#word I hope this will tide you over while I finish the rest! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewintersoldierdisaster · 27 days ago

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a/n: fic for #13 on the 13th! i love mat and squeaks so much and the fact that you guys love them so much too just makes my heart expand like the grinch’s 🤍 they’re my favorites to write for and i hope you guys enjoy this one! so much more mat and squeaks to come 🥰

word count: 6.4k

tw: mentions of past miscarriages, mentions of fertility issues, anxiety, mentions of vomiting, pregnancy and all that goes along with it

summary: you and mat have an early christmas gift for talia (and inadvertently, the rest of the family too)

It’s way too early in the morning, cold and dark outside when Mat finds you in the bathroom, head in the toilet while you vomit. He gathers back your hair in a fist and brushes the stray wisps off your forehead. Otherwise, he’s quiet, just providing support for you.

You finish with one last dry heave and he holds your hand while you get shakily to your feet, leaning your free hand on the countertop. He keeps a hand solid on your lower back while fishing out a miniature bag of oyster crackers from a drawer in the vanity and sliding the Listerine bottle closer to you.

One swish of mouthwash and a few oyster crackers later, you’re feeling better. Not even close to perfect or normal, but better.

Mat opens his arms for you to step in and lean your cheek against his shoulder. His arms wrap around your upper back and yours loop to rest at his lower back. He’s warm and smells like the bergamont and lime Aesop soap bar in your shower and Tide laundry detergent, a little like animal crackers too, which is probably leftover from Talia waking up after he got home from Toronto the night before and making him come lay in her bed with her until she fell back asleep. Of course, Mat had fallen asleep in the too-small bed, the both of them snoring quietly when you left your bed to go find him.

“Lucky number thirteen,” he mumbles against the top of your head. His breath ruffles your hair and you snuggle closer to his chest. The worn fabric of his undershirt is soft against your cheek.

“And three days,” you reply, stomach flipping slightly. Whether it’s nausea or anxiety, you’re not sure. Likely a healthy combination of both.

“And three days,” Mat agrees. His hands rub circles over your back and you’re soothed enough that you could go back to sleep. Too bad you have a million things to do today, things to check off your list with only three days to go before Christmas.

“Maybe we should wait,” you say after a beat of comfortable silence. “Maybe we should wait for fourteen or fifteen weeks. It’s longer.”

It’s safer, you think but don’t say.

Thirteen weeks is longer than any of your past pregnancies too, other than Talia’s. But it still feels so early and so fragile. You’re trying so hard to be excited, and you are, but that excitement is tamped down by fear and anxiety.

Mat kisses the crown of your head. “Doctor said everything looked really good last week. And you’ve still got morning sickness, which you —“ He cuts himself off, but you know what he was going to say.

‘Which you didn’t with the last few’ - your symptoms had disappeared so early and you thought it was a blessing, that you weren’t vomiting every morning, that you weren’t as tired as you’d been with Talia. Turned out to be nightmare after nightmare.

But you nod against his chest, feeling grateful for the morning sickness that’s shown no sign of stopping, as long as it means a happy, healthy baby in just over six months. June can’t come soon enough.

“We can wait to tell T,” Mat continues, picking up as if he hadn’t stopped mid-sentence. “If you want. But Doctor Harmon said we were okay to start telling people and I think she’ll really like that Christmas present.”

At a delightfully hilarious five and a half, Talia’s been asking about a sibling pretty consistently for two or so years now. Especially after hanging around the team and seeing all the siblings in action. You know she’ll be thrilled for a baby brother or sister and that’s what worries you a little. If it goes badly, if it ends like the others, it’s not just yours and Mat’s heartbreak. It’s Talia’s too.

And you can handle your heartbreak, but you never want Talia to experience that.

“I can hear you thinking,” Mat chuckles, squeezing you closer to his chest. “I know you’re worried, I am too. But how can we let that perfectly wrapped present go to waste?”

His joke lands and you giggle, knowing the box hidden under your bed with Talia’s gift is wrapped with messy corners and too much tape, a Mat Barzal specialty. He’d insisted on wrapping the gift, “contributing to the process” since you were keeping the real present all bubble wrapped and safe in your womb.

“Okay, yes, yeah,” you repeat a few times, convincing yourself. “Let’s tell T and just…just enjoy the ride.”

Just enjoying the ride is something you’d worked really hard on in therapy the last few years, some days easier than others - the pile of ratty Moleskine journals hidden away in your closet full of your every thought from the past five years, good and bad. The newest one, coincidentally started on the day you’d gotten a positive pregnancy test, is already a quarter full of your up and down thoughts and scribbles.

“That’s my girl,” Mat’s hands cup your cheeks, tilting your face up so he can kiss you, even as you protest, reminding him of your vomit breath. He laughs as he kisses you anyway, mumbling, “minty,” against your mouth.

You shake your head at him, smiling. He squeezes your cheek and guides you back into the bedroom, flipping the light switch off. You settle on the bed, dragging a pillow into your lap and watch Mat start to get dressed even though it’s so early.

“I’ve got practice at 9:30,” he says, voice muffled as he pulls his undershirt over his head. You unashamedly watch his stomach muscles work, ogling his chest even though your libido is temporarily dead and buried. “We can wake T up and tell her before I go or we can do it when I get back.”

“When are you getting back?” You wrap a blanket around your shoulders, smothering a yawn in the fabric. A wave of exhaustion hits and you blink slowly. It’s too early for you to be awake on a normal day, but the extra pregnancy hormones have you both exhausted and unable to sleep. There’s no chance you’ll go back to bed, not when you have to finish getting the house ready for your Christmas guests.

Mat shrugs. “Depends. But probably around eleven, eleven thirty?”

He rummages through his drawers for a pair of sweats and you remind him that he has to go and pick up both sets of parents and Liana from the airport in the afternoon. “So maybe we should tell her now?” You chew at your thumbnail.

Fully dressed in casual athleisure for his drive to the practice rink, Mat nods and reaches over to pull your thumb away from your mouth. You scowl at him.

“I’ll go wake her up,” he laughs. “Even though she definitely could use some more sleep.”

You wave him off. “She’ll nap when you’re gone,” you reply. “Unless, of course, she wants to help me get the house ready.”

Mat raises an eyebrow at you, laughs, and heads down to Talia’s room. You grin at his retreating back and get up to rinse your mouth with Listerine again and give your teeth a good brush. You always feel gross after vomiting. Once you feel fresher and more awake, you change out of your sweaty pajamas and into a Christmas-appropriate dark green waffle knit lounge set. You feel much more human with real clothes on and you pat your stomach, a faint outward curve already forming between your hipbones.

This pregnancy is showing quicker than all the others, physical proof that you’re holding onto for your sanity.

“Mommy,” Talia’s whine precedes her and you smile automatically when you see Mat come back into your room with Talia curled up in his arms. Her face is buried in his neck and her dark curls are wild with bedhead. One leg of her cartoon Grinch patterned pajama bottoms is pushed halfway up her skinny calf and her arms are locked around Mat’s neck, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, bunching it between his shoulders.

“Hi, baby,” you reply quietly, reaching out your arms for her. Mat transfers her to your lap and she curls up like a little cat, her cheek squished against your breast. “Daddy woke you up, huh?”

You smooth back her hair, the soft scent of her watermelon L’Oreal Kids shampoo wafting up to your nose. The French braid you’d tied her hair into last night is a wreck and you know she’ll complain when you have to brush out the knots later. But right now she’s so soft and sweet with sleep, seeming much younger than her five and a half years. You trace the tip of your finger over the slope of her nose and she wrinkles it at your touch, face relaxing again almost instantly.

“He said I had a s’prise,” she mumbles, blinking up at you. “But Christmas isn’t today.”

“Nope,” you agree and the mattress dips when Mat sits down next to you. “Christmas is in three days, but Daddy and I do have a gift for you early.”

That perks her right up, predictably. Talia blinks like a little meerkat, scrambling to sit up on your lap. She looks over at Mat, who’s grinning widely, and then back up at you.

“A gift before Christmas?” She asks, her ‘s’ whistling a little from the space left behind from the front baby tooth she’d lost a few days ago. “How come?”

Mat pulls the box out from under the bed and places it on Talia’s lap. “Because it’s a special gift and we wanted to give it to you early, since you’ve been such an awesome kid all year,” Mat says and you can hear the slight tremble in his voice. It reminds you that all of your fertility issues and miscarriages weren’t just hard on you, they were hard on Mat and he was a rock throughout everything, no matter what you threw at him emotionally. You reach out and squeeze his knee, giving him a small smile. He returns it with a wink.

Talia pokes her fingers into the corner of the wrapping paper, her sparkly nail polish catching in the light, and gives Mat an impish little smile. “Daddy wrapped this,” she says. “The corners are all wrinkly.”

You laugh at the roast and Mat’s jaw drops in fake outrage.

“They are not!” He yelps, reaching out to tickle Talia’s sides. She shrieks and wiggles, laughter echoing around the room.

“No! No, Daddy! Stop tickling!” She shrieks between gasping laughter and Mat relents, laughing too as he leans back into his spot. Talia’s hair is even messier, her cheeks flushed from laughter, and you can’t wait to have another one running around the house. A lump of emotion clogs your throat.

“I don’t like tickling,” she grumbles adorably and Mat apologies. Talia forgives him and pulls at the paper on her gift again. “Can I open now?”

You and Mat both nod and Talia wastes no time in ripping into the paper. Scraps go flying and Mat gathers them up, crumpling the paper in a ball that he tosses back and forth between his hands. Talia stops briefly when she sees the gift box and then tosses the lid off the side of the bed. You roll your eyes slightly at her dramatics, but then she’s pulling the sweater out of its tissue paper and laying it over your legs.

“What’s it say?” She cocks her head. Immediately, she recognizes the first word, “big,” and then starts sounding out the next, “si-sis-sister?”

You’re holding your breath while she sounds it out, your heart pounding when she wrinkles her nose and repeats, “big sister?”

Talia looks at you and then Mat, frowning while the wheels turn in her head. It takes a second and she repeats, “big sister? Me?” pointing at herself. Her eyebrows lift on her forehead.

Mat nods and you grin at her, “you’re going to be a big sister, love bug.”

It’s a surprise when Talia bursts into loud, hiccuping sobs and you’re caught unprepared. Tears stream down her face and she chokes for air, holding the sweater in a death grip, turning her knuckles white. Mat looks at you, wide-eyed and terrified of Talia’s reaction, until she wails, “I always wanted a baby!”

“Oh,” you cuddle her close, stroking her hair and letting her cry and snot all over your shirt. “Oh, my baby, I know. You’re overwhelmed. It’s okay, shhh, it’s okay.”

“I get a baby?” She asks and you nod even though she can’t see you. Tears well up in your eyes.

Mat’s hand rubs circles on her back and he’s whispering quietly to her, inaudible over the blood rushing in your ears.

“You’re going to have a sibling, love bug,” you say into her hair, choking on your own overwhelming emotion. “It’s really big news, right?”

Talia nods against you and you hear her blow her nose against your shirt. It’s gross, but you don’t mind.

She keeps wailing, crying happy tears and mumbling about how she always wanted a baby sibling like all of her friends. It cracks your heart and mends it all at once, knowing how long she’s waited and how happy she is to be finally getting a built-in best friend.

Tears drip down your cheeks and you feel Mat’s hand on your back, pulling you close. You and Talia are folded into Mat’s embrace, his palms cupping each of your heads to keep you close. Her cries settle down to a few sniffles and eventually she pulls back from your chest to look up at you.

Her big hazel eyes, Mat’s eyes, are red rimmed and still watery. You push damp strands of hair off her cheeks and kiss her forehead.

“I’m so happy, Mommy,” she says simply, lunging to throw her arms around your neck and squeeze you in a hug.

“I’m so happy too, TB,” you reply, the easiest and most honest words you’ve ever said.

Mat, never one to be left out, laughs and chimes in, “I bet you’re not as happy as me.” He kisses the top of Talia’s head, ruffling her hair. You can see a suspiciously wet shine to his eyes.

Talia leans from your lap to Mat’s, hugging his neck to tight it almost looks painful. “Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head. “I’m the happiest. I’m the happiest cause it’s my baby.”

“Hey,” you tickle her sides lightly, “it’s mine and Daddy’s baby too.”

She shrugs and grabs for her sweater again, yanking it on over her head. She pushes her hair out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, looking for all the world like an electrocuted mad scientist. “I’m gonna wear this forever and tell everyone I’m a big sister like Reese and Winnie,” she announces proudly, a huge missing-toothed smile splitting her face.

Her smile melts your heart and she starts rolling around on the bed, chanting “big sister, big sister,” to make you and Mat laugh.

You lean against Mat’s chest, his hands coming to rest on your stomach. He whispers in your ear, “I’m so glad we told her.”

“Me too,” you murmur back. Talia rolls back over to you and smooshes her face up against your stomach and Mat’s hands.

“My baby’s in there?” She asks and without waiting for an answer, kisses your stomach and says, “hi baby, I’m Talia. I’m your big sister and I love you.”

And that’s all it takes for your waterworks to start, tears flowing free and fast, to the point where Talia looks a little spooked and Mat has to shepard her downstairs for breakfast while you follow along a few minutes later, still sniffling and wiping at your eyes.

Mat serves you up a plate of pancakes, plain and no syrup to be easier on your stomach, and you kiss his cheek in return. He looks incredulous, “I make celebration pancakes and I only get a kiss on the cheek? Wow, Squeaks, wow.”

You roll your eyes at him and plant a dramatic, loud kiss on his lips, making Talia giggle over her own pancakes. There’s already a smudge of chocolate on her Big Sister sweater’s collar and you can’t help but smile.

Mat’s off to practice a little bit later and then it’s just you and Talia since school is already closed for the two-week break. She’s surprisingly clingy while you get the guest rooms ready for everyone, following at your heels with a handful of Calico Critters clutched in each palm.

She asks a million questions about the baby - when is it coming? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it gonna live in her room? Can we name it Sparky? (Late June, it’s going to be a surprise just like she was, it will live first in yours and Mat’s room and then will get its own room, and no. Definitely not.)

You flip through the pile of Christmas cards that have gone unopened for a few days, enjoying looking through the family pictures sent by all the wives and girlfriends you’ve made friends with throughout the years. A particularly cute family photo of Matthew Tkachuk, his wife, and their son makes you smile. Talia climbs up on a stool to look at the cards with you, pointing out each player that she knows and recognizes.

(“Mommy, did we send a card of me?” “Yes, baby, remember when you took a picture with us and Santa at Daddy’s work? We sent that one out.” “Oh, we should’ve sent the picture of me and Minnie at Disney ‘cause I looked real cute in that, Nana said so.”)

At some point, Talia dumps the Calico Critters back in their designated box and picks up her Bitty Baby, carrying it around and hugging it tightly. The sight makes you wobbly, praying silently that this is the baby that stays.

Mat comes home from practice, wet hair shoved under his Stadium Series beanie, and barely drops his keys before he’s swooping Talia up into his arms and blowing raspberries on her cheeks. He’s got a giddy energy that isn’t just from a good practice.

“Big sister, ready to head to the airport in a little bit?” He asks, gamely accepting the minor blow to the head from a plastic Bitty Baby leg.

“Yes!” Talia shouts. “Let’s go now!”

You chime in, “you’d be so early! There’s still about two hours until the planes land. That’s four episodes of Bluey,” you add, anticipating Talia’s next question.

She frowns, but shrugs and tells Mat, “Mommy said we can’t name my baby Sparky. I like Sparky.”

Mat grins at you and winks. To Talia, he says, “how about we work on it? There’s a long time to come up with a good name.”

You know Talia’s likely not going to give up on Sparky, but over the next hour she offers up Princess Jasmine, Tweety Bird, and Bingo as alternatives. Every time she refers to it as “my baby” though, you feel like you could cry again. Mat was right, telling her was a really good idea.

Until it comes time for them to leave for the airport and you have to tell her, gently but firmly, not to spill the beans. You zip up her jacket, hiding the words on the sweater she still refuses to take off. She’d even refused the option to put another sweater over it. This kid.

“But I wanna tell ‘em,” she whines, batting at the hat you try to pull over her head.

“We will tell everyone,” you assure her, winning the battle. The knit cap is snug over her ears, flattening her dark hair against her forehead. She looks adorably grumpy, a miniature replica of Mat. “But Mommy and Daddy want to surprise them with a Christmas present, okay? It’s our secret. Can you promise?”

Talia hums and bounces from foot to foot, considering. You cross your fingers that she gets it.

“I guess,” she relents, grabbing up a Princess Jasmine doll in one hand and an Aladdin doll in the other. Bitty Baby has been relegated to her crib for a nap that’s lasted more than an hour and you’re nearly jealous of a baby doll.

Mat appears in the front hall with his car keys jangling and a grin on his face. “Ready to go, TB?”

She bounces around, nodding and chanting “yes yes yes” in response to Mat’s question.

You giggle and pat her on the butt. “Save that energy for the game tomorrow,” you tease, getting to your feet and holding the door open. It’s starting to flurry a bit, the light flakes swirling in the air prettily. Mat kisses you quickly on his way out, nudging Talia between the shoulder blades to get her moving.

“Bye, Mommy!” She shouts, waving over her shoulder. “Bye, Baby Sparky!”

You wave at them, closing the door just after watching Mat swing Talia around before opening the car door for her to climb inside.

By some Christmas miracle, all three incoming flights - your parents from North Carolina, Mat’s parents from Vancouver, and Liana from London - were scheduled to land within ten minutes of each other, so Mat only had to make one trip to LaGuardia.

He glides the Defender easily into an open spot at the Arrivals curb, praying that the trip from baggage claim to the car doesn’t take everyone that long.

“Remember,” he turns around in his seat, lowering the volume on the Disney Princess medley soundtrack Talia had insisted on, “Baby Sparky is a secret. So don’t tell everyone okay?”

“Okay, but what if I just told LeeLee?” She says, not looking at Mat, but playing with her dolls. “And then you and Mommy can tell everyone else.”

“No,” Mat laughs, despite himself. “You can’t tell LeeLee. Don’t say anything, okay, Tals?”

Talia shrugs and agrees. “Okay, I won’t say anythin’ about Baby Sparky.”

Mat reaches his hand out for a high five and Talia slaps his palm enthusiastically. She makes Mat turn the music back up while they wait and sings happily along to ‘Part of Your World’ until Mat’s phone vibrates with a text and he grins.

“Take a look out the window, T,” he says, pointing towards the airport. “We’ve got some visitors.”

Talia shrieks happily, kicking her legs and waving wildly at her grandparents and aunt as the five of them come into sight. Liana waves wildly back, making a silly face for good measure.

Mat gets out of the car to help with the luggage, accepting a hug and kiss from both moms. Liana punches his arm and then gives him a one-armed hug before helping him with the luggage at the trunk. They both wave off the parents for their help and gesture for them to get in the car.

“Hi Nana and hi Pop and hi Grandma and hi Grandpa,” Talia chirps excitedly as they all get in the car, in one breath in the way only little kids can manage. She tilts her cheek up to get kisses from her grandmothers as they climb into the third row of the car.

“Hi Talia,” Nadia grins, tweaking her cheek.

“Hi, sweetie,” your mom replies, cupping Talia’s chin between her thumb and index finger. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Hey, TB,” Liana calls from the back of the car, hoisting her suitcase into the trunk. “No hellos for your favorite aunt?”

Talia wiggles around in her booster seat to wave at Liana. “LeeLee! Did you know I’m gonna be a big sister?” She shouts the question and Mat freezes.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly, remaining extremely still as all five family members turn to look at him. He gives his mother an awkward grin. All three women are aware of the issues you’ve had in the past, he knows. Liana especially since you’d confided everything in her during her visits and on multiple phone calls. When you couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to Mat, he was just grateful that you had Liana at least to confide in.

“Mat?” Nadia prods him for a response.

“Yeah!” Talia continues, oblivious. “Mommy said we can’t name the baby Sparky, but I wanna call it Sparky anyway.”

“Oh my god!” Liana yelps, reaching out to shake Mat’s arm. “Seriously?” She does a little dance in place.

Mat nods, laughing a little. “Yeah, seriously. We told T this morning, but,” he shoots the kindergartener a playful glare, “she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet.”

Talia’s still oblivious, chattering happily to her grandfathers, both of whom have huge grins on their faces. The moms are wiping away tears in the third row, reaching over into the trunk to hug Mat awkwardly.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you guys,” your mom sobs, overwhelmed.

Mat accepts the huge hug Liana forces on him and finishes getting the bags in the trunk, the honking already starting from other cars waiting at the curb.

Once everyone’s in the car, Liana wedged in the middle seat and already starting to entertain Talia, Mat lowers the music and whistles to get attention on him.

“Look, T wasn’t supposed to tell you guys about the baby,” he says, easing out into traffic. “We wanted to do something special on Christmas, so if you could all pretend that you know nothing, that would be very helpful.”

Your mom sighs from the third row. “It’s going to be so hard to pretend,” she tells Nadia, who agrees. They’d both been discussing a baby shower, which Mat definitely thinks is a little premature, but he can’t blame them for being excited. He’s beyond happy himself.

“I get that,” he replies. “I really do. But remember, I’ve got a fragile, hormonal pregnant wife and she really wanted to surprise you all. Please play along and ignore Talia.”

“Hey!” Talia pipes up, abandoning her doll to Liana’s lap. “It’s mean to ignore, Daddy!”

Mat catches her eye in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, TB. But you did promise Mommy not to mention the baby and here we are.”

Talia squints at him, scrunching her face up and making Liana laugh at the expression. She pouts and kicks at the back of Mat’s seat. “I was excited, Daddy! I was so excited I cried, ‘member?” She grumbles.

Liana tugs at one of her dark curls. “Yeah, she couldn’t help herself, Mat,” she teases. “We’ll all be on our best behavior, promise.”

There’s no doubt in Mat’s mind that the five adults in the car will absolutely ruin the surprise the second they get home, but he crosses his fingers and hopes anyway.

Traffic is light, surprisingly, and you’re waiting at the door when Mat pulls into the driveway less than two hours after he left. You wave as everyone piles out of the car, catching Talia in your arms when she runs up to you.

“Mommy! LeeLee said she brought me sou-soubeniers?” She yelps.

“Souvenirs,” you correct gently, helping her out of her jacket and frowning when you see the sweater you’d forgotten she was wearing. “Go wash your hands, baby.”

Talia scampers off and you hope that buys you a little time to get her changed before everyone sees.

Your parents and in-laws parade into the house, all four of them giving you extra tight hugs and kisses on the cheek. Your dad murmurs that it’s good to see you and Mike gives you a wide smile, hugging you for a moment longer than usual.

Nadia cups your cheeks in her hands and just looks at you for a few seconds before shaking her head and pulling you back in for a second hug. Strange.

Something prickles at the back of your neck and when your mom greets you with watery eyes, you know exactly what happened.

Liana shoots you a delighted smirk, wrapping one arm around you in a hug as she passes. “Merry Christmas,” she beams, kissing your cheek.

Mat is last, dragging suitcases behind him and wearing a sheepish expression. You hold the door open for him and deadpan, “blabbermouth junior told everyone, didn’t she?”

“Literally the second they got in the car,” Mat admits. To his credit, he doesn’t try and lie.

“I should’ve known,” you laugh, following him into the house. Your mom already has Talia on her hip, Big Sister sweater proudly front and center as she demonstrates to the grandparents that she can read the words. They all look up guiltily at you and you just laugh more. “Spoilsport ruined the news,” you say, flattening your hand on your stomach, “but Baby Barzal should be here in June. God willing.”

The sudden cheer overwhelms you and gets you teary eyed again before you’re enveloped in a hug that nearly smothers you. Mat’s grinning at you from the safety of the fridge, until he gets accosted by the moms. He pats them on the back, laughing.

After the excitement of the news, you fall into your usual visit routine - changing out of airplane clothes and placing an order from the Italian place that everyone loves before settling into the den to catch up.

“I was going to give you guys these on Christmas,” you start the sentence before you disappear upstairs and return with three boxes in your arms. “But might as well do it now.”

Talia whips her head around, abandoning the bag of pretzels she’d dug out of the pantry and is sharing with your dad and Mike. “More presents? For me?” She asks, clambering over the arm of the couch to fall into Nadia’s lap and poke at the wrapped gift. “Oh, Mommy wrapped this. It’s so pretty. It event has a ribbon,” she chirps, stroking the velvet bow loops.

“Ooh,” Liana laughs at Mat, “burned by your own kid.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Mat rolls his eyes at his sister and when he’s sure Talia’s distracted, flips her off.

“Behave,” Nadia chastises, tone firm even though she’s smiling. Talia’s already pulling the paper away from the box in her lap and Nadia lets her continue.

You curl up against Mat’s side and watch everyone open their gifts - Polaroid shaped Christmas ornaments with the baby’s sonogram in the little photo spot, Coming Soon scrawled in cursive over the bottom of it.

It would’ve been nice to surprise everyone on Christmas morning, but there’s something even nicer about doing it now. With everyone relaxed and excited and able to really enjoy the moment without the chaos of presents and breakfast and stockings.

“Wait?” Talia squints at the sonogram. She pokes her finger against the black and white image. “Is that my baby?”

“Mhm,” you hum watching your mom explain exactly which blurry blob is the baby. “That’s the first ever picture of the baby.”

“Do I have a picture like that?” She asks, appropriating Nadia and Mike’s ornament for herself and lying across their laps while she studies the image.

Mat nods. “Tons of them,” he replies. “We can show you later, if you want.”

She hums distractedly and you let the grandparents take over for a bit, spoiling her and distracting her while you relax against Mat’s side, his hand snaking down to rest on your stomach under your shirt. His palm is warm and dry and his fingers draw absent shapes against your skin. He turns the fireplace on from his phone and the room gets cozier, full of noise and laughter and joy.

It’s the best start to Christmas week that you could’ve ever imagined.

And it turns out that everyone knowing about the baby early is a blessing in disguise, because your mom and Nadia don’t let you do a single thing the next day. They get breakfast ready for everyone and the dads get the sidewalks and cars clean from the few inches of snow that had fallen over night.

You try to help, but are shooed away to the couch to rest. Liana and Talia join you intermittently. Your baby curls up on your lap with her Bitty Baby, listening as Liana fills you in on her love life in code that goes over Talia’s head.

Mat’s gone most of the day for morning skate and is back for his pre-game nap before disappearing again around 3:30.

Talia insists on wearing her Big Sister sweater again, but the combined powers of Liana and your mom work to get her to put an Islanders jersey over it for the game. The adults are decked out in gear too and you go for comfort over style in an oversized henley and vest with leggings. Your nod to team spirit is your custom Islander Nikes.

Since the whole family is there and it’s the last game before the holiday break, Mat sprung for a suite and you’re grateful for it because you can relax and not have to worry about Talia slipping away.

Periodically, the other girls pop in to join you and as much as you try to keep her distracted, Talia announces your news to everyone that stops in, chirping, “I’m gonna be a big sister!” with a big, chocolate smudged grin and a few bunny hops.

You’ve never been excitedly screamed at and hugged in your entire life, a permanent grin making your face hurt by the time the second is halfway done.

Mat finishes the game with a trip to the penalty box, a goal, two assist, and the team wins. Maxine Nightingale fills the arena and Talia shimmies along to the chorus, cheering for Mat as he’s announced as the first star and skates over to chat with Shannon.

“Congrats on the win,” Shannon grins and Talia hangs over the glass, waving at Mat. You hold the back of her jersey in a tight fist, ignoring the way your stomach swoops with anxiety every time she lunges forward.

“Thanks, Shannon,” Mat’s face is larger than life on the screen and his smile is megawatt. “Feels really good to get the two points at home.”

Shannon laughs and nods, “I bet! And with these two points and the Ranger loss last night, the Islanders are heading into the holiday break at the top of the Metro. Just another thing to celebrate, right?”

“Oh yeah!” Mat’s lips curl up in a cock smirk that has your dormant sex drive sparking slightly. “A lot to celebrate this year,” he looks up at the suites and you swear he makes eye contact with you, his smile growing more genuine. “Just really glad to get the win with my family here.”

“I’m sure they’re all waiting to start the holiday celebrations with you, Merry Christmas, Mat,” Shannon smiles and the interview ends with Mat wishing her the same and heading off down the tunnel.

“Bye, Daddy!!!” Talia shouts out, waving.

You snatch her back from the glass and she pouts at you briefly before skipping over to Liana to mooch some M&M’s off of her.

“Are we heading home before Mat or did you want to see him?” You ask, sitting down on one of the couches outside the suite. A yawn catches in the back of your throat and your mom brushes her hand over the top of your head. You lean into her touch like a cat, warmed by her affection.

