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mooishbeam · 9 months

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『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation.

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges.

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice.

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled.

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages.

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.”

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story.

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after. You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him.

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt.

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags.

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her.

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee.

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.”

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”

“No.”

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.”

“So why can’t I see him?”

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.”

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-”

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate.

You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently.

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing.

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you.

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.”

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down.

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?”

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity.

“Wait for what?”

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes.

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek.

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes.

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.”

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes.

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding.

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-”

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint.

“I’m hungry now.”

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-”

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees.

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand.

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.”

“But-”

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops.

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps.

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away.

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while.

“Tell me when to move” he soothes.

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance.

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release.

“I’m gonna come!”

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face.

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down.

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy.

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #dan heng smut #dan heng il #dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng hsr #dan heng imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae

3K notes · View notes

chvnnie · 1 year

Text

Deserving

han jisung x reader

word count: 3k

genre: smut — MINORS DNI

warnings: switch!jisung, switch!reader, mentions of alcohol, smoking (cigarettes — jisung), mentions of weed, jisung gets slapped, kinda enemies to lovers to kinda friends to lovers???, jisung refers to reader as his “property”, dirty talk, unprotected sex, mutual orgasms, rough but ✨sweet✨ and really i think that’s it? if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: is there really much of a difference between hate and love?

a/n: if y’all have any issues, take it up with @j14sung!!! it’s all her fault!!! also no breath play? in one of MY fics? what is happening

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents han jisung as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @humayraaaa, @americanokisses, @djeniryuu, @epiphanynaffit

The back patio’s railing really needs to be replaced. White paint falling off in mid sized chips, shudders in even the lightest breeze. This has to be a safety hazard; it’s shocking the fraternity hasn’t been fined for this.

So when Jisung leans against it, the creak of the wood can be heard over the heavy bass of the music. He flinches slightly, praying that tonight is not the night it decides to crumble. Once he realizes that he is stable, his shoulders relax, digging in his jacket pocket for the half empty pack of cigarettes.

He’s really not much of a smoker; the smell lingers, making all of his clothes smell like the mistakes he continues to make. Still, when he’s a little drunk, he can’t help but reach for the crutch. Placing the stick between his lips, cupping the flame so the wind doesn’t blow it out. One click, two click, three — god, he needs a new lighter. Can you tell how often he smokes?

It’s necessary for tonight. Jisung can’t face the idea of going back inside that party without a little buzz. Something to distract him from the fact that you showed up.

You were expected to show up. The circles you run in are so similar. If Jisung is invited, chances are, you are too. That’s not really the issue.

The issue is the goddamn mini skirt you walked in wearing. The issue is the thin strapped crop top that’s so tight, he can tell you’re not wearing a bra. The issue is that fucking silver waist chain, decorated with pretty metal hearts. Hugging your hips perfectly.

The issue is that you didn’t come to the party alone.

From the back patio, Jisung looks through the kitchen window. All of these people, most friends of his or at least friendly to him, careless. Happy. Not worried about a single thing, dancing and drinking like the night isn’t going to end.

Like he’s not shivering outside. A scowl fixed on his face as he watches you and this guy pass the window, in search of the bottle of vodka you like.

Fuck. This cigarette isn’t enough to numb this shit.

Stubbing it out with his boot, Jisung decides to go back inside. Maybe he’ll play pong with Lix, or smoke with Changbin. There has to be something inside to distract him. Navigating the crowd, he barely gets into the packed living room before there’s a hand on his arm, halting him from going any further.

“There you are.” A sickening sweet voice says, and he has to close his eyes so she doesn’t see him roll his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you!”

Someone from his chem class. Not very notable; she’s pretty, sure. Smart, though she always seems to be asking him for help with the easiest assignments. He doesn’t really care for her. Voice grating, her interest overwhelming. But that made her easy. All he had to mention was the fact that he was going to be driving past her place, and she was begging for a ride on his bike.

It was timed perfectly; Jisung’s motorcycle “conveniently” parked outside of the lit building. Right where you have class on Thursdays, ending at noon. The same time his chem class gets out. There was no way you could miss him putting an extra helmet on the girl.

Especially considering the way he wet his lips. Smiled. Waved at you. Making sure that you saw the girl get on his bike. The look of annoyance and distaste was so satisfying. Jealousy. God, it looked so good on you.

Was it worth it, though? Jisung was sure that move would be the end of this back and forth game the two of you have been playing — that you would reach your limit, lash out. How dare he take another girl on his motorcycle? What kind of fucking player flirts with you nonstop just to turn around and get another girl wrapped around his finger?

Or, at least, that’s how he expected you to react. He never thought you would retaliate.

Pulling his arm out of the girl’s hold, he glances down at her. Bored expression on his face. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I thought we could dance a little.” She moves in front of him, inching closer and closer until her body is practically pressed against hers. “Maybe you could take me for another ride—“

Over her shoulder, he sees you. Leaning against the wall in the corner, sparkly eyes staring at the guy who stole you. He has a hand resting by your head, leaned down. Whispering something to you that makes you laugh.

Oh, come on. That guy? You can’t seriously think he’s funny.

He barely hears the girl continue to go on, telling him all the things they could do when they get back to his place.

“Look.” Finally, he makes eye contact. “I’m not interested.”

She looks almost shocked, as if he hasn’t been fully checked out of the conversation the entire time. “What? But—“

“All I did was give you a ride. I don’t want to fuck you; don’t you think you would have seen my sheets sooner if I had?”

A hand strikes his face, hard. The rings making his cheek sting. Head turned to the side, he hisses in pain, temper rising like the color of his cheeks.

“Fuck you, Han Jisung.”

Fine. Maybe he earned it. He did use her. But what he thinks is really unnecessary?

