friendship moments before they’d shoved you in a locker.

You’re sure your plan was fried, when a darker skinned man turned towards you.

“Of course! I don’t really know the games either, myself, so…” His voice was just as kind as the curly haired mans, maybe even kinder. His eyes were warm, his expression light as the sun. “We can all help each other.”

The curly haired man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright! What’s your name?”

Once you offered your name up, albeit hesitant, everyone's names were traded. Well, more like they’d given into your request. It was a trust thing, and maybe if they’d attached a name to your face, you’d have better luck melding in. You tried to memorize them all. Cho Sang-Woo, a curt business graduate from SNU. Ali Abdul, a factory worker from Pakistan- which explained why he felt he was at a disadvantage. The elderly gentleman who didn’t really seem to be all there, couldn’t seem to recall his own name. It made this unsettling pity build its home in your belly.

And then Seong Gi-hun, who sung everyones praises except his own.

You didn’t miss the way Sang-woo sized you up as you sat among them. But, you did miss the way Gi-hun’s eyes rarely left you as you got to know your new acquaintances. Ali, in particular was more than happy to have you around. He was sweeter than you’d anticipated, asked you all sorts of questions about your life.

You lied more often than you didn’t. After all, this was all just strategy.

My parents are alive. My favorite food is bulgogi. My mom is strict, but only because she cares.

I grew up in a very loving home.

Gi-hun asked why you were competing. You felt your throat tighten.

So I can show everyone I’m not a fuck up, your mind screams. But instead, you say, “To make my parents proud.”

He seems to like your answer. So does Sang-woo, resonating. You could only assume he was doing the same. That’s when you knew you were in.

It turned out, you were just in time, too. Not even an hour later did you witness a fight break out- that scary man you’d seen earlier with his backup absolutely beating on a different man you’d never seen before, waiting any moment now for a guard to intervene, only for the man to die in his spot on the floor. They came and took his body away in a timely fashion. You remembered shrinking in on yourself. That was also the moment you realized that Sang-woo and Gi-hun were much better people than you- because while they sauntered from their spots to check on the poor man beaten to a pulp on the floor, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

You remembered the grave expression on Sang-woo’s face when there was no pulse to be felt. How Gi-hun knelt beside him and tried to call for help in vain. The guards paid him no mind despite the way he demanded they do something, anything. A man just died for god's sake at the hands of player 101- how could they just allow this to happen?

Nothing but empty stares in response.

Money dropped into the bank held high overhead. Surreal.

It made you pale in the face, the sinking reality that killing your competitors in cold blood was not only allowed, but encouraged.

You remembered your ride back to the games, watching the smoke fill the car and telling yourself, you could do this.

You’d made a serve lapse in judgement.

The rest of that evening, before lights out, was… Tense. This lingering dread that hung thick in the air and threatened to suffocate you. You fidgeted with your cuticles and the sleeve of your tracksuit, trying to ignore the way 101 and his lackeys watched you. Ripples of fear were starting to shake your reflection in the waters of your mind. You dug small lines into your fingers, picking at the skin around your nail beds until they sprouted dots of blood. As the minutes tick by, your heart rate increases.

You’re so caught up in trying to keep your breathing level that you don’t hear Sang-woo begin to speak. It’s only when Ali glances at you and holds a stare do you suddenly perk up.

“Stay close when you go to sleep. Anything could happen tonight.”

You hate his tone. It scares you- god, it’s been a long time since you’d felt scared. It’d been a long time since you felt self doubt. Sang-woo’s expression is expectant, so you nod quickly in affirmation, trying to mentally lean on the fact that he’d told you to stay nearby. You could be protected.

His eyes flicker between you and 101’s group.

“Those guys are definitely up to no good. If anyone gets attacked, we have to stick together and fight.”

Gi-hun’s line of sight found yours, his lips drawn into a frown, before he began to grab the old man's attention to let him know to keep his guard up. That poor old man. He had no idea what was coming. And, as if the size of Gi-hun’s heart wasn’t big enough, you watched him stagger to his feet and approach the woman who’d been deemed a pickpocket. You didn’t need to hear what was said, you already knew he was trying to look out for her.

He was so pure in nature you almost felt like your very presence was tainting him.

Here he was going out of his way time and time again, throwing trust in every direction, meanwhile you couldn’t even bring yourself to trust them enough to be honest about something as puny as your favorite food. Guilt made teeth gnash into skin, chewing away at the inside of your lip and cheeks.

From beside you, the old man shifted. He looked… Tired. Vacant. You lean towards him.

“Uh, sir,” You murmur. “If anything happens, I’m on the top bed. I’ll jump down.”

It takes a long while for him to answer you. Gears are turning in his mind almost visibly, but then he smiles.

“You remind me of- ah- what was her name?”

You tilt your head. “Who?”

He hums in thought. “Let’s see… Her name was… Was…”

If you felt like shit over his condition before, this was an entirely new low. Why the hell was he here? Would he be shown mercy, or would he be plucked from the herd? How could anyone be so savage?

Another bout of nerves trickles down your spine.

“Oh, nevermind.” Waving the thought away, he rests his elbows on his lap and leans towards you, voice hushed. “You remind me of someone in my youth. She was a funny girl.”

You can’t help but chuckle, raising a brow. “Funny?”

“Funny.” He sighs in thought. “Always telling stories.”

Even though his voice is far away, and even though he’s clearly not in his right mind, some weird feeling settles in your gut. Like you’d been caught, somehow. So little had been said but you stared at him, bewildered. What was he on about? Did he know you were lying? How?

“Well… Regardless, be careful tonight, yeah? We’ll come find you.”

There he goes, waving his hand again. It’s almost like he doesn't believe you. Or maybe he just doesn’t understand how dire the entire ordeal was.