“Let us take you home, baby,” she replies. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m okay,” you assure her, passing Liana a baby wipe from your bag so she can wipe the chocolate off of Talia’s face. “T likes to see Mat after the games, so we can all meet him out at the garage and split into the two cars.”

“I wanna see Daddy and Uncle Bo and Noah,” Talia calls out, wriggling away from Liana and the baby wipe she’s wielding.

“Jesus, stay still TB, you’ve got a chocolate five o’clock shadow,” Liana laughs.

Mat is waiting for you downstairs, immediately scooping Talia up and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “My good luck charms!” He grins, hair damp.

“Daddy, where’s Noah?” Talia drapes herself over Mat’s shoulder, looking around for her favorite defenseman. “I wanna show him my sweater.”

“You already showed Alexa,” you remind her. “She’ll

show Noah the picture you posed for. And remember, you’re going to see everyone at Aunt Syd and Uncle Matt’s Christmas Eve party tomorrow.”

Somehow you manage to get Talia in her car seat in Mat’s car, the rest of the Barzals going with Mat too and leaving you to drive home with your parents. Mat kisses your forehead before he gets into the driver’s seat of his car and tells you to be safe.

You nod and end up in the back seat of your own car when your dad insists on driving home. You’re grateful for it, honestly, slumping against the door and yawning. It’s been a long day and you’re definitely ready to head to bed.

“I’m so happy for you, baby,” your mom murmurs over the Christmas music playing on the radio. She has her arm extended behind her so she can hold your hand. “Make sure you take care of yourself and if you need me to come and help, say the word. Whatever you need, right, hon?” That last bit is directed at your dad and he nods in agreement, a man of few words.

“Thanks, mom,” you can’t help the waver to your voice. Quieter, you continue, “I’m scared.”

“Oh, my girl,” your mom turns around in her seat and gives you a soft smile. “It’s only natural, after everything you and Mat have been through. But I’m going to go light a candle tomorrow and you’re going to stay positive and in June you’ll have a beautiful new baby to love on.”

You nod and wipe at your eyes, your free hand splayed on your stomach. In your purse, your phone vibrates and you pull it out to find a text from Liana - a video of Talia in her car seat, singing the wrong lyrics to ‘All I Want for Christmas’ loudly and proudly. She’s totally off key, but she’s having the time of her life. Before the video ends, you can hear Mat in the background laughing and saying, “T, next year you can teach Baby Sparky the lyrics.”

Tears flood your eyes again and the reality continues to hit - this time next year you’ll have a second baby all geared up to celebrate their first Christmas.

You can’t wait.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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dancingbirdie · 1 year ago

Note

I saw you did a new submission for Astarion. Is it okay if I ask for another thing for Astarion who’s very submissive and whiny for your touch?

Hi anon! I hope I did your request justice. I was feeling a little angsty today and this is what came out. Feel free to submit another request if this didn't scratch your itch, so to speak.

As always, comments and reactions are appreciated.

xoxoxo

Bring Me Back

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings/Tags: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), slight hand/finger kink, body worship, mentions of blood & gore, trauma/trauma response, disassociation, fluff and angst and smut, p0rn with a little plot.

Summary: Astarion just needs some love and comfort from you after a particularly brutal fight.

*****

There was blood on his hands. Too much. Dried and crusted, saturating the wrinkles around his knuckles. He sat on the edge of the bed you were sharing, hands limp in his lap.

He’d killed so many today. You all had, but he more so than anyone else. It had been a vicious battle, the reality of which seemed to be sinking into his bones now.

“Astarion?” you ventured carefully. You were carrying in a water pitcher and basin you had pilfered from the cook’s quarters downstairs.

He didn’t seem to register your voice. You tried again, moving cautiously to kneel on the floor before him.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?” he responded, his glassy eyes finally sharpening enough to take you in. “Oh, apologies, darling. My mind… it must’ve wandered.”

“Are you feeling all right?” you probed in a low murmur.

“I feel…,” he trailed off, his head shifting to stare vacantly out the dingy window near the bedside. “Numb.”

“Numb?” you echoed.

“Mm. Disconnected, more like,” he amended distractedly.

“Hm, I see,” you replied, unsure of what more there was to say.

Certainly you could understand the feeling. And certainly it was justified, after the carnage you all had wrought today. No matter how noble the cause, things had still ended in a tide of blood and viscera.

You were at a loss for how to comfort him. But the rational part of your brain settled on addressing the most immediate problem before you. Namely, the blood on his hands.

“Astarion,” you soothed, waiting until he turned back to look down at you again. “I’d like to clean up your hands before we rest.”

He stared at you blankly. Then slowly, his gaze drifted down to his hands. He turned them over, palms up, studying them absently.

“Is that okay? Can I touch you?” you pressed.

You knew his displeasure in being touched without warning. You’d seen his reactions frequently enough, on the road with your other companions. Each clap on the shoulder from Gale. Each good-natured shove from Karlach. His response was subtle, but not lost on you. He would grimace and shrink away. Every time.

“Touch me?” he repeated now, brows upturned.

“Yes,” you nodded. “To clean your hands of the blood, love.”

He shuddered. You watched as his fingertips twitched. His bottom lip trembled.

“Please,” he uttered in a broken plea.

You nodded again and set to work. Gingerly, you lifted each hand, cradling it with reverence. You passed the rag soaked in tepid, rose-scented water over each digit, in between them. You swiped under each nail, over each knuckle, clearing his fingers of blood, one by one. You soothed over his palms, over the patchwork of calluses on the pads of fingers, over the delicate skin of the backside of his palms. He watched you in silence as you carried out your cleaning, mesmerized.

The basin was colored deep crimson by the time you finished. Grabbing a dry cloth, you patted his hands dry. You squeezed them both gently before moving to release them. You prepared to stand and get yourself ready for rest.

But Astarion stopped you. His hands, once limp while you were caring for him, suddenly clutched yours desperately. Your eyes whipped up to meet his in surprise. They were limned in tears that had yet to fall.

“Please,” he whispered in a desperate sort of voice. A whine, almost. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to make of his plea.

He plunged ahead at your reticence. “I can’t… I want to be here. In this moment. But I can’t find my way back,” he croaked.

His voice, so broken, so desolate, was rending your heart in two. It was more than you could bear.

“Touch me,” he begged. “Bring me back. Please.”

You nodded, never breaking eye contact, as you rose from your crouched position on the floor before him. Tears streamed silently down both of your faces. Neither of you made a move to wipe them away.

Slowly, carefully, you urged him to shift back on the bed as your legs parted to straddle him. Perched atop his lap, you threaded your fingers through his silvery locks. Pulled on them slightly. Tugged at them until he groaned.

His hands grasped your hip bones, hard enough that you were sure there would be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t mind. You would cherish them, those marks from your lover.

“Come back to me, love. Come back to me,” you whispered in between hot, open-mouthed kisses. Your tongues danced together, like old friends.

You nipped at the hollow place near his clavicle. You sucked on the skin where his neck met his shoulder. His needy, breathy whines only goaded you further. You hoped the fire that was igniting in your veins would transfer to his. If the way his hips were canting into you was any indication, you were both tinderboxes itching to be set ablaze.

“Be here. Be here, in this moment with me,” you crooned in his ear, rolling your hips into his. You were both still fully dressed, but your bodies crested and fell together in perfect timing. A practice performance for what was to come.

“Yes, yes,” Astarion keened, as you slipped a hand to brazenly rub the flat of your palm against his erection. The fabric of his breeches was strained to the point of stretching.

“I’m here,” he panted. “I’m here.”

“Good, stay with me, I want to taste you,” you whispered. “Come back to me, let me taste you.”

“Fuck, please,” he moaned, his head drooping onto your shoulder. He was so pliant in this moment, like putty in your hands.

“Lie back,” you ordered, nudging him backwards with your body. “Untie your breeches.”

“Yes,” he agreed, all too eager to follow your command. Chest heaving, he reclined further back onto the bed. His fingers quickly set to work on freeing himself from his leathers.

“That’s it, darling, yes,” you cooed, watching him bare himself before you. “Stay here with me. Watch me. Watch me keep you here.”

“Gods, yes, yes,” Astarion whined, lifting his head to witness you take him fully in your mouth.

“Fuck,” you heard him bark wantonly above you. Felt his hips cant himself deeper into your mouth, until your lips were meeting the base of him.

His dulcet whimpers and moans were music to your ears. As you worshiped him with your mouth. As you caressed him lovingly back into his body, back into this moment, back into this bed with you.

You could sense he was close to climax as his hands gripped your hair tighter and tighter. You swirled your tongue around him with greater fervor, teasing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Let me come in your mouth, please, darling, please,” he keened, hips bucking erratically against you.

Refusing to bring him down from this high with words, you met his eyes and nodded your assent, gripping his thighs tighter as if to say go on then, love.

And he did. He spilled himself down your throat in delicious pulses. You swallowed every bit, relishing his release as if it were your own.

With a soft pop of your lips, you released him. Licked him clean, before stretching out to lie on the bed beside him.

His chest was heaving as he recovered. You delicately traced the muscles of his abdomen as he came to. After a few moments, he lifted a hand to clasp your fingers. Stilled them with his own as they interlaced on his chest.

“Did you find your way back?” you whispered.

He turned his head to look at you. His lips upturned in a quiet, muted sort of smile.

“Thanks to you,” he returned quietly. “I’m here again. Here with you.”

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clubdionysus · 5 months ago

Text

TEASER [BD #61]

a/n: we've reached the uncharted territory of being caught on here! never thought i'd see the day!! chapter 61 isn't yet finished, but i'd like to give you a little something to tide you over---kofi subscribers will have already seen this (I do teasers and early access type things over there! (and on that note, kofi girlies, I'll have something for you tomorrow!)), but it will be new to most of you! hehe hopefully I shouldn't keep you waiting too long for the rest of the chapter x

wc: 1.4k (takes place midway through the chapter!)

Life dissolves with Jungkook. Days merge into one. Like a tablet in water, or stardust into the atmosphere, time just melts.

So does Jungkook, though. He sinks into the bliss with you. Crumbles. Collapses. Turns into a supernova like stars often do.

He lets himself merge into a shared identity with you. Is certain it isn’t normal of such a fledgling relationship. Doesn't care, regardless.

Days have rolled on by since the auction without much fuss. Deals have been finalised on winning bids, and Jungkook’s had meetings with realtors. Everything has happened with little thought. Life has just been accepted; new plans and opportunities integrated into the trajectory you’re on. No meteors to throw you off course nor cosmic calamities to falter your future.

Your name is on the interview list for Shinwon’s position, and Jungkook’s due to be accepting the keys for the building tomorrow. Everything is as it should be.

It’s terrifying, in a way.

You spent so many years fearing the rug being swept from beneath your feet, but with Jungkook’s help, carpets have been laid. They’re not budging.

And nor is he as he sits across from you, legs crossed, his chessboard keeping you apart. It’s a rarity to be on his bed not wrapped up in one another—but he’s almost as serious about chess as he is about you. Almost.

“You know what to do,” he grins, adamant that his crash course in the game was easy to follow. In reality, he’d moved a few pieces, said a few words, and promised with a smile that you’d be able to beat him.

His belief in you is sweet, but entirely misplaced. You’ve not made a single move without his gentle encouragement, most times resulting in you giving the match up on a silver platter.

The correct terminology evades you, and so do the rules. An app sits on your phone unused, a subscription running up a small fortune from a membership never used. It was set up back in the early days of knowing Jungkook. You swore one day you’d be able to beat him—but life got busy, and quite frankly, chess is not your chosen way to unwind.

But spending time with Jungkook is, and so you’ll take him in any capacity you can.

“Which one should I move?” You pout, utterly transfixed on the chess pieces. There’s a bewildered panic to your expression, brows furrowed over your glittery eyes, hand hovering to and fro over your side of the board.

You single in on the bishop. Look his way with hopeful, wide eyes. He shakes his head.

“Diagonals only,” he reminds of how bishops move, at which point you realise it’s blocked in by pawns. Your hand moves to one of them, and he shrugs. “I mean… you can.”

“But should I?”

“You wanna capture the king,” he says, reaching across to dictate your movements. He secures your grip on the pawn, and gently pushes it up a single square to free the bishop’s pathway. “Shift this one up, just one space. Clear the diagonal if you want to move the bishop.”

You do as he says, putting the pawn back in its original position so that you can be the one to place it. Slowly, you repeat his instructions, pushing the pawn up the board while Jungkook nods.

And then he grins in such a way that you just know you're about to curse him out.

He lifts his strategically placed knight. Knocks your freshly moved pawn. Claims the tile as his own.

“Rule number one,” He smirks, lip ring flipping in the corner of his pretty little mouth. “Never trust your opponent.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” you whine, looking at him with a faux sense of hurt and a very believable pout. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re supposed to help.”

“No moaning,” he dismisses your stropping, knowing he’s lost brownie points for his deception. Also knows he’ll earn your favour back soon enough, so whatever. “Now, what's your next move, baby? Go on.”

You study the board, and assess how different the opposing sides look.

This time, he’s going easy on you. Kind of. You’ve almost exclusively been guided by him for the last half an hour, over a string of short games, all of which have ended with your very quick and immediate defeat.

Jungkook is too competitive for his own good. Jimin never wants to play against him, ‘cause he knows he’ll lose, too.

This is an indulgence for Jungkook. He ought not to waste the opportunity—or worse yet, convince you to never play against him again.

He likes the idea of chess being an heirloom; the kind of skill he’ll teach his kids in the future. It’s integral to the very depths of his brain—how he works, and how his logical mind can jump and switch sometimes at the flick of a button—yet he rarely shares it with anyone else.

It’s only apt that you’d get free access.

Hovering over your now-free bishop, you narrow your eyes as you glance towards him.

He nods.

And so you move a pawn instead.

“I don’t trust you,” you tell him, because he told you not to. In a way, you are trusting him all while under the ruse of thinking he’s a bullshitter.

What you don’t realise is that you’ve just moved the very pawn that’s been protecting your king, and had been preventing Jungkook from getting an easy win.

“B,” he sighs, looking helplessly at the move you just made.

He couldn’t love you any more if he tried, but—fuck—he’ll never understand your brain. You're so smart most of the time, but every now and again your brain seems to melt.

“What?!”

He picks up his queen. Places it diagonally across from your exposed King. There’s nowhere for your King to go, other than in the direct line of his queen. He’s gone and fuckin’ done it again.

Check.

Mate.

Groaning, you realise what’s happening and flop down onto your back. Your brain is fried. There’s no way Jungkook actually enjoys this.

“Not again,” you whine, pretending to sob a little as you look up at Jungkook’s ceiling. It’s without birds these days, but there are a few rogue strips of tape that remind you of your history within these four walls.

“B,” Jungkook laughs, clambering around the board to flop down with you. His arm rests over your tummy as his face aligns with yours. Might not have any birds above you, but the way you melt into his touch is just as deadly as it was the first time. You’ll scorch a hole through his sheets with even the most innocent of encounters. His lips are a little pouty, smirk prevailing as he teases, “What did I tell you, huh? Protect your king.”

“I tried!” You insist, your over-dramatic, distressed expression far too cute for him to care about playing anymore. He enjoys chess, but he enjoys you more.

“You left him wide open for me to take!”

“You could have gone easy on me!”

“I was!” He defends with a laugh, adamant that he could have taken you out in, like, two moves if he really wanted. “I swear you didn’t listen to a single thing I told you—”

“I did! Listening to you is how you got that stupid pawn in the first place,” you huff, putting your hand against the bottom of his throat to stop him from getting any closer. He doesn’t deserve niceties in times like this.

He’d argue that the feeling of your sharp nails against your throat is incredibly nice.

He ignores your moaning. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Go on.”

“Strip chess.”

“Pervert.”

“For every move you make, I’ll take an item of clothing off,” he suggests with a glint in those starry eyes of his, ignoring your remark.

You assess the situation. Mentally make a checklist of his clothes. Sweats, a shirt, a sock on either foot, and underwear — that’s only five moves, but then again, Jungkook normally has your king trapped by that point.

“I think you’re just trying to get me naked.”

“I’m always trying to get you naked, B,” he shrugs into his sheets, before tearing himself away and getting back into position on the opposite side of the board. “So are you gonna make it a challenge or not?”

#bad decisions #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #fic teaser #bd teaser

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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

Text

You Kissed the Clown? Part 15 (CONCLUSION)

It's over. It's finished: the one-shot that turned into a 15 part mini-series. I have enjoyed this journey so much with you all. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and give me pointers on navigating Tumblr formatting. It's been fun.

Part 14 here, Masterlist here.

Word Count: 4,671

Damp clothes clutched to every crevasse of your body as you lay on the warm sand beneath the rising sun. You continued to laugh at yourself as you caught your breath upon the shore; the waves lapping at your toes as the tide continued to fall away into the sea.

You hoisted yourself up onto your elbows, gazing into the retreating form of Nezumi’s mouse-like figure head as it continued to vanish into the open ocean. A sigh escaped your lips as you checked over your completely soaked clothes and begun to feel overwhelmed with the coastal breeze against the weight of the material.

“Clearly, I didn’t think this through very well,” you thought to yourself, chastising your actions as the consequences now cling against your skin and weigh you down, “where did I put my satchel? Which tree was it again?”

You rose to a sitting position before attempting to bring yourself to your feet, under the weighted material. Brushing your damp hair from your face, you rose to your feet and began to search for the tree you placed your equipment from the Going Merry against as you rigged the explosive on Nezumi’s ship. The material of your skirts slapped against your thighs and calves, beginning to fall slightly at your hips under the weight; your tinkering tool-belt only offering a small amount of support to keep it upright against your waist.

Huffing out a breath again at your prior actions, you hoisted the bottom of the skirt into your hands; picking up a sprint on the dampened sands below your feet. As your feet staggered against the forever moving grit of the beach, you stumbled a little as you continued on towards the tree you left your equipment against.

The tree swayed within the breeze as your bag lay secure and waiting for your return. You sighed in relief and began to shed the many damp layers from your body, remaining in your undergarments, and draping them against one of the horizontal branches protruding from the tree. Squinting your eyes, you looked towards the yellow, rising sun and nodded your head at the indication of the time.

You huffed out a breath to collect yourself while bracing your arms against your chest to warm your ribs, whispering to yourself; “where did I put that talc rock again?”

You heard a loud explosion as if a large building had been toppled inland, your eyes widening at the reverberations. Your gaze drifted back to the road leading towards the town where you sprinted down after docking the Going Merry.

“I hope they’re alright,” you uttered in a small voice, allowing your thoughts to trail off into what would’ve happened should you had remained with your crew. Continuing to trail your arms over your torso, you began to contemplate whether it would be a wise choice to redress yourself over your semi-damp clothes or allow them to dry naturally in the breeze.

Given the indication of the explosion inland, you began to sift through your bag for something loose and appropriate; unaware of the approaching presence behind you.

“Where are you, Baby?” Buggy murmured franticly to himself from the small pillar of sand as he reached the coast; the peer off to the left. As his eyes met with the ship docked against it, his eyes bulged at the sight. He clutched his chest to catch his breath up with the rest of him, overexerting his body in its sprint from Arlong Park to the coastline.

“Marines,” he hissed in shock, maneuvering his gaze around the dunes in search for any indication you were alive and close by. From the corner of his eye, he spots a small flutter of material draped against a tree. “Your skirt?”, he thought to himself, his body propelled forward by his will; not allowing him to fully catch his breath against the trees surrounding him.

“Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead,” he repeated in his mind over and over again. The look from the swordsman and the expression on the cook’s face had no indication on why you had separated from them, leaving him with very little to work with in his constant state of overthought.

Heavy footsteps trailed against the sand, the weight shifting the coarse substance beneath his feet, prompting him to stumble clumsily over in his stride. Using his hands, knees and feet to drive him forward, limbs continually succumbing under the unstable sand from the dunes below, he spies your body rising from a hunched position; a towel clutched in your grasp.

“There she is. There’s my girl,” he cooed in his mind; reminiscent of the time he finally confessed his affections for you with Cabaji. Cheeks flushed from exhaustion, he became overwhelmed with relief as he raked his eyes over your body in search of affliction or injury. He then realised how exposed you were, eyes bulging for the second time in the span of five minutes.

You began to dab at your face with the plush towel you found within your satchel, sighing as the sand managed to be rid from your body since locating and using the talc-powder you made for Buggy a few days prior. You wrung your hair out over your right shoulder and watched the droplets fall onto the sand as you felt something warm falling over your shoulders. Flinching at the unknown presence, you began to panic and shrug at the material; only to find two strong arms circle around your shoulders and hold you against a warm torso.

“Easy, sweets,” a voice whispered against your left ear as you felt lips kiss your upper helix, “just trying to get you warm.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your voice managing to whisper a soft; “Buggy?”

“Here in the flesh,” he chuckled against your wet hair, moving his lips against your hairline, “with all my parts accounted for.”

You turned around in his arms to face him, gaze trailing from his mustard-coloured cravat hanging loosely from his throat; noting no lines indicating a prior severance of his head from atop his shoulders. Your eyes trailed up to meet with the blue-green hues you had come to adore, laying half-lidded behind his large, red nose.

He placed his gloved hands atop your shoulders as he bore his gaze down against your own irises. Reaching his left hand up to your hair, he flicked the damp ends away from your face and righthand side of your neck to trail down the back of his camel-coloured jacket, away from your face.

“How long do we have?” he asked, flittering his gaze between your two eyes and triangulating his gaze down to meet with your parted lips, “I just want to hold you one last time before you go.”

You furrowed your brows and shook your head slightly; “Buggy-.”

“-I just want you-,” he cut you off, bringing his gloved right hand to smooth over the back of your redrying hair, “-for as long as I can before you go back to them.”

“Buggy-,” you said a little more firmly, hoping to break him away from his intrusive thoughts and dialogue to inform him of your choice. You were met with no such hope of explanation before he stooped his neck low to meet your face.

Without allowing you to complete your sentence, your lips were met with the red-tint of the clown you so adored, noting his eyes immediately closed upon impact with a subtle glisten of a whispering tear at the corner of his eyes as he held you in his arms.

His kiss was soft, loving: gentle. All of those things you were not anticipating as he laid his desires out to you a few days prior. You began slowly closing your eyes and relaxing in his arms, lacing your hands around his waist; dragging slightly from his ribs before they settled around his back. You felt his breath hitch as he melted into your touch, a soft whimper escaping his lips as you held him against yourself. Pressing open mouthed kisses against his lips, you began to sooth him by rubbing soft circles against his lower back with your hands in reassurance.

“Please,” he whispered against your lips as he trailed his gloved hand over your hair to rest on either side of your cheeks, “please stay with me.” He whimpered a small noise from between his lips as his grasps and kisses became desperate; trying to pull you against him with more force to brace his body with yours: “I can’t live without you.”

His voice was muffled against your lips, but you felt his sob all the same. You began to giggle at his words against his mouth, noting he stiffened against you at your reaction. He broke from your lips and bore a frown at you, his eyes glaring deeply into your own at your reaction.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he whispered, trailing his right hand down to grasp your chin, pulling your gaze up to meet his, “I’m not going for comedy right now, honey.”

Although his ferocity was laced with subtle sarcasm, you couldn’t help but find his words humorous, another giggle erupting from within your chest and halting in your mouth. Your eyes softened, a broad smile appearing upon your freshly red-tinted lips under the earlier ministrations.

“Buggy-,” you began, unlacing your right, bandage-wrapped hand from his waist and bringing the semi-damp material up to rest on his cheek, “-I’m not going with the Straw-Hat crew. I’m going with you.”

You traced his stubble-adorned cheek with your hand, noting the way his expression moved from sorrowful, to enraged to settling on complete shock. Silence fell between the two of you, the genius jester’s jaw falling slack as he failed to grasp the threshold-concept of your confession within his mind. He dropped his hands from your chin and cheek to fall again to your shoulders as his eyes glazed over, bulging slightly at the sockets as he processed the words you had spoken. You took this moment to study him; his eyes having a small trail of fallen tears against his painted cheeks, partially dried in the sea air.

“W-what?” he stuttered out, his eyes then darting back from their overthinking lapse and falling back to your own. You giggled and brought your left hand up to his right cheek and soothed them with gentle movements to not disturb his paint, the navy stubble prickling the skin against your palms.

“You, Buggy,” you uttered, brushing your nose lightly against his own, affectionately; “I chose you.”

His eyes continued to flitter between yours as he attempted to pass through the threshold of understanding the words you were speaking, as if the concept and words coming from your lips were completely foreign to him. “Y-you what-?” he stuttered again, searching your eyes for any hint of dishonestly; to which he found none.

“-If you’ll have me, of course,” you giggled, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips before adding “I’m not sure what use a tinkerer would be in something as eccentric as a-.”

Your words were halted as the Clown-Captain laced his hands below your arms and hoisted you upwards, his lips once again finding your own as he spun you within the air, circling you as he laughed against your lips in pure joy. Lacing your own hands around his neck, you allowed yourself to be twirled within his arms. The smile he held against your lips was contagious, prompting a large smile to catch against your own lips.

The taste of the sea, the feel of his arms effortlessly lifting your body as he twirled you completely overwhelmed your heart as you experienced the bittersweet union with him, dampened only by the sorrow of removing yourself from the Straw-Hat crew. The sorrow was short lived as he brought his lips away from your own and triumphantly declared: “You chose me!” with a roar of infectious laughter following.

As he placed you down, he immediately cowered as a large, booming explosion resounded throughout the ocean. Your eyes both sprung to the sea to meet with a large, tan cloud; littered with golden glitter and a slightly red-hue. The profile of the Straw-Hat’s Jolly Roger thrust against the tan smoke, an indication of your prior loyalty within the skull-like reverberation of colour: a straw hat littering the top with gold glitter cascading down into the smoke.

“What the fuck was that?” Buggy uttered in shock, looking from the shroud back to meet with your semi-dressed body.

“Going out with a bang, sweetheart,” you teased him, pulling him into you by his cravat, “a fitting conclusion to end my prior loyalty.”

You again teased him with a small peck-like caress against his lips, breaking away only to reassure him: “my loyalty and my heart now belong to you.” You stroked his cheek once again, bringing his gaze back to settle on your own, reassuring him with a simple; “only you.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, sitting high in his chest as he was overwhelmed by a sense of pride at your declaration, choosing to relax into your touch with his eyes closed before unceremoniously dropping to the ground on his knees in front of you.

Placing his gloved hands around the backs of your thighs, he laced his bare arms within the large, camel-coloured cloak he had draped upon your shoulders; you felt the soft touch of his arm hair brush against your legs at this action. He pulled his face in to rest against your stomach and breathed in against your bare skin.

“Marry me,” he uttered into your stomach, pressing feather-light kisses against your skin as he smoothed his gloved hands against the back of your thighs. You laughed, bringing your left hand down to his chin to bring his gaze to look up at you. His eyes were wide and full of adoration as he gazed lovingly at you.

“Ask me properly one day when we’re not surrounded by death and destruction and fully safe,” you teetered off your laughter into a soft giggle, using your index finger to affectionately tap his red nose, “and I’ll think about it.”

“I mean it” he said, stuttering and falling over his words, “I really do, baby.”

He rose to his feet, removing his hands from your thighs and trailing his way up to lace his glove-clad hands within your own; “I want you to rule at my side as queen when I claim the One-Piece, ruling as King of the Pirates.”

You shook your head with a small smile, reminiscing in your mind about your prior oath to serve under Luffy as king, vowing to create a piece for him and him alone as ruler. You unlaced your left hand from his and caressed his cheek, prompting him to press a chaste kiss against your palm.

“Marry me,” he uttered against your left palm, “let me truly make you mine.” He removed his left hand from your right and circled it around your waist, beneath his great tanned cloak that he so thoughtfully lay upon your shoulders.

“Buggy,” you sighed, teetering a soft giggle at the end of his name, “can I at least get dressed first before you proposition me? I’m a tad bare, love.”

“Bare, clothed, completely naked,” he groaned as he pulled you flush against his torso, “I don’t care so long as you tell me you’re mine-.” His breath hitched in his throat at this declaration, as his eyes grew wide with inspiration; “-and I’ll be yours. Truly, completely, yours. All of me.”

He pulled away from your embrace, prompting you to furrow your brows at him. His foot leapt from its position against his calf as it lay down at you unclothed feet – severed from his body. It was then followed by the other foot, then his calves, knees and thighs joining alongside them laying down before you.

“All of me, baby,” he uttered before he completely fell apart and lay himself at your feet. You chuckled at his action and shook your head, reaching your arms down to reclaim his decapitated head from the pile of askew body parts.

“Oh, Buggy,” you chastised him, lifting his head from the pile to meet with your face, “pull yourself together, love.” He furrowed his brows at you before his body leapt to life once more, all of the pieces pulling together below him to form the completed body of the clown you had come to adore.