The fact that you saw the whole thing. Smile on your face as you huff a laugh. Lips parting, mouthing something to him.

Deserved.

It’s like rubbing salt in a wound, the way you grip this guy’s jacket. Pulling his body into yours before you tilt your head back slightly, and bring your lips to his.

All the hard work he did to numb himself, the jealousy, the possession, the anger, fades in less than a second. A dull warmth climbs up his body rapidly, the blood vibrating beneath the skin. The entire party fades, silence replacing the joy. The fast, steady sound of his heartbeat the only thing Jisung can hear.

That, and the sound of his footsteps.

Just like you, Jisung grabs the guy’s jacket. Expect from the back, and not to kiss him. With an unnecessary amount of force, he pulls him off of you, shoving the taller man to the side.

Before you can even say anything, he glares at you. “Enough.”

The sounds of that fucking asshole’s protest are nothing more than an annoying buzz. Like the sound of a fly, something easily drowned out as Jisung grabs you by your wrist. Pulling you out of the party and onto the back patio.

It still smells like cigarettes outside. When the backdoor slams shut, your body is pressed against it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Jisung—“

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice has dropped a few octaves, a foreign sound to the both of you. “Who was that?”

God, you’re so annoying. Giving him the exact the same he gave you when he put that girl on his bike. You’re so fucking pretty. “What, you can give desperate girls a ride but I can’t bring another guy to the party?”

“Oh, you can.” Jisung agrees, nodding his head though his face is still cold. “But to let him touch you?”

“You don’t—“

“He’s lucky I didn’t fucking break his jaw.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I’m not your property, Jisung.”

It’s his turn to laugh. Low, chilling. Tongue in cheek as he smiles at you. “Yes, you fucking are.”

He waits. Bracing himself for another slap to his already sore, possibly bruising cheek. After all, it is what you think he deserves. Instead your eyes drop to his lips, lingering only for a brief second before they flicker back up.

“Take me back inside.”

The two of you barely get upstairs before your bodies are twisting together; Jisung’s hands in your hair as you let your head fall back. Tongue rubbing against your own, sweet moans filling his mouth.

Neither of you know who’s room you’ve stumbled into. Does it even matter? Your body is against his, the smell of your perfume giving him the buzz he’s been chasing all fucking night. The world around Jisung doesn’t exist when you’re his entirety.

“I’m so sick of you.” You gasp, pulling your lips from his. Hands eagerly slipping under his jacket, you shove it off from the shoulders. “You’re so arrogant—“

“Yeah?” He huffs out, smirking when you shiver from his touch. Chilled hands under your pathetic excuse for a top, pushing the fabric up. “What else?”

“You’re an ass.” His shirt is next, buttons hardly hanging by a thread as you yank it open. “So fucking entitled—“

“Mm, I am.” Teeth nipping at your jaw, thumbs flicking over your nipples. Under his touch, he can feel your goosebumps rising. His touch driving you just as insane as you drive him constantly.

“Y-you—“ it’s getting harder to speak; his touch making you melt despite your best efforts not to. “You are such—“

When he looks up at you, you’re rendered speechless. Every strong opinion you’ve ever had of him fizzling away, extinguished by his gaze. Brown eyes blown out, darkened with lust and loss of control. But something. Something about the way he’s looking at you.

Jisung first met you in algebra. The first day of freshman year, in that class that started before the sun even fully rose. Three days a week, ninety minutes. Far too much time spent in a prerequisite class.

You were the last student to arrive, forced into the remaining empty seat at the back of the class. Right next to Jisung. Your hair was still wet, a pimple patch stuck on your left cheek.

Ever since, he was helplessly in awe of you.

Almost four years have passed, and he still looks at you the way he did when you first met. When he pretended to lose his pencil just to talk to you. When he would wake up earlier than necessary just so he would be the first face you would see when you arrived. All this time, and he’s always looked at you the same as he did when he fell for you.

It’s just taken you this long to realize it.

“I hate you.” You whisper, though the taste those words leave are disgustingly bitter.

Jisung gives you a lazy smile, not convinced even in the slightest. “Take off your fucking skirt.”

He makes you keep the waist chain on. The second your skirt falls to the ground, he’s yanking off your panties, sitting down on the end of the bed before making you straddle his lap. Lips catching yours, he keeps one hand on your hip, twisting the chain around his fingers, while the other slides down your back. Grazing over your ass, riding up the side of your thigh. Memorizing your body with his fingertips as a path is drawn to your core.

He moans louder than you when he starts to trace your folds. The slick makes it easy to feel you, taking his time rubbing from your clit to your entrance. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, tugging lightly when he starts to circle your hole.

“So wet.” Jisung mumbles against your lips. “Is this what I do to you, pretty?”

If time has taught you anything, it’s that he’s nothing but a tease. The circles are slow, hardly pressing down. Giving you just enough pleasure to make you whimper without actually entering you. Over and over he traces the shapes, not satisfied until you’re whining his name.

And then, he takes it all away from you. Moving his hand before you can grind down on it, chuckling when you yank at his strands in protest. He was so close, you fucking asshole. Why would you—

Jisung shushes you, bringing the pretty whines to an end as he pushes the wet fingers into your mouth. “Stop fussing. Let me play.”

You should bite his fingers. Take the control that rightly belongs to you. You’re not to be toyed with like this — but there’s a reason why you never fully pushed him away. Why you dealt with the torment, the push and pull, why you never told him no.

When he looks at you like he is now, starry eyed in wonder, there’s a feeling that only he gives you. One that’s been sought out, but never replicated. Only Jisung can make you fall hopelessly with just a look.

With a nod, your tongue works around his fingers. Lapping them clean, letting the weight on your tongue soothe you. Bringing you a peace you’ve been longing for since the day you met him.