You try to gag down that weird feeling, but it’s hard, uncomfortable. Instead of letting it wrack your brain, you decide to just chalk it up to him being a senile old man and leave at that. There was no way he knew anything about you. This man was a total stranger. There's movement in the corner of your eye and you’re all too relieved to focus on something else.

Gi-hun stands before you.

“Where are you sleeping?” He sits next to you and leans forward. You point to the top bed, and he sighs in relief before pointing to the highest bed neighboring yours. “I’ll be there. If you’re attacked-”

“Find you guys.”

He lingers over your face for a couple seconds, before he turns and stares forward. “Are you worried?”

“No.” Your voice leaves you too fast, too forced. Wringing hands, bleeding cuticles. You swallow it all down. The same as you’d done your entire life. “Are you?”

At first, he thinks on it. But you already know the answer. He nods once. “I think things are going to go bad, tonight.”

There’s a heavy silence that befalls you, thickening the gap between yours and his shoulders. You stare at the floor. “...I hope not.”

Then, Gi-hun blurts something out, something that’s supposed to be genuine but only in the way he would mean it.

“You can move your pillow to my bed.”

Instantly, your cheeks are warm. “E-Excuse me?”

The crazy thing is that he doesn’t even register what he’d said as anything other than innocent. He just stares at you with expectant eyes and an expression so sincere it has you second guessing your reaction. But then, those eyes widen.

“Wait- Wait, not like that. I just meant that- You know, so that way you wouldn’t have to worry!” He’s stammering and rambling. “Not next to each other, no, more like, if you slept one on one end and I’d sleep on the other.”

It’s almost alluring. You kind of want to say yes. He’s swallowing hard and his face is red by the time he lets up enough to let you actually answer. It leaves you in a gentle rejection.

“Thanks but, no thanks.”

“Of course, of course.” His expression is strained as he watches everyone climb into their beds. The nerves are getting real, now. Time was moving faster than you could keep up with.

“Lights out in five minutes.” A voice echoes from a speaker. You feel your stomach drop.

Standing up, you hide the way your hands shake, just a little.

“You know where we are.” Gi-hun murmurs.

“Thank you.” You breathe.

The climb up to your bed just before lights out felt like it took an eternity. Step after step up the stairs that suddenly seemed deadly hard, climbing onto your bed at the top bunk, observing for what could be your last time. Suddenly everything your eyes could see was dangerous. It felt like the zero hour- that any second now, all of this hush-hush would erupt into an inferno of violence. Your entire life you grew up proud of your ability to hold your own. Prided yourself that you didn’t need anyone- you didn’t need anything.

And yet, when you lay down, the very first thing you do is share glances with Gi-hun from his bunk. You feel exposed, cold. Vulnerable.

If you’re attacked, find them.

Gi-hun nods at you, a silent pact. You nod back.

The lights drop out and bathe you in darkness.

You wished you had said yes.

That night, it was a scream that set it all into motion. A scream that sliced through the darkness and had you launching up from your spot.

Your eyes frantically searched the room, seeing movement at every corner, every bed. Violence. Absolute chaos. A dozen screams echoed off the walls, shrill enough to make you cover your ears as you peeked over your bed to watch down below. Merely a few feet down laid a body, blood spilling from their throat and soaking into their clothes, their bed sheet wrapped around their head. Player’s tripped over the corpse as they fought to escape their attackers.

Before you could even move, you felt your world flip upside down.

Actually, it was your entire bed. Gravity fell through and you were sent tumbling to the floor, hitting the hard ground with a crack that sent waves of pain rippling down your sides. You gasped for air, struggling to regain your footing. You pressed your palms flat down to heave yourself up onto your knees but your right arm slipped in something wet, something warm. You smacked your chin off the floor and felt blood pill and drip down your chin from your lips. All you could taste was copper.

Flashing lights blinded you, bodies moved from every direction.

When you finally managed to bring yourself to your knees, and then to your wobbly feet, you could only vaguely get an understanding of the devastation before you.

Bodies everywhere. Blood spilling and pooling at every step. You brought your hands up and a crack of white light revealed what you had slipped in, exactly what you were afraid of. Crimson red dripped down from your palm into the ditch of your arm. You felt sick.

You were scared.

Another flicker of pulsating light allows you to take in your immediate surroundings. Other than the blood, you see beds and pillows scattered amongst the floor.

Your first thought is to hide. To crawl underneath a bed and wait it all out praying no one dragged you away kicking and screaming.

But then, you see him.

You see Gi-hun trapped between the bars of a tipped over bed frame, struggling to break free, wide eyes darting from left to right in his frenzy. Without even thinking, you dash for him. You pay no mind to the people laying at your feet, or the way that you almost slip on your way over in yet another puddle of blood. All you care about is making it to him. His knuckles are white with the force of trying to pry the frame off of him to no avail. You press your foot up against the standing frame he’s laying on and grab onto bars of those holding him in place, and then you heave with everything you’ve got in you. It lifts just enough for him to wriggle out from under its hold, ducking and crawling between the bars until he’s free and scrabbling to his feet beside you.

You take a moment to assess him, grabbing his shoulders, grabbing his arms.

He’s okay.

You don’t even think to assess yourself. But he does it for you. He touches your bleeding chin and you swat his hold away.

“I’m fi-”

In a blur, you’re ripped by your hair backwards and sent skittering on the floor. Your head cracks back and you can’t tell if the flashes are coming from behind your eyes or in front of them anymore. In a disoriented haze, you find yourself suddenly lifted.

You don’t even know what’s happening. Everythings a blur and your head is aching something awful and warmth is dripping down the backside of your neck. You manage to force your eyes open and then you see her- player 067. She’s gripping you by the collar of your shirt in one hand, the other wedged underneath your arm. Blood spatters the side of her face. Her eyes are dark and dangerous.