“You have my heart,” he said, bringing his hands to clutch at his chest; removing a portion of his torso and presenting it to you. You shrieked, noting the piece that became untethered from him to be the beating organ located between his lungs, behind his ribcage.

“Buggy! You put that back in your body right now!” you ordered him, a smile breaking onto your face at his foolishness as you chastised him

“But it belongs to you!” he whined, “please hold onto it for me and keep it safe-.”

You immediately shook your head and placed the object within your fingertips into his chest to be received within his cavity. He immediately reached out his gloved hands to grasp your wrists as you placed the organ within his chest once again.

“And if you fall into sea water?” you asked him, bringing your eyes back up to meet with his, noting his eyes were littered with sorrow, “what then? You can’t live without that organ in your chest.”

He thought on it for a moment, a whisper of clarity eclipsed his mind as he released your hands from his grasp. He reached down into his lefthand side and removed another internal organ and placed it into your hands close to his chest.

“What is this?” you asked him, furrowing your brows and looking slightly uneasy at another body part being thrust upon you. He chuckled and looked down at the small organ.

“My appendix,” he uttered, “something I can survive without if I call into the ocean, but equally a part of me as my heart is.”

“Buggy,” you warned him after inhaling a deep breath, “I want all of you. All of you. With everything as intact as you are now.” You reached the organ down into his lefthand side and allowed his stomach to detach slightly to reclaim the object.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered, keeping his eyes fixed on your hands, watching as they soothed over the skin beneath his waistcoat.

“A yes to what, love?” you asked him, bringing your own gaze from the flesh on his side up to look into his eyes.

“Marry me,” he again demanded, bringing his gaze up to your own, his lips parted a little as he shakily inhaled and exhaled his breath, “I’ve got it bad, sweetheart. You have no idea.” You shook your head at him before trailing in to nuzzle your nose against his own.

“Again,” you reiterated, “ask me properly one day and I’ll truly think about it.”

He growled a little, playfully and with a smile, as he brought your left hand up to his cheek again and nipped his teeth at your palm.

“Fine,” he relinquished his line of questioning in a low tone, “but when I ask you properly, I expect a serious answer.”

“And you shall have it, my love,” you smiled at him, reaching your lips up to press a small kiss against his cheek, “now I have a question for you.”

“Name it, my queen, and I shall bring the world on its knees before you,” he growled, eyes narrowing in both seriousness and complete playfulness.

“That’s not necessary right now, love,” you chuckled at him warmly. You looked about the peer, noting only the large marine ship be docked against it; the Going Merry on the other side of the Conomi Islands, “what is; is a way off this island.”

“You know,” Buggy broke from his intense gaze held against you and began scratching his chin in thought, “that’s a good point. Any ideas?”

You laughed whole heartedly before flinging yourself into the arms of your love, seeking his lips out with your own and claiming them as yours for a long, drawn out kiss. He chuckled against your lips, trailing his gloved hands over your body; accidentally removing his large coat from your shoulders in the process. He clutched you against himself as he groaned against your lips, your hands pulling at the flesh beneath his waistcoat, taking his hips within them and pulling them into your own body.

Finding a way off Conomi Island was secondary to your needs right now, and what you needed was your Captain, cradled against you and whimpering into your lips as you held him within your arms.

Walking over to the wall, Buggy withdrew a large sheet of parchment paper that lay pinned against it and moved to take a seat against a solitary dining table; chuckling sinisterly as he read over the words.

“30,000,000?” he uttered in between giggles before all humour fled from his face as he shook the paper straight and growled darkly, “I’ll kill the little shit myself.”

“If you don’t, I will,” a woman with dark hair spoke from the other side of the room, raising her tankard upwards as to solidify her words spoken. Buggy turned, an unnerving smile finding itself upon his face in response.

“You will,” you commanded the two other occupants in the small tavern, raising your chin up into the air as you held two goblets of wine within your index and middle fingers, “do no such thing.”

You made your way over to the side table where Buggy was sitting at, placing the parchment down on the table in front of you. Placing the wine down on the table in front of him before raising one of the goblets to your lips and claimed the paper within your fingertips.

“You don’t owe him any more loyalty, my queen,” your beloved captain sighed, allowing a softness to befall over his eyes while his tone remained harsh. Your gaze softened as you looked at the ‘Wanted’ poster of your former captain, brushing over the figure of his smiling face with fondness.

“That may be true, my love,” you smiled at him, returning your gaze to him reaching your freshly healed right hand up to his cheek and caressing it after releasing the wanted poster from your grasp, “but he remains my friend and I will cherish him always.”

Buggy growled against your palm, placing a chaste kiss against it before reaching his gloved left hand up to grasp your right and maneuvered your knuckles to lay before his freshly painted lips.

“The things I do, or don’t do, for you, sweetheart,” he whispered his warm breath against your knuckles, pressing a long kiss against them before trailing his lips upwards over your wrist and atop your forearm, littering the skin with small kisses along the way. Your eyes became half-lidded as you watched his lips trail upwards your arm with passion and vigour. The only cause for pause of this affection being the other occupant of the small tavern.

“And what’s stopping me from killing him, sweetheart?” the woman asked in a jesting tone, an eyebrow arched at your public actions. You softened your eyes as you broke them away from your love, gazing into her dark irises and moved to speak; only to have your words halt as Buggy spoke for you.

“Bribery,” you uttered playfully, continuing your gaze to remain unmoving from Buggy’s as he gazed hungrily into your own eyes, “anything you desire-.”

“-Careful,” Buggy playfully warned; speaking over your charm, breaking away from littering your arm with kisses to address the dark-haired woman, “This one goes in lips first.”

You snapped your eyes into a grimace scowling at him, watching how his eyes glinted a charming playfulness behind them.

“For fucks sake, not you too,” you groaned, attempting to withdraw your hand from within his grasp only to have it firmly remain within his clutches; chuckling as he placed more kisses against your skin to satiate your fury.

“Yes, me too,” he chuckled at you in teasing, picking up his wine and draining the contents within with haste, “now drink up, we set sail in ten.”

“Where to, Captain?” you asked him, raising the goblet to your lips and taking a small sip, smirking while maintaining eye contact.

“We’ve got a crew, we’ve got a ship,” he listed, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he continued to watch you slowly drink the contents of your goblet, “wherever the wind, and gold, takes us.”

You finished the contents within your goblet and placed the object down against the tabletop, reclaiming the wanted poster from the surface and folded it up, placing it in your tinkerers bag. Your captain stood before you, reaching his gloved left hand down to reach for your own to aid you to your feet.

“Where are you taking that?” he murmured to you, nodding down to the ‘Wanted’ poster in your satchel.

“I’ll be writing to my brother to settle an account,” you nodded your head, smiling at your Captain as you spoke, “he’ll need to know who will be coming to him.”

Buggy thought on this for a moment before speaking, “why don’t we go there? To your brother, I mean.”

“Why would you want to do that?” you asked him, furrowing your brows in curiosity with a small smile propping up your lips.

“I want to meet them all, baby,” he cooed at you, “the fourteen, your Dad; everyone.”

You shook your head at him before adding; “that sounds wonderful, my love. They’re going to adore you. Maybe you could bring your show into town? Put on a performance, charge a bit at the gate?”

He sighed in complete adoration; “and this is why I love you.”

You laughed at him as he brought your cheek up to his lips and placed a warm, wet kiss against it while grasping your chin to keep you steady.

“Is that all?” you giggled.

“That,” he uttered against your ear, “and I am dying to know what sounds will be so absolutely illicit, my crew would need to seek exorcism to rid their souls from the memories and images conjured to them every time they close their eyes.”

A warm tinge rose to your cheeks at this comment, starting at your chest and climbing its way up to your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

“I also,” he continued, kissing your cheek once more before releasing you from his grasp, “want you to see your former crew again. Catch up for old times sake; especially the swordsman: Cabaji permitting.”

The warmth of his prior words calmed themselves to rest in a pink, love-struck tinge across your cheeks as you smiled at his intentions.

“And that,” you whispered to him, stroking his cheek fondly, “is why I chose you.”

He sighed into your hand before shaking himself free and looking to the other occupant in the tavern.

“You coming, Alvida?” he asked her over his shoulder, “we set sail immediately.”

“Aye, Captain,” she smirked, placing down her schooner atop the table once she drained it, “although I fear I’ll regret that choice.”

You chuckled lightly at her comment, lacing your right arm with Buggy’s left and allowing him to lead you on to set sail on his ship toward the familiar coast of your home; from there, who knows? Adventure awaits, and you’re more than happy to tinker alongside your captain to create objects of fantastical nature with precious metals, shimmering stones and intricate cog pieces: a gift to present as prize to the king of the pirates once they claimed the One-Piece.

Your King: Buggy D. Clown; with you ruling with your heart as Queen by his side.

The End

Tag List:

@thesadvampire @a-phan-of-youtube @multifandombtch @plan3t-plut0 @tiredemomama @tfamidoingwithmylife @bimboshaggy @plan3t-plut0 @vixnicknacks @tesha-i-guess@glitteryblizzardsalad @hellbaby237 @shuujin @nevaeh-jasso @hellbaby237 @gingernut1314 @sl00tty-v @redpool @lostfirefly @knightsfavoriteprincess @valen-yamyam16 @potatodaddy @luckyprincesswasteland @str4wberrydreams @misadventures0fdes @sordidmusings

(thank you for investing so much to be added to the tag list. It's been wonderful writing for both myself and you all)

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #buggy #captain buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy fic

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atiny-piratequeen · 9 months ago

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Doᥴtor's Assιstᥲᥒt

Summary: The Doctor needs an extra hand perfecting a new aphrodisiac.

...Well, you wont be using your hands, but that's besides the point

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: Fem!Reader x Geb(Yunho)

𓆩⟡𓆪Genres/Aus: Against the Tide Verse (its an Au in an AU-), Non Idolverse, Smut

𓆩⟡𓆪Tws: Swearing

𓆩⟡𓆪Sws: (Everything is Safe, Sane, and Consensual), Consentacle Tentacles (Vines), Bondage, Fingering, Consensual Sexual Experimentation, Aphrodisiac Use, Fingering, Objectification

𓆩⟡𓆪Rating: Explicit/Mature (18+)

𓆩⟡𓆪WC: 800+

𓆩⟡𓆪A/n: For any of my non AtTiny who want to know who Geb is and how he’s tied to Yunho…idk maybe read a bombastic in progress work of art that explains it all cough cough.

This was a popcorn commission from the lovely @atiny-dazzlinglight that I finished a bit ago but life happened and I didn’t post it till now. Sorry for the hold up and I hope you and all my AtTiny can enjoy~

𓆩⟡𓆪AO3| Taglist Form (Please make sure your urls are updated and able to actually be tagged) | Commission Sheet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪Network Ping- @kwritersworld| @k-vanity | @cultofdionysusnet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪©atiny-piratequeen. do not repost, translate, or use my works𓆩⟡𓆪

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･

“F-fuck, oh my God-”

“My, that’s an interesting reaction.”

Had it had been any other day, you might have been able to conjure up a bratty response. Instead, you look up through the tears blurring your vision, lips quivering as you angle your head up for a kiss.

“I see the purple one has a stronger effect on you than the red one from earlier did. Poor thing, you look like you’ll melt right out of my lap if I weren’t holding onto you.” Geb mused, his vines writhing along your skin, pulling and tugging you close to his chest as he angled his head down.

You whimper, a sliver of pink slipping past your parted lips as you lick at his own, successfully enticing him to kiss you.

“More.” You beg as large hands find their home on your waist, caressing and mapping out every curve, tracing every stretch mark, all while stunning ice-colored eyes remain fixed on your face.

“I wonder what would happen if we mixed them. The warmth of the Flame Lily mixing with the stimulant enhancement in the Clivia-”He went off mumbling under his breath, humming as he wrapped his arms around you, idly rubbing your clit in circles as he talked himself through formulas for more nectar combinations.

He was off in his own world, truly and completely, and it made goosebumps rise on your skin to both be doted on, and spoiled, but also to feel like you were just another object in the room as the good doctor‘s fingers pinched and rolled your clit idly.

“Please-”

“Mm, maybe if I increase the dose by a few grams, it’ll last a bit longer, I don’t like how easily the other dose wore off.” He mused, resting his chin on your shoulder. You squirm, clenching on nothing, legs twitching in his vines. He didn’t say a word to you, muttering in English and another language you didn’t understand, sorting through his thoughts.

You open your mouth to whine again, but a gasp of surprise tumbles through instead. His hand had worked its way lower as he distracted himself-and apparently you-with his mutters. Warm, slightly calloused fingers curl over your thigh, massaging for a moment, before working between your lower lips.

You jolt the moment he touches you. It seemed the purple concoction he’d given you minutes ago had left you much more sensitive than you’d expected.

The vines twitch and contrast around you, tightening and keeping your legs spread as those long fingers push into you, and you’re flustered by the way his attention snapped into focus at the whorish moan the action drew from your lips.

“O h~ It seems like I found the perfect mix, did I?” He purred, kissing up the base of your neck and smiling as he worked those fingers in and out of you, scissoring them apart as you arch your back.

You’re almost embarrassed at how wet you are, arching your back and gasping pathetically as he curled his fingers up.

“My, this is wonderful news. I believe I’ve found the perfect balance for this.” His voice rumbles through your head, and it's now that you realize his fingers were coated in the aphrodisiac he’d been muttering out. You shakily glance down, cheeks flushed as the pretty liquid falls to the floor at his feet as you remain held up by the vines, joining droplets of your essence onto the floor.

Your eyes flutter as you clench around his fingers. Goosebumps rise on your skin as he alternated between thrusting his fingers in with deep, near methodical motions, curling and searching for that delightful spot, and quick, off-beat thrusts.

“Geb~ G-geb fuck, yes yes yes nn-” its now you realize you’re drooling, your arms being pulled behind your back by his vines as a slow, deceptively calm smile stretched across his face.

“You can make a mess. We’re only just getting started.” He promised, kissing you and pushing more of the sweet-tasting nectar onto your tongue through it. You feel your body jerk and tighten, kissing him sloppily as you make a mess of his fingers, hand, and the floor.

His eyes slowly drift down to the puddle that’s left behind before he ran his hand over the top of your head, kissing the tears that had fallen from the corner of your eye away.

“Are you still alright, my love?” He rumbled, his gentle voice bouncing around in your head. You nod, body buzzing in delight as you look at him, whining in offense when he pulled those long fingers out of you.

“No-”

“-ah ah.” He quiets you, holding your gaze as he ran his tongue over the mixture of nectar and cum on his fingers.

“Like I said. We’re only j u s t getting started. Catch your breath. I still have many more to try with you.”

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　Tag List　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･

@kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @angel0taiyo @jacksons-goddess-gaia @gettin-a-lil-hanse @yunhofingers @seomisaho @ateezwonderland @smallfrye @spooo00oky @shymexican @stardragongalaxy @horizonmoonfics @delphinium3000 @xuxibelle @twistedsiren @soluvcore @dreamyinception-world @justatiredhuman @serialee @yungiland @shingisimp @drunk-on-hwa @perfectlysane24 @asyamonet22 @bangteezbaby @universe-sighted @skmoonchild @babiebumm @jess-1404 @violetwinters @xlilehx @ateezswonderland

#fie writes #kwritersworldnet #cultofdionysusnet #k-vanity #against the tide #AtT #geb oneshot #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #kpop mythology au #yunho smut #AtT smut #kpop fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez smut

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jooniperbonsai · 7 months ago

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Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Four

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

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 19.5k

Release date: June 11, 2024

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

Summary: As you spend more time with Seokjin, the threads seem to be even more tangled than before. Memories of the past threaten to ruin everything that the two of you have. Are you sure this is what you really want anyway?

Chapter Warnings (Oh god bear with me in this): angst, miscommunication (sorry sorry sorry we need it for the plot), cursing, alcohol, insecurity and self doubt, sexual harassment online and offline, pet names, fat!reader (we love to see it), sexual fantasies in the form of oral sex/face riding, Seokjin gets hard like 3 times (pretend to be shocked), masturbation, references to menstruation and first time sexual fantasies/masturbation, lingerie, sex toys, boundaries & lack of boundaries, references to poorly written novels (derogatory), verbal abuse from family members, gaslighting

a/n: Hi. I know it's been a while. Thank you for your patience. This week especially has been rough as my family lost one of our pet cats unexpectedly, but I wanted to put my best foot forward and share this chapter with y'all to enjoy our Seokjin's return! I hope you enjoy this chapter and that its length will tide you over. I have a special festa treat planned with another chapter for y'all this week, and I promise it'll have been worth the wait. Enjoy! -h

SpringDay: He didn’t leave a note

Wonu15: Was he supposed to?

SpringDay: No, but…idk

Wonu15: Then why are you upset if that wasn’t in your agreement

SpringDay: IDK!!!!!! Because we talked about things? At least, a little bit? And he saw me cry and he held me.

Wonu15: But did you ask him to stay the night? Did you ask him to leave you a note?

SpringDay: No

Wonu15: Well

SpringDay: I know!!!! I get it!!!

Wonu15: Maybe you should tell him

Wonu15: That you’re in love with him

SpringDay: Fuck you

“Ugh!” You exit your chat app and toss your phone across the covers as you roll over in your bed, inhaling the pillow that now smells of Seokjin.

He was here. Last night. He held you in his lap on your bed. He moved your furniture around for you. He stayed until you fell asleep. And even after that for a bit longer. You’d felt a chill, possibly as he left the bed, and it was enough to wake you.

It was still dark, but the sun was creeping in slowly. Enough that you could see his slightly mussed hair sticking up in the back, a yawn escaping him with a sigh as he idled in the doorway, almost like he was hesitating before he left.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think you dreamed it all up, but as soon as you heard the door click shut behind him, you found yourself curling around that warm spot in your sheets and falling back asleep.

And that’s where you’ve been for most of the day, savoring the feeling of him in your bed or standing in the kitchen slightly hungover as you finished off the rest of last night’s pizza. You’ve apologized to your followers for skipping last night’s stream, promising that you’ll make up for it tonight.

Your stomach clenches a bit at the idea of an encore performance from the last time you were live. Maybe Seokjin could come over and hang around while you get started? At least for a little bit?

He probably has better things to do than hang around your place.

True. You had monopolized so much of his time last night, and it didn’t even amount to an actual stream. It’s selfish to assume he has nothing better to do than to sit around and monitor you to make sure you don’t succumb to peer pressure.

You need to be an adult and do this on your own.

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up out of bed and over to your computer. Everything you went over yesterday feels like a blur. At this point, you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do. You remember he mentioned something about utilizing wishlists as a monetary solution to some of the more unhinged followers.

If they have money to spend, let them spend it. But don’t compromise your morals to do so.

Is that something he encounters often? It has to be. You wonder what streaming was like for Seokjin at first, all the ways he compromised himself for his followers. Is the dominant persona he exudes even authentic? What if he’s more submissive or even plain vanilla and just doing all this for the money?

You can’t say you’d blame him. That last stream had you feeling as though you were sitting on the blade of a knife as you debated what the extra cut of money could bring you. Your heartbeat pounds more heavily in your chest, a few beats feeling like they’re piercing into your throat.

It feels awful to know the way money has made you so powerless. And now here you are, about to force yourself onto a stream for some extra bucks in this month’s payout.

How does Seokjin do it, really? You don’t want to pressure him into talking about it. Not when you two aren’t intimate like that. But you can’t help but wonder why and how streaming, much less streaming sex, doesn’t tear him apart each time.

You wish you could ask him.

Your reminder on your phone alerts you and you groan, forcing yourself away from the desktop and into the bathroom to shower. In your hamper, you spot Seokjin’s pink button down that he’d lent you last night.

It felt like a piece of armor then, shrouding you from the chill of anxiety. Even now, as you lift it up to your nose, that comforting and fresh smell of his detergent begins to settle the sourness of your gut.

Maybe you could do this alone, after all. Just, with a little encouragement from a friend.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” someone said.

“I am not!” Another voice. A deeper one.

“You asked her if she wanted to fuck!”

“I did not! I asked if she wanted to come over and eat ramyeon! That’s all that it means!”

“No, no hyung, he’s right. That’s not at all what it means.”

Words. Seokjin was hearing them flurry around him, picking up the tail end of whatever story Namjoon was telling the group. But he wasn’t really listening. He was too tired. He had napped for about an hour in his office earlier, though it was unintentional. He was sitting at his desk, placing a produce order when he felt one of his eyelids shut. Then the other. The next thing he knew, someone was banging on the door saying the register was jammed and they needed the key.

He had left your apartment late. Right when the sun was beginning to rise. And he probably wouldn’t have even left then if it wasn’t for the fact that you finally had rolled off of him after about an hour of you sleeping heavily on his chest.

You talk in your sleep, he learned. Not a lot, but in little murmurs, usually yes or no spilling out of your mouth with ease. He was grateful for them, because otherwise he would have fallen asleep with your body slotted against him perfectly, the weight of your head and arm on him just enough to tumble him into a state of safety.

Both too late and too soon, you moved, rolled onto your other side. And then Seokjin left.

He debated leaving a note so you would know he wasn’t bailing, going so far as to find a pen and notepad from the kitchen fridge to write on, but then he knocked sense into himself. Notes were for people who left after hookups when unsure whether or not they were welcome to stay the whole night. You’d invited him over, sure, but as friends. You would have of course expected him to leave after you fell asleep, as that was the agreement. Right?

Seokjin had danced around your living room for ten minutes, pacing back and forth, looking like a crazy detective searching for clues. What would he even say in it? If he left one would you think that he’d expected you guys to have sex?

So he didn’t, he tossed the notepad on the side table as he grabbed his things, aware now that his button down had gone missing since you changed into your pajamas, but he didn’t have time to look for it, and didn’t want to further snoop through your stuff to reclaim it.

By the time he left, the sun was up, and he had just enough time to rush the few blocks to work. Besides that nap, he hadn’t slept at all last night.

And now he was on Jungkook and Taehyung’s couch, a beer magically in his hand that he didn’t remember getting while his friends apparently talked about…ramyeon?

“–clearly your fault you choose to pretend you’re so old and stay out of touch. Seokjin-hyung knows what that means, don’t you hyung?”

Who was talking to him? He grunted, hoping whoever it was would let that be enough of an answer.

“Hyung?” Jungkook. That’s who was talking to him.

Seokjin blinked. His contacts felt like sandpaper in his eyes.

“Don’t bother with him. He hasn’t had a single sip of that beer since he got here and has been zoned out staring at that wall for about thirty minutes,” Yoongi said, moving from Seokjin’s periphery into full view.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked gently, clearly concerned but also possibly using this moment to help redirect whatever teasing he was facing.

“Just tired,” Seokjin responded.

“Oh yeah, you had to work today. And you were at Y/N’s to help her with her stream last night, right? How did that go by the way?” Jimin asked.

“What stream?” Seokjin asked, confused. And then he remembered. That was the whole point he had gone over there in the first place.

“Um, you know, the one that you went to her place for?” Jimin’s eyebrows knit together. The rest of the group craned their heads in Seokjin’s direction, curious.

“She, um, she didn’t end up streaming.”

“Then, what time did you leave?” A broken, awkward silence fell over his friends as Seokjin shifted in his seat.

It suddenly felt oppressively warm in here, and heat creeped up his neck as he tried to string words together.

“I think like…7?”

“So you got there, only to turn around and leave? So why didn’t you sleep last night? You look like shit,” Taehyung added unhelpfully.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Is everyone really this clueless today or are you all fucking with me?”

He pushed himself up from the beat-up leather armchair, his usual space during their hangouts and sauntered over to the small bar Taehyung and Jungkook had right off the dining area. He took his time, uncapping the bottle of whiskey Seokjin presumed they kept mostly for Yoongi’s benefit, and filled one of the highball glasses left out for him.

Once Yoongi started drinking whiskey, everyone knew to prepare themselves for an evening of his contemplative and sometimes unfiltered ranting. This was when his self-proclaimed ADHD seemed to shine best.

“Honestly, you guys still don’t see it do you.”

“See what exactly?” Seokjin asked, finally awake enough to formulate sentences.

Yoongi studied his glass for a moment and in a final decision plucked the entire bottle from the bar and brought it back to his group of friends. He groaned as he sat back in the chair, like it was painful to do so on his bones, like he was the age of Seokjin's father and not merely thirty.

Yoongi knocked back his first glass of the whiskey, smacking his lips afterward.

In the corner of his eye, Seokjin saw Jimin roll his in annoyance.

“Can we get to the point?” He asked.

Yoongi shot him a look, and then placed the glass down on the coffee table.

“First of all, Taehyung-ah, he didn’t leave early. Hyung here left late. As in this morning. He was obviously out all night.”

Namjoon snorted. “Hyung, this isn’t a detective drama. We all kind of figured.”

“I didn’t,” Taehyung objected.

“We know,” Namjoon chuckled and turned his attention back to Yoongi. “Ok, oh wise one, what is it that we all seem to be missing?”

Yoongi pouted, but he recovered his dramatic flair. It was something everyone knew to give him the space to perform, the odd pause in his quiet nature usually a sign that he needed attention and didn’t know how to ask.

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I won’t say.” A slight smirk cracked through Yoongi’s façade.

“Did you guys sleep together or something?” Hoseok blurted, which had an immediate rush of blood to Seokjin’s head as he flooded with embarrassment.

“No! God, no we didn’t!” He didn’t want to mention that yes, technically you slept with him, just not in that way.

“Pfft, relax. Of course he didn’t. You think this guy will be looking all mopey after he finally gets laid again? No, he’s going to have that stupid dopey grin he always had with…you know,” Yoongi recovered the attention of the room, Soon Yi’s name unsaid but stirring a bit of unease among his friends. Yoongi and her had been particularly close during the period of Seokjin and her dating, having been his roommate for quite some time. He’d learned to weave his life around Soon Yi’s presence, over time warming up to her during the days he returned from class to find her studying on Seokjin’s bed and waiting for him to come home. Since the breakup, he’s always refused to say her name.

“Ah, the dopey grin, I almost forgot about that.” Jimin’s warm voice filled in the gaps where Yoongi’s sudden coldness cast, sitting himself on the edge of the leather armchair as he plucked the glass of whiskey Yoongi had just poured from his hands and gulped it down.

Yoongi glared at Jimin, but it faded quickly as Jimin winked back at him. He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Yoongi took the bait, softening back into Jimin’s outreached arm that began rubbing circles down his back.

“I’m right here,” Seokjin said lamely, but his friends ignored him. He put the beer up to his lips and let it flood into his mouth. It was warm. Gross.

“Do you think he’s going to start doing that thing again where he’s late for everything because he’s too busy having sex with Y/N all the time to manage his time better? Because that was annoying,” Jungkook complained.

Seokjin spluttered, choking on the beer. “Wh-what?!”

Everyone laughed, including Namjoon, who gave Seokjin a sympathetic look. “I think now that he streams all the time, his time management skills have improved.”

“Besides, it seemed more like it was Soon Yi who was causing that issue. She was chronically late for everything. Is Y/N late for things?” Hoseok added.

Seokjin blinked. How did this conversation even get to this point?

“What the fuck is going on?” He asked, exasperated.

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back into his guiding elder persona with ease. “You’re down bad for Y/N, obviously. We are just trying to be supportive.”

“I am not!” He argued, the heat of embarrassment now turning into anger.

“You are too,” Taehyung argued. “I’ve seen you at work with her a few times. You are always staring at her like she’s the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. You want her so bad, hyung.”

Seokjin glared at Taehyung. “Just because I look at her sometimes doesn’t mean I am in love with her.”

“Okay Namjoon, I take it back. You’re not a fucking idiot. Or maybe you still are, but Jin-hyung takes the cake as the biggest fucking idiot here.” Hoseok said, a humorless laugh flying from his chest. “Wow. No one said you’re in love with her.”

Seokjin’s face flushed.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed hyung!”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us all your secrets.”

“Did you have sex though?”

“Taehyung-ah!”

“What? You’re the one who asked in the first place!”

“So?”

“So, I know you’re curious too. I want to know which one of his porn star moves he pulled out of hiding. Did he Full Nelson her or was it purely missionary? Nah, nah, he’s too dirty for that. Hyung, did you Full Nelson her?”

“Wait, what’s a Full Nelson?”

“It’s a wrestling move,” Namjoon said.

“It’s a sex thing!”

“No. You’re making that up!”

“Hyung, is that a sex thing?”

“Yah! Shut up!” Yoongi said, and four pairs of eyebrows shot up as Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook broke away from their conversation to come back down to Earth.

Seokjin’s hands were sweaty and he jostled his leg anxiously as his friends composed themselves.

“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbled.

Jimin sighed, finally pulling his hand away from Yoongi’s back.