“That’s my girl.” He mumbles, pushing his fingers back a little further. Stopping only when you gag around them, twitching in his lap. “So good for me.”

He lets go of your chain, working on the button of his jeans while you’re occupied. Once satisfied, he eases the fingers out of your mouth, entranced with the way drool clings from them to your lips. He takes the hand to his now freed cock, working the spit and slick mixture over his length.

Your eyes followed each movement, watching the slow motion of his fist. It’s almost shameful for you to admit how long you’ve been thinking about this moment — what he would look like. Taste like. Bigger than you expected, a girth that makes the breath catch in your throat.

Jisung catches your staring. “What, baby?” He coos in almost a condescending way. “Want my cock?”

God, there’s only so much more you can take of his incessant teasing. Rolling your eyes, you place your hands on his chest and push him, forcing him onto his back. Jisung tries to sit back up, but you keep one hand firm between his ribs while the other grabs his cock. Tugging with a firmer grip that he was allowing himself, causing his head to roll back and Adam’s apple to bob.

“Stop fussing.” You mock his earlier words, positioning yourself over his length. “Let me play.”

It’s almost too fast. Sinking down fully without giving yourself a proper chance to stretch. The sting runs up your legs, making your lower stomach ache where the tip hits. Your lips are parted, a breathy gasp overshadowing Jisung’s deep moans. His hands come to your hips, nails digging into your skin and fingers lacing through the waist chain.

“Fuck.” His voice could be a growl, head heavy as he looks up. Staring at where you’re sat on his cock. “Goddamn, baby, you feel so good.”

Dizzy from the pain, room spinning from the need, you use the hand planted on his chest to lift yourself up. Almost allowing yourself to get to the tip before slamming back down, skin slapping against skin. It’s not enough — falling into a pattern of slow upwards, but quick downwards. Teasing and chasing at the same time.

Jisung helps by lifting your hips, taking the exhaustion off your shoulders so you both can enjoy.

“I like the way you look underneath me.” You chuckle, words broken by pants. “It’s cute.”

He bites his lip and smiles, pinching your hips hard enough to make you yelp. “Don’t get used to it.”

Walls fluttering around his cock, heart bursting from your chest at the implication. Knowing this won’t be the last makes it even better, driving you to move faster and faster.

Moans have to be heard on the first floor, both of your throats turning raw as you cry into the unfamiliar bedroom. Jisung has started to us his hips, tongue between his teeth as he fucks into you roughly.

Stars are starting to dance in your field of vision, an ache in your core spreading through your body. It tingles your toes, shakes your thighs. Body almost falling limp at the yet to come.

“T-tell me.” You say, gasping when Jisung hits the perfect spot.

His brows furrow, sitting up on his elbows. He’s close, too — the tremble of his lip is a dead give away. “What? Tell you what—“

“Who—“ your nails dig into his chest, eyes squinting shut as tears start to sting them. Everything. Everything is fuzzy, and he is solid ground. “Who you belong to—“

“Fuck. I’m all yours.” He groans, barely letting you finish your request before he responds. It’s so easy for him to say, giving into your every wish. “I’ve a-always been, baby.”

With his words, you crumble. The ache overbearing, making your body start to fall slack. Jisung is quick to pull you into his arms, chest to chest as the rhythm of his hips slow. Working you through your orgasm and bringing him to the apex of his.

He smells like sweat, cigarettes, and oaky cologne. His hands are soft as they rub soothing circles on your back, lips feather light against your shoulders. When your name leaves his lips it’s like a hymn; your praises filling the heavens and earth.

“Okay?” You ask Jisung breathlessly.

His laugh could outshine the sun. “More than.” Having grown used to his cold, teasing demeanor, it’s almost as if you’re with a different person completely. The soft, gentle side of him blooming for the first time. Only because you were there to help it flourish. “You?”

“‘kay.” You mumble, nuzzling into his neck. “Better than, actually.”

A hum in response, more kisses to you shoulder. The party carries on beneath your feet, buzzing with excitement. Not a care for the world around them, no attention paid to what’s happening beyond their little bubbles.

Like Jisung isn’t in a perfect state of peace, the heat of your body helping ground him to reality. You’re here. You’re his. What does he need to numb?

When you turn your head, you accidentally bump into him. Tip of your head hitting his swollen cheek, the pain making him groan. You apologize profusely, cupping his face and kissing the now bluish marks left by rings.

That. That could use some numbing.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #han smut #jisung smut

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aemonds-sapphire · 1 year

Text

Weakness

Summary: Aemond can’t afford to care about you. Life has long taught him that he’s underserving of such feelings. It’s safer this way. Right?

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of blood and neglect/abuse. Aemond’s POV.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to explore Aemond’s mind for a while now. From his POV. This feels very personal and even though it’s somewhat different from what I usually write, I hope you can still connect to Aemond somehow and that this feels true to his character.

Word count: 1k

Aemond knew the pits of rejection far too well. It had become second nature to him. It consumed him whole and it had morphed into something way darker as he grew older.

He was certain that if there was driving force behind his thirst for revenge then that the fear of abandonment was the root of it all.

Feelings were doorways to suffering. However, Aemond had learnt long ago that some doors are better left shut. Allowing himself to care for someone was a weakness he simply could not afford.

It was a nuisance.

A dangerous one.

Slowly, he lifted one hand and brought the pads of his fingers to trace the rough edges of the scar that ran across his face.

A painful reminder.

No. Just a reminder.

Pain had forsaken his thoughts. He had made sure it stayed that way.

His body was now a reminder of what happens when one allows feelings to overcome reason.

He was a vessel of hatred and revenge, fully committed to having thise who had wronged him pay for it.