Initially, the first thing you can think to do is rip yourself out of her grasp. So, you try. You shove against her chest and flail until she inevitably loses grip and you barely manage to launch backwards without falling over. She’s staring at you, ready. Waiting.

Fear seizes you as you realize you can’t fight her like this- barely even conscious. Moving like a drunk and unable to comprehend the riot.

Her voice manages to reach you, however, in one shout.

”Duck!”

Okay, you comprehend that. You send yourself to your knees on the floor with your arms instinctively crossing over your head to protect yourself. There’s a zip in the air, then the unmistakable sound of metal colliding with metal. Over your shoulder, with just a glance, you see a dark figure standing behind you and raising a metal pole to try their chance at a second time. The light glints off the bar as they prepare to crack it back down over your head.

You hurl yourself out of the way from the floor, kicking the person in the shins. They fumble forward, gripping their leg with a hissing groan of pain, giving you a chance to rush to your feet. 067 grabs you by the fabric of your tracksuit and yanks you until you’re upright, and then she’s shoving something hard and metal into your grip.

Then, she’s gone, disappeared into the flashing lights and oceans of chaos. A small, broken bar sits heavy in your hands.

You don’t get the chance to think before you react when you feel yourself grabbed at the shoulder and spun around, face to face with a man twice your size. He rears a fist back.

There’s a microsecond of calm. Like you finally woke up.

You knew how to fight. You’d done it your whole life.

You dodge his swing, jumping back, before you bring the pole up and swing it directly to the side of the man's skull. He loses his balance, grabbing at his head, and you take the chance to plant the bottom of your foot on his stomach and ram your heel into his gut. He spits out a groan and stumbles but the fucker just won’t go down.

So. You hit him again.

Thwack right over the head- and that does it. He crumbles to the floor in a heap of writhing limbs. It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done.

All your senses come flooding back to you at once.

Gi-hun.

Sangwoo. Ali.

You spin on your heels in search. You can’t be alone like this.

The old man.

Where the hell were they?

You pass by bunk after bunk, ducking and sauntering. Your nerves are starting to spill into your throat. With each second, a body drops, and you can’t find a single one of your friends.

“Gi-hun!” You cry into the darkness, lost in the endless cries and pleas of a dozen others. “Sang-woo!”

You needed protection.

You find yourself in a small opening, three standing bunks and one tipped on an angle, forming a barrier. Just beyond the make-shift wall of beams, movement shifts just where your eyes struggle to reach. Two hulking figures with broad shoulders, ready to lunge at any moment, lurking, waiting for you to slip up and hop within reach from the otherside of the tipped over bunk. Another figure closes in on the opposite side of you, the only other opening. You recognize him- the man you’d kicked in the leg. A viscous grin playing over his lips as he closes in on you. You’re being circled. You ran right into a corner like a cat before snarling hounds.

If you’re attacked, find them.

“Sang-woo!” You cry, holding the bar to you, swinging every time the man steps too close. If he gets his hands on you, it’s over. “Sang-woo!”

You have to get out of here.

An arm shoots out from the barrier of bars, one of the two men swiping as you back away from the third. Your eyes can’t keep up with all of them. You’re outnumbered. You’re injured. You have to make a break for it- you have to. Your group is nowhere to be found and at this point you feel like they’re definitely dead. You have to save yourself, dash as far as you can get and pray that you’re lost in the flashing lights.

But then you realize what you’re looking at through the jungle of bars.

You realize that the bed they’re looming over is where the old man had slept. There’s a mass underneath all those tipped over crossing beams, smothered and crushed by the weight of the frames. The unmistakable fabric of the tracksuit is just barely visible underneath it all. Your breath stops.

He could be dead.

You don’t have time.

He could be injured.

You’ll die if you stay here.

They’ll kill him.

They’ll kill you. Think of yourself.

Think of yourself.

But you don’t.

You don’t think of yourself when you leap towards him.

You dive under and drag him out.

Only to discover all that remains is his mattress and pillow. His jacket crumpled in a pile, abandoned. Your stomach sinks into the bowels of your guts.

A hand shoots through the gaps of the bars and grabs you by the shoulder, yanks and rams you into the beams of the frame once, twice, until your head bounces off the metal. Your hands unclench, the bar falling from your grasp and clanging onto the floor. When you’re let go, the force sends you toppling down once more, the ground just as hard and uninviting as the first time you met it.

You don’t get a second of reprieve. The third man pounces on you.

His massive hand latches onto your ankle and rips you towards him, your belly dragging over the tiles, your arms swinging wildly, scrambling to find purchase on anything you could get. His other hand grabs your other leg, flipping you onto your back.

There’s weight so heavy on your shins and thighs you really feel like you may be crushed under it, thrashing and clawing blindly as the lights flashed and disoriented you even further. You catch your nails into something soft- hair, you realize, and you grab so tight it hurts your knuckles and you wrench to the side in a frantic attempt to pull off your attacker.

There’s a satisfying crack when his head rams into metal. For just a second, for a blink of an eye, you have hope.

But you were wrong.

He hauls your hand away from his hair, taking chunks with it before striking your shoulder until it was numb with vibrations traveling all the way down to the tips of your fingers. You cried out and punched at his shoulders, his chest, anything you possibly could with your other arm. You kicked, you writhed. All for naught.

There’s hands on your throat, squeezing. You still and grapple at his wrists as fireworks explode behind your eyes. His grip is impossibly tight- your face is hot and it feels like your eyes are going to burst right from your skull.

You can’t even scream.

He isn’t budging.

You were going to die.

Choked and wretched gasps weasel their way from your lips. Your body goes numb, starting in your toes and fingers. Drool slips down your chin. Flashing images and faces from your life fill your vision.