“Maybe we should let Seokjin-hyung speak,” he suggested, gesturing to his anxious friend.

Everyone nodded sheepishly.

Seokjin took a deep breath, not even sure where to begin.

“Well, I…First of all, Y/N and I really didn’t have sex. She had a panic attack over the possibility of me being gay for some reason. Er, well not me being gay but asking the question. And that seemed to be something for her that opened the floodgates to an entire larger panic attack. So, after I cooked us jeon, we just kinda hung out and ditched the idea of the stream. And then, she did fall asleep on me for a bit.”

The memory of you this morning flooded his thoughts, how your hair skimming across his arms as you shifted your head gave him goosebumps. Or that your scent had invaded his clothes, his nose, so much so that he could just picture you and the soft, sweet smell would manifest around him.

“Oh, oh hyung.”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Seokjin shrieked as Jimin frowned.

His friends all sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Taehyung awkwardly stood up, stating he needed to use the bathroom before he exited the room.

“When did it start getting this serious for you?” Namjoon asked.

Seokjin’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t serious. We aren’t even together.”

“He means when did you start having feelings for her hyung? I know we said that none of us were accusing you of being in love with her, but are you sure that it’s just about sex, or friendship, or whatever it is you keep saying it is?”

Love. That word felt like fire in his brain. He couldn’t possibly love you. Not when he barely knew you. Not when he only just stood in your apartment for the first time, saw you asleep on him. What Seokjin knew about love was something faded and dusty, shoved under his bed in an old shoebox and hard to name. It had been so long since he felt the early feelings of life with Soon Yi.

Soon Yi. That was love, wasn’t it? The hot poker of constant chaos, being whisked away from one thing to another with pleasure and delight. Wasn’t that supposed to be what love was? He remembered ripping apart magazines with her in her dorm room to make a large collage that she created from top to bottom. All the colors swirling around them as they shredded page after page and refit together. Things clashed, patterns divided themselves into a kaleidoscope around her room. That was how Soon Yi was. A kaleidoscope of every color Seokjin had ever thought imaginable.

And she was like that for him too, when she laid underneath him that night, her body wrapped around his in every way imaginable, thrown from the bed to the floor as they christened every surface of that space imaginable.

With you, things weren’t able to be defined by colors. Instead, all Seokjin knew was that the heaviness and the intensity of first love wasn’t at all how he experienced you. No, you were like a fire that ignited in him, and he knew it. Scorched away every faded bit of that box under the bed and licked your flame along every part of him.

The way he so easily complied with you last night, despite the fact that he knew it would be bad for you both to be so close. Letting you lie on him while he sat there hard just by breathing in your sweetness. How his body responded like this was some first love despite the fact that it wasn’t, and he found himself changing the rules of his life every single time a sigh left your lips. That couldn’t be love, only fascination, only primal, sexual curiosity.

He’d admit his crush, but love? There was no way this could be it.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m…I’m not in love with her.”

“But–” Jungkook began, but Jimin silenced him with a look.

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not in love with her. I have a crush. And we’re friends. And yeah, I am really really ‘down bad’ for her like Yoongi said. But it’s not like that.”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists, sighing in clear frustration.

“Alright, hyung,” Jimin said gently. “Alright.”

Just then, Seokjin’s phone pinged, and his heart plunged right into his stomach.

You were live? Now? Without him there?

That wasn’t in your agreement anyway. You agreed to help her stream. You helped her. Now she doesn’t need you.

That little bit of knowledge felt like a twisted knife, but he ignored it anyway, rapidly tapping the alert on his phone that led him to the app.

“What’s that about?” Hoseok asked.

His other friends repeated the question, filling the room with a hum of curiosity.

“Shut up!” he snapped, clicking the side button to turn up the volume.

“–and yeah sorry about not streaming last night. Time kind of slipped away from me. But I plan on making it up to you guys, I promise.” Your voice echoed throughout the living room, hushing Seokjin’s friends as they hunched forward to see what was the cause of his sudden irritation.

“Is that…?” Yoongi began.

“Yes,” Taehyung said as he waltzed back into the room, patting his damp hands on the back of his pants. “That’s her.”

“Oh, oh okay I get it now,” Namjoon said. “Leave it to hyung to be down bad for someone who dresses just like him.”

What? Seokjin squinted at the screen, taking in your appearance: your hair was loosely curled around your face, some juicy pink lip gloss that he knew tasted like strawberries (he’d smelled it on you before) glazing your mouth, and a black lace bustier that was barely being covered by a pink linen button down was peeking out. One that looked exactly like the one he was wearing last night.

“Because that is my shirt,” he replied, dazed.

“What?” Jimin said, hurling himself across the coffee table and yanking the phone from Seokjin’s hands.

Jungkook followed behind Jimin, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder as he squinted at you on the screen. “Can we make it any bigger? I can’t see shit from here.”

“No!” Seokjin protested, but it was clear he wouldn’t win this argument.

“Wait, why does she have your shirt?” Yoongi asked as Jimin and Jungkook fumbled with the television setup to cast the stream.

Seokjin glared at his friend. Hoseok laughed, sliding into the spot next to him and offering him some shrimp chips.

“Who cares? The better question is why is she wearing it on her live stream over her lingerie?”

“Ah, true.”

Yoongi turned to Seokjin expectantly, like he would somehow know the reason. Honestly, he wondered the same.

You weren’t ready for this. You two had barely covered the basics yesterday. Why were you streaming when the arrangement was between the two of you to do this together? Did you just not want his help anymore? Or did all the talking and your panic attack yesterday make you rethink things?

What if you had really wanted him to leave last night or your emotions got the best of you and you regretted everything? Seokjin could feel the spiral of his thoughts starting to unwind as he tried to figure out what the explanation for this stream was.

“A-ha! Ok, we got it,” Jimin said as he clicked through the series of menu permissions to cast a larger version of you onto the screen.

You were reading your comments, lightly gnawing on your lip. Nerves, he realized.

“Oh, uh, yeah, we can play the same game as last time. We didn’t quite finish, did we?” You said, rolling your neck and flexing your shoulders. As you did, your breasts thrust further toward the camera, plush skin Seokjin dreamt of shoving his face into so many times now fully on display for all his friends.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook said from somewhere in the room. Seokjin had no clue. He couldn’t break his gaze as you giggled at something in your comments. He felt heat head south from his face.

“Jesus hyung.” Hoseok said. “I don’t know how you get through a workday with her without getting hard.”

“He doesn’t,” Taehyung added unhelpfully.

He heard the air behind him shift, before a soft thwack and Taehyung’s responding groan informed him that someone had thrown a pillow at him.

“Okay, so new rules,” you said.“From now on, if any of you say something super perverted, you’ll be unable to comment until the next stream. I’ll have my mods ban you from commenting. The only way you can get on my good side again and get yourself unbanned during a stream is if you fulfill something off of my wish list I added. You can type #springwishes and see all I’ve put on there. Sound good?” You smirked at your camera, a little bite of confidence spreading through you.

Seokjin’s chest clenched, a tiny bit of relief washing over him as he saw you get your bearings, the comments spamming that hashtag for the link to your wishlist, which he’d advised you to make as a form of incentive and distraction during moments when you felt overwhelmed. If people were getting into deep waters with a topic, you could always redirect to the wishlist, making it more of a prize for your viewers to partake in versus punishment.

“Alright, so let’s do this,” you said. “Game on.”

Maybe he was overreacting. In the last hour he and his friends spent intently watching your stream, you seemed to navigate your chat a little more with ease, or at least with redirection.

Yoongi had nodded off in his chair despite the earth-shattering moans your game was crying out as you tripped different combos. You were getting better at the game, and as you finished another level that gave you the prize of some more very not safe for work photos by your “girls”, a heavy yawn escaped through your lips.

Maybe you didn’t need his help after all. For what it’s worth, you seemed to be settling in comfortably to your performance aspect of the role, sometimes twirling bits of hair in your fingers, earning yourself half a dozen new subs and a few new things from your wishlist.

“Wow, we’re making good progress,” you said, reaching for your water bottle and pouting at your screen as you sipped from the straw.

The comments had become more mild during the game when you were fully immersed. Seokjin had been monitoring them closely, seeing your mod Wonwoo diligently screening spam out of the comments.

But now that your attention had shifted, they were being flooded once more with people vying for your attention.

Str3amballzak: Wanna fuk those tits

(Str3amballzak has been banned from the chat room)

Lickemup: sit on my face

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

“And so it begins,” you said sarcastically, sipping more water from your straw as you switched your camera view to just you instead of the game.

(Str3amballzak has fulfilled wish list item number 7: new streaming headphones)

Str3amballzak: worth it

“You guys are working hard at getting yourself permanently banned,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But thanks I guess.”

Str3amballzak: ur welcome baby

Str3amballzak: ever do private streams?

“No, I don’t do private streams Mr. Ball Sack. Or Ball Zak? Anyway, do you want to go in time out again?”

Str3amballzak: fine ill behave.

Str3amballzak: daddy just wants to spoil u

Str3amballzak: u should put some other toys on that wish list ;)

Heat flooded Seokjin’s face as he read the chat messages fluttering by. This was going south quickly.

“Not your baby,” you said with a scoff. “And no thanks daddy. I’m good.”

“God, these dudes are gross. Is this the same kind of comments you get, Seokjin-hyung?” Jungkook asked.

“At first, kind of. But not much anymore. On occasion someone will try to dom me from the chat, but there’s a tip feature for that,’ he responded, eyebrows furrowed as he studied your face for any discomfort. Annoyance, sure, but you could handle that. His hands still hovered over his phone, ready to intervene in a moment’s notice.

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 3: electric kettle)

Lickemup: something to keep you warm if it’s not my tongue in your pussy

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 0: mystery gift)

Lickemup: loophole?

“Oh,” you said, eyes going wide. “I…I didn’t know that was an option.”

Seokjin didn’t either. And he certainly didn’t know what a “mystery gift” was. What he did know was that this wishlist would mail you anything without giving away your address. But that meant it could be anything.

Uh oh.

User27271: wanna cum on your face

(User27271 has been banned from the chatroom)

(User27271 has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User27271: hope you like pet play

(User27271 has been banned from the chat room)

User8008s: stroking my dick to your pretty face rn

(User8008s has been banned from the chatroom)

(User8008s has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User8008s: 💦

“Jesus Christ, guys,” you said weakly as the chaos of the loophole began to take over your chat, dozens more accounts flooding the comments to do the work around, plunging into the raunchiest of comments before being banned, then fulfilling some mystery gift before being banned again, this time for good. Seokjin looked at the view counter in the corner. It was rising exponentially.

He could see how quickly your control was leaving you, the glassiness of your eyes and shakiness of your voice as you fought to reel in your chat leading you toward the verge of a breakdown.

“Is there any way to turn that feature off?” Jungkook asked helplessly, his eyes wide as another onslaught of cyber attacks began.

“I don’t know, I didn’t even know it had this option,” Seokjin said, his voice tight as he helplessly watched you begin to shrink away from the spotlight he had spent hours with you yesterday practicing to do the exact opposite in.

You pulled the shirt tighter across your body, and that seemed to spring him into action: you there in his shirt, this chaotic chat undoing the work you’d done in a matter of minutes. Fuck those people.

“There has to be something we can do,” Jimin said, and Namjoon whipped out his phone, searching up the parameters of the wish list site you had used.

“Tell her to just have her mods turn the entire feature off in the meantime,” Hoseok said, tapping his foot anxiously.

Seokjin nodded, typing the message into the chat box.

JokeJinSeokjin: Turn off your the gifting feature

But his comment was lost in the slew of the chat. He knew there was no way you would see it.

“She definitely isn’t going to see that!” Taehyung groaned.

“Call her, hyung. You have her number,” Yoongi said, his voice gravelly from just waking up.

Right, a phone call. He could do that.

Seokjin opened his contact list and dialed your number. He knew you kept your phone on silent during your stream, but in a moment of luck, you looked down, where he assumed your phone was at and hastily pressed the accept call button.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded like a wild echo through the TV; the sound delay was just enough to warp you.

Seokjin stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t even bother turning on the light, something about the isolation away from his friends and the darkness feeling like a comfort, like you two were in your own little world and not being put on blast in front of thousands.

“Turn off your chat commands. Now,” he ordered.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know how,” you said, then groaned. “Guys please I don’t want any of this. Get it the fuck together.” You paused. “What do you mean who am I talking to on the phone? It’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin warned. You needed to stop engaging.

“I know! I know, okay?” you snapped, and Seokjin nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. You took a shaky breath after a moment. “Are you watching?”

“I was but I needed my phone to call you so I’m not right now. Why? Is something happening?”

“No it’s just–never mind. I have set myself on away and muted so I can unlink this option. Wonwoo is turning off the chat completely for me.”

“Good,” he responded and opened a browser window, typing in his query. “Okay I looked it up and you need to click the right toggle in your stream settings and scroll down until you see ‘outside links’ and then–”

“Slower, please!” You said exasperated.

“You can always turn the whole stream off,” he said gently and you huffed in response.

You paused for a beat. “I don’t want to. I was fine before this whole thing started. I want to do this.” You sounded like you were on the verge of crying. He knew this meant a lot to you. So much of the first few stream’s success determines your future. He knew this. Saw it happen in his own online presence. If you lost a lot of followers tonight, you’d probably not regain them. And then your payout at the end of the month would be a fraction of what you were receiving.

“Okay. Yes. Then let’s take a deep breath,” he said, taking a deep breath of his own for you to follow. He heard the soft inhale through the receiver, and smirked.

“Now let’s get you all set up. See that toggle on the right?”

You hummed a response. “I think so.”

“Okay, now go down. You see the external link options?”

A pause. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You whined and Seokjin laughed.

“I could but I’m across town at a friend’s house. It would be easy if you do it yourself.”

He wanted to kick himself for saying that. Because he would be out the door in a heartbeat, would Uber or sprint toward you. But by the time he got there, it would be too late. Too much chaos was happening at once, and this needed to stop now.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you—“

Seokjin clicked his tongue. “None of that, now. Focus.”

If he did show up at your house to help, he also knows what would happen next. After the momentary panic was over, you would be pissed that you didn’t handle things on your own. At work, however big the mess, you were always insistent on doing it yourself. Here was no exception.

After a few clicks he heard a gasp. “Got it!”

“Good job, princess. You did well.”

“Oh…thank you. Not without your help though,” you said meekly.

He knew you were running out of time. In a few minutes, you’d be back to kick ass in your stream, and life would go on. So he chose his next few words carefully.

“I thought you wanted me to be there for your first stream.”

“I..well…I did, but I felt guilty and like I had to stream tonight. I didn’t want to bother you, but it looks like I did that anyway, huh?”

“You’re not bothering me, ever. You asked for my help with this.”

“And you did! You helped so much.”

An awkward silence fell between you two as Seokjin thought. He exhaled roughly.

“So, what now? Are you just trying to get rid of me or something? Did I do something wrong?” His voice shook, the hurt he tried to conceal penetrated through the evenness of his tone.

“No! No it’s not like that,” you said quickly. “I just, I feel like I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Stream. I felt bad and like I owed it to them today.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know really,” you said softly. “Because I’m desperate for the cash. And that sounds awful I know. But I want to make sure that when summer term comes around, I am ready for it financially. And my parents have been calling me a lot and I just…I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

He could hear the edge of your voice as you got more worked up, your last word cracking slightly like you were trying not to cry.

“No, no I’m not mad, Y/N.”

“Are you sure? Because I know you are helping and you already are spending time with me and it’s not like you don’t have other things to take care of! Like you had to work this morning and I got a text from Mino saying he caught you asleep in your office snoring. I didn’t tell him it was because of me, but god, if I could get this shit together, your services wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I’m not mad. Really, I think you’re trying to find reasons for me to be mad at you but I’m not. And don’t worry about my sleep schedule. It was one night out. I’m not that old for one night not sleeping in my bed to ruin my entire life.”

You hummed in response.

“Listen, Y/N, I chose to stay out all night knowing I had to open today. You might be persuasive but you aren’t that good to manipulate me into anything. I was there because I wanted to be there. Okay?”

You hummed again.

“I need some kind of verbal acknowledgement other than ‘hmm’.”

“Sorry. Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I was listening!”

“I know you were, that’s not why I’m asking.”

You sighed. “Fine, okay I am not manipulating you. You wanted to be here.” You paused. “Seokjin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I can go back.. Like, what do I do? I’ve already been gone for ten minutes and Wonwoo is blowing up my texts and…” Your voice broke, and he could hear the quiet sound of you crying.

“Hey, breathe, princess. It’s okay. You can always just turn your computer off. The people watching were assholes.”

“Not all of them,” you muttered back. “God what is wrong with me?”

Seokjin turned on the light to the bathroom. His clothes were crumpled, heavy circles under his puffy eyes and disheveled hair making him look like some washed up finance guy. Honestly, he looked a lot like how he used to back when he did work in finance.

“Nothing is wrong with you, and you know it. You’re perfect. A mess, and really bad at remembering to put the pickled radishes back in the fridge when you’re done with them, but that’s still pretty great all things considered.”

He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Yeah, I’m such a winner. Ugh, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Let me help, then,” he offered.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, what do I do?”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to decide that for you. That’s something you need to figure out. But, I’ll give you a few options. First, you can just shut your computer down completely and not apologize, not explain yourself. Your chat and any good subscribers that you actually want to have around will understand. You’re forgetting that there were thousands of people watching, and the loudest ones were the trolls, but they weren’t the only ones there.

“The other option,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Is that you can go back out there, finish the stream, leave your comments off, and do what you want to do. I can’t guarantee it’ll be as lucrative but you will at least won’t be engaging with those idiots anyway.”

He let you mull it over, opening the medicine cabinet and rifling through his friends’ things. Eyedrops, god, his eyes were on fire from these contact lenses. He had a pair of glasses in his work bag, but they were a little old and frankly kind of stupid looking.

“Okay, I think…I think I want to try again. And like you said, I’ll keep the comments off this time.”

“That’s my girl,” Seokjin sighed as he squirted some solution into his burning eyes. Then he paused. “I mean, uh, you know. Good job.”

You chuckled on the other end. God he really needed to monitor himself better. Something about his conversations with you were becoming less careful by the hour.

“Thanks, I know what you meant. And thank you again.”

You paused again. “Is there something wrong, Y/N?” Seokjin asked.

“Well, it’s just. I want to do this, I do. But I’m not. God I don’t know, it's like I’m frozen in place. I just feel like there’s so many things I need you to show me before I get good at this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. How to be sexy without ruining my career, how to just dust everything off and get back out there. That’s what you do all the time! With uh, with work and everything.”

Seokjin chuckled a little. Dusting things off was hardly something he was good at, but he did know how important it was to get back out there. He wasn’t quite sure what you’d meant in relation to work since that wasn’t really a space for it, but that wasn’t his focus. Instead it was on something else.

“You…think I’m sexy?”

“Oh, uh…yeah duh. Don’t let it go to your head though, everyone thinks that.”

Seokjin could think of quite a few people who didn’t think that, actually.

“Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide. And you’re right, it is important to just dust things off and move on. But that’s just one thing that I want to show you. There’s so many other things for you to learn.”

So many things. He felt proud knowing that you were doing this on your own, even after this hiccup; it meant that you were doing exactly what he’d tried to teach you yesterday. Even if you faltered once. It was impressive. And he couldn’t help but think of how much you were going to grow from this experience, how many doors it opened up for you, for both of you to forge a stronger connection. He wanted to show you all sorts of things, not just with streaming, but with him. How after seeing your apartment and couch with a dent in it, he wanted you to create a dent in his couch as you read books from your collection. Or that even in his large chef’s kitchen he had in his luxury apartment, he could stand side-by-side next to you prepping more carrots for other foods.

Maybe cake this time. And when you inevitably spilled ingredients all over the place like you did at work, globs of cream cheese frosting on your cheeks, he’d laugh and find it endearing as you always were, and try not to think about your tongue doing more naughty things to him as you lick it off of your fingers. How you clearly had a little stubborn bratty streak in you that liked to tease and tempt him, and without a doubt you would spend an extra long and thorough job making sure he had a front row seat to you sucking your fingers into your mouth. Just like how you knew you were sitting in that apartment of yours right now, his pink shirt wrapping around your large perfect tits. What were you wearing on the bottom of that ensemble, even? That bustier that was so goddamn tantalizing. Did it have matching panties? Were you wearing those too? He knew you well enough to know you were probably wearing some kind of jogger bottom since people didn’t get to see your fantastic ass in the camera view.

Good. That was something Seokjin didn’t have to feel jealous of. They could get their fill of your breasts on this stream, but he knew what that soft tummy looked like, how those strong, thick thighs looked in leggings and joggers and most recently, tiny pajama shorts. Thinking back to last night, the way those hiked up your thighs to your little panty line, how soft the skin looked. Would your thighs be just as soft if they were straddling his head? He could only imagine how delicious they would look after he left little nip-marks on them, suckling the flesh just enough to hear your breathing increase, to get you shifting all needy and antsy as you got more needy and impatient. Just as he would want you so that you would rub that wet pussy right on his face and–

“Are you still there?” you said, and Seokjin’s breath caught in his chest, causing him to cough.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he rasped. He heard you chuckle low in response, and fuck. Something about how sexy your voice sounded had his cock throbbing. “I got, uh, distracted. What did you say?”

“Oh….uh, never mind.” You paused. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but your voice flooded through the receiver again. “I don’t want to take you away from your friends any longer. I think I’ve got things for now, but thank you again.”

His heart sank with disappointment that absolutely should not have been there. “Ah, right. Of course. Well, then I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Um, on second thought,” you said suddenly, and his ears pricked up. “Do you…do you think you could come by just in case things get out of hand again? Do you want to? If not it’s okay but––”

“I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” he said eagerly.

Seokjin was already throwing open the bathroom door and barreling down the hall, his friends all shifting from the TV where your away message was cast and onto him. Jimin’s eyebrows raised in question. Taehyung grinned at his friend devilishly, winking and nudging Jungkook.

“Okay,” you breathed, relieved. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Mhmm. See you soon.” Your voice sounded lower, huskier. If there was any ability to think anymore, he would think you were trying to sound sexy and flirty.

“Yes, okay. See you.” As he hung up, Seokjin felt himself smiling at his phone, his heart feeling a bit fuller, more awake.

“I’m uh, I’m going to go over there. There’s some stuff she wants me to keep an eye on,” he announced.

He looked over at his friends. Namjoon attempted some form of polite nodding and understanding, but it quickly broke as everyone else erupted into laughter.

“Yah! What is it now? Were you guys eavesdropping or something?”

“We were,” Yoongi said between breaths, “but it wasn’t like you were having a particularly interesting conversation.” He dabbed tears from his eyes.

“Except the part where you called her princess. Phew you’re whipped.” Hoseok added.

Seokjin rolled his eyes, reaching down into the couch to find his keys that had been eaten by the cushion upon his arrival. “It just slipped out.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to take a breather before you head out, hyung.” Jungkook avoided eye contact with Seokjin, a blush rushing to his cheeks.

“And why is that?” Seokjin asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because your Big Dick Daddy boner is so incredibly obvious right now that I’m not sure it’ll be you keeping an eye on Y/N when it’s more likely she’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Seokjin looked down and as if on cue, his dick twitched. He tried to adjust himself. His friends roared around him, even Jimin trading his careful composure in for hilarity as he threw himself to the floor.

“Fuck you guys.” Seokjin said as he headed toward the door.

“Not us, but maybe you tonight!” Taehyung called. “I’m sure Y/N will be singing ‘Hey Daddy’ when you walk in!”

Seokjin was already out the door, but he could hear the first few bars of the Usher song playing, and despite himself, he smiled.

When Seokjin arrives, you have already explained to your chat that if they want to have any privileges at all, they’ll stop being asshats. That is a boundary you can more easily create, something less wavering than the control needed to essentially domme your chat.

You’re not a domme. Not even close.

“Be right back,” you say to your screen, kicking on the away message. You glance at your phone. Only about twenty minutes left until you’re ready to end things. Hopefully not too long to make Seokjin wait.

“Hey,” you say, opening the door. His dark hair is disheveled, bags under his eyes. He looks like hell. You fight the urge to immediately turn him around and send him back home.

He’s tired but his smile is still adorable and wide as he steps into the door of your apartment, discarding his shoes.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Thanks for coming. I’m going to wrap my stream up soon, but I was thinking maybe we could debrief after?”

He nods and plops himself down on your couch like he’s been here dozens of times before, not just once.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in here if you need me.”

“Are you going to watch the stream?” You ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. It’s one thing if Seokjin watches your stream when you’re not there, but the idea of him seeing you in lingerie and playing some sexy game is kind of intimate.

You in lingerie and his fucking shirt, that is.

“Well, I thought about it. It’s probably the only way I can really understand what’s going on in case you need me. I’ve brought my earbuds so you don’t get feedback from the other room or have to hear your own voice delayed. So we should be good.”

The idea of earbuds does sound a little bit more practical and distancing.

“Okay, yeah. Oh, and um, about your shirt…” Seokjin looks down from your face, scanning your body with his eyes. You feel heat lick over the places his gaze follows, down your collar bone and the curve of your hips and back up to the swell of your breasts that spill over your bustier. This is where his stare hovers for a moment, and it’s almost maddening, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. It stirs something deep in your core, pricking your nipples a bit to start becoming hard. The lace of the bustier is too thick and it’s lined to avoid exposing anything, but it doesn’t matter.

Seokjin is looking at you like he wants to eat you, and it’s turning you on impossibly fast.

“Keep it,” he offers after a moment, his eyes flitting away from your chest. His ears are turning slightly red. “It looks good on you.”

“Thank you.” It’s all you can offer in response. You clasp your hands together in front of you, the soft linen of his shirt skirting around your naked thighs. The shorts you wore to bed last night were all you could find to throw on with this getup that were clean and comfortable enough for a few hours of streaming. They’re a bit too short, but you figured no one on stream would see them.

You didn’t really consider that Seokjin would see them again, or really ever, and now you’re realizing how much skin you are showing.

“I’ll uh, get back to it I guess,” you say and Seokjin nods, now appearing more engrossed in setting up his phone with the stream than talking to you about it or paying attention to what you’re wearing, or the lack of it.

You scoot off to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and sinking down into your chair.

You hit the settings for the away message to turn off and unmute.

“Alright, we are winding down for the night. Thanks to everyone who stayed with me to the end, I appreciate it.”

Your comment section responds in kind, with thanks for you continuing to stream through the chaos.

“Before I leave, though. I figured we can play a few more levels of the game. We have to make sure Candy has enough magic wands to unlock the special bonus game. Although, can I just say that picking wands was a weird choice? Don’t you normally just need one to get the job done? Why not something else, like different shaped dildos or something. Honestly, a little more variety in size and shape can’t hurt.”

After a few seconds of delay, you hear a boom of laughter in the living room. His laughter is infectious, and it blooms a large grin on your face.

“So here’s the plan. I’m going to unlock this bonus level tonight and then we’ll see what the hype is about during the next stream, okay?”

The chat has calmed itself, and you’re glad you tested having it turned back on instead of totally following Seokjin’s advice earlier. Maybe his streams still function if he doesn’t have his comments on, but you know most of your royalties are given from moments of engagement; your parasocial relationship with your subscribers is based on more conversation than the actual thing you’re doing. It’s how you’ve gotten this far without being good at video games. No one seems to care when you get stuck on the same level each time if you at least have engaging conversation.

JokeJinSeokjin: I’m hungry. Do you want me to order jjajangmyeon?

You smirk at your screen and nod, then answer a few questions your chat has initiated.

“Why did I decide to do a Late Night stream? I needed to change things up. You guys all started to follow me after Wonwoo’s stream and I feel like there’s only so many games I can play with the same kind of commentary before we all get sick of it.”

JokeJinSeokjin: What about mandu? The delivery minimum is way too high so we need to get something else.

A chuckle leaves your lips and you nod again, redirecting yourself to the chat once more. Someone asks how you’re feeling about continuing streaming in this way.

“Uhh, I would say that most of the streams so far have been a little crazy, right? It’s…doing this is hard. I’m hoping the more I do it the more things will start to chill out. I’m sorry to anyone who was offended by the comment section earlier. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

JokeJinSeokjin: Food is ordered. Will be here in 30. 😋

Springin2Luv: @ JokeJinSeokjin who are you? I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend S.D.?

Your face heats as you prepare for the onslaught of drama this will cause, but then you’re shockingly surprised at Seokjin’s response.

JokeJinSeokjin: Just a good friend to make sure S.D. is fed and for another stream.

JokeJinSeokjin: Anyway 28 minutes until food time so hurry up and finish this level!

You laugh. “Well, you heard the man, let’s get back to the game.”