Even his beloved mother had forsaken the idea of changing his mind, devoting herself to praying for him in the hopes that some invisible force might rein him in.

He had several cuts across his face from the practice he shared with Criston Cole earlier that day. Aemond made him swear he would not hold back and he complied, unleashing all the swordsmanship knowledge he possessed.

Flesh heals and these were evident wounds that he was still not as skilled as he had hoped.

In truth, he could always ask you to aid him, but the mere thought of having you so close made his stomach turn.

No matter how strong someone was. How well trained they were. How disciplined their mind was. There came a time when something — or rather someone — slippped through the cracks and managed to become a weakness.

Much like the sun insisted on shining through the curtains of his bedchamber. Or much like the drops of blood that eventually found their way down his face and were as tears.

You were a weakness he couldn’t afford.

Deep down, in the depths of his heart, Aemond feared that he was not enough.

That he was broken beyond repair and no one wanted to be left with having to fix both his body and his mind. He utterly feared that if you turned him down it would awaken something darker inside him. That he would feel as small and insignificant as he did when he was younger.

When they all laughed.

When he lost his eye.

When his father demanded no justice for his loss and was willing to have him questioned for the depravities of others.

Aemond Targaryen was ten years of age when he realised he was but an afterthought on his father’s mind. Someone who was supposed to love and care for him unconditionally, saw him as an insignificance.

He could feel another bloody droplet streaming down his face, prickling the skin along the way.

Unconsciously, he brushed it clean before examining the red stain tainting the pad of his thumb.

It was the closest thing he had to tears these days.

He no longer cried. There were days the flames of hatred raged deeply within him, but it was never enough to bring him to tears as before.

Aemond had far better control of his mind now that he was older and wiser.

Truth be told, he didn’t mind that at all.

And he’d rather have it this way.

Suddenly, there was a faint knock on the the door.

It was you.

“Aemond… can I come in?”

He wanted to say no. He needed to say no.

His body had become so numb to physical pain that he only realised he was gripping his knees too tightly when he saw his knuckles turn white.

Another knock. “Aemond…”

“Leave,” he firmly said.

“Do not push me away.”

He had to.

“Please,” your voice was but a whisper, but it was enough to cause his heart rate to quicken. “Your... wounds… I can help.”

He scoffed. You really had no idea that his fixing was beyond skin-deep. That was why he couldn’t stand being near you anymore. You triggered so many feelings within him.

Feelings were weaknesses.

You were a weakness.

He couldn’t afford having one.

He had promised himself that he would be a good son to his mother, a good brother to his sister Helaena and brother Daeron, and that he would tolerate Aegon. But that was as far as his courtesy would extend.

Aemond cared not for others.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

You.

He cursed you for haunting his thoughts. He cursed you for being you and for being so...

“I do not need your help. Leave.”

His words betrayed his heart, but he was used to it.

The doorknob rattled briefly. “I’m not scared of you.”

You should be. He could easily burn you to the ground if you kept on pushing him.

With one swift motion, the door swung open.

There you were.

The newfound source of his turmoil, standing quietly and determined to defy him.

Aemond briefly considered demanding you to leave at once, displaying the unpleasant side him that he had honed over the years.

However, surely enough, the moment you started pacing towards him and knelt at his feet with that loving face of yours resting on his thighs, he knew he had no will left in him to push you away.

“Good morning, dragon,” you taunted him in a low voice, offering him the sweetest smile.

A smile he most certainly did not deserve.

“Hmm,” he mumbled as he allowed his hand reach your cheek.

You immediately closed your eyes, welcoming his touch.

“Let me help you,” you said after a moment, brushing your lips across the palm of his hand. “Please…”

Help? Did you even know what that proposition entailed?

Before he could measure his words, Aemond spoke, “Help with what?”

You opened your eyes and kept them locked with his.

“Fixing you.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fluff #aemond x you #hotd imagine #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x female reader

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muzanswaifu · 1 year

Text

Sweet Treat Teaser

Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

Here is a teaser for an request im working on for the lovely @muzans-stuff.

Summary: After Tomioka rejects her proposal, reader takes a different approach to gain his affection

Warnings: Rejection, Heart-break, Arguments, Reader has big breasts

The sour taste of bitter sadness and anger always upset her stomach, food seeming bland and tasteless and hobbies joyless and obsolete. The days drew long and slow, chores boring and pointless, yet sleep hadn’t seemed to be the answer either as she lay awake for hours. Mother and Father tried to give her time, but no amount of reprieve seemed to work, so they continued sending her to busy herself around the Wisteria House. Slayers came and went, their time seeming to last for seconds before the next batch would come and replace the others. All of them knew better than to take up too much of her time.

“It’s not you… It’s me.”

“What kind of ridiculous excuse is that?”

With the cold season cresting, more injured corps members required attention, Mother sending for more doctors and nurses as temporary help. She made her (y/n) help as well, despite her lack of medical knowledge, briefing her on the basics of care for those who had more minimal injuries. Harsh weather meant more victims and prey as demons had no fear of freezing to death. She found the cold refreshing, a numb pleasure to erase some of her darker thoughts. Feeling sad just felt so right during times like this.

“We wouldn’t be a good match… You wouldn’t like the lifestyle.”

“You don’t know that!”

Why did everything have to be so dull? Things used to be so worthwhile before what happened. Maybe it was her. She was the one who tried to change everything and had to open her stupid mouth. She could’ve left everything as it was, sure it would’ve been difficult and anti-climactic, but she would take that over this disgust with herself any day. She missed how things used to be. Why did he have to say no? They could’ve been happy.

“It’s not happening… I refuse.”

“Why?!”

“Because that’s my answer. That’s final.”

“You won’t even give it a chance? You were the one who kissed me! Did that mean nothing to you?”