Your childhood friends. A teacher that actually meant something to you.

A photo of your dad that your mom often cried over.

The sounds of chaos and bloodshed seem far away.

Your childhood cat.

No one would notice you were gone. No one, except your little group. Gi-hun.

Your friend's house. The sun poking through leaves overhead.

You don’t have it in you to fight anymore. Your arms fall heavy at your sides as the last bit of your life is choked out of you.

What a lousy life you had lived.

----

When you finally get the chance to breathe again, you suck in a breath so greedy and gulping that it sends you sputtering into wet coughs. You feel again- and it’s cold and everything hurts but you can feel. Your legs are kicking uselessly at the floor, your heels slipping in blood. You claw at your throat, wheezing and gasping. A hand appears in your hair, another sliding underneath your upper back and jerking you up. That man still towers over you, toying with you. Blindly, you press your hands to his chest and you shove as hard as you could possibly manage.

It does absolutely nothing.

“No!” You bark, voice hoarse. “Get off of me!”

A third hand grabbing your wrist. You wail. When was this going to fucking end?

“No!”

There’s so many voices you can’t even comprehend it. They’re all far away and echoing like you're underwater, drowning. That’s exactly what it feels like. Drowning- sinking and suffocating and barely managing to pop your head over the surface just long enough to wheeze in a breath of life and start all over again.

You’re being touched everywhere and you just want it all to stop- every time you try to wrench yourself away it seems another grip just stops you. You’re covered in fucking hands and you can’t do anything to get them off of you. You just want this to be over with. Waves are crashing over your ears.

You think you hear your name among them.

It’s faint, but it’s there. You know the voice. You’re dreaming, you think.

You’re dying.

“It’s me!” The man is holding your face in his hands. “It’s me!”

When you finally manage to open your eyes, you expect to see the man towering over you. Evil. Unrelenting.

But it isn't. You see Gi-hun.

There’s blood on his suit, cuts on his face. Fresh bruises are already appearing along his cheeks. His face lights up when you meet his vision.

“There you are! It’s me!” He wraps himself around you like a shield. Bright light beams and shines into your eyes. There’s guards and guns as far as the eye can see.

If this was the afterlife, you’d obviously been sent to hell. But, then again, there’s arms wrapped around you, petting down your back and cupping the back of your head. You can’t recall a time in your life you’d been held so… Tenderly.

So maybe it’s heaven.

You’re still numb, buzzing. Nothing feels real anymore. From over his shoulder you can see two figures- Ali and Sang-woo you realize, both wielding pipes and guarding. Ali in particular white knuckling a pole almost the same size as you.

You’re alive.

Holy shit, you’re alive.

To your right, you see her again. 067.

She’s beaten and bruised up, but she sits back on her haunches and watches you regain whatever composure you were able to scrounge up. She gives you a single nod.

Thank you. You nod back. Your ears ring.

Oh, Gi-hun is still talking to you. He’s running his hand through your hair. It feels like you can breathe again.

It’s me. You’re okay. It’s me.

Maybe it is heaven, after all.

When he pulls back, you’re cold. Again. You don’t realize the way you chase him, arms coming out to grasp at his biceps, desperate to keep him there. You’re barely only some-what conscious, still reeling with the after effects of being mere seconds away from meeting your maker. He holds your hands in his, and then you notice the blood. It’s all over him, it’s all over you. Your hands, your arms. Down your shoulders and soaking into the collar of your track suit. There’s a metallic tang of blood on your tongue, too.

Blood, blood, blood.

“You hit your head,“ He says, noticing the way your breath sucks in sharply at the sight. “It’s just a cut And this-” His thumb swipes over your lower lip, a sharp sting in his wake. You hiss and recoil. “You’re good. See? You just bit your lip.”

You aren’t sure why he’s talking you through your own injuries, as if you can’t feel them pulsating and rocketing surges of pain up and down your spine. You aren’t even sure why you’re alive right now.

“I’m good,” You echo him. You don’t feel good. “I’m good.”

Gi-hun rests a hand on your cheek, turning your head left and right, assessing you. He drags his thumb down your cheek bones, before he gently pats you. His eyes are tender, thankful. Pretty.

“Get up.” Someone demands, their voice deep and testing. It’s a guard, you realize, standing feet away. Ali, Sang-woo, and 067 stand with their hands up, weapons discarded on the crimson splattered floors. Gi-hun hops to his feet and drags you up with him a little too fast for you to handle, your legs unable to hold the entirety of your weight. He hoists you up by the waist.

“She’s hurt.” He tells the guard, as if they’d cared. As if they’d help.

When the person steps to you, tall and brooding with a O bore onto their mask, you almost think that maybe they would. But then they simply pat your pockets and move on just as fast as they’d arrived. Bodies are being carted out in coffins. There’s so much death it’s hard to believe.

101 eyes you from the other side of the room and sneers.

You don’t even care. Your head is pounding, your neck hurts. But you’re alive, so he could kindly go fuck himself.

Along the distant wall, standing on a top bunk, you see the old man. It almost brings tears of joy to your eyes. Everyone’s alive.

And once everything settles, the bodies dragged away, the guards filtering out, the remaining competitors regrouping to their little corners, you find yourself sitting among steps with everyone else. Tired, and sore. Gi-hun is saying something that you can’t quite tune into. Something about his bed tipping. You offer little to their conversations, eyes distant and vacant, reliving the night. Surprisingly, Sang-woo is what drags your attention back to the present. He reaches over Gi-hun and pats your arm.

You’re embarrassed that you jump.

“Thank you, by the way.” He says, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him look at you without this… Skepticism in them.

“For what?”