Twenty eight minutes later exactly, Seokjin knocks on your door. “The food is here! I’m starving. Are you done yet?”

You put the game on pause. “If you were watching the stream like you said you were, you would know that I’m not done with this level and am in fact stuck.”

“Well excuse me for not staring intently and absorbing every detail when I’m this hungry. I’m going to open everything and eat it all before you!”

“Go right ahead! You’re the one who wanted it so badly,” you call back, teasing. Though the second you finish the sentence, the warm smell of the crispy dumplings wafts into your room, Seokjin lightly creaking the door open and fanning the delivery bowl in your direction.

He raises an eyebrow, challenging you as he takes one bite into one, mocking before his face contorts into pain.

“Aish!!! It’s fucking HOT,” he yelps, and he drops the remaining dumpling back into the bowl, some of the green stuffing spilling throughout.

“Well yeah, what did you expect!?”

“Not for it to be so goddamn burning hot!” He fans his tongue for good measure, and you can see even from your desk the slight red tinge some of his taste buds have taken.

“There’s ice in the freezer. I’ll wrap this up now,” you sigh and shoo him away before turning back to your screen. “Well, you all probably heard that exchange, so I’m going to pause here. Sorry we didn’t get to beat it, but I’ll try again next time.”

You read over some of your farewell comments from your chat. But one really sticks with you.

Babybibi: I feel like I know that voice from somewhere.

Your stomach drops, but you remain composed, pretending you don’t recognize the comment. It never dawned on you that Seokjin’s fans could really be anywhere. Does he realize that? Is that why he safely stayed out of the camera’s reach? You’re not sure.

By the time you have signed off, Seokjin has managed to plate both of your meals and get you drinks from the fridge. He’s plopped a throw pillow onto the floor to sit on at the beat up coffee table so you can sit in your regular couch spot.

“I learned my lesson with that couch yesterday. It eats people.”

“Oh yeah yeah, I know. Thank you, this looks great.” You blow on one of the mandu before popping into your mouth. Even after arriving ten minutes ago, it’s still crisp and hot. Meaning however hot it was for Seokjin must have been volcanic. “How’s your tongue?”

He pouts, sloshing some ice water around in his mouth before opening it to stick out his pink tongue. “It hawtsth,” he says with his tongue still lolled out.

You chuckle. “Oh poor baby, do I need to kiss it and make it all better?”

Seokjin shifts a little at the question, and you realize immediately the error in what you’ve just suggested. An image of the two of you drums up in your mind, you sucking each other’s tongues, an ice cube swapping from one mouth to the other as it melts. Nothing about this is even intimate; it’s just pure filth. And based on the matching redness in Seokjin’s ears, it’s clear his brain has gone somewhere similar.

He finally rolls his tongue back between his plush lips and you sit awkwardly, suddenly unable to remember how to function.

Seokjin makes the move to end the awkward pause, taking his chopsticks into his grasp and pulling out a large glob of noodles, shoveling it into his mouth.

Right, food. Your stomach gurgles at the prospect and Seokjin raises an eyebrow at you as he chews, his eyes flashing down to your stomach.

“Eat,” he instructs, so you do, following his commands to finish your dumpling and move on to your generous pile of noodles.

How is he able to just push past the awkward and not have it freeze him in place the way it does with you? As you slurp your food down, you can’t help but study him, so effortlessly comfortable to sit in silence in your apartment after playing games about sex workers.

You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. Because Seokjin is a sex worker. He’s incredibly nonchalant about all of what you’re doing, no judgment to smudge this dynamic.

If your old friends, or even your parents knew about you doing this, what would they think?

Nothing good, you assume.

It’s not that you were raised in an environment that was all helplessly ignorant about sex and bodies. You’d had sex. Your parents sat you down when you had your first period and explained every single detail about the human body and reproduction to you. It was painful and scientific, so divorced from the intimacy of what sex really is that it didn’t present itself to be much of an interest or issue until, well, you felt the first licks of desire.

Those started as dreams. Ones where you would be heavily kissing and exploring the body of whoever you were crushing on at the time. The first one started with Wonwoo, after having spent all summer at the library memorizing the thin curve of his upper lips as he squinted to read the books in front of him. You would feel the heat of your core shifting you in your chair as you grew more intrigued, more curious about how his lips would feel on yours, what he would taste like. How his soft hands would feel if he actually held yours, not just the accidental brush when you would walk side-by-side back toward your neighborhood, where you would drop him off at the shop before slugging your way back through that sticky, angry heat that only added more to your discomfort.

That was the first summer you started masturbating. And it was so awkward in some ways, trying to learn what you liked and how you liked it but also wondering why you liked it, why you liked Wonwoo in a way that was no longer so innocent and picturesque but scarier, more real.

Your parents caught you, probably as every parent does at some point and just pretends they didn’t notice. Yours, however, made it clear that they knew. And while they never said anything beyond mentioning it once or twice, it felt humiliating. As if you were supposed to be above attraction and sex and pleasure. It was more in how your parents acted after this point that has given you enough insight to imagine how they would react if they knew what you did now.

No direct words spoken, just blank, glaring looks and sneers. Just them ogling you like you had told them you murdered someone. Shame, in all the nooks and crannies of what it is.

As for your friends, besides Wonwoo, they’ve all moved on. You had been so curious as a teenager, and wanted to know so much more. Yet, no one ever talked about sex. Some of them had dated through teen years. All of them dated someone in college except you. Sex was happening all around you and yet it was some forbidden topic. Even with Wonwoo after a while. You have a feeling you would have a next to near impossible time explaining what you are doing to those friends, and if Wonwoo wasn’t a streamer, you’re sure he wouldn’t fully get it either.

But Seokjin understands. This is his life, this is so natural to him that he can sit in front of you after a long day and lazily smile with the knowledge that you are wearing lingerie underneath his shirt.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks thoughtfully, and you blink, realizing that for the last few minutes you’ve been watching his gorgeous full lips, studying how his tongue peeks out to wipe away some of the sauce.

“Lips,” you answer in your haze.

“Ah,” he chides, and you blink away the memory.

“What?” You ask.

“Well, my lips are some of the best of them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Given how long you were staring at me, I would bet that you were thinking they are. Don’t worry Y/N, go right ahead and get a good look.” He winks.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Well, at least I’m full of something. I haven’t seen you take more than a few bites of food. Quit stalling and eat your damn dinner.”

“You know, you’re pretty bossy.”

“I guess that’s why I’m the boss.”

“Time and place. This isn’t the restaurant. Maybe it’s my house and I call the shots.”

He gestures around. “Well then, by all means. What are your commands.”

“For you to stop being a tool.”

Seokjin cackles. “Oh, that’s an insult I haven’t heard since middle school.”

“Well, is it any less efficient? I think it serves its purpose.”

“I think you’re still stalling.”

“Fine!”

You twirl a large pile of noodles around your chopsticks and shovel them into your mouth. “Thewere. Hawppy?”

“Immensely so,” Seokjin says, his eyes twinkling.

You don’t have the fight in you to argue anymore. The warm, savory noodles are so chewy and delicious, and the salt on your tongue is reminding you how deplenished you are from the energy of the stream.

You eat in silence, until the heaviness of your limbs has scattered to mostly just the heaviness of your full stomach.

You lean back against the sofa on your final chew, groaning when you’ve finished.

“Ugh, that was so good.”

“I told you. I’m a genius for suggesting it.”

“You got lucky and picked the best place in this neighborhood.”

Seokjin scoffs. “Excuse you. Might I remind you of a humble restaurant that is also technically in this neighborhood?”

“And does this place serve jajjangmyeon at one a.m. on a weekday?”

“No.”

“Then my point still stands,” you say.

Seokjin sighs and then follows up with a yawn that you can’t help but catch.

“So, debrief time. Before either of us fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You can go home and rest. I can’t imagine you got much sleep today.”

“Hardly any at all, but you can’t get rid of me so easily.” Seokjin smirks. “Let’s talk about the stream.”

“Well, you caught most of it.”

“Yes, and I think it’s worth talking about.”

You mull it over for a minute, how you felt as the onslaught of gifted sex toys seemed to flood the chat, the overwhelm not really of the thing itself but the assertion over a boundary you were trying to place. Why was this so hard for you to do?

“I think I still feel so much like an imposter. I don’t know a lot about gaming, but I’m gaming. I’m not at all sexy enough to have a stream that does sexy stuff, so I feel like I’m just…” You shrug.

He opens his mouth, but then stops himself, nodding for you to finish.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to fall for the pressure of being what everyone wants me to be. Which is, this role of the fat funny streamer. Like, every single trope in fiction has the side friend be fat and funny as some comedic relief. And because people wanted me to stream because I was so ‘funny’. Or they just see me as something to fuck because if I’m not completely sexless I have to be basically a pocket pussy for someone. All so I can make money. It’s so fucked.”

“But…you aren’t just a character in fiction, Y/N.” Seokjin reaches across the table, grazing his thumb over the back of your pinky knuckle. “You’re real. You feel things. You feel this, don’t you?”

You nod.

“So if this is the choice, to keep streaming for some financial goal, then who is it you want to be? You’re sure of what you don’t want, which is a good place to start. But what next? You have a choice.”

You pause. You have a choice.

In all of this, has it ever really felt that way? From the start, streaming was so rooted in financial stability. And because of that, it’s been so much heavier when you are forced into a performer role that you don’t want to partake in. It never occurred to you that you could actually control any of it.

But you suppose that’s what Seokjin does when he streams. He gives his audience some version of himself that he has a say in, control over.

“I…I guess I don’t know. I have never really thought about this being a choice.”

He nods, then stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that’s where you start. Trying to figure out who it is you want to be. And owning her. Whoever she is. Whether she wants to be funny or sexy or a combination of the two. If she wants to give up streaming and find another thing, or go full steam ahead and become the top streamer on the internet. You get to decide.”

After dinner–and trying not to stare at your breasts– Seokjin helped you wash the dishes, talked a bit more about your plans for the next stream, and then he left. He knew he was risking another impromptu sleepover and after your debrief, he wanted to make sure you had the space you needed to sit with the idea of choosing this for yourself.

He knew all too well how important that was. Two years ago, in the same position, it was something he also had to decide: which parts of him stayed with him when he streamed and which parts he hid so he could keep them for himself. It wasn’t an easy choice. He still felt it creep up sometimes when he streamed, constantly vigilant of the words leaving his mouth so he didn’t ever give too much away.

Even when his friends were in the chat, he tried to not call attention to them by name. Similar to how you were on your stream. He wished he could be honest with you and tell you that this part never gets easier. Regardless of how much you wanted to share with others, there was the unfortunate reality that in order to maintain any sense of discretion and honor on the worldwide web, regardless of the type of streaming, the boundary between you and your audience would always lead to disconnection and loneliness. Conversely, you also were not ever going to be totally private and anonymous again. At some point, there was a tipping point where you would never again just be you. The digital footprint was permanent.

And in this limbo, as time moved on and winter finally melted into Spring, the pressure was on for Seokjin. He considered telling you that he was a sex cam streamer. He had felt it on the tip of his tongue that night, but in the many nights that have since followed, fighting against the decision to just tell you so you could move through it and potentially build a more realistic and relatable plan based on his own experiences and the potential betrayal you might have felt when you learned of the ways he wasn’t at all morally superior for doing things for money. Would you judge him for wanting better for you?

Moreover, would you be able to live with knowing that your friend–your boss– did gay sex streams? It just felt too delicate at this point to bring up, so Seokjin shoved it down inside of him, just like he did with his audience every time he hit the countdown to go live.

And unfortunately, in the last few months he’d only streamed a handful of times, which resulted in a significant decrease in engagement and therefore, income.

But between working at the restaurant and then coming over to sit in the other room as you streamed, his time was limited.

He was tired. You streamed late into the early hours of the morning, and unlike him, you didn’t work full time. On the days you did have the early shift in the morning, you somehow seemed rested, clearly used to the chaotic structure of your regular gaming streams that might have occurred the night before. You’d decided to do a brief pause on late night themed streams until you had a better game plan. And to the surprise of both you and Seokjin, your followers were supportive. So you would stream regular games in the late night slots on occasion, and Seokjin would sit on as an honorary mod despite the exhaustion. Granted, those nights you often fell asleep before Seokjin had even left your apartment, and he would gently nudge you awake as you drifted off on the couch, prodding you to go take off your makeup and looking on fondly as you thanked him sleepily before crashing on your bed.

One day in early May, though, everything that was delicately woven into the balance of things began fraying at the edges.

Seokjin had woken up to a grateful text from you thanking him for coming over the night before, and had sent a follow up invitation.

You 7:59AM: You can say no, but do you maybe want to go get dinner tonight when you’re done with work?

Seokjin 8:00AM: Of course I’m going to say yes. Any suggestions where?

You 8:15AM: What about that restaurant that you told me about?

Seokjin 8:17AM: The Mediterranean one? With a month-long waitlist?

You 8:18AM: Shit. I forgot about that. 😓

Seokjin 8:19AM: Wait a second. BRB

Seokjin 8:32AM: Ok I got a reservation for 10:30. I know that’s pretty late but that’s all I could get. Kitchen closes at midnight though so we should be fine.

You 8:32AM: HOW???

Seokjin 8:32AM: Head chef went to school with my brother.

Seokjin 8:33AM: They weren’t that close. If they were, we would probably have an earlier time.

You 8:33AM: I don’t care! I’ll just eat before I go. It’ll be a fourth meal type of situation

Seokjin 8:35AM: We can also go somewhere else

You 8:36AM: NO. 😡 Do not take this away from me. I already decided what I want from the menu. We are going.

Seokjin 8:37AM: LOL. Ok. I’ll come get you before? 10?

You 8:38AM: 👍

Seokjin smiled to himself, finally getting himself out of bed and ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do. When he opened his emails to get started, he saw an email from Worldwide Handsome. He opened it, his stomach sinking as he processed the words.

Dear User Jin, We at Worldwide Handsome appreciate the streams you have trusted us to host for the last two years. In this last financial quarter, we have successfully increased our outreach to new targeted consumers, both from members of the LGBTQ community and their allies. In part, we have you to thank for this success. Your continued participation in WWH’s Partnership program has taken us to new heights for pleasurable camming and stimulation experiences. Among our competitors, we have maintained our position as one of the top pornographic live cam websites, with your stream being one of the most engaged with to-date. However, in the last two months, the algorithmic engagement of WWH’s live shows has significantly plummeted. In conducting market research, we found that in this quarter, we have had a staggering 11% decrease in consistent viewership, subscription renewal, and ad revenue. While there are many contributing factors, it has come to our attention that one overlapping factor might be one of the major contributing factors to this financial loss. In most of our data, it was User Jin’s channel that demonstrated the largest risk among our partners, primarily due to your lack of consistent streaming over the last few months. While we are grateful for your continued dedication to Worldwide Handsome, we regret to inform you that should your channel continue to trend downward in market data over the next 30 days, we will terminate your contract with us as Partner. If this should happen, we still welcome you to continue utilizing the basic features of Worldwide Handsome. You will still retain a generous commission rate, the ability to publish past livestreams to your channel, stream clipping functions, gifting, and more. If you would like to learn more details about the basic features provided with Worldwide Handsome, please visit the FAQ page on our website. Once again, we are grateful for your ongoing support over the years. We at WWH are grateful to you and the many other streamers who continue to make sex a global artform that we can proudly stand behind. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out. Sincerely, Worldwide Handsome Partners

Dropped from the partner program? His partnership with the website was what provided the groundwork for any sort of financial stability while streaming. It not only provided consistent scheduled payouts, but the commission retention was one of the highest in the industry. People were desperate to be part of the partner program, even if it belonged within the confines of gay sex streaming. And until this quarter, Seokjin had been leading the trend, securing his place within the company. But now, because of his neglect, it was being threatened out from under him.

On top of it, the money pit of the restaurant was at it again; a sewer line bursting a few blocks away had caused flooding and an electrical malfunction a month ago, which resulted in a transformer blowing and frying his computer with all the records. His parents had been tech savvy enough to digitize everything, but clearly not enough to have learned to back up things onto the cloud instead of leaving them on the harddrive.

For the last few weeks, he’d been shuffling documents back and forth between his laptop and the new system, begging his father to learn how to sign a PDF through some YouTube tutorial that only resulted in his father taking a fuzzy picture of the document in a poorly lit hallway of the cruise ship and sending it back over this morning with a text:

Here you go! Hope this is okay. Probably won’t have a connection for a while. Talk next week.

It was not in fact okay, and Seokjin was now considering just forging his father’s signature to get the new insurance forms authorized as soon as possible. The financial burden of what the restaurant was doing was starting to feel more like damnation and less of an investment. With each week drawing nearer to his parents' return, he began worrying that they wouldn’t be able to handle all the things that had become urgent needs.

He had a month to get it together. Otherwise, he could kiss both of his careers goodbye. With his father just adding to the slew of problems, today he was at his wit’s end. He was beyond stressed and in desperate need of release.

Which is why when he logged onto Worldwide Handsome after a particularly frustrating call with the electrical company, he found himself falling naturally into his old persona easily.

“I needed this,” he said to his audience, watching the bottom of the screen as the numbers slowly trickled in. It wasn’t nearly as many people as he had gotten accustomed to seeing you entertaining during your stream nights, and for some reason that felt intimidating to Seokjin. How you were able to secure an audience without needing to get naked, one that was flexible with you in ways that his audience could never be. He felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

BGood4Daddy: Missed u pretty boy

He watched the comments flit by, many of them taking on the same sub-dom dynamic he usually played as. Some asked where he’d been, but most of them were just horny messages begging for him to act out their fantasies.

His stomach twisted. Somehow he’d forgotten this was how things went.

“Missed you too. Missed all of you. It’s been crazy lately,” he said. He palmed himself casually through his slacks, trying to convince himself to get into the mood.

The tips started to slowly trickle in, starting to meet the bare minimum goals for Seokjin to begin stripping.

That’s one thing about his audience he’d always be able to count on. They would always ensure that he had enough of a payout to take his cock out.

He chuckled at the comments, starting to wind up as he removed his shirt, and then unzipped his slacks.

XMasterX: you’ve been a bad boy. Sir needs to punish you for leaving us for so long.

“Is that right?” Seokjin challenged. “Well, then if I’m just going to be punished, maybe it’ll be better if I leave.”

The threat had the desired effect; Seokjin’s tip jar began to fill up faster, the view count starting to increase back to a somewhat decent viewership.

Good. This was good. Soon he could get all of this over with and secure himself back into good standing with the website and his subscribers.

Within a few minutes, the tip jar announced that the first two milestones have been unlocked: take off shirt and take off pants.

“Eager are we?” he teased, slowly slipping his shirt over his head. He’d managed to get back to the gym in his apartment complex this week, but even if he hadn’t, it’s not like he wasn’t still toned from all the heavy lifting at the restaurant. With all the electrical issues, he’d been helping pull industrial heavy equipment away from the walls for the electrician to prepare to install a new grounding wire, and those weren’t particularly light.

The comments lit up with the praise, usernames old and new beginning to flash across his screen. He smirked.

“I know you’ve waited a while, but maybe you should sweat it out a bit. Show me how much you missed me.”

It felt so natural to say this, something he knew you hadn’t felt comfortable doing in your streams, but you’d tried a few times. He’d found it cute when you’d done it, almost like it was a gentle request. But for him now, this was about anticipation and tension, letting his viewers fall back into the world of fantasy he used to cook up every few days. This was a place of escape, where Seokjin was left behind and Jin took control.

The tip jar shook, the animated coins piling in.

He popped the button of his pants. Slowly. He smirked at the camera, reaching down and squeezing himself. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t small, and that was still part of the fantasy: the grand reveal that people had to work for. He often chose to work under the assumption that everyone was new in the chat, that this was a new experience for voyeuristic eyes. While he knew that wasn’t necessarily true, for all he knew someone could be stumbling into the chat room, unknowing to his body and the pleasure he was so willing to give.

Someone like you.

His cock twitched at that. He’d expected this fantasy to get a bit old for him: the idea that you would come across his stream and stay for the whole thing. It had been the fuel for his fire a few months ago, but so much had changed now that you were friends.

But now that he knew more about you, all the little details, fuck. That just made it seem even more real. He could see you in your small room, his shirt draped over you safely while you strutted around in those tiny pajama shorts.

He unzipped his pants, kicking them off at the ankles and sitting back down in the chair.

You’d be doing the same thing, he thought. Those shorts riding up those thick thighs he now knew exactly the weight of as they’d rubbed against his. They were so soft, all of you so soft. And he knew you’d shove them down quickly, annoyed that they got in your way, pouting a little bit that he wasn’t there to tug them off of you.

“Fuck,” Seokjin said. “I don’t know if I can really take it much longer.” It was true, his cock was hardening quickly, and the need to touch himself was growing heavier with urgency.

His chat sounded off, various commands to wait or to go for it. It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t there for them tonight. Even though maybe he should have been, maybe the risk was that if he didn’t comply, there would be no great reward.

mapl3stor33 tipped $3000: Welcome back. Give us a good one. You can always pay us back for it 😉

Seokjin smiled, his most loyal subscriber popping up with a generous tip. Yes, this was where he thrived, wasn’t it? Isn’t this what he was good for?

2 milestones unlocked from another viewer, this time selecting from some of the few dozens of options programmed into the menu to help guide the stream: cock ring and edging, no cumming.

God, why did he allow for there to be guided sessions? Why didn’t he lead the stream this time like the one he did a few months ago? That was the one where he’d cum all over himself after pretending to blindfold you.

Now, he knew even more about you, how the curve of your ass felt shifting against him. How soft your hair was when it tickled his arms while you slept, little whimpers escaping your mouth that he knew he could easily draw from you again when he got the chance. You’d look so pretty with a blindfold on, shivering in the warm light of your bedroom, mouth open and desperate as he lightly touched around your collarbone, down your sternum and between the valley of your tits. You’d been so bad about teasing him in those sexy little bustiers and corsets lately, and it would be nice if he got to tease you for once.

His cock ached through his briefs, asking him to end the torture, to free himself into the open air and stroke until he came thinking about all the ways he wanted to torture you with pleasure.

But with another tip coming in, this time adding the detail of a vibrating cock ring, Seokjin knew his fantasies would not be leading him to be satisfied tonight. At least not in the way he wanted.

Twenty minutes later, after playing into the game of begging and whining and falsely pretending he was going to cum to ensure he was edging, he came. A pathetic, unsatisfying dribble that wept out of him and hardly amounted to the sensation he felt earlier. He’d tried to think of you, but there was a block. Too many people watching, too many people demanding things from him. Instead of just cumming, it became aware to Seokjin how much of a performance these streams always were; the ring light setup ensured people could see every angle. He knew how to make attractive faces when he orgasmed that would leave everyone with plenty of imagery for their own personal fantasies later. He knew how to pretend to be more turned on than he was, and to force vibrators and dildos into proper angles to ensure he came. It was all part of the show.

One that he hadn’t taken part in for quite some time. When he masturbated last night in the shower, he caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. He saw how his face contorted, how his body would buck and writhe without his control as he came against the shower wall, how in some ways, there was something objectively unsexy about how he came, no glossy angles to make sure his chin didn’t pull into different skin pockets, no ambient lighting to capture the ridges of his body. Just the pure experience of orgasming as a human being and nothing more.

As he wiped up his mess, he decided to do a little chat with his subscribers.

At least he didn’t moan that one person’s name like last time.

Oh yeah. Jin what was that about? You have some girlfriend we don’t know about?

I thought he was gay. This is a gay site!

You must be new here. He’s straight.

Oh :(

Maybe he’s been too busy fucking her to come play with us.

I bet it’s boring sex. Who needs to do streams when they’re getting laid. You better tell her to satisfy you, or one of us will have to come show her how she could do better.

“Yah, enough of that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend. And I don’t want to talk about what happened that one time. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Anyway, I’m tired. Time for bed. I won’t make you wait as long for next time. Bye!”

Ugh. What an awful stream. If it was going to be like this all the time, maybe he should have actually considered letting the website shut him down and take the cut.

But then how would you get everything taken care of with the restaurant.

He sighed. Is this how you experienced streaming too? He figured as much. His stomach tugged, disappointed he couldn’t talk to you about it. You always debriefed your streams with him, especially if you felt a little shitty during one. Now, because he was keeping this life of his separate from his life with you, he had no one who would understand to talk to about this. All he could ever do is provide support to you, but not you to him. It was still just as lonely doing this as it always had been. Only this time, Seokjin knew that it didn’t have to be this way. That some people could reveal other parts of themselves to get kernels of support when needed.

But that wasn’t going to be him. He was alone in this. And as he dragged himself to bed, feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t notice that he left his phone on silent.

“Detective? Are you there?” The svelte redhead approached my desk. I could see through the cameras that she helped herself to snooping around. Whatever she was gathering from my notebooks, it was a trap.

Any good detective knows not to leave his mess around. Any clues she was trying to gather from this dark, dark world, they would be nothing compared to reality.

Reality is darker. Betrayal, people thinking they know me because they know my past.

I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke swirls around my head like a cloud. It’s cloudy here in Seattle, and that promise of heavy rain reassures me. He’s going to try to move the kitty tonight, and I’m not about to let him use her as a distraction.

She leans her large, milky tits over my desk. She’d look good there, spread out across it. I’m sure she knows too. Any dame like her would know what she’s worth. A tempting distraction, but I am too good to fall for it.

“God what the fuck even is this?” You exit out of the screen on your tablet, the cover mocking you for even considering it. Whatever the hell you were expecting from Clues to My Heart’s raving 5-star reviews, this wasn’t it. This was a pile of absolute garbage.

And it isn’t serving its purpose of distraction. You are still imagining the main character as Seokjin, only Seokjin in some twisted, fake machismo, desk set smutty nightmare of a book that is so full of plot holes and clichés that you know you can’t stomach it further. Reading an awful romance novel is clearly not the answer to escaping the awful feeling in your stomach.

You delete it from your library and sigh, staring at the shelves of your apartment, debating if you really want to read something or just go to bed and let yourself cry.

He stood you up. He stood you up and you looked the hottest you ever looked. This was going to be your attempt at connection, at knowing for sure that you were on the path toward something more intimate than friendship.

But now, it was clear: whatever expectation you had for the two of you, it might as well be dead and buried with whatever body this stupid book is trying to solve the murder of.

You tried calling him multiple times. His phone just rang on and on as the clock shifted from 10:15 to 10:30 to 12:00. For a moment, you thought maybe you got the date or time wrong. Maybe instead of tonight as in today he thought you meant tomorrow?

Or maybe he lost track of time by finding a dog outside of your apartment, and then he had to go find its owner so he never had the chance to tell you he’d be late.

But more realistically, maybe he just doesn’t want to see you and this silence is meant to be interpreted as a boundary. Seokjin is definitely the type who would feel bad rejecting you when you come onto him, and would apologize to you despite the fact that he’s not guilty. It’s happened before, in the kitchen incident.

Even if it’s not that, it’s the fact that you carefully selected an outfit for tonight, a silky black slip dress that you are terrified to wear because there’s no part of you that you can hide. The slippery material will highlight every curve, every line (especially panty lines), and every droplet of moisture that you might dribble or sweat out.

But in the last few months, you’ve been trying to do one thing every day that scares you. Today, it would appear you were going to go for two. And now, you are dealing with one terrifying thing that might just be worse than the first two: rejection.

It’s humiliating. You know you’re going to go to work tomorrow and will have to see him knowing that there will be some awkward confrontation or avoidance game. You’ll have to speak to him. He’ll probably call you into the back office and let you down gently. Will reinforce the fact that he’s your boss and that things have gone too far or some bullshit.

And then, just like how you’ve been cut out of the lives of people who meant something to you, it’ll happen again, as it always does.

1 Year Ago

It’s raining so hard that you can’t see the road, but you’re trying to drive through it anyway, trying to make it home in time so you won’t miss it. You got out of work late; you thought being a substitute teacher wouldn’t come with all the extra grading, but you were wrong.

A year ago, the elementary school nearby shut down, and with it came the layoff of all its teachers. A stupid idea, really, because that meant an already over-enrolled school was forced to shuttle its students across town to the other elementary school, doubling its student body without doubling its teachers. Somewhere in the thick of it, you were looking for a job, living in your parents’ house trying to float from one career to the other.

Your friends around you were moving; Wonwoo was already in a new time zone, making an upward move in every area. His former girlfriend-turned-fianceé worked in HR for a tech start-up and easily navigated getting him in as a coder. They had just secured a penthouse with a gorgeous view. His life was locked together. Your other friends, it seemed, had moved on in their lives as well. Two of them already had children and were married. Two more were engaged. Everyone else was jetting across the world on expeditions to places with sandy beaches and bottomless drinks. And there you were: mid twenties, desperate for change.