“Enough.”

“I can’t believe you could be so- so heartless…”

“I said enough.”

“... I hate you.”

“ … ”

She should’ve kept silent, but every word from her pathetic mouth just drove her deeper into her pit of despair. Had she given him time to just think about her confession, maybe Giyu would’ve grown to accept it rather than push her away. But all she’d managed to do was upset him further, a look of disappointment falling upon his stoic expression and quickly making her realize what she’d said. She reached for him in the moment, tears welling in her eyes as an apology pulled at her lip, but he was gone, his form disappearing from her sight in only a moment, leaving only a slight breeze of chill. Or perhaps it was her own guilt that caused her to shiver.

She wanted to blame only herself, she really did, but why did he drag her along so thoughtlessly? He was the one who asked for her personally to apply all his bandages and ointments (despite her novice experience.) He was the one who followed her around the house like a lost puppy while she worked despite her mother pestering him to rest and recuperate. He was the one who kissed her when she checked his temperature during his recovery, staring long into her eyes and slowly leaning in to brush his lips against hers ever-so-gently. Although he quickly pulled away and muttered his apologies, excusing his own inappropriate actions, the deed had already been done. She knew he’d had feelings for her for quite some time. Even despite the kiss she’d seen the way he looked at her, his eyes alight with a delicate passion when they met hers, or the clear lust that consumed him when those eyes ventured southward. It was obvious he had some obsession with her chest, his preference evident with his lingering stare and gaping mouth. Tomioka hadn’t even had the decency to keep his eyes up during their first meeting, his head quickly bowing down and mouth gawking as he ogled at her fullness. Sure, she would admit she was decently large, but she had no idea it would’ve elicited such a reaction from the swordsman. He’d gotten more manners later on but it always made her flush when she remembered that despite his nobility, he was a still man as well.

The house was so quiet ever since their fight, the snow muffling any sounds of nature and lulling everyone into a deep tire. The visiting slayers slugged around like zombies with such little energy which gave her an agonizing amount of time to pity herself. Tomioka hadn’t visited for so many months, she wished she could excuse his absence for lack of injury but the chances that were miniscule. This wasn’t the only wisteria house in his district, so he was likely hiking the extra mile to another to avoid her. Even if he didn’t wish to see her anymore, she wished he would at least come to heal his injuries. Just knowing first-hand that he was alright would be enough, just seeing him would be enough.

Before long, even winter had passed, the air still chilly and dry but the ice starting to melt and thaw. Snow began to turn to rain and the frozen ground turning to sloshed muddy earth. A whole season passing without a single reunion.

She missed his peaceful company. She missed his small smile when he was humorous. She missed the way he’d look at her, how he’d look at her like she meant everything to him. As much as his rejection still stung, she still loved him.

The violent sound of clashing awoke her, feet and bodies audibly pounding across the floorboards in the medical ward of the estate. It wasn’t unusual for wounded slayer to come at this late hour, but they usually had the courtesy to arrive quietly.

“Hurry, hurry! Get him to the table now!”

(Y/n) could hear the frantic shrill voice of her mother and the shuffling of a few others through the walls, their panicked movements frightening her completely awake. Whatever was happening sounded serious, likely a life-threatening injury. Perhaps she should help.

She hastily threw on a robe over her nightgown, speed-walking down the hall to the sight of all the fuss. Her face scrunched in disgust as she was met with blood scattered across the floor, leading a crimson trail to one of the medical rooms. It smelled gross, a metallic odor filling the house and watering her eyes, but she continued onward to the room, peaking in to get some clue of the distress.

Blood everywhere, soaked into every article of clothing, several doctors and nurses ambled about the room, throwing commands to each other. Mother stood at the corner, biting her nails and anxiously watching the treatment. Everyone was frenzied but there was only one person on the table. She leaned forward through the doorway to get a better view. It was hard to see with everyone gathered around the patient, but she could see bits and pieces here and there, the body leaning toward male. But she didn’t have to further theorize as a nurse moved out of the way, revealing his face. She could feel the moment her heart stopped.

His face was a bit scuffed but the harm looked minimal, but there was still sweat beaded across his forehead, his teeth clenched together and eyes sewn shut, indicating his severe pain. A nurse’s hand held his slicked bangs back, and she could see the sea of bandages that began at his sternum. His deep blue eyes flickered open and locked onto hers, and she gasped. She stumbled away from the door, sneaking back to her own room quickly and shutting the door. Her heart was pounding, sweat glazing her burning flesh.

(Y/n) had never seen him so maimed, nor had she ever seen him in any pain really. Her presence couldn’t have made it any better for him, in fact, he was probably even more uncomfortable right now. Look at her, making everything worse as per usual.

She finally fell unconscious several hours later after worrying and dreading Giyu’s health. Would he recover from such injuries? Would he be permanently wounded? The pit in her stomach refused to go away, her angst building and building until her body physically couldn’t take anymore and her sunken eyes closed. She woke only a few hours later, dizzy from so many nightmares and promptly setting off to find her mother to ask for any updates. She found her already woken, putting away laundry in the early hours.

Mother explained he was decent, not perfect but not broken either. Apparently he’d stumbled in hellishly late last night, weakened and hallucinating from a poison demon’s attack. He managed to make it to the closest wisteria house, this one, quickly enough and was treated right away. As for his pained reactions, they were also a result from the demon’s art, the venom merely increasing his body’s sensitivity and heightening the effects. He was knocked out from pain killers and was going to be sleeping for quite some time, the actual damage was going to take a while to heal anyway.

Her answer was satisfactory enough, the girl sighing in relief and limping back to bed to get more rest. No wonder he’d come here, he was probably too out of it to realize why he was avoiding it. She wouldn’t put it past him to leave as soon as he composed himself.