He notions towards Gi-hun. “For being on our side. I’m glad you’re not injured too badly.”

For a long, long moment you just stare at him. Your skin is warm. Maybe because your head was swimming. Maybe because now you were realizing you weren’t just sitting amongst them purely for survival.

“Well, thank you too, for,” Your fingers reach up mindlessly and graze over the sore spots on your neck. “Being on my side. I would have died.”

Over light conversations, trust building, Gi-hun calls it, you learn 067’s name. Sae-byeok.

Thank you, Sae-byeok.Even if I thought you were trying to kill me at first.

“How’s your head?” Gi-hun suddenly asks. When you fail to answer quick enough for his liking, he knocks his knee against yours. You aren’t sure what to say. It fucking hurts, but you’d make it.

Why did your chest feel so tight every time he asked? It was making your head pound even worse.

It takes you the rest of that morning to realize you’d never truly, in your life, felt cared for. The thought makes your heart seize up in your chest. Makes your blood flash hot and cold at once.

This was not the plan.

#gi hun x reader #gi-hun x reader #seong gi-hun #squid game #squid game 1 #player 456 x reader #seong gihun x reader #gihun x reader

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

Text

Christmas Suprises

Zayne x AFAB!Reader

When I say I don't enjoy pregnancy fics or proposal fics, I NEED you to believe me cuz WHY did this fester in my brain until I put it down in a doc

Warnings: Christmas, fluff, domestic fluff, unplanned pregnancy, marriage proposal, crying, literal sleeping together, cuddling, anxiety

Word Count: 2,514

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You stare down at the little white stick, mouth falling open in shock. You can’t even hear the grating alarm of your phone going off anymore, or the eager knocking on the bathroom door. It’s like your mind hasn’t caught up to your body yet. You don’t think about reaching out and opening the door; your body just does it.

“Well?” Tara asks excitedly. “Yes or no?”

The world around you comes back into focus. You blindly paw at your phone screen to hit the button to shut up its alarm. You think your hand is shaking when you look up at your friend.

“It says… I’m pregnant.”

She squeals and throws her arms around your neck, bouncing on her feet, bursting with joy. “Congratulations! Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

You cling onto her. She doesn’t seem to mind, even as you wipe your eyes over her shoulder and sniffle by her ear.

You can’t believe it. You’re actually pregnant. You really, really are. You’re going to have a baby. You’re going to have a baby.

Tara pulls away with a gasp. “How are you gonna tell him?” she asks conspiratorially.

“God, I have no idea.” You stare at the two pink lines on the stick. Pregnant. “He doesn’t even know I’m late for my period, Tara. How am I-?”

“Oh, oh, I know! Tell him on Christmas!”

“On Christmas? Are you sure? I mean, what if he doesn’t want kids? We’ve never talked about it before.” You scoff, rubbing your eyes at the mounting worry welling up within you. It swirls around in your stomach, growing larger and larger as your panic bleeds into it. “We’re not even married! What’re his parents going to think? Shit, what about his career?!” You grab Tara’s shoulders, jostling her slightly with the force. “What if his reputation is ruined because he had a kid without being married?!”

Tara grabs your shoulders in turn, rubbing them sympathetically. “Calm down first, okay? You don’t have to do my idea, but I think you’re overthinking this.”

You sigh. Slowly, you let go of her. “No, no, you’re right. I- I’ll think about it. Thank you for helping me out, Tara.”

“Of course! Just keep me updated, okay?” She giggles. “I need to know how he reacts!”

Even as you’re led to her couch and offered a soothing cup of tea, the panic doesn’t untwist from your guts.

You’re awake first. This doesn’t usually happen, but it’s only fitting that the anxiety that kept you from falling asleep easily last night also wakes you up earlier than needed. You study Zayne’s face in the dim moonlight.

He looks utterly at peace. There’s no tension in his brow. His eyes are relaxed, fluttering under his eyelids to watch a dream play out. Lips slightly parted with soft breaths.

His parents called yesterday, wishing they could be here and apologizing for their gifts being sent late due to the inclement weather where they’re stationed. Zayne always got this childlike sweetness to his expression whenever they were involved, smiling without restraint and allowing himself to be more outwardly affectionate. You’d seen it before when you recorded a video of him on his birthday to send to his parents, but seeing it now, picturing that same happiness on his face with his own child… He’d caught you staring at one point. You’d smiled and tried to play it off. You’re not sure he bought it, but he didn’t say anything about it after the call ended.

You really can’t sleep now. Your heart is beating too fast, tight in your chest with worry. You slowly roll onto your back. The white ceiling stares down at you. You stare right back, chewing mindlessly on your bottom lip.

Time passes by in a blur. You’re not sure how much has gone by when a finger carefully frees your lip from your teeth’s assault. You turn your head to see a freshly-woken Zayne. His hand falls to rest on the bed between you.

“What has you so worried?” His voice has a quiet rasp to it in the morning, especially when he whispers. You could listen to it for hours.

You shift to lay on your side, facing him once again. You distract yourself by playing with his fingers. “Nothing,” you lie with a placating smile. “I’m just hoping you’ll like the gifts I got you.”

He hums, but he doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he captures your restless hand and brings it to his lips. Those pretty hazel green eyes of his close with the kiss he places on your knuckles. “I’m sure you chose the best gifts,” he says. “You know me too well to get me something I wouldn’t like.”

“True…”

He guides your hand to rest on his face. He’s warm from sleep, the barest hint of stubble starting to come in along his jaw.

“Can we open the gifts first today?” He opens his eyes to look at you again. You can feel the way he studies you. You try not to falter as you add, “I know we usually have breakfast first, but…”

A flicker of confusion, gone in a flash. “Of course. But it’s still early. You should try to get some more sleep.”