So when you saw the banner across the elementary school advertising a need for substitute teachers, you decided you were desperate enough to try. And as it turned out, you loved it. There was something magic about working with young children, seeing how they developed new ideas you would never in your adult dreams try to fathom. But to them, to fly across the world on a magical escalator or hippo was a true possibility and you wanted part of you to have that same freedom to dream of the impossible. Their creativity inspired you to push the boundaries of life and dream of more.

Not to mention, it also landed you a boyfriend. One day while you were substituting for the gym teacher, nervously handing out kickballs to a bunch of fourth graders for class and praying they didn’t knock each other’s teeth out, someone stepped into the gymnasium and padded his way over to you, looking for his youngest sister to take her to a dentist appointment. And not too soon after, you and Do Woon had your first day date, which turned into a night date, and then a breakfast date. It was more like a 3-day date where the two of you spent the entire weekend rolling around in his sheets. You only managed to escape that awkward conversation with your parents because they were out of town for the weekend. If they had known any different, you would probably have died from embarrassment.

Teaching has given you a lot of great things. But with that care comes a cost. You are now late for your father’s surprise birthday party and trapped in an insane rainstorm.

You weave around fallen tree branches, trying not to obsess over the clock as the minutes roll smoothly into each other, knowing that by now, the surprise portion of the party is over. They’re probably eating cake now and reminiscing on his milestones. Your mother is probably chatting to your aunts and uncles about the renovations they’ve made to the main bathroom. Do Woon is supposed to be there, and if your instincts are right, you’ll be getting engaged tonight.

It would be the perfect opportunity. All your family is there ready to celebrate, and your father who hates being the center of attention will have all the pleasure of dumping the focus onto you.

Do Woon has been acting odd the last few weeks. You’ve been pretending not to notice, especially when recent conversations have been skirting around topics you two used to discuss regularly. You have a trip to Bali planned for the fall, which he once said is where he would want to honeymoon. He’s given very few details about this trip since he booked the flight almost three months ago, and you suspect that’s because he doesn’t want to give any spoilers about the honeymoon suites or couple packages you both looked over when you decided this was where you wanted to vacation. You’re not sure you have enough time to plan a wedding in six months, but if this is what Do Woon wants, who are you to say no?

Since the start of your dating, he’s been thoroughly engrossed in a very specific timeline, and had no issues telling you so: he wanted to date for about a year, get engaged, get married (wherever you wanted, he insisted), have a honeymoon on some beachy shores and get started with making babies. He is the eldest of six. He wants a big family.

You’ve talked him down from that number over the last few months, having him promise instead you will see how things go and will take it as it comes. While he wasn’t entirely pleased with that compromise, you think his agreement is a good enough answer. But that’s how Do Woon is. He plans his life down to every meticulous detail. Which is why even if you don’t think you can pull off planning a wedding in such a short window of time, you know he can.

So tonight, you think it’ll happen. And unfortunately for you, you’re going to look like absolute rain-soaked garbage, the perfect accompaniment to your shitty day.

The once neatly wrapped gift next to you is now soggy from the downpour. You didn’t check the weather before heading into work today and left your umbrella in the car. It rolls around on the floor in front of the passenger seat, completely dry and mocking.

At work, you found out that they’re continuing to make staffing cuts despite the shortage, as many families have chosen not to enroll in the school next year, instead moving their children to private schools closer to their homes or homeschooling. As desperate as they were to hire you, the work you put into the year you’ve been here is now about to just melt away.

You don’t know how much longer you’ll have a job.

You anticipated this, of course, spent most of the fall applying for graduate programs. Of the ten applications you submitted, you’ve been waitlisted in two places: the local university here and the more modern (and urban) program not even remotely close to this place. You’d hoped when you sent those applications that things would be getting more serious with Do Woon, but it had only been a handful of months. You weren’t sure where the two of you were going. And now, you are hoping for the local program, not wanting to give up on your dream of teaching if it means you don’t have to.

Your phone lights up in the darkness of your car. One more missed call from your mother. But you’re so close, almost to your neighborhood. You know how poorly this is going to go.

As you take a final turn, making your way down the street, you see the street has started flooding, barring you from your block. It’s no use, either. You can see on the block after yours that those crossroads are also flooded. The only way to get home is to do so on foot. So that’s what you do, park your car on the non-flooded side street, prop the sodden gift under your arm, grab your umbrella and head into the rain.

The thing about thresholds is that they are a place where you exist in transition. From the street, you can hear a hum of music but don’t know the exact tune. You see faces lit by the warm lamps of your dining room, and can make out your uncle and your father’s boss. But you can also hear the rain thrumming on the roof, smell the Earth as the rain hits the soil. There’s the chill of the wind cutting through your damp clothing. The moment you step into the house, you’ll be someone else. A daughter still, but also someone else’s future wife.

The warmth of the house touches your face when you step in, the loud voices you’d heard from the other side of the door now having owners: your aunt yelling at your young cousin not to touch something, the sharp guffaw of your dad’s best friend.

You take off your soaked shoes and walk into the dining room. The cake has been cut, neat squares leaving only globs of frosting leaves behind on the golden tray. The neapolitan ice cream is abandoned and melting into an unappetizing brown sludge. Empty beer cans stack up on the table’s other end.

Your stomach gurgles. You’ve barely eaten all day. But you know that will all happen soon. There’s time for cake and celebration after you see the birthday boy.

You find him in his favorite lounge chair, foot rest out as he relaxes and listens to some story one of his co-workers is telling about a client.

“I’m telling ya, she had this massive tits that would knock over everything and everyone. So I says to her one day, you know what I says? ‘Ma’am, now pardon me for sayin’ so, I’m a respectable fella, but I think you might need to get a car blinker.’ And she asks me why and I says to her, ‘Because when you’re turnin’ around, we then’ll know to duck!’”

A roar of laughter bellows through the room, your father smirking at the story as he sips his beer. Ugh. You saunter over to him, fanning a smile across your face.

“Hi Dad,” you say, and face the rest of the guests. “Hi everyone.”

“Y/N! What the hell happened to ya, kid. Rainstorm getcha?” Your father’s boss asks.

You give an apologetic nod. “Yes, I was caught in it. Left work late. The road is flooded so be careful when you leave.”

“I drove over in the truck, so I’m fine,” he responds, sucking down the rest of his beer. “Ah, all out. Can I get you another Birthday Boy?” He nudges you with his elbow roughly. “What about you, hon?”

“I’m, I’m all good. Thanks,” you say awkwardly, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at you up and down salaciously. This man is older than your father, is standing next to your father and behaving this way. It makes you want to strip your entire skin from your body and wash it in the washing machine.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna get some more of that cake anyways. You coming, Bill?” Bill, the apparent co-worker who was bragging about his evident sexual harassment, sighs.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, if I don’t see ya, happy birthday again. Thank your wife for the dinner. It was great. And it was good to see you too,” Bill waggles his eyebrows and walks behind you through the foyer and into the dining room. For a brief moment, you swear you feel him cup your ass in passing.

“Where have you been?!” Your mother’s voice carries across the room. You whip your head to search, finding her walking into the room from the back entrance to the kitchen. She must’ve been cleaning up because the front of her blouse is wet.

“I was working and I had to stay late. And then the storm happened and I had to park down the street. I’m sorry.”

“Well because of you, we awkwardly stood around for well over an hour waiting for you to show up and get everything set up so when your father walked in the door it would actually be a surprise. Which it wasn’t, by the way. He recognized Carl’s truck out front and I guess that was the big giveaway. You were supposed to help me with this, Y/N!”

Your father looks at your mother and sighs. “It was really no big deal. I hate surprises anyway.”

“For a milestone birthday like this, you could use the surprise,” she asserts.

“Well, I got one anyway didn’t I?” He says sharply, standing up and walking out of the room. The gift in your hands feels like dead weight. You set it down onto his chair.

“What happened?” You ask.

Your mother walks closer, looking around the room to ensure no one else is listening. “Your father is being laid off. He found out today. And then when Carl and Bill and all them showed up, they kept talking about it. Turns out no one else in his department is being laid off. Just him.”

Your stomach sinks. Your father supplies most of the income that your family needs to stay afloat. He’s not expected to retire for a few more years. Which means if he gets laid off, he’ll lose a few years’ worth of extra employer contributions to his retirement fund. And his boss and co-workers being such assholes to rub it in? Fuck them.

This wasn’t how you expected any of this to go.

“Oh god. Poor dad.” Your mother nods.

“Yeah, what a birthday. And you weren’t even there to share it with him because you were too busy to be here when it was the only time we needed you to show up. So thanks for that.”

Her words are like knives. You feel yourself being sliced open from all the guilt. She’s not wrong. You’d been the one to organize most of this party, to convince her to follow through with it. And you missed it. People around you have begun departing, shouting happy wishes to your father. All his unwrapped gifts sit on the coffee table next to you, colorful paper pulled open. You missed the entire thing.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try, but you know it's useless. Your mother waves goodbye to one of the neighbors. It’s stopped raining enough to not be a constant heavy click against the windowpane.

“Well you did anyway. It is what it is. Now are you going to disappear on me during clean up or are you going to help me?” She begins to weave the discarded wrapping paper out from under the gifts, setting them into a neat pile on the coffee table.

“I’ll get a trash bag,” you offer, and make your way through the house into the kitchen. Every surface is riddled with stacks of paper plates with balloons on them and plastic forks and spoons. A large yellow tupperware bowl idles by the sink, some vinegary salad now mixed with remnants of every other food from watermelon to potato chips. It’s the first thing you dump into the trash bag.

You follow the garbage, in and out of the half bathroom and dining room, back to the living room when you notice someone is missing.

“Mom,” you say. “Where’s Do Woon?”

“Was he supposed to be here? Because I didn’t see him.”

“He didn’t come?”

“No, Y/N. Unless he is hiding upstairs in your room for some reason, I have not seen him at all tonight.” She dumps a pile of plates into the trash bag. “Think you can handle the rest? My feet hurt and your father and I need to discuss some things.”

“Sure, I am just surprised he didn’t come. I thought–”

“God, honestly. For two seconds can you not think about yourself? It’s not your birthday.”

You fall silent, nodding your head as she steps out of the room and goes to find your father.

Something must be wrong, you think. You reach into your pocket and grab your phone, checking it for messages from Do Woon.

There are many missed calls from your mother, but none from him. Strange. The last time you talked was today. You had reminded him what time the party started. He didn’t respond, but he read the message, and you were satisfied with that.

You select his contact info and hit the call button. After a few seconds of ringing, it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. Not sure what happened tonight, maybe you got stuck in the storm. I know I did, it was crazy and I missed the entire party. Today’s been awful. But uh yeah, call me back when you get this. Love you.”

Maybe he is stuck in a work meeting? He does work late, sometimes unexpectedly, putting in extra hours at his office until you are getting ready for bed.

You shoot him a text.

You 9:02PM: Hey, missed you at the party. Are you working late?Read 9:02PM

Immediately you can see he has opened it. But after ten minutes, there is no response.

You 9:12PM: Everything okay? Read 9:12PM

You clean up the rest of the trash in the living room, tying off the bag and stepping outside. It has stopped raining. The world looks glassy as droplets fall from the tree limbs and refract the streetlights. You walk over to the trash bin, the glaze of cold water running down your hands as you deposit the bag in. You grab the mail.

No acceptance letters. For some reason that feels like the cherry on top of the shittiness that is today. Your mother’s bitter words, your father’s exhaustion, the weather’s chaos weaving into your insecurity. It all feels like some horrible dream.

You need Do Woon. He’s not much of a talker, but he is a good listener, and after a good ranting session, he’ll usually fuck the sadness out of you so you don’t have to think and afterward you’re usually too tired to do anything but sleep. That’s what you need right now.

Where is he? It’s been a half hour and no response. Maybe you’re being paranoid and soon he’ll call and poke fun at how worried you seemed. Maybe he’ll be mad that you are interrupting a work meeting. But today has been awful. And all you want is to hear his voice.

So you call him again, and this time it goes immediately to voicemail.

You 9:38PM: What is going on? Read 9:38PM

You 9:39PM: Please answer me. I’m getting worried. Read 9:39PM

You 9:39PM: Babe!

Message failed to deliver.

A glow falls onto the damp earth around you. You look around for the source and then up. As the rain clouds break apart above you, you realize you’re standing in the light of the moon.

He never called back. That was the end. When you think about it now, there were some vague signs of distancing, but it never amounted to anything that made sense. There, then gone, Do Woon cut you off one day and never looked back.

Much to your embarrassment, you didn’t handle the situation well. That night, you tried calling him three more times, only to receive a message that the number you tried to reach was unavailable. You’d considered driving to his apartment, but as the night wore on, you started to put the pieces together. He didn’t want to talk to you. He’d blocked you, and you didn’t know why.

For the first month after the ghosting-turned-break-up, you tried to get intel to figure out what happened, how you had so royally fucked up your relationship that he didn’t even want to tell you to your face. Unfortunately, most of your friends you’d made that year were through him, and with him cutting you off, so did most of your friends.

Your parents were sympathetic, to a degree. You were given approximately two days to mope. And then you were told to start looking for better jobs in case you, like your father, would be laid off.

“It’ll be a good distraction, I think!” Your mother had said. “Nothing says get over a relationship better than starting a new job.”

You and your father passed job postings back and forth for the next week. You were less than thrilled with the job market. Sure, jobs existed, but none with your skillset or interests or desired pay. To gain anything you would have to make a choice to lose something else, and it twisted your gut at the prospect.

But, in the midst of the heartache, came your rejection from the local university. It was for the best, really. You knew you only wanted to study there because of Do Woon, and without him being part of your life it didn’t matter anyway.

And just as you were at the end of your optimism, ready to let hope die and surrender to the dreamless haze, an email came in with an acceptance into the final university. A big city laid before you to explore.

Things snapped into place. You finished up the school year and told your parents you were moving out.

And now you’re here, in an apartment all to yourself, attending your dream program (or at least trying to) and learning how to cook a halfway decent meal. An apartment that has you rotting on a couch as you try to remind yourself that what happened with Do Woon was a fluke, and not anything you did wrong. And it certainly isn’t some sign that you’re doomed to repeat the same fate again.

You’ve learned in the last few weeks that he’s engaged to someone he met through a matchmaking service. In his profile picture, his future bride is holding an ultrasound photo and he has his hands on her very large belly. “Coming this summer: our own ray of sunshine” the caption reads.

You can’t imagine him ever saying that. He always hated cheesy things. But that’s the surprising thing about all of this: you also never expected him to ghost you and immediately start seeing someone else.

He was a fluke in the timeline. Not a rule, right? You know this. You know not everything happening once means you’re doomed to repeat it forever.

But why is that all you can think about with Seokjin?

You went to work this morning, and he said nothing. No, he probably won’t disappear into the abyss because he manages this place. But when his parents return, will he then? Is he just biding his time before he vanishes?

You hope not. God, you really hope not.

The day rolls on without a word between either of you. Maybe this is how it should be, you think. Two people. Uncomplicated. Not tied to each other by strands of anything.

Fate. This is how it works. It brings people together and then it pulls them apart.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin smut #seokjin #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #jin smut #thanks for the sub

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shannynouhoh · 3 months ago

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Shadows of Isolation

BEARBLR PROMPTOBER DAY 1 - Scary Movie

pairing: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

word count: 735

notes: I don't know who is going to read this, this is only my second time sharing fan fiction writing. Bearblr Prompter sounded so good, I wanted in. Happy October.

Richie would definitely consider himself a romantic, albeit a bit rusty at this point. Always the loud and obnoxious one among a group, opportunity was limited to showcase certain skills of romance. Tonight was going to be a normal Wednesday evening, normality he has grown accustomed to since meeting her - a breath of fresh air and friend first and foremost. You invite his obnoxious jokes, you even have a few of your own up your sleeves, yet it is your acceptance that has anchored him the most. Being around you doesn’t simply prompt introspection, it encourages it. For Richie, a blessing when the rest of his life is going well, a curse when it all topples down one meltdown and one interaction with Frank at a time.

He met you at a bowling club, long after the rest of his The Bear family left the scene. An attempt to avoid life for just one more lime soda on ice. “Last one’s paying, am I right?” you smirked returning your bowling shoes after giving them a good clean. He looks at you confused and you wave your debit card defeatedly. “That’s how it goes. Did your friends leave you to pay as well?”. Richie sips from his drink and shakes his head, “that’s some asshole friends you’ve got, sweetheart.” You nod with a smile as your eyes move toward the exit, “Naaah they’re okay.” you respond warmly. After settling the bill you turn to him, “You want some company while you finish this drink?”

That's how your friendship started, a long conversation about bowling and your respective friend groups later and you suggested to stay in contact in case the other ever needs a bowling partner. And bowling turned into billiard nights, laser tag, arcade strolls once every two weeks if you could arrange it. Richie was hesitant in the beginning, the attention he received from you felt like a set up. In his eyes, whatever your intention was, you were way out of his league and your blatantly open flirting triggered internal alarm bells. If you asked The Bear, everyone would attest that Richie’s demeanor changed over a very short period of time, and life seemed a bit lighter. And sometimes he dared to dream about those doubt-inducing what-ifs. What if she doesn’t flirt just for shits and giggles, and what if this is his second chance?

Tonight felt different; tonight, you had invited him for a scary movie night to your place—you, a woman whose laughter sparkled like sunlight through trees—welcoming him into the comforts of your home to watch horror films on an oversized projector screen in your living room. Sharing space and sharing your passion for horror with him is totally normal between friends, but Richie’s brain has been in overthinking mode since you so casually suggested the very different plans for your treasured fortnightly Wednesdays. He toyed with the idea inviting you over many times and you beat him to it. As the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows began to dance around along the walls, Richie suddenly felt overwhelmed by a tide of self-doubt that gnawed at him like a malicious specter from one of their chosen films.

The movie flickered ominously as you shared popcorn and half-hearted giggles and sweet “fuck offs” mouthed at each other when creatures leapt out from dark corners onscreen and it took him offguard. Yet with each echoing shriek from your lips came another reminder of Richie’s perceived inadequacies—your stories of trips around the world with your friends, live music you’ve experienced and all these soft impressions of a life fully lived draws stark comparisons against his new solitary lifestyle filled only by weekends with his daughter and hopes of somehow turning all this shit around. He marvels at your spirited conversations but feels a heavy weight settle over him: How could someone so wonderfully alive be interested in someone like him? As anxiety washes over him, turning every heartbeat into thunderous doubt, Richie finds himself retreating further into his thoughts even as you laugh together at his wild reactions to ridiculous jump scares.

And as darkness envelopes you both, something shifts within Richie and it becomes clear to him that maybe there is no place for him in your life, not right now when all he has are glimpses of who he could be, and no real appreciation for who he is.

#bearblrpromptober #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #promptober #the bear

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blurredcolour · 1 year ago

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Epilogue

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

The end of the war is just the beginning of the rest of your lives.

Photo Credit: East Islip Historical Society

Warnings: Discussion of War Hardships, Permanent Injury/Disability, Holiday Party Setting, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 1244

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Nixon, New Jersey – December 20, 1946

The sprawling home of Stanhope Nixon was overflowing with guests, alcohol, and music as the annual Nixon Nitration Works holiday party was in full swing. Catering staff were milling about with silver trays of canapés and champagne while the management staff and their wives ate, drank, and made merry amongst the millwork and art that adorned Lewis’s father’s New Jersey home.

Lewis himself was busy playing host alongside his father, with his British war bride Irene in tow, as Dick kindly introduced you to his immediate supervisor. The modest diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band on your left ring finger refracted the light against the glass of champagne Lewis had planted in your hand upon your arrival, snagging your attention as it still tended to do, even eight months on.

The end of the war had come around the same time for you and Dick, with the Japanese surrender for him and with your discharge from Major Wilke’s command upon the arrival of the Allied prosecutorial team in Nuremberg furnished with a fleet of translators freshly released from Bletchley Park and other frontline duties. It had been bittersweet to be no longer needed, but as you had admitted to Dick that dreamy summer day in Austria, you were quite finished with your time in Europe.

It had taken over five months for Europe to let you go, however. Returning to England had been the easy part, your uncle’s widow in Oxford welcoming you back with open arms. With your more ambiguous service record under CWAC, however, return to Canada had taken rather longer. Priority on troop ships was naturally given to the boys in uniform, and then the girls who had enlisted in Canada. You had waited impatiently for your turn, working with your aunt to alter the wedding gown she had squirreled away from her own marriage in 1936. It had been her hope for her own daughter to wear it someday, but she had insisted as you were the closest thing she would ever have to such a person now, you ought to have it. So, it had become your joint project to turn it into something more modern for whenever you could find yourself standing in front of Dick Winters again.

That chance had not presented itself until March of 1946. Dick had arrived by train in your hometown in Canada, insistent on asking your father’s permission to marry you in person. He brought a ring, as promised, and married you one week later. Immigration paperwork had taken six weeks to clear, but you were grateful that it was nothing like the delay women from overseas endured. By the time you arrived in Nixon, New Jersey, Dick had a modest house and a car waiting for you, true to his word again. By the fall, you’d started offering private French lessons and you and Dick were seriously discussing whether or not you would attend vocational school to become a public-school teacher. Life was good, better than you could have ever imagined.

This party, however, had begun to drag on. Your feet were beginning to hurt as you stood around in your heels and you were feeling the strain of trying keep up with the myriad of conversations swirling around you amid the din of music and laughter. Dick’s hand on your lower back had you turning to him as he leaned into your left ear. “Let me show you the library.” His thumb swept along the fabric of your dress soothingly and you nodded gratefully as he excused you both.

Leading you down the hallway confidently, you wondered how many times he had been in this house, but felt your shoulders relax as the oppressive wall of sound faded away behind you. Guiding you around a corner, you couldn’t help but gasp as you stepped into a room filled with an expansive collection of leatherbound books, a fire laid in a stone hearth with a cozy seating area in front anchoring the space.

“Did we just find heaven?” You whispered conspiratorially and he chuckled as he kissed your temple, leading you to sit on an overstuffed leather sofa.

Setting down your now-empty glass on the low table in front of you, you sighed as you pressed a thumb between your brows. “I’m sorry it was so obvious I was having a hard time in there.” You apologized softly.

Sliding an arm around your shoulders, he gave a gentle squeeze. “Only to me, honey.” He assured you.

The sound of footsteps in the hall had both your heads turning sharply, concerned your sanctuary was about to be disrupted, but it was only Lewis who appeared in the doorway. “I thought I saw you two sneak off here.” He smirked, a glass of whisky in one hand and a bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale in the other. Kicking the door shut behind him, he came to sit in one of the armchairs across from the pair of you.

“Apparently we were not as subtle as we hoped.” You laughed as he poured half the bottle into your empty glass before handing the remainder to Dick, raising his own glass of amber liquid in a toast.

“Happy Holidays.”

“Happy Holidays, Lew.” Dick replied before your glassware came together in an awkward symphony of mismatched ‘clinks’ before you each took an appreciative sip.

“And to think we spent the last few scattered hither and yon.” Lewis remarked.

“Eating potatoes…” you muttered.

“Or nothing at all.” Dick added thoughtfully.

“Couldn’t get beef, Vat 69…nylons…” Lewis gave a nod in your direction, and you glanced at the closed door before eyeing him over the rim of your glass.

“Oh, I suppose it was a bit of a nuisance, but I honestly did appreciate having silk in my parachutes.” You took a leisurely sip, waiting for his reaction.

It unfolded slowly, his eyes widening before he sucked in a breath laced with droplets of his treasured whisky before coughing violently, pointing at you. “I knew it.” He wheezed eventually as you tried not to laugh too brightly at his expense. Dick held no such qualms, laughing richly beside you.

“Of course you did, you saw my last day firsthand.”

“But you finally admitted it! Please, you have to tell me everything…” He leaned forward eagerly, and you swallowed, wishing more than anything that you could.

There was still a great deal you hadn’t even shared with Dick; The Official Secrets Act preventing you from divulging anything. How you longed to share everything with them – the training schools in Scotland, the slosh of an aggressive amount of rum in your belly as you had fallen no more than ten seconds to hit the ground outside Lyon, your harrowing journey across the Pyrenees mountains into Spain to find passage back to England with your fresh side wound nagging at every step. The determination that had driven you back to Normandy just weeks after you return to London, and the eight months of exhausting, tension-laced work that had preceded their arrival. How you longed to share everything, to commiserate and to laugh. To be honest.

“Someday, Lewis. Someday it won’t be treason to talk about it and I will tell you everything.” You promised.

“To someday, then.” He grinned, raising his glass in another toast. “And believe me I will hold you to that.”

Laughing warmly, you raised yours in return. “To someday.”

-------------------------

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers

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karatekels · 10 months ago

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TIGmas Day #10 - Guided Meditation

Sorry for the delay, y'all! My current goal is to finish meditation and have the last 2 TIGmas posts up by the 25th (y'know, three months late!). I hope that @eemcintyre's request tides you all over - I certainly had fun with it!

Summary: [CK Terry Silver] Terry is fed up with your attitude lately, and decides to help you learn how to channel your pent up frustrations through more enjoyable pursuits... for him, anyway.

TW: ddlg (without the age-play); sexual spanking; rough oral sex (male receiving); cumplay; sexual punishment; oral sex (female receiving); aftercare

[I'm back, baby!]

---

Guided Meditation

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Terry’s POV:

He can tell by the way the front door slams shut that you have not had a good day.

Bad days had been happening more often than not over the past few weeks, and your normal, upbeat demeanor had been gradually replaced by a state of quiet (and occasionally not-so-quiet) irritability. You had been growing more distant this week in particular, brushing off both his attempts to cheer you up and his requests for an explanation as to what has you so upset.

He thinks he’s had just about enough of that.

Terry Silver had not yet come across a challenge or a problem he hadn’t been able to overcome by one means or another, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. He’ll have an explanation out of you by the end of the day, so that he can set about resolving the problem tomorrow.

You come into the main living room, your eyes flicking over to him for the briefest of moments before pointedly looking away, setting down your bag on the couch furthest away from his perch on the piano bench.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says, trying his best not to sound patronizing. You make a non-committal noise in response, moving to the small bar in the corner to grab a glass of water.

“Come, sit with me. Tell me about your day,” he requests in a soft, soothing voice. He doubted he’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar with you in your current state, but perhaps he’ll be pleasantly surprised.

“It was fine.”

You don’t elaborate, and he bites back a sigh. He can’t afford to let his exasperation overtake his concern for you.

“The chef hasn’t quite finished preparing dinner yet, so why don’t w–”

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just going to take a shower and then go to bed,” you cut him off abruptly, something you never do, and it briefly takes him by surprise.

“Y/N,” he says your name sternly, an undercurrent of warning clear in his tone. Your eyes don’t blink as you drink your water, staring him down all the while, but he does detect a twinge of regret in your beautiful orbs. Your gaze drops down to the flat surface of the bar along with your now-empty glass; you’re unable to look at him.

“Look, Terry, I just really want to be alone right now, okay? I don’t want to talk.”

“You have to eat something at least,” he requests, the pleading tone more out of politeness than a real need to negotiate with you. He’ll hold you down and forcefeed you if it comes down to it. You haven’t been eating enough lately, and it’s starting to show.

You pointedly ignore him, stalking past him and out of the room, heading upstairs without another word.

Well, now you’re just acting like a little brat.

Those he knows how to handle.

He calmly makes his way to the kitchen to have a word with the chef, asking for dinner to be packed away once it’s ready, then catches the head housekeeper while on his way to the stairs, asking them to tell the rest of the staff to enjoy a paid night off, effective now. His tone and expression leave no room for argument, and he idly watches his staff scatter with some degree of satisfaction as he contemplates the best course of action.

The two of you had done some very minor experimenting with kinks in the past, and it was clear from those experiences that you enjoyed him dominating you. Outside of the bedroom, you always wanted him to take the lead, even going so far as to order for you on occasion, but sexually… it has always been clear and consensual. You’ve quite literally begged him for it before, and he had always been more than willing to oblige; perhaps your little outbursts and bouts of giving him the silent treatment were you indirectly asking for more of the same.

He’s willing to bet that having control taken away from you entirely – mind and body – would help you find the emotional release that you are clearly in need of.

Smirking to himself, he saunters upstairs and into your bedroom, locking the door not only with the standard lock on the knob to keep anyone out, but with a key that prevented anyone from leaving the room. Chuckling to himself, he places the key on the very top of one of the bookshelves and well out of your reach. Now you have nowhere to run.

Hearing the shower still running in the ensuite, he takes his time slowly removing his watch and his rings and placing them in a small dish on his bedside table, safely out of the way. Humming to himself, he gathers his hair up, tying it back in a ponytail, finishing off the look by neatly rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. There, now nothing will get in the way of him giving you exactly what you need.