But to her disbelief, he didn’t.

She almost didn’t believe her eyes when she walked past the courtyard one morning and saw him active outside, stretching out and wincing from his injuries. She took another route to get to the kitchen. The next day was the same. And the next. And the next. Each day she would try her best to avoid him, finding he most frequented the courtyard and the section of the estate where his room was. He seemed to be doing the same as well, turning the other way when she happened to come into view, staying in his room or training most of the day. Part of her is grateful he’s healing so fast. The other part is bitter. The bad memories still lingered in her thoughts. He was definitely still mad at her, and she was still hurt. If everything went smoothly, he would be out of here soon, she just had to be patient.

To be continued...

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tillthelandslide · 3 months

Text

Insufferable Arsehole Part 15: You

A/n: hi everyone! Feels so surreal to say but this is the penultimate chapter of insufferable arsehole *cries*. I love this series so much so please feel free to send in any requests you want to see from these characters. But the main series is nearly over *sobs*. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I love you all so much and thank you for all your support <3. I want to give a massive shout out to @ughgoaway and @justanamesstuff for loving this series as much as I do. Without all of your support (but especially my loving ia stans) this series would've been over a long time ago. I love you guys so much. Hope you enjoy <3

Extra note: I wrote all the little poems in the notebook part of this series. They're all original (whether you think they're shit or you like them) please don't copy them.

Previous Part

Series Masterlist

Matty’s POV

The sofa I'm lying on feels way too comfortable, the warmth of it making it hard for me to get up. It’s soft beneath me and it lures me into closing my eyes. I have things I need to do, I have people I need to call, meetings I need to attend, friends I need to make sure are okay, set lists to read and adjust. A wonderful and loving girlfriend who I need to show my love for. But lying here, listening to the soft strum of the guitar she's playing has my closed eyes fluttering and my body weighing down on the sofa. I don't fall asleep, I just lie with my eyes closed, letting her voice drift over me - consume me.

I had moments like these, moments where I felt... Numb. But she pulls me out of them, or at least fills my body with something other than numbness, she touches the parts that can't usually be persuaded on days like these. These moments were few and far between with the presence of Lou in my life and somehow it makes this time worse. I feel guilty for feeling this way, for feeling low, for slipping into a dark space. I shouldn’t be feeling like this, I had a wonderful girlfriend, I was finally with the girl meant for me. And I had friends, great friends who were more like family. I had adoring fans and I did what I felt like I was meant to for a living. Life was perfect… So why did I feel so unworthy of it all?

It had started earlier this morning when I had snapped at one of the music techs, I hadn't meant to and I felt guilty as soon as I did it. Her warm hand clamped around my shoulder almost immediately, telling me to go lie down and so I did. I heard her apologise for my actions, explaining that I was 'tired'. I felt thankful she didn't tell the guy the real reason. The guys understood it, maybe even more than Lou, so when she spoke to them before she came back to me, they got it. Jamie had once described me as someone with a huge ego but no self worth, in moments like these, I had to agree.

The sound of the guitar stops and I hear her set it down, I hear the shuffle of the foot stall, feel a light bump against the side of the sofa, feel her soft hand drifting up my back, up to my neck and then my head, pushing the curls away and making my eyes flutter open.

My heart beat falters, my breath matching it, her beautiful eyes look down at me, soothing me. It was hard to describe them, they were ever changing. I wouldn't say they were green, but they weren't blue or grey either, it was as if those colours alone weren't enough for someone like Lou, they weren't special or unique so whoever created her (I don't believe in God but some greater being had to create a person like her) decided to make a new colour, a combination of all things beautiful. They had hints of grey and specs of yellow and sometimes the sun made them look piercingly blue but the sun could also make them look like emeralds. They were perfect, one look into them and I can feel myself slipping from the dark spaces of my mind.

"Hi my sweet boy" it surprises me that I don't have to tell her what I need from her in times like these, she just got it. As if she had access to all parts of my brain, able to peek in and see what I needed and having the ability to just give it to me without a shred of hesitation or an ulterior motive. It shouldn’t surprise me, not anymore, not when I knew she was it for me, the only one I ever want to be with, to spend the rest of my life with. The person who was mine and I theirs.

"Hi" I don't recognise the voice that comes from me, a low, deep grumble of a sad man. One that felt like a distant memory, the voice of someone I used to know, not the person I am now.

"I want to show you something" she says and I find myself nodding, she places her black leather notebook in my lap and I find my heart beating three times as hard as I look at it. She had never shown me this before, showing someone this is like showing them your deepest thoughts and emotions, baring your soul to them. I had watched her scribble in it countless times, I had watched as she wrote lyrics that pulled her lips up at the corners, I had watched as she scribbled down angrily, tears falling from her eyes and coating the pages.

I remember the only time I had come close to reading the lyrics, pinning her down to a hotel bed in some forgotten location, tickling her sides until the book slipped from her fingertips, holding the pages above her head just out of reach as our laughter was all that could be heard. I remember the way she begged me to give it back, of course I would never have read it without her permission. I remember her pleas made me drop the book and bury my face into her neck. She made me forget about the lyrics easily, too wrapped up in her to care about them.

"Are you sure?" I ask, sitting up slightly so my back is against the armrest of the sofa, pulling the book towards me and playing with the frayed edges. She smiles at me, her hand resting against my jaw, her thumb running over her bone, making my eyes flutter momentarily.

"Sometimes I think you forget how much you mean to people, you forget how much people love you... And not just me, the band and the crew, your family, my family, the fans... Of course I can only speak for myself... So I want you to read this" she speaks, voice soft and delicate. Beautiful.

I want to speak. To tell her I love her. To thank her. I want to smile. To press my lips against hers. But my eyes won't leave the book.