Maybe he can sense the exhaustion underneath your anxiety, or maybe he can see the bags under your eyes in the dim light. Or maybe he just knows you better than you think he does.

He reaches under the blankets to grab your hip, drawing you toward him like he has on so many restless nights before. You’re powerless to refuse the silent request. So you scoot closer, forming yourself to fit perfectly against his chest. He slips his arm under your head, letting you use his bicep as a pillow. You tuck your head under his chin and press your face against his neck.

Arms wrapped around each other, holding one another close before the breaking dawn of Christmas Day. He traces soothing shapes against your spine. You count his heartbeat as it thumbs by your ear. Somehow, you’re able to find sleep again.

Wrapping paper - neatly undone or carelessly torn - sit in a pile on the floor. Various gifts sit stacked or folded in neat piles on the coffee table, organized by Zayne. There aren’t many gifts in all. Really, you both had most everything you could ever wish for.

But now it’s time for the final gift. You jump up from the couch with a smile. “I have one more gift. Lemme go grab it.”

He shoots you a look. “And why isn’t it under the tree?” he teases.

You wish that simple question didn’t pour gasoline into the firepit of anxiety in your stomach. You wave him off, covering up your uncertainty with playfulness. “It was too important to go under there. I’ll only be a second.”

He hums, but doesn’t say anything more about it, watching silently as you retreat back into the bedroom. You pull the present out from your nightstand drawer. Is it the most secure place to keep something? Well, there’s nothing else really in there; nothing you’d need on a daily basis, anyway. And Zayne would never go in here without your permission. So, you trusted it more than your other idea of hiding it in your jacket pocket.

You hold the box tightly to your chest. God, please, please, please, let this go well.

You almost want to curse Tara for convincing you to go through with this. If the news ends up ruining Christmas and your relationship with Zayne, you’re going to unleash hellfire down on her.

With one last, steadying breath, you head back out to the living room.

Zayne is still waiting patiently, taking this opportunity to look at the cases of the games you got him. He sets them back down when you round the couch and sit down beside him once more. You hope he doesn’t notice your hands shaking when you pass it over.

The gift is small and thin, rectangular and lightweight, he turns it over to find where you’ve taped the decorative paper down to begin unwrapping it. You readjust to sit on your feet with your knees to your chest. Your body screams for you to hide, to escape all the possible outcomes of this situation you’ve forced yourself into. But you want to watch. You need to see his reaction.

He pauses in his unwrapping to look at you. “Are you alright?” he asks, frowning as he wraps a hand loosely around your ankle to rub soothing circles into the jutting bone there.

You force a smile you hope isn’t as strained as it feels and nod. “I’m okay,” you lie. You nod toward the present. “Open it.”

He doesn’t let go right away. You think for a moment he may not even continue. But, thankfully, he pulls away to finish removing the paper. He drops it onto the pile with the rest.

The box itself is a blank white. There are no marks, no labels, no details of any kind that could give away what lay inside.

You hug your legs to yourself. You can’t bear to look away from his face, not even to watch as he unfolds the tab at one end and slides the little stick out. It’s ultimately more rewarding, you think, to see the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. To see him lean forward as he flips the test over in order to read the results. To see the way his mouth falls open with a quiet breath.

He turns his whole body to face you. “You’re pregnant…?”

You nod shyly. “Are you upset?”

He sets the test on the table quickly, but as if it’s the most fragile thing in the world, before holding your face in both of his hands. “Why would I be upset?”

God, he looks at you so earnestly, so tenderly, you’re tearing up before you can stop yourself. Choking up over words that have suffocated you since you were hiding away in Tara’s bathroom.

“‘Cause we never talked about it before and-” A whimpering sob cuts through your words. You inhale shakily. “And we’re not even married or anything, and your job-”

“Hey, shhh.” He brushes away your tears with his thumbs. He leans forward to brush a soft kiss to your forehead, ducking down to stay close to you as he meets your eyes once more. “I have one last present for you, too,” he whispers. “Can I go get it?”

You sniffle and wipe your face with your sweater sleeve. You probably look like such a mess; you can’t seem to get the tears to stop now that they’ve started. “Why isn’t it under the tree?” you tease.

He smiles. “It was too special. Wait here, okay?”

You nod. He presses another kiss to your head before he gets up and disappears down the hall.

While he’s gone, you try to collect yourself. You lower your knees, wipe your eyes until they burn from the friction, and try to even your breathing. Right now, each breath comes in little hiccups, jittery and broken up and unproductive. You haven’t improved much by the time he gets back.

He sits down close to you, wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders to pull you even closer into his side. A small velveteen box rests in his hand. He offers it to you. “I didn’t expect to be giving it to you today,” he admits bashfully, resting his cheek against your head. “But I can’t think of a better time than right now.”

You don’t have to open it to know what’s inside. All the fear that suffocated you for the last couple weeks goes up in a puff of smoke. Instead, it’s like a soothing orb of light has taken its place, healing the burns left behind and filling you with immense happiness. You turn your body into his and wrap your arms tightly around him. He rubs his thumb methodically over your shoulder.

“Should we start talking about children now?” He kisses your head. “Assuming you agree to my proposal.”

A choked, relieved laugh jostles out from your chest. Your tears get on his shirt as you nod stupidly against him. “Of course I agree!” You pull away just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re really okay with this? You… want kids with me?”

He smiles warmly, openly, as if his parents have just called and he’s already given them the news of your engagement. “I couldn’t imagine a better partner to raise a family with.” He brushes the back of his fingers across your cheek, still holding the ring box. “Are you okay with it?” he asks softly, brows pinching together slightly and eyes sharpening. “We never did talk about it. Are you comfortable with carrying a child to term?”

“It’s scary,” you admit. “But… I want this. I want a family, with you.” Your smile feels sure and solid as you whisper, “I love you.”