He hears the shower turn off and sits patiently at the foot of the bed, utterly still as he waits for you to emerge from the bathroom. Several long minutes later, you do, wrapped in a towel with your hair still damp. He watches your eyes pointedly skim past him on the bed, and decides to set his plan in motion without further ado.

“Come here,” he says in a firm but soft voice, staring at you with a stern, unblinking expression. Your eyes narrow in response as you stare each other down for a long moment before you break first, marching past where he is perched on your bed with your nose in the air and into the closet; he mentally considers it a first infraction, and resolves to keep count. Saying nothing, he allows you to get dressed – you’ll be out of your clothes the instant he wants you to be, and having something to strip off of you would only add to your humiliation.

When you step out of the walk-in-closet you are dressed far too warmly for the warm Los Angeles summer – regardless of the effectiveness of his home’s A/C – like you’re trying to prove a point.

“Come here, Y/N,” he commands, repeating the order, and you roll your eyes at him before brushing past him once again to the bedroom door. That’s two steps out of line so far.

He takes no small degree of pleasure watching your spine straighten as you realized that you’re locked in, your small hand twisting and turning the doorknob to no avail. After a brief struggle, you whirl around, your expression furious.

“What the fuck, Terry?!” you snarl at him, and now he’s perversely looking forward to breaking you. Three.

“Watch your mouth.”

You balk at his harsh tone, taking a reflexive step back and looking genuinely shocked at being scolded like a child, but immediately afterwards you get your hackles back up as if realizing your skittish response and not liking it.

“What?” you snap, putting up an irritated front, but he can see right through you; he always can. “What do you want?!”

He raises an eyebrow, tsking before deciding to chide you further.

“My precious girl, I know you’re smarter than that. Do you really need me to tell you three times?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, an embarrassed flush dusting across your cheeks as he dresses you down. You bite your bottom lip, clearly toying with the idea of saying something likely to get you into further trouble, but ultimately decide against it, slowly closing the distance between you on your shaky legs and only stopping when you are still just out of his easy reach.

Brat.

Remaining unfazed by your attempts to poke the bear as it were, he points to his right leg, bent at the knee. “Sit.”

You glare silently at his limb for a moment, but eventually give in. See? Progress already.

Huffily, you come to sit on his knee, your arms folded and a scowl on that pretty face, but he can feel your anticipation in the tautness of your posture, see it in the way your pupils dilate.

He’ll give you what you need.

Always.

Reader’s POV:

You sit ramrod straight on Terry’s knee, and he makes no move to do or say anything. Something about the strange aura he’s put on since coming up here warns you to not to get up, but you can’t help but fidget in the long stretch of silence. Growing more restless, you uncross your arms and fold your hands in your lap awkwardly, your scowl slowly replaced as your lips purse into a pout.

You feel his large hand at the back of your head, softly caressing your hair, and something about it makes the tension in your body disappear. Deep down you know you’re being difficult on purpose. Work had been stressing you out so much lately, and since you couldn’t blow up at anyone there, you’d been (somewhat unconsciously) trying to goad Terry into fighting with you all this week, just needing some way to release the pent-up frustration that had been building up inside you.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he coos approvingly, his other hand reaching down to squeeze just above your knee. “Now, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

You shoot up out of his lap in shock, both at his use of ‘Daddy’ and at the way your body responds to the title, a flood of desire flowing through you. His hands come around your waist tightly, firmly putting you back on his lap and keeping you there.

“I told you to sit,” he hisses in a low, gruff voice. “Is there a reason why you can’t seem to do that, or would you like me to give you one?”

A disorienting haze seeps into your mind at the suggestive threat, clouding your judgement and blurring your vision at the edges; you find it hard to swallow.

You find yourself wanting more of it.

“I can see that you’re upset, angel. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks softly, lifting your chin with a finger and forcing you to stare into his piercing blue eyes. You don’t think you could tell him even if you wanted to; you’re not sure you can speak at all like this, flustered and tongue-tied as you are.

Plus, you’re dying to know what refusing him is going to cause him to do.

You shake your head mutely, turning your nose up at him for the second time this evening as you stubbornly deny him what he wants.

You see a glimmer of recognition in Terry’s eyes beneath his façade before he sets his jaw, his grip on your chin tightening. It’s clear now that both of you are aware that this is something of a game, but it’s also evident that it’s somehow something more.

At the very least, it’s distracting you from your stresses at work, and that alone is enough to make you lean into… whatever Terry has up his sleeve.

“That’s five times you’ve disobeyed me since we came in here. What do you have to say for yourself?” he asks, keeping your chin in his firm grip and staring unblinkingly down at you. Terry was always able to make you feel so small…

The lusty haze that you felt coming on returns tenfold, and you fully give into it, longing to just escape the world outside your bedroom for awhile by slipping into this dynamic with Terry. You bite your lip, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes, but say nothing.

“Do I need to take care of that attitude?” he asks, and you’d recognize that dangerous tone in his voice anywhere.

Instead of heeding it, you shrug nonchalantly.

In one fluid motion, he’s got you bent over his other leg, your ass in the air. You let out a surprised shriek, your arms wildly flailing about as you try to grab something to help you straighten yourself out.

“Shhh,” he hushes you, a large hand casually stroking down your spine to the curve of your ass. Somehow, being fully clothed while he has you in this position makes you feel particularly humiliated. You let Terry slowly stroke you into submission until you’re lying limp across his knee.

“Let me take care of you like this, sweetheart,” he coaxes, though you know he’s not really asking for your consent or permission. “Don’t I always give you what you want? What you need?”

“Yes!” you whimper, your eyes shut tight and your face burning with humiliation.

“Yes what?” he presses, using that soft, dangerous voice once more. You swallow thickly, bracing yourself for another hot wash of shame and desire.

“Yes… Daddy.”

You hear him let out a deep, pleased sigh at your show of obedience, and a pleasurable thrill runs through your entire body.

“There’s my good girl. Now unbutton your jeans.”

You start to straighten out, wanting to stand and obey his instructions, but his hand on the small of your back keeps you bent over his knee.

“Did I ask you to stand up?”

“No. I’m sorry, I –” you babble, arching your back up just enough that you can reach a hand between your belly and his thigh and undo your jeans before returning to your limp, compliant position. You had always felt the need to please Terry, both in and outside of the bedroom; he had given you so much during your time together, and you wanted to return the favour at every opportunity.

That, and his praise affected you like nothing else did.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s good. Now the zipper.”

You wriggle once more, tugging it down obediently, and he lets out a hum of approval that you can feel in your core.

“Pull them down.”

You hook your thumbs in your belt loops, tugging your jeans down to just below the curve of your ass; you can’t reach any further, and you hope that you won’t be in trouble for it. You hear Terry inhale sharply through his teeth, and you imagine you must make quite a sight squirming and bent over his knee, ass bared and in the air before him.

“My underwear too?” you ask him, your voice quavering, and he lets out a low, dark chuckle in response that has your eyes rolling back into your head. He grabs the waistband of your underwear between a thumb and a forefinger, toying with the fabric for a moment before slowly pulling it upwards, stretching the fabric between your cheeks and baring you even more to his lecherous gaze. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of the fabric being pulled taut and rubbing against your clit, but stay perfectly still.

“As much as I want to see your pretty cheeks blushing around these pretty panties, I want you bare for me,” he decides after a long moment his voice deep and gravelly. “Take them off.”

You oblige, tugging them down below the curve of your ass and trying not to tremble or tense up.

“Let me help you with that, sweetheart,” he coos, smoothly pushing your clothing down past your knees and allowing you to kick them off.

“There, that’s good. I don’t want anything getting in the way of your punishment.”

You let out a soft cry of need and anticipation. Terry had spanked you in the heat of the moment before, or playfully swatted you when you got mouthy, but had never made it the sole focus of his attentions. You’re not entirely sure what to expect, and you know that he is very aware of that fact and is relishing in it.

His fingers lightly trace patterns along your hips and up to the small of your back where your shirt has hitched up, pointedly not touching your butt, let alone your slick entrance.

“Five acts of disobedience against me,” he breathes, and you can feel the hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “I would say that such insubordination is deserving of a spanking for each offense, but I don’t think that would be enough of a punishment for you. So let’s say five minutes instead, hmmm?”

You tense up despite yourself, your anxious whining drowned out by his low chuckle.

"Relax. Breathe. Just let yourself feel,” he instructs.

“Yes, Daddy,” you squeak meekly, fighting everything within you to keep still.

“If you can’t focus, I’ll have you count them out as something to focus on. Understood?”

You nod immediately from your suspended state, and he draws out the silence, intentionally tormenting you, and you barely hear the air whistling as his hand comes down before you feel the stinging pain of his first strike. You yelp, bucking forward, but he holds you down, one hand at the small of your back while the other softly strokes your burning skin.

“Don’t move, babygirl. Take it all for me, I know you can.”

You let out a stuttering breath, bracing yourself once again, and this time he doesn’t make you wait, raining down a quick succession of several slaps across your ass, his large hand nearly covering one of your cheeks every time it comes down. Your toes try to seek purchase on the carpet as you try to keep still, but you find yourself kicking your feet in the air slightly, your shrieks muffled against his leg.

“Just like that, baby… there’s my good girl, keep going just like that,” he croons in your ear during the next brief reprieve, and you groan for all response. “Breathe and take the pain in, sweetheart; don’t try to fight it.”

“Yes Daddy!” you moan desperately, and you’re ‘rewarded’ with a firm squeeze of your ass that has you hissing.

He continues his assault, his strikes seemingly random and unpredictable, taking you right to the edge of how much pain you could take. Somehow, his apparent knowledge of your limits is better than your own, and it takes a previously unnoticed weight off of your shoulders. You’re unable to focus on anything but the pain and pleasure Terry provides, and the anticipation of what might be coming next. It’s a surprising and incredible relief.

In between the staccatos of slapping flesh, Terry groans his approval, clearly enjoying doling out this punishment and watching its effects on your body.

“I can’t stop myself, Y/N. You look so good like this.”

More slaps, now towards your hips as he targets the area he liked to leave finger-shaped bruises from gripping you tightly as he fucks you.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he pants, and you feel his cock twitching through his pants against your abdomen. “My pretty girl.”

You have no idea how much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity that you’ve been held facedown and made to endure your humiliating punishment. The air stings your sensitive, inflamed flesh, and you imagine that it’s hot to the touch from Terry’s thorough attentions.

"You're doing so well, Princess," he purrs approvingly. “Taking everything I give you.”

He gives your stinging bottom a break, moving his hand down to the tops of your thighs, spreading his harsh, red claim further along your body until you’re sobbing incoherently. You find yourself pressing your face into the blankets dangling off the bed, desperate to stifle your cries with something, but Terry’s free hand moves to your hair, tightening his grip on a fistful of your still-damp curls.

“Face up. I want to hear you.”

“B-But…But…” you gasp, unable to articulate your shame. Likely unable to articulate anything, even if your life depended on it.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says consolingly, fingertips stroking your tender, abused flesh with reverence. “You can cry if you need to.”

And you do, his permission seeming to open up the floodgates until you’re crying and drooling so much and so hard your face may as well be in competition with your pussy which is leaking your slick down your thighs at a similar rate.

“You look incredible like this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Ass so red it’s nearly glowing, cunt needier than I’ve ever seen it.”

His fingertips lightly, possessively stroke across his handiwork, and you do your best not to wriggle or whine. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” he asks, and you nod frantically, your eyes clenched tightly shut and forcing your tears down your face. Humming in approval, he gently guides you back up, standing you between his spread legs. Even while sitting on the bed he remains taller than you, and as you look up at him through your tears you feel small, nervous, and…

Safe.

This feeling is only reinforced as Terry takes your face in his hands, brushing away your tears and cooing at you softly as you tremble before him. Just as you start to relax underneath his touch, letting your guard down, he releases his grip, staring down at you intensely.

“Get on your knees. Now.”

Your eyes widen and you hasten to obey, the aching sting of your behind a painful reminder of the consequences of disobedience. You wince as you get down on your knees before him, and Terry looks down at you with mock sympathy.

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you sore?” he asks condescendingly.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you sniffle, unable to look him in the eye as you stand up on your knees. He doesn’t immediately respond, prompting you to turn your gaze upward to see a glint in his eye.

“Sit on your heels. All the way down,” he instructs, and it takes a moment for your brain to force your body to respond, your stinging flesh rubbing against the rougher fabric of your socks making you whimper. Terry’s eyes are bright as they watch you gingerly try to remain in the uncomfortable position.

“Sometimes we need to experience pain to help us learn our lesson, don’t we Y/N?” he asks, casually crossing his long legs at the ankle, his feet nearly brushing your knees.

“Yes Sir,” you reply immediately, trying to keep your face and tone neutral.

“And what lesson have you learned from this, baby?”

“N-Not to hide things from you.”

“And?” he presses, clearly savouring your obedience despite your discomfort. This is what happens when you try to push Terry into something, your inner voice scolds you. He gives you what you want and then some. And then more than you can handle.

“To listen to you. And do what you say,” you force the words out meekly, feeling the flush return to your cheeks as you’re put in your place, on your knees before him. As you should be, that inner voice purrs with conviction.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, and another shiver of desire courses through you. You try not to squirm on your feet, not wanting to aggravate your aching skin further.

“Do you want me to tell you what’s wrong?” you ask, looking up at him with teary, pleading eyes. Anything to get you off your heels.

Terry smirks down at you with glittering eyes, taking the side of your face in his hand and gently stroking your cheek, and you just know you’re in for it.

“Not yet, sweet thing. There’s something else that pouty mouth needs to do first.” His free hand moves to his belt, deftly undoing it and pulling it free, his eyes never leaving your own.

You start to fidget in your apprehension, but stop immediately when it irritates your sensitive skin. “B-But I –” you stammer, unsure if you can be coherent enough to service him properly.

“You will do what I say,” he says sternly, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down enough to free his throbbing, leaky cock before sitting back down on the very edge of the bed. “Isn’t that right, little doll?”

“Yes, Daddy.” At least you’d have to stand up on your knees to blow him if he sat like that, and you yearn for some relief.

“That’s right, babygirl. I’ve given you your punishment, and now it’s time for you to thank me for doing so.”

You nod at him silently, accepting your fate but not having the wherewithal to respond with words. You’d probably just say something that would get you into even more trouble.

“I won’t be repeating myself, so be a good girl and listen,” he tells you firmly, and God, the way he talks down to you never fails to drive you wild…

You nod again, your body tense with anticipation.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue” he growls, and you immediately obey, relaxing your jaw, your pink tongue out and resting against your bottom lip.

“Eyes on me the entire time, do you understand?”

A third nod, and you keep your tongue out and your mouth open as you bob your head up and down, and Terry clearly enjoys the sight. He reaches down to your face slowly, lightly pinching the tip of your tongue and tugging on it before sliding two of his long, thick fingers into your mouth. You immediately start to suck, twirling your tongue around his digits, and he lets out a groan of approval.

“Such a responsive little thing,” he purrs. “But you lips won’t be able to reach me from all the way down there. Let me help you,” he offers with mock sincerity, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he tucks himself back into his pants, stands and walks past you to retrieve a small ottoman from your sitting area and placing it at the foot of the bed next to you. He retakes his seat on the bed, a foot to either side of the ottoman, and frees his cock once more, stroking it slowly with one hand and pointing down between his legs with the other.

“Come. Sit. Same position.”

You crawl up onto the ottoman and try to gently sit back on your heels, but it’s useless – you’re going to be hurting for quite awhile, you imagine. You’re now comfortably eye level with his abdomen, though you keep your eyes on his and your tongue out, as instructed. You’re so wet you think you can feel it through your socks, and fight the urge to wantonly grind against yourself, not wanting to earn further punishment.

Terry guides his cock to your wet and waiting mouth, tracing the curve of your upper lip with the thick head with a feral expression before laying his heavy length along your outstretched tongue.

“Pleasure me,” he demands in a low voice, eyes locked with yours as he eagerly awaits your response. Biting back a moan at his salty, musky flavour on your tongue, you set to work, sealing your lips around him and sucking the first few inches of him into your mouth.

Terry’s eyes start to roll back in his head and you watch him struggle to keep his eyes on you, feeling an overwhelming sense of power and pride as he immediately starts to come apart for you. Encouraged by his response, you bob your head with even more enthusiasm, wriggling your tongue along the underside of his cock the way he likes.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Show me how grateful you are,” he groans, body tense as he tries to maintain his composure and keep from thrusting into you. Wanting to give him a break, you take his cock in hand, stroking it languidly as you lick him all over, gently taking his balls in your mouth until he tosses his head back, the silver locks starting to come loose from their ponytail.

“You know just how I like it, don’t you?” he hisses through gritted teeth, thrusting into your palm. “I love how hard you try to please me, my dirty girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you purr coyly, batting your eyes up at him and he snarls, fisting a hand in your hair and guiding your greedy mouth back to his cock. Clearly you weren’t meant to be taking the reins quite that much while in this dynamic with him.

“I’m going to count to three,” Terry growls as you take his length between your lips once more, “And by the time I get there you’d better have all of me down that pretty little throat.” His grip on your hair tightens in warning, making your scalp sting.

“One.”

You bob your head, taking slightly more of his length into your mouth every time, approaching your gag reflex.

“Two.”

Before he can get to ‘three’ you force yourself to relax your throat, pushing yourself forward until your nose presses against his firm stomach, your eyes watering as they try to keep looking up at him; you don’t want to disobey him now, not after all this. Terry lets out a filthy groan, one hand coming up to gently caress the back of your head, keeping you in place.

“Christ, you take me so well. Keep me inside, baby girl. You can do it.”

Your hands are balled into fists as you force yourself to deepthroat him, drool escaping from the corners of your mouth in rivers as you fight to hold your breath. Terry stares down at you with reverence as you push yourself past your discomfort in order to please him, fiery pleasure coiling in your belly.

Just as your vision starts to darken around the edges he pulls out, watching you gasp for breath between his legs, fighting to keep your tongue out and your eyes on his. He stares down at you for only a moment to enjoy your struggle to obey before stroking the side of your face.

“Take a minute to recover, precious girl, it’s alright,” he breathes, and you nod, resting your forehead on the edge of the mattress and taking deep, calming breaths, wiping your tears and drool off your face the best you can, but Terry’s hand comes down under your chin, tilting your head back up.

“Ah ah ah, none of that,” he chides you, batting your hands away. “You will not deprive me of the sight of you looking like a well-used fucktoy.”

You whimper at the degradation, and Terry gives you a toothy grin, cradling your face in both hands.

“I’m going to use you now,” he informs you seriously, and a shudder runs through you at his tone. “And when I come you’re going to keep it in your mouth, understood?”

“Y-”

Before you can even respond he’s thrusting himself back into your mouth, holding the sides of your head tightly as he takes his pleasure in your body. All you can do is hold still and do your best to breathe when you’re able, moaning as he uses you hard and fast.

“Perfect tight mouth… take all your slutty holes… all mine,” he grunts savagely as he fucks your face, coming down your throat with a growl of your name. You fight the urge to swallow, his cum heavy on your tongue, hoping that this would be the end and you could finally rest.

Terry’s POV:

He stares down at you as he tucks himself back into his pants, watching you trying to catch your breath through your nose as you keep his cum in your mouth, crying and red-faced.

Gods above, you are a perfect creature.

He quickly takes his phone out of his pants pocket, snapping a few photos of you (it helped that you were unable to protest even if you wanted to, what with your mouth being full) to immortalize the moment.

“Alright sweetheart, you can swallow,” he says soothingly, waiting for you to do so before scooping you up and placing you back in his lap and feeling you tense weakly as his pants rub against the sensitive flesh of your ass.

“My brave, brave girl,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you tightly and peppering your face with kisses. “You did so good.”

“T-Thank you Daddy,” you whine, turning to bury your face into his chest.

“Ssshh, no more of that, sweetheart,” he croons, helping you out of your shirt before lifting you as he gets up off the bed and lightly laying you down on your stomach, arranging the pillows around you comfortably. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

“Mmph,” you mumble incoherently into the silk sheets, and he chuckles as he moves to retrieve a bottle of lotion from the dresser across the room. You lift your head slightly to repeat yourself.

“I’m too tired, Terry” you sigh, though your body seems to suggest otherwise, arching slightly as he lightly runs his hand along your calf.

“You don’t need to do anything, babygirl, just relax and enjoy,” he purrs, climbing onto the bed next to you. He quickly braids your hair, moving it out of the way before getting to work. He starts with your butt, still covered in a mosaic of red handprints, liberally applying lotion as he tries to relieve some of your pain.

He needs to take care of you well this first time if he’s going to coax you into repeating it again, and based on how you both responded to the spanking he’s definitely going to be insisting on a repeat performance.

By the time he finishes his gentle massage, your thighs are constantly quivering and twitching beneath his touch, the smell of your arousal permeating the air. Biting back a smug grin, he pretends to ignore the tempting sight that you present, sliding up your body to continue your massage.

"All mine. You're all mine, Y/N,” he murmurs, over and over again as he thoroughly massages your neck and shoulders, moving down your back until he’s reached the curve of your ass again. Moving past it, he kneels at the foot of the bed, rubbing your feet and fighting the urge to tickle them as he hears your muffled giggles through your little fort of pillows and blankets.

As soon as he starts working up your calves, the laughter stops and his smile turns into a predatory grin.

“I’m still so proud of you, sweetheart,” he says conversationally as he slowly works his way up your legs. He hears a soft moan from further up the bed and smirks at the sound, keen on pulling out more reactions from you. It’s the least you deserved after all of your obedience.

“You took so much for me, babygirl. I knew you could do it,” he praises as he spreads your thighs apart slightly to massage them, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy peeking out at him from the apex of your thighs.

"Are we going to be a good girl from now on?" he asks teasingly as his fingers toy with the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He can’t make out your muffled response, and can’t resist goading you once more.

“Use your words, Princess,” he purrs, squeezing your thigh in warning, and you squeak as you lift your head up to answer him.

“Yeeeess, Terry!” you whine, clamping your legs together around his hand. “I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“Good,” he says approvingly as he turns you over gently onto your back, taking one of your hands and rubbing it with his thumb before moving up your arm. “Now, what has you so upset lately?”

The story spills out of your pouty, swollen lips immediately, and he remains outwardly focused on your massage so that you don’t dwell on your words. Internally he snarls as the names of your manager and a particularly aggravating coworker are identified as the source of your recent stress; he so wishes you would just take him up on his offer to have you never work a day in your life again, but you were adamant about your independence and on never having to solely rely on him.

He can respect it, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

He appeases himself with thoughts of how to address the situation, everything from framing the perpetrators for embezzlement to them having a tragic ‘accident’ crossing his mind, but you had too big of a heart for that. He’ll have to settle for indulging in the thought alone.

“…and it’s just frustrating that I can never say anything back to them, no matter how angry I get,” you finish, sighing exasperatedly as you stare at the ceiling. “I just wish I could let out some of my frustration at the source of it all, you know what I mean? Well, I guess you wouldn’t,” you say teasingly with a slight laugh, and he kisses the back of your hand as he positions himself further down your body to the tops of your thighs.

“I’m sorry, Terry,” you sigh, your eyes gently closed from either the relaxation or your chagrin. “It wasn’t fair of me to take out everything on you. I’ve been awful lately,”

“Now now,” he interrupts, clucking his tongue at you. “None of that, darling. Besides, you’ve more than made up for it this evening, wouldn’t you say?” he adds, leering at you once you open your eyes to look at him and making you giggle.

“Are you suggesting I should be a brat more often?” you ask with a cheeky smile.

Instead of replying, he spreads your legs wide, diving in and finally giving into the desire to lap up your musky, sweet nectar. You shriek in surprise at the sudden movement, and he quickly takes hold of your hips, trying to keep them in place without pressing them into the mattress too hard. He thrusts his tongue inside, savouring your taste, and can tell that you’re already close. Somewhat reluctantly, he decides to take it easy on you, honing in on your sweet pearl and sucking on it until you’re coming hard for him, your fists gripping the sheets as you try to arch upward, crying his name.

“If you feel the need to keep up the pretense, darling, feel free,” he hums, idly toying with your slick folds as he laves kisses across your bare chest. “I’ll be doling out the punishments and rewards as I see fit regardless.”

“Oh, poor me,” you reply snarkily, twining your body against his and trying to cuddle him. Not one to be outdone, Terry detangles himself from your limbs to quickly undress once more, pulling back the blankets and watching you slide under them before joining you, rearranging you just how he likes. He’ll slip away once you’ve fallen asleep to bring you up something to eat along with some painkillers to help take the ache away; you weren’t accustomed to sex quite this rough. Not yet, that is.

“Poor you?” he repeats quietly into your hair, amused as always by your sass. Kissing the top of your head, he clutches you to his chest possessively. “Not a chance. Not ever again.”

[No, the gifs scattered throughout have nothing to do with the events, but the tone they gave off seemed appropriate (or at least hot)]

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #cobra kai #smut #the karate kid 3 #karate kid #kk3 #terry silver x reader #TIGmas #12 days of tigmas

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anincompletelist · 9 months ago

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twenty questions for fic writers

thanks to @cricketnationrise @happiness-of-the-pursuit @kiwiana-writes

@ninzied @captainjunglegym for the tags friends! it's been a while since I've last done one of these so I figured I would participate again! xx

how many works do you have on ao3?

56! (technically 60 though… 😏🤫)

what's your total ao3 word count?

1,248,687

what fandoms do you write for?

RWRB (currently) [ 1D and teen wolf (past) ]

top five fics by kudos:

but if you could see us from a distance you'd know I've always been so close to you - the og sex curse one shot

Something Borrowed, Something Blue - enemies to lovers at june's wedding

I'll bet it all on me and you, I'll bet it all you're bulletproof - coworkers trivia fluff

praying our bridges don't make waves - soulmates with a twist

kiss me like you've got nowhere to be - roommates to lovers fluff

do you respond to comments?

nowhere near as much as I'd like to! my capacity for social interaction lately has been... lacking, to the say the least ksjhdkshd BUT I SEE AND READ THEM ALL AND I HOLD THEM SO CLOSE <3333

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

ooh I can't usually do angsty endings so I'm carving my own loophole here -- the first two fics in the sex curse series are definitely my most angsty endings before they work their shit out in the third skjdhsjkhd

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of mine do, but I'd say that overall the most fluffy ones are in the firstprince first kisses series!

do you get hate on fics?

I most definitely did in my old fandom but people have been generally very kind and supportive to me here so far! :')

do you write smut?

yes!

craziest crossover:

my george x firstprince hurt/comfort is very special to me <3

(but I also have a Jeff from bottoms x Shane from minx au in the docs so ksjhdhfjh that too)

have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

have you ever had a fic translated?

not in this fandom! but I have had some lovely folks record some podfics of my works! (here and here!)

have you ever co-written a fic before?

not for rwrb! (yet???? ksjhdkjhfkjh)

all time favorite ship?

I gotta go with fp! they got me like that niall horan ear crawling gif fr I'll never be the same

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh gosh I'm not sure. I HOPE I finish them all but I also have an obscene amount so ksjhdksjdhf not crossing anything off yet!

what are your writing strengths?

I think dialogue? it's always the part of my fics that I write first, and then I build the rest of the story around it. I hope it's a solid foundation!

what are your writing weaknesses?

there's a fine line between explaining and over-explaining and I think sometimes I fall into the second category skjdhkjhf. I love some introspection as much as the next guy but I'm working on only including details that feel most pertinent to the story.

thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I love it! I think it can be so special and can be another way to connect readers with the characters and the story. I took Spanish all four years of high school so I'm a little rusty now, and studied French for a while a few years ago and just picked it back up recently! my translations aren't always perfect but luckily I've had some very kind people to check or point these things out for me :)

first fandom you wrote in?

..... hollywood heights sjkhdjkhgdfh

favorite fic you've written?

oh no. I am so bad at perceiving myself ksjhdjkdjfhg. I think each of my fics definitely served a purpose for me while writing them, but lately I've found myself returning to these three (I'm breaking the rules yes sorry):

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

there were pages turned with the bridges burned (everything you lose is a step you take) - diabetic!Alex

treading water in the deep, just waiting for the tides to meet -(soulmates)

but also there's a wip I'm working now which..... might take first place when I post skjdhkjsdh WE'LL SEE!

PLEASE PLEASE CONSIDER THIS OPEN TAG IF YOU'D LIKE TO DO IT! with all of the tumblr nonsense and how behind I've been on here lately I'm all over the place with tags at the moment.

other tags (no pressure!): @firenati0n @nocoastposts @wordsofhoneydew @thedramasummer

@heysweetheart-writes @stellarm @suseagull04 @bigassbowlingballhead

@eusuntgratie @magicandarchery @read-and-write- @iboatedhere

@anchoredarchangel @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @alasse9 @itsmaybitheway

@getmehighonmagic @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse

#tag games #about me

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m1ckeyb3rry · 1 year ago

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Hurricanes / Hummingbirds: XVI

Series Synopsis: As the years go by, you find that it is incredibly difficult to survive wars and fight storms, especially when the only thing you have by way of a cursed technique is the blessing of a tiny bird.