"most of them aren't finished... They're not songs... They're just things I wrote, little poems" she says and I nod, looking up from the book.

"I love you Matty" she says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to my forehead before leaving me. It takes a while for me to open the book, scared of what I'll find. My shaky hands eventually separate the cover from the first page.

I find a few I recognise, like the one she posted on Instagram, the one I loved:

"I'd stay with you here forever, you with those dark eyes and darker hair, the epitome of beauty, you put Adonis to shame, with the way you paint my brain, with everything that is you, you with those dark eyes and darker hair. The epitome of beauty."

Her handwriting is delicate, cursive and, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. I'm not surprised because everything she does is beauty. She is beauty.

I flick through the pages, little photos taped to the corners or wedged in, the photos make my heart swell. Photos of her and G, one in particular making me smile: a photo of Lou sitting on George's shoulders, looking as if she was scared to fall down, but she's laughing and so is George and his hands are clamped on her thighs that rest around his head ensuring she doesn't fall. A picture of her and Ross, pulling funny faces at each other, they both look younger, Ross’ hair is short and Lou’s is too, I wish I had her like that back then, even now, even still - I regret the time we lost. I find a picture she took of me, her thighs resting either side of my waist as she takes a photo from above, I feel like a different person than the one smiling up at me. I see another one taken in a photo booth, one where we're kissing, it makes me smile.

I read on, my heart slowly being refilled with love and beauty and kindness and feeling.

I could bask in you for endless days and endless nights. For you are the sun that shines and glistens. For you are the one that warms my once cold heart and bones.

You're the sun in winter, warming up bones and creating smiles. You're rain on a summer's day, soaking the sweat away. You're all things good and kind and lovely. You're love and sex and beauty. You're the definition of passion. Cigarettes and coffee and fresh and home. You're my favourite scent. My favourite sound. My favourite sight. My favourite thought. My favourite feeling. You touch me and I feel you everywhere. Burying into my being. You're mine. My favourite scent. Cigarettes, coffee, fresh, home. My home.

I loved the complexity of some but simply adored the simplicity of others. Reading the ones which don't hide behind metaphors, they're purer somehow.

Pain engraved my brain. Hurt twisted through my mind. Envy soaked through my eyes. You appeared , all those emotions vanished. I began to love the way you loved me. I found myself loving you more. I used to hate you, I hated hating you. I love you now, I love loving you and I love you loving me.

I smile, a huge smile and I feel it seep through my bones, warming my cold body, feeling finally flooding back in.

Red lips and brown eyes. Black curls and tattooed skin. I'd like to paint in you in my mind so I could have you here forever

The few words are the only ones on this particular page, the rest is filled with pictures of us, a picture of the M necklace I gave her, a picture of my marked neck, her marks. There's a picture of us kissing, ones in which any other circumstance would cause my skin to heat up and my blood to rush south. There’s sweet pictures too, of us in Rome, our hands intertwined, pictures of our tattoos we got together.

The ropes within unwind under your command. Just say the word and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth.

Matty is sun kissed cheeks on summer days, cherry blossom on withered ground, swirling clouds amongst technicolour skies.

I turn the page and a larger piece of paper falls out, I unfold it carefully, taking my time in reading the words I find on the page:

Dear George,

I’m writing to you from Rome. Seems a bit weird to be writing you a letter knowing I’m going to be seeing you soon. Was feeling nostalgic I guess… Remember the days when we were both on tour and we’d write these big long letters to each other from wherever in the world we were. It was such a pain trying to make sure they were sent to you before you left that city or town. I remember us arguing one day because Jamie had complained about the amount of money he kept having to spend to retrieve the letters when had arrived a little too late. Grumpy sod.

Anyway, you’d usually write about how the tour was going, how Matty had been getting on your nerves. I always wondered whether you just said that to make me feel better for not getting on with your best friend. You’d send me pictures of you with Ross and Hann and I’d send you pictures of me and the girls (usually receiving a text from you or Macdonald after that made me want to hit you around the head - pervs)

Strange how different things seem now. Like now for instance - I'm writing this, by the pool (this place is fucking huge, you and Charli would love it here), Matty’s napping next to me. He’s sleeping with this dopey grin and… I love him George. So much. Please don’t try to cringe too much reading this. His skin isn’t as pale anymore. Shock right? Our pale boy has a tan!

I want to thank you G. Thank you for everything. You’ve been the best friend I could have ever asked for… but thank you for bringing me him. Matty is everything George. The way he loves me is nothing I have ever felt before. I know now that everything up until now is worth it because now I have him.

I can’t help but wonder how I ever could have hated him. He cares so deeply for every one G… sometimes I wonder if it's too much, if he’s going to get hurt in the end. But that’s okay. Because he has me. And he has you and the boys. And together we love him deeply (still probably half as much as he loves us). I’m going to spend every day of my life proving to him that he is worthy.

So thank you George. He’s the love of my life. He owns my heart, now and forever.

Your best friend - Lou x

My heart picks up in my chest, I love her, more than anyone I have ever loved in my life. I feel tears fall from my eyes, coating my cheeks. I swipe them away before they have a chance to hit the pages.

But you... It was different with you

That's my favourite, my fingers find the page and I carefully tear the page out, I fold it gently and tuck it into my pocket.

I stand from the sofa, feeling weightless now, feeling love for her in every fibre of my being. I walk around the venue, trying to find her. I find George who smiles at me widely.

"glad to see you perked up a bit" he says with a hand to my shoulder.

"Where's Lou?" My abruptness takes him back but it doesn't stop him from answering. I appreciate that.

"She's with your mum in the kitchen, they're baking" George clearly sees my shocked face and he chuckles "yeah your mum is here" I hug him tightly before I leave him, heading for the kitchen.