The seriousness in his expression fades away, replaced with contented joy. This conversation isn’t over, not by a long shot. You know there are still so many things to ask about. Questions about your future together. But they can wait a few more hours.

He sets the ring aside, right next to the pregnancy test. Both hands free, he pulls you into a secure hug, head lowered to rest on your shoulder, cheek to cheek with you. He absolutely envelops you. All you can see, feel and hear is Zayne.

He presses a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck. It’s not feverish and seeking. It’s soft, reverent, grateful. It pours out every emotion that wells up inside of him that can’t seem to fully escape. “I love you, too,” he whispers back.

You slide a hand along his back until you can tangle your fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head. He releases a shuddering breath, heavy with the relief that this is real.

Struck with an idea, you drag your other hand from his back down his arm, gently coaxing him to let go of you. Even in his confusion, he does what you want, slipping his hand from around your body. You guide it to rest over your belly, holding it there with your own. He buries his face further into your neck with a shaky sigh. “How long have you known?”

“If I tell you, you’re going to go into Dr. Zayne mode,” you tease. You press a sweet kiss beside his ear where you can reach.

You feel the grin that curves his lips. “Alright,” he relents quietly. “I’ll stay in fiancé Zayne mode for a bit longer.”

You release his hair in favor of wrapping your arm around his upper back, squeezing him closer, as if such a thing is even possible with how you’re already holding one another. “I’d like that.”

He squeezes you gently in return. “Me, too.”

---

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13uswntimagines · 8 months ago

Text

Rainbowfish (Leah X Alessia X child!r)

Request: R calls Leah mom for the first time.

Part of the Big Emotions universe- find more here.

Warnings: none. Cute Kid Fic.

Author's note: TBH I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, and the ending is a bit short, but I wanted to get it out. Also, I know in the UK it's Mum and not Mom, but that's a plot point I want to explore later Lol. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Your bedtime story was very important business in the Russo-Williamson household.

It was the one part of your routine that never ever changed. The one part that you would refuse to sleep without (aside from a few weeks during the World Cup).

It was your absolute favorite part of the day, being cuddled into your Mama’s side with Squirt as she read you the book of the night. She did all the little voices and gently scratched your back. it never failed to send you straight to sleep. Most of the time you didn’t even make it through the book.

Alessia treasured it.

No matter how busy your days were, she made sure she got to read you your story. In the days with Manchester United, it had been the only time she really got to spend with you regularly. Things were better with Arsenal and since you had moved in with Leah, but your routine had stuck, and Leah respected that it was your special time with your mama.

“‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’ The little blue fish bubbled playfully, as he tucked the shiny scale among his blue ones,” Alessia read, watching as your tiny fingers traced the tiny shimmering scale on the blue fish on the page, made of a different material than the rest.

It was your favorite part of The Rainbow Fish.

His scales were different from the pages, so they shimmered in the fairy lights around your room.

“Is Leah Rainbow Fish?” You asked, running your fingers over the fish.

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled together, a crinkle forming between them (identical to the one you always got). “What do you mean bug?”

“Is that why people always stop her?” You glanced up at your mama, meeting eyes that were identical to your own. “So she give them a shiny scale,”

You wondered how she hid them all under her clothes. Maybe that was why people always wanted her and your mama to take their shirts off, to see their shimmery scales.

Alessia hummed, rubbing her hand through your messy curls. “Leah is kind of like a Rainbowfish, but instead of giving away scales, she reminds people that they’re special too,”

A little crease appeared between your eyebrows as you processed the thought, and you dragged your little finger from the Rainbow fish towards the larger fish on the page. “Is Leah my mommy like Rainbow fish has mommy?”

Alessia eased another curl from in front of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Do you want Leah to be your mommy?”

You nodded. “She does bath time, and plays with me, And never forgets the popcorn for movie night,��

“She does,” Alessia agreed, her lips turning into a fond smile.

“And she loves us,” You continued, meeting her eyes.

They shined in the fairy lights of your room, glimmering with an innocence that Alessia would protect until the day she died.

You mama hummed. “Very very much,”

“Then that means she’s mommy because she does all the mommy things,” You said, with a sense of finality, and understanding that was far beyond what Alessia thought a 2-and-a-half-year-old could understand.

“Hmm,” She paused, brushing a curl from in front of your eyes. Her and Leah had never fully discussed titles, but she could see that you were right. That the defender had slotted perfectly into the role. That Leah had earned it. “I think Leah would be happy with whatever you decide to call her,”

You nodded like it was a done deal. “Finish story now?”

Alessia swallowed, unable to stop the fond smile from curling across her lips. “Yeah bug, well finish the story,”

She would let you be the one to tell Leah about the discussion.

She was sure the defender would appreciate it more coming from you anyway.

******

“Come on bug, the sharks are this way,” Leah said softly, adjusting the ear defenders that accompanied you on most outings as you stared at the tank of Seahorses.

These were painted with tiger sharks, sea turtles, seahorses, and jellyfish, a perfect accomplishment to the atmosphere of the aquarium, and the reason Alessia had them made.

It was probably a toss-up between the aquarium and the zoo for your favorite one-on-one activities with Leah. The carefully selected outings that weren't too loud, or overstimulating that Leah could take you on to distract you while Alessia had an obligation you couldn’t accompany her on.

The seahorse tank was just inside the entrance to the building, small and lit with a variety of colorful LEDs. It never failed to catch your attention, and you could/would stand in front of it for hours if Leah let you, listening to her read off the information plaque several times.

She would usually let you, but she spotted a school group bustling through the coral-shaped entranceway. She didn’t fancy being shoved aside by a bunch of screaming schoolchildren, and she knew you wouldn’t either.