Chapter Synopsis: You finally rescue Daisuke’s girl.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x Female Reader; slight Kento Nanami x Female Reader; slight Satoru Gojo × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.3k

Content Warnings: swearing, enemies/rivals to lovers, character death, canon-typical violence, angst, gore, original characters included

A/N: sorry i haven’t been updating this much recently!! i’m trying to finish up one of my other fics so i haven’t had a ton of time to work on this one but here is something to tide you all over (i hope)

“She’s very beautiful,” the boy said. “I’ve only seen her once or twice, but I remember that much. She’s beautiful, but it’s in a strange way. Like she’s not quite the same as the rest of us.”

“Who?” you said.

“Lord Tachibana’s concubine,” he said. “Though I don’t think she’s much older than you, ma’am. I brought her food once, when she was sick — she’s sick frequently, by the way — and that’s when I saw her.”

“Do you think that our girl is the same as this concubine?” you said. The boy shrugged.

“I can’t say for certain, but it would definitely make sense. Lord Tachibana spent quite a while in her room after you and that man left. I think he was upset about your visit,” he said.

“Very well. I suppose I should endeavor to meet this concubine; at the least, maybe she’ll be able to give us a little more information than Lord Tachibana was willing to part with,” you said. “Thank you for your help, dear boy. Can I ask you for one more thing?”

“Yes, ma’am. What is it?” he said.

“Tell me how to reach her,” you said. “The concubine, that is; how is it that I may speak to her without Lord Tachibana finding out?”

For being as young as he was, the boy was excellent at laying out plans. His recall was impressive, and the ideas he had were admittedly faultless. You praised him for it, telling him to run inside and ask the innkeeper for anything he wanted, promising you’d pay. He was happy to oblige, shouting his gratitude over his shoulder as he darted towards the inn, presumably before you could change your mind.

The waves had washed away the evidence of your fight with Tori, smoothing over the gouges in the sand and the depression your body had made when it had hit the ground during the torpor. You looked at your wheel necklace, the way the moonlight shone through the three clear wedges which represented Nezumi, Usagi, and Tori respectively.

Only nine left. Only nine more Beasts, and then you would have to face Ten himself. Would you be able to find the girl in time? Would you be able to have one of Daisuke’s weapons at your side, or would you have to fight the king of the sky with the sword you had been given by Hisashi?

“You’re still out here?” Kashimo said. You weren’t sure when he had come out, but at some point while you were lost in your thoughts, the air had indeed grown electrified by his presence. He was a few paces away, feet planted in the dry sand and arms crossed, a dark scowl on his sharp features as he regarded you.

The sea lapped at your ankles, the wind in your hair as you twisted your upper body to face him, extending your hand. His eyes widened before the harshness gentled into something else. An emotion you had never seen before, not on him. Slowly, as if he was still supremely unsure, he reached out his own hand towards your own, stretching out as if he wanted to take it.

He was not close enough, though. The distance between your fingertips was paper-thin, but it was there, stopping them from touching. And then another wave came crashing down on the shore, chasing after Kashimo, who retracted his hand and skittered backwards, eyeing the water warily.

The moment was lost. Your hand dropped to your side, and you returned your attention to the horizon, admiring the stars which carpeted the sky.

“Y/N,” he said. You cocked your head, and then you inhaled in surprise. His face scrunched with determination, he had taken one single step towards you, crushing the lingering foam which remained on the ground as he did so.

Another step, and then another. He did not look at his feet nor at the sea when he did so. His eyes remained firmly on you the entire time. Another step. One more.

“You’ve done it,” you said. “Kashimo, you’re walking in the water.”

“No,” he said, and this time when you held out your hand, he was close enough that he could grasp at it. “I am walking to you.”

His fingers interlocked with yours. Small sparks danced between you both, but they diffused into nothingness the longer you held onto each other. For a good while, you were silent, your joined hands hanging between you, the breeze cool against your faces, the song of the waves both calming the mounting tension and amplifying it.

“Why did you come into the water?” you said again, quietly. Neither of you looked at one another; it would be different if you did. The meaning would change. It was fine when you were just staring at the moon, but if you had to see his face, then it would not be alright anymore. You would realize something that you didn’t yet want to realize.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose I wanted to get over my fear.”

“And do you feel as if you have?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. He was not looking at the moon anymore; in your peripheral vision, you saw that he was looking at you. “Yes, I believe that is the case.”

“Even a child could kill you now,” you said, swallowing. “That doesn’t make you afraid?”

“No,” he said. “Not at the moment.”

“I could kill you now,” you said, whipping around, gripping his biceps, like you could physically impress your conviction upon him. “Does that not make you afraid, either?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve never been afraid of that.”

You found your eyes lingering on his lips, and you dug your fingers into his arms, as if by causing him pain, you could force your own thoughts onto a better track. You shouldn’t have turned. You should’ve stayed facing forwards. But then again, you thought that there was probably no world in which you did not make that mistake, no rendition of you that did not shift to look at him. It would always be like that. You would always be looking at him.

“Kashimo,” you whispered, drawing closer to him. He blinked, not making any moves to close the distance but also not trying to escape, either. “We’re going to find the girl soon. Once we do, and once Daisuke gives me my sword, there’ll be no reason for us to meet with each other, will there? Not until after I defeat Ten.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said.

“But I don’t want that,” you confessed. Water splashed against your shins, salt roughening your skin and leaving a dry feeling in its wake. “I still want to see you.”

“Why?” he said.

“Do you really not know?” you said. He trained his attention to the swirling bubbles of the frothy waves breaking against the shore. You weren’t sure if he was avoiding you, or if he was just truly fascinated by the fact that he had finally done it, that he was actually in the water.

“No,” he said. “I really don’t.”

Abruptly, you let go of him, clearing your throat. He must’ve been lying to spare your feelings, but you appreciated him and his efforts. It did make you feel a little better than a flat out rejection would’ve, but only marginally so.

“I apologize,” you said. “We should go now. It’s important that we get enough rest. Reaching this concubine is dependent on us performing at our best.”

Without waiting for a response, you left him behind, pursing your lips in an effort to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you could muster.

You weren’t sure why you had said something like that. What had you even thought would come of it? You were supposed to marry Hisashi. Kashimo wanted to kill you. What kind of a foolish woman were you, that you were set to marry a kind man, a handsome man, a rich man, and yet you were doubting that union? Why would you ever trade Hisashi for Kashimo? A diamond for a storm? Yet it remained that for a moment, you had earnestly considered doing it. If Kashimo had answered differently, then perhaps you would’ve done it.

But he hadn’t. Maybe he was smarter than you in that aspect. Certainly he had more control over his emotions, which was not something you thought you’d ever say about a man ruled by his whims. You had been lucky that his whims had not led you astray this time. Next time, you might not be so fortunate.

You let your finger rest on your lips, trying to imagine what it would’ve been like. Would there have been sparks? Not the figurative kind, but literal electricity, the side effect of his cursed technique. It might’ve chased someone else away, someone lesser who feared being burnt by his lightning, but not you. In fact, you were like a moth to his flame, all the more excited by its presence.

Yet you shouldn’t be. You ought to remember what happened when a moth flew into a lantern, how they burned into smoke in an instant. It would not be good for you. It would kill you. He would kill you.

You wondered if, for that brief instant before a moth’s immolation, it was happy. Did it find some joy in finally reaching the thing it desired most, even if it would inevitably die at its hands? And if that was the case, then was that joy worth it? Knowing the consequences, would the moth still fly into the fire? Would it willingly die, just for that single moment when it felt like it had reached the sun?

The next morning, the sky was restless. Dark storm clouds gathered overhead, and the sea, which had been so calm only the night before, was choppy and harsh. There was a promise of rain in the air, or was it a threat? Anyways, it was obviously soon going to storm, which meant that you had to enact the boy’s plan as soon as possible.

“You’re sure this will work?” Kashimo grumbled. The boy seemed nervous, but he nodded.

“There’s no guarantee, but it’s your best chance,” he said, though you noticed he took the initiative to hide behind your leg, where he must’ve assumed he was safe from Kashimo. You patted him on the head.

“We’ll give it a chance. If it doesn’t work, then it’s not a problem. We always have our last resort,” you said.

“Which is?” Kashimo said.

“Brute force, of course. Even just one of us could outmuscle the entire mansion; with the two of us, it won’t be difficult at all. I’d prefer to not do that unless we absolutely have to, though,” you said. “It’ll get messy if we do.”

“Right,” Kashimo said. The boy, to his credit, did not question how just one of you would be enough to beat every single resident of the Tachibana Mansion. Privately, you thought that he’d make a fine addition to the Gojo household.

“Let’s be off, then. You remember what we have to do?” you said.

“Yes, yes,” Kashimo said. “You don’t have to nag me. I won’t put a foot wrong. Have we decided upon a signal yet, though?”

You looked up at the sky, trying to think of a way you could send a message to Kashimo from far away. If the roles were reversed, it would not be that difficult — a single bolt of lightning would be enough to let you know that he was ready. But you did not possess anything that showy or bright, so you’d have to figure something else out.

“I’m not quite sure yet, but I promise you’ll know,” you said.

“How?” he said, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows at him.

“You just will. You’ll see it, and you’ll think of me, and because of that, you will know exactly what it means,” you said.

His jaw clenched, but he did not argue further, only swinging onto his horse and waiting for you to do the same.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said. “One way or another.”

“Yes,” you said. “Good luck. Don’t — don’t do anything stupid.”

He scoffed. “I never would.”

With that, he galloped off, in the direction of the Tachibana Mansion. You watched him go for a moment, allowing the boy to stroke your mare’s nose as you waited.

“Ma’am,” the boy said. “That man…”

“Yes? What about him?” you said. The boy peered up at you through lowered lashes, as if he was very shy about what he wanted to say next.

“It will be difficult for you to signal him in the way you are speaking of,” he said.

“What do you mean? Why is that?” you said. The boy was blushing now, the subject obviously an embarrassing one for a child his age.

“He’s always thinking of you,” he said. “You could send him the entire world as a signal, or you could send nothing at all. It wouldn’t change the pattern of his thoughts any.”

The steady rhythm of your mare’s canter was the only thing that served to calm the turmoil of your mind. She covered ground at a rolling pace, rocking you with her comfortable gait into a calmer sense of self. You wished you could just keep riding forever, until you were someone completely different, with no responsibilities or entanglements.

That was impossible. Eventually, you reached the Tachibana Mansion, slowing the mare to a trot and then a walk, halting her by where Kashimo’s horse was tied and doing the same so that you could enter the mansion as a distinguished guest.

It was the same older woman from yesterday that answered the door. She seemed surprised to see you, or maybe it was not you but the fact that you were alone that was so shocking to her. Either way, for just one second, her composure dropped, before it was back to normal.

“Why have you returned?” she said.

“I thought it might be more beneficial for me to have an audience with the lady of the house,” you said. The woman exhaled.

“Lady Tachibana has been dead for a few weeks now,” she said.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” you said. “It is always difficult when such tragedies strike.”

“It certainly is,” she said. “Is that all, then?”

“No, it is not. I’ve heard Akihiro — Lord Tachibana, that is — has a concubine. Might I be able to meet with her, in the lady’s stead?” you said.

“How did you hear about her?” the woman said, voice growing icy for a second before she sighed. “Of course. It was probably that blabbering doctor. I told Lord Tachibana not to let him make a house call, but when have I ever been listened to?”

“You don’t deny her existence,” you noted.

“Why would I?” she said rhetorically. “You already know. There’s no point in lying. Ordinarily, I’d tell you to take your concerns to Lord Tachibana, but he’s busy with another caller at the moment, so it’ll have to do. Anything for the lady of the Gojo house, huh?”

This last part was said with no small amount of sarcasm, but there was an undercurrent of fear. It was like you had said yesterday: whether or not you were bluffing, they could not afford to call you on it. The seed of doubt was enough to taint their actions, and good thing, too, because you actually weren’t bluffing. You really were the lady of the Gojo household, or at least you one day would be; regardless, Hisashi would not take kindly to any insult against you and, by extension, your associates.

“It will not take long. It is just one of those matters that I believe is a conversation better suited for a woman’s ears,” you said. The old woman guffawed.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” she said. “It can be difficult, telling a man about the more sensitive matters. I sincerely apologize that you must meet with a concubine, though. I trust you are not insulted?”

“I understand the circumstances, so I’m not. Once again, I am deeply sorry for the situation. Losing any family member is difficult, and I’m sure Lady Tachibana was well-loved,” you said.

“She was, at that. More than that odd little girl that he calls a concubine,” she said. You pretended to gasp.

“Is that so!” you said. “What makes her so odd?”

“Her hair is gold, for one, and her eyes are a strange color. Like a field covered by fog,” she whispered conspiratorially. “More importantly, she’s—”

“She’s?” you prodded. The woman gave you a suspicious look, shaking her head. Any hints of camaraderie had vanished as you reached a small door.

“It’s not my business, nor is it yours. Anyways, you’ll meet her soon enough,” she said. “It’s just up those stairs.”

“She’s in the attic?” you said. The woman shrugged.

“She is. I’m not allowed to go up there without Lord Tachibana, so you can go by yourself. Don’t take long, though; it wouldn’t be good for anyone if he catches you with her,” she said. You saw her throat bob as she swallowed, and for the first time, you realized that she was putting herself in danger to do this. But why? Did she really care that much about helping you? Or was there some other reasoning to it?

“Thank you,” you said, bowing at her before opening the door, coughing as plumes of dust flew in your face, blinking so that your eyes could adjust to the dim lighting.

The stairs creaked as you walked up them cautiously, unsure of which ones might give out — they all seemed close to doing so, as if they were one misstep from collapsing entirely. Therefore, it took you twice as long as it should’ve to ascend into the attic proper. Despite all the extra time, though, you were not at all prepared for the sight you were met with when you reached it.

There was a small cot in the corner, and looped around the frame was a heavy chain. Spots of dried blood littered the ground, and there were metal bars over the window, though they were an extravagance, an unnecessary reminder of the inhabitant’s situation. After all, it wasn’t like she could ever escape that way — because that very chain which was attached to the bed led to a manacle locked around the ankle of a gaunt looking girl who could only be the concubine, though you had never in your life seen a concubine being treated in such a manner.

Her hair might’ve once been a brilliant gold, like sheaves of wheat, but now it was dull and lank, falling down her back and in her face like a greasy curtain. Just as the woman had said, her eyes were green, but it was a resigned, blank shade. Her skin was pale to the point of translucence, a sure symptom of sun deprivation, and her body was unnaturally hollow and bony, as if she didn’t get enough food.

“What a joke,” you said, stepping towards her. “This is how such a self-important man treats his concubine. What is your name?”

She flinched as you drew closer, but she did not try to run away. She must’ve just been that resigned to her fate. She only dropped to her knees, bowing her head at you.

“Tullia,” she whispered.

“Tullia,” you repeated. “A name from a land where they have a Pope instead of an Emperor?”

“Yes,” she said, daring to look up at you. “How did you know that?”

“Someone told me,” you said. “He goes by Kashimo now, but I believe you knew him as Hajime Jigoku.”

She gasped, and then she was clenching the fabric of your clothes in her hands, clinging to you like you were a lifeline. You pushed her hair behind her ears, taking in her sweet face and wondering what she had ever done to deserve such treatment.

“Hajime is alive?” she said, her voice breaking.

“Yes,” you said. “Did you think he wasn’t?”

It was a little strange to hear. Kashimo was the person who defined living, who was so utterly alive that the air around him burned with it. The thought of him being dead actually did not even make sense. But then again, what part of any of this made sense?

“I always waited for him and Daisuke,” she said. “I used to fight back, because I knew — I knew that they would come for me. But they never did. Then he said that they were dead, so I just…gave up. But you mean to tell me that they’re alive? Both of them, or just Hajime?”

“They’re both fine,” you said. “They’re alive. I came on Daisuke’s behalf, because he wanted to see you again. Kashimo — Hajime, he offered to help me find you.”

“So they’ve been alive all this time?” she whimpered. “They’ve been alive, and they never — why did they never — I waited for so long for them. Did they forget about me?”

“They thought you ran away,” you said, holding her face in your hands, using your thumbs to wipe away her tears. “They thought that you were better off without them. They thought you didn’t want to be found. But I can promise that they definitely missed you. They definitely didn’t forget about you.”

“I want to see them,” she said. “I want to see them again. I want to see Daisuke. Please, take me to Daisuke.”

“That’s why I’ve come,” you said. “Though you’re in no shape to travel far at the moment. The first order of business is getting you out of here, and then we’ll spend some time allowing you to recover before traveling back to where he’s staying.”

Standing, you unsheathed your sword. Tullia’s eyes widened as you raised it above your head before slamming it down on the chain binding her to the bed. Ordinarily, it might not have had much of an impact, but because you had reinforced the blow with pure cursed energy, it sliced through the metal like it was nothing. Spinning the sword in your hand, you maneuvered it into a better position so that you could repeat the process on the barred window, which was theoretically large enough for you both to fit through.

“Are we going to leave through there?” she said, looking first outside and then back at you in horror. You nodded, sheathing your sword once more.

“I possess the Hummingbird’s Blessing. On my honor and that of my deity’s, I promise that I will get you out of here safely. Do you trust me?” you said.

“This is like a dream,” she confessed. “I didn’t think I’d ever be saved. I thought I’d die up here, alone and in the dark, but now here you are. It doesn’t matter if I trust you or don’t; in the end, I have no other choice.”

And so, you grabbed the arm of Daisuke’s girl, the one you had been searching for for so long. Backing up, you did not even bother to activate your cursed technique before taking off at a sprint, dragging her behind you. Then, ignoring her shriek of surprise and twisting so that you were curled around her, you jumped out of the window.

With one hand, you held onto Tullia, and with the other, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around the branch of a cherry blossom, hissing as the rough bark scratched at your palm. Bracing one leg against the trunk of the tree and wrapping the other around the branch, you loosened your grip and used your second hand to catch Tullia, stopping her from ramming into the tree at full speed. Your fall thus broken, you took a second to breathe before setting Tullia on the branch and clambering down to the ground with the swiftness of a monkey.

“Jump!” you called up to her. “I’ll catch you.”

You thought she might hesitate a bit more, but she was as game as anything. A second later, she crashed into your arms, eyes screwed shut, like she had not quite believed you would catch her despite your words to the contrary. You set her on her feet gently, letting her use your arm for support.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said. “I forgot how nice it was outside.”

“How long were you in there?” you said. She shook her head.

“I don’t know. It was hard to keep track of the time,” she said. “We should leave the grounds before someone sees me. Now that I’ve escaped, I don’t think I could ever go back. Please don’t — you won’t let him take me back, will you?”

“Of course not,” you said. “I’ll kill him before I let that happen. We can go as soon as I figure out what kind of a signal I should send to Kashimo.”

“Kashimo?” she said. “Ah, of course. Hajime. It’s not a surprise he chose a new name for himself. He never did like being called Jigoku.”

You were reminded of the fact that this girl knew Kashimo in a way you did not and never could. She had been there in his youth, had known him back before he was the god of lightning, when he was just a boy trying desperately to prove himself as someone worthy of living.

What would be a signal you could send him? What was something within your power which you could use to alert him of the fact that you had gotten Tullia, that he was free to leave the audience with Akihiro Tachibana behind?

“Do you think he knows anything about flowers?” you said. Tullia frowned, clearly deep in thought. You took the moment to work the manacle free from her ankle, letting it fall to the ground, exposing a strip of skin rubbed raw by the metal.

“Daisuke tried to teach him at one point, I think. I’m sure he remembers whatever he learnt, though I don’t know how much Daisuke got to,” she said.

“Alright,” you said. Reaching behind her, you plucked a red camellia from a nearby bush, twirling the blossom in your hands before smiling at it. This would do as a signal, provided Kashimo understood it. Calling upon a story, you tried to recall the layout of the mansion.

You have been given the Speed of the Hummingbird!

Taking off with that same thunder-like sound which always rang out at your acceleration, you raced in a blur to where you believed the window of the drawing room was. Not even slowing your pace, you placed the camellia on the sill, disappearing before anyone noticed your presence. The storm covered your tracks; the noise of your running could be put down to thunder, while the breeze left in your wake would be nothing more than a normal occurrence with such weather.

“That should be enough,” you said. “Watch over me for a second.”

“Watch over you?” Tullia said. You yawned.

You will now enter the Torpor of the Hummingbird.

You awoke from the torpor almost instantly, and as well you should — you had barely even used your cursed technique, so there was no reason for it to have any massive drawback. Tullia was still standing there, bewildered, and you were still on your feet.

“Sorry, it’s the drawback of my technique. We should go now, though; hopefully Kashimo sees the flower soon and realizes what I meant by it,” you said.

You let Tullia ride in front of you, reaching around her frail body to hold your reins. In that way, you were able to support her while also steering your horse. Once you reached the inn, you helped her down and told the innkeeper to make some tea for her while you waited for Kashimo to come.

“You met with the concubine?” he said as he burst into the room, eyes immediately on you, ignoring everything else.

“Yes. You got my signal?” you said.

“A red camellia,” he said, sounding very proud of himself for figuring it out. “It represents a noble death. A perfect choice for the occasion. You were right; it did make me think of you.”

“Oh,” you said. “Right, it does mean that as well.”

“Hajime?” Tullia said, her voice soft like she couldn’t believe her eyes.

It took a lot for Kashimo to show any emotion, so the fact that his lips parted even slightly at the sound of Tullia’s voice proved that a part of him had not really expected to ever find her. The missing piece of his childhood, the girl his best friend was in love with…you could not fathom what it felt like for him to reunite with her.

“You look like shit, Tullia,” he said finally. Tullia laughed ruefully.

“I guess it really must be you, huh? Only you would say something that crass,” she said.

“I can’t believe you ran away and ended up in a situation like this,” he said. “Do you regret it now?”

“Ran away?” Tullia said, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the wall. “It’s no surprise that that’s what they told you all. Actually, I didn’t run away at all.”

“What do you mean?” Kashimo said. He hadn’t seen where she was living, so he probably didn’t realize what she was getting at, but you had, and a kind of despair shot through your whole body as you understood what she was implying.

“I was sold,” she said. “Akihiro Tachibana did not dare defile his wife with his darker perversions, so he went looking for a girl that no one would miss. A girl who had nothing resembling a family to care about her. When he found me, he told the mistress he’d pay to take me if she promised to make it like I never existed. That must be why she told everyone I ran away.”

“Sold?” Kashimo said. It was the opposite of everything he believed in, so his shock was understandable. This girl who he had known since he was young, the one he thought was laughing in the sea without them, had been sold. She hadn’t left at all but had been forcibly taken.

“They locked me in that attic you saved me from, chained me to the bed and installed bars on the window just to ensure that I didn’t try to run away. I know it must seem like I was starved, but actually, they fed me well enough. It was poison which they deprived me of, and that is the reason I look like this,” she said.

“Poison?” you said. It was your turn to be confused — after all, how could a deprivation from poison hurt someone to the extent that Tullia had been damaged?

“It’s my cursed technique. I drink poison, and my body converts it to cursed energy,” she said. “I haven’t been able to have any since I was sold to the Tachibanas, which is why my body has deteriorated to such an extent.”

“Why didn’t you try to run away?” Kashimo said. “Why did you stay like a fool? I understand if you couldn’t break free later on, but why did you even let yourself be put in that position?”

“Do you think I wanted to be?” Tullia snapped. “Of course I didn’t! The mistress mixed something in with my dinner so that I slept through the ordeal. It couldn’t have been a poison, as my body would’ve converted that before it could impact me, but there was some plant or similar substance that she used so that I did not awaken until I was already locked away! Not everyone — not everyone is like you! Sometimes bad things just happen to people, and there’s nothing they can do but suffer through it all!”

“What did they even do to you?” Kashimo said, sufficiently cowed at the well-deserved outburst.

“At first, nothing. He tried to win me over, wanting me to do it of my own free will. I always refused, though. I insisted you and Daisuke would come for me. I insisted he would regret it once that happened. But you never did. Eventually, he told me that word had come from the orphanage that both you and Daisuke were dead. I didn’t want to believe it — it didn’t make sense, but at the same time, what other explanation was there for why you hadn’t come to save me?

“After that, I gave up and let him do as he pleased, no matter the pain it caused me. There was nothing left for me, after all, no reason to keep struggling when there was no chance anyone would rescue me or even knew I was there at all. There were a few times I came to be with child, but after the first one was born dead, he made me abort the rest,” she said. “It was the most excruciating thing. Time and time again, my body was ripped apart for nothing but a corpse to come out.”

She hugged her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, though of course neither Kashimo nor you had any plans to hurt her.

“I will kill him,” Kashimo said matter-of-factly. “For doing that, I will kill him.”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing onto his sleeve before he could run off. He gave you an irritated look, but you shook your head. “Tullia, is that what you want? For Kashimo to kill him?”

“No,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Kashimo said. This anger was his way of showing his desperation, his helplessness at the situation, but it was not his situation in the first place. He did not have the same claim to it that Tullia did.

“It’s Tullia’s choice,” you said. “She’s the one who it happened to. She’s the one who gets to decide what happens next.”

“I want him to die, that’s for sure,” Tullia said. “But not at your hand, Hajime. It has to be me. Once I’ve regained enough strength, I will be the one to kill him myself.”

While Tullia was in the bath, cleaning herself off properly for the first time in so long, you and Kashimo sat in your room and debated what to do next.

“She’s definitely Daisuke’s girl, no doubt about it,” he said. “But who knows how long recovering will take? Can you afford to wait? The Beasts have been appearing so rapidly that even a few days’ delay might mean a lot.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “We just need to get some poison and she’ll be much better. I don’t mind waiting. It’s the only form of justice she’ll ever get for what happened to her, and I can’t deny her that. Not after how much she’s had to endure.”

Kashimo buried his face in his hands. “What a mess. I can’t believe we never tried to inquire further. We should’ve tortured it out of the mistress…why did we not? Why did we just believe her at her word?”

“You can’t go back and change it,” you said. “So you just have to focus on making amends. She’s frightened, you know, so you and Daisuke have to do everything in your power to soothe her. You must endeavor to make up for how long she was alone.”

“This isn’t my area of expertise,” he said. “I don’t know how to deal with people’s emotions and other such sentimental affairs. The only thing I could do for her would be killing Akihiro Tachibana, but she doesn’t want that.”

“Even just your presence is enough, I think. But you must be delicate in handling her. Not like how you are with me. I can take your brashness and your haughty attitude, but she can’t. So if you must yell at someone, yell at me. If you must be angry with someone, be angry at me. But do leave her alone in that regard,” you said. “Only say kind things to her, and if you cannot manage that, then don’t say anything at all.”

“Maybe silence is a bit more realistic,” he said.

“Silence is fine,” you said. “You’re not the one she really wants right now, anyways.”

“Right, that’s Daisuke. I’m just a substitute until we reach him,” he said, taking your hands and scowling down at the shallow scrapes. “By the way, how did this happen?”

“I had to grab onto a tree while escaping with Tullia,” you said. “It’s not a big deal, so I don’t see the point in activating my technique to heal them. Why?”

“I will cut that tree down,” he said, lifting one of your palms to his cheek. You used your thumb to trace the regal bone that sat there, and he closed his eyes, relaxing into the caress, which must’ve been rare for him, the one who pushed everyone away and had never known a gentle touch in his life.

“You can,” you said. “If it pleases you, you can cut down every tree in the world.”

“I don’t have to cut down every tree,” he said. “Just the ones that hurt you.”

“Then you can do that, too,” you said.

“I will do it,” he promised. “I definitely will.”

“Thank you,” you said. He was quiet for a bit, just sitting there and holding your hand to his face, like you would drop it if he were not there and he could not bear to feel you let go.

“I could not protect that girl, the one who Daisuke loved,” he said slowly, carefully, enunciating every word. “I hate that I could not, but you’re right in saying I can’t change that. But — but I can promise this: it won’t be the same for you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Because you want to kill me?” you said.

“Yes,” he said, answering with a firm, resounding swiftness. “Because of that. Because the person to kill you can not be Ten, nor Hisashi Gojo, nor anyone else. I will cut down every tree and every man in the world if it means that it can be like that — if it means that the one to kill you can be me and me alone.”

#kashimo x reader #kashimo x y/n #kashimo x you #reader insert #canon au #hurricanes / hummingbirds #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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