You didn’t enjoy crowds unless there was a barrier between you and them.

You dragged your eyes away from the tank to meet hers, your head tilting as you squeezed Squirt more tightly to you.“Turtle?”

“And the turtles,” Leah agreed, catching your hand. “We can’t go through without seeing Rocky, Bella, and Culver now can we,”

You nodded seriously at the names of your favorite turtles, holding her hand tightly as she guided you past the seahorses and to the next tank.

It was smaller, filled with 20 little fish milling about, their scales glinting off of the artificial light in the tank.

“Rainbow fish?” You asked, looking up at Leah for confirmation.

Leah squinted at the familiar plaque. “It says that these guys are Flame Angelfishes. They come from Hawaii, and they like to hang out on coral reefs,”

You frowned, turning back to the tanks as one of the smaller fish swam by.

You knew they weren’t called rainbowfishes, but you still asked Leah each time, hoping for a different answer.

“No rainbow fish?” You pouted, leaning closer to the tank, but not touching it.

You knew it was important not to bang on the glass so you didn’t scare the fish. They wouldn’t be your friend if you scared them.

“We can call it a rainbow fish,” Leah said, squatting down next to you. “I don’t think they’ll mind,”

You made a low sound, your fingers creeping their way past your lips.

“Hey, none of that,” She scolded gently, pulling your fingers from your mouth. “We don’t know where those little fingers have been,”

It was a bad habit her and your mama were fighting hard to break, how everything from your fingers to your shirt collars ended up in your mouth.

“Does rainbow fish give out his scales?” You asked, looking away from the tank to briefly meet her eyes.

“Hmm,” Leah hummed at the familiar question, glancing back at the little fish curiously swimming in front of you. “I think they would share their scales if one of their needed friends needed one,”

“Like you give out your scales?” You asked, your eyes never leaving the tank.

Leah frowned. “What do you mean bug?”

“You’re mama’s Rainbowfish,” You said earnestly, turning away from the fish to meet Leah’s eyes again.

“I’m your rainbow fish too,” She said with a very soft smile, running her hand through your messy curls.

You nodded, as though her words confirmed something for you. What, Leah wasn’t entirely sure.

Several fish swam by, and you watched in wonder as they did circles around each other, and Leah felt herself fall a little more in love with you.

In the beginning, she hadn’t been entirely sure how things would go when Alessia warned her that you two were a package deal. She always wanted kids, but she didn’t know if she was mother material now.

Then she met you, and you wrapped your little hand around her finger and she knew you had her hooked.

Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without you, or Alessia. She treasured getting to see your excitement and wonder at simple things, like fish swimming circles around a tank.

She would stand here all day if that’s what you wanted.

You did for a long second before you looked back up at her. “Turtles?”

She smiled down at you. “Yep, let’s go see the turtles,”

You looked back at the tank, waving to the fish.

One of the little fish swam across the face of the tank as though he was waving goodbye to you.

You waved back at him, and Leah refrained from telling you that he probably didn’t understand what bye-bye rainbow fish meant.

You took Leah’s hand and let her lead you deeper into the aquarium.

********

Leah could tell you were getting tired as you finally made it all the way through the shark tunnel. Your little legs were dragging, and your fingers kept trying to find their way past your lips with increasing frequency.

You had skipped your nap, and she knew you had a limited amount of time before you got grumpy, even if you were at one of your favorite places. It was always a balance of letting you experience the things you wanted and keeping you from getting overtired.

“How about we see the rays and then go get some lunch?” She asked you, wiggling your hand.

“Otay,” You mumbled, leaning into Leah and letting her pull you through the shark-shaped archway and into one of your favorite parts of the aquarium, the stingray touch tank.

“Hello miss Y/n!” The peppy blonde worker smiled widely at you as soon as you rounded the corner and sent a wave to Leah.

The two of you came here often enough that she knew you quite well.

You sent her a small wave, making sure Squirt didn’t slip from under your arm. “Ello Kara,”

“Do you want to feed the stingrays today?” She asked you, gesturing towards the touch tank that you always visited. “Rocky and Dibs are in a very friendly mood,”

She knew you well enough to know that there were days when you liked to pet the rays and ones when you just wanted to watch.

You perked up, nodding excitedly, turning to Leah and holding out your stuffed turtle. “Mommy, hold squirt so he no get wet?”

Leah blinked at you, making no move to take the turtle. “Say that again my darling?”

“You hold Squirt so I feed Rocky and Dibs?” You repeated, holding out the blue and green stuffed turtle.

Leah blinked again and squatted in front of you, bringing her hands up to cup your jaw.

“No bug, what did you call me?” She asked, her thumbs brushing your cheeks softly.

“Mommy,” You said, your eyebrows furrowing. “Mama said be ok cause you my Rainbow fish,”

Leah hummed.

Of course, you had talked it over with Alessia first. She would have been more surprised if you hadn’t.

“It’s very ok,” She assured you, swallowing away the lump in her throat, and pulling you close so she could kiss your forehead. “I’m your Mummy and your rainbow fish,”

You tolerated her lips against your hairline for a very long second before you pulled away, holding your turtle out for her. “Hold squirt so he no get wet?”

It amazed her how… casual you were about all of this. How you said it as if it just made sense. She swallowed down the swelling in her chest, knowing you wouldn’t react well if she started crying, even if the tears were happy.

“Sure, bug,” She smiled gently at you, taking the offered toy and holding him close as she released you. “Do you need help washing your hands?”

You shook your little head, turning back towards the blonde Stingray keeper. “No, Kara help me,”

She watched you as you toddled towards the sink, immediately talking to Kara about how the Rays were doing.

She would watch over you forever.

She was your Mum and your Rainbow fish.

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x reader #big emotions universe

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