My legs move too quickly for my brain to register but I don't care, I need to find her. My mum spots me before Lou does and she smiles widely.

"Hello Matthew, feeling any better?" She asks, Lou looks up at me as she finishes speaking.

"Explained to your mum that you were feeling a little tired" Lou explains and I nod, smiling at her.

"Much better mum, thank you" I say leaning down to place a peck against her cheek.

Lou's hands are covered in flour and it makes me smile. I squeeze past my mother with a gentle "excuse me" . My hands find Lou's waist and I hitch her up, making her smile.

"Matty put the poor woman down" my mother scolds me but I don't stop. Lou's hands find my shoulders as she feels like she's going to fall.

"I've got flour on your shirt now idiot" she says but she's still smiling. She looks down at me and I see everything in her eyes, every emotion, every indication that she loves me. I love her, god do I love you.

"I don't care, come here" I say, one hand finding her chin and lightly pulling her towards me.

"Matty, your mum" she says, eyes flicking over my shoulder to my mum who giggles to herself, busying herself with the baking..

"I. Don't. Care" I say with the widest smile I think has ever graced my features.

"What has gotten into you?" She asks, smiling widely. Her eyes sparkle. God she's beautiful.

"I love you Lou, so much, you're everything. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, if that's okay with you" I say, I hear my mum coo behind us and Lou smiles above me, her legs wrapping around my waist to support herself more.

"Fine with me Healy" she says, leaning down to press her lips against mine finally. The kiss is kept short to save my mother seeing us in a compromising position.

"But you, it was different with you" I repeat her own words back to her and she nods.

"Yeah..." She says and I see her eyes well with tears, I feel myself copying her, placing her back on the floor but moving my head down to kiss her again. I hold her to my side as I turn to my mother.

"I'll leave you both to bake," I say, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, smiling at my mother. .

"Okay" she says with a smile. I hug my mum tightly before I walk out, but I don't miss my mother's words

"That boy is obsessed with you, I've never ever known him to love someone as much as you" she says.

"Trust me, the same goes for him. I'd do anything for him" Lou's words make me smile and so I continue walking.

I find George again, happy to find him with Hann and Ross.

"Good you're all here" I say, drawing their attention towards me.

"Everything okay mate?" Ross asks and I smile as I nod.

"I need your help"

"Anything," George says.

"I'm going to ask Lou to marry me" they all smile widely at me, I like that. My eyes flick to George’s. He seems expressionless for a second.

“If that’s okay with you” I ask, I see George’s lip quiver slightly and his fingers grip his bottom lip as he nods. I see tears coat his eyes as he steps forward, grabbing my hand in his and pulling me forward into a hug.

“Fuck yeah” I find myself crying too. I feel two more sets of arms wrapping around us. I smile.

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @promocodesorry75 @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx @k4tie75 @insidemymind19 @zzzhealy @maybeiwouldlikeyou @at-her-very-foreign @not-alien-girl-v @sinarainbows @friedlandblog @momentum2023 @youlooklikeshitandyousmellabit @Inhalerbea (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊, those with a line through are the ones i couldn’t tag)

#insufferable arsehole matty healy series #the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #matty x reader #matty healy x oc #the 1975 smut

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nebbyy · 21 days

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hello could you do headcanons smut of baldwin and his chubby wife

King Baldwin x reader - Nsfw headcanons

A/N: Wow these is the first explicit stuff I write for Baldwin!! Thank you so much for this prompt, thinking of a chubby medieval woman makes me think of all the portraits of beautiful women with the most harmonious curves I've ever seen😩😩

As always painting name is Romeo and Juliet by Frank Bernard Dicksee for my art enthusiasts :))

Warning: SMUT, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Unlike modern times, a fuller body has always been sign of beauty and fertility through western history

Although during medieval times anything related to attractiveness and sensuality was deemed as "bad", that still meant that a chubby woman would've been judged not for being against the beauty standard, but to be actually too tempting for the public!

So it comes without saying that young king Baldwin thought he might pass out the first time he saw you, knowing you were his betrothed

You'd awakened something in him, this burning desire to have you, to know how your soft curves would feel in his hands, how your silky skin would brush against his own

I see him having a long series of consecutive days where he woke up drenched in sweat, body slightly trembling as he'd come out of yet another wet dream about you, lying beneath him as he had his sweet way with you

He felt himself getting more and more impatient for the wedding night day to come, to finally be able to call you his

He'd also be quite insecure at first, and scared too. What if the sight of his body repulsed you? What if you wouldn't want to go near him to avoid the risk of getting the disease as well?

He wouldn't blame you for it, it'd be the wiser decision for the both of you

But still, he prays and hopes and dreams that you'd return the attraction he felt from you from the very start. He longs for the feeling of your touch against his numb body

He's a bundle of nerves during the whole ceremony, but he's good at hiding it (well the veil covering his head is); he seems to all calm down only once you're both sitting next to each other at the banquet, and you tentatively lay your soft hand over his laying on the table, shy touches blessing his skin

That night your marriage is consumed in no time, he's basically as gentle as humanly possible while he holds you in his arms, as he's slowly penetrating you

There was no really developed knowledge of foreplay or female anatomy in the middle ages, but it just felt natural for Baldwin to keep his focus on your every reactions while the two of you are making love

He doesn't know what he's doing, and neither do you considering that at that time you probably haven't even seen a naked man other than Baldwin himself, but that doesn't stop the two of you from exploring each other, taking your time to get to know what you like, what makes your eyes roll back and your back arch

I'm not sure if he'd be down for oral, I kind of see him as being a bit self conscious of the level of decay his mouth and face has reached, and I'm not too sure his cum would actually taste good with leprosy and all

Nevertheless, his fingers and cock are more than enough to bring you more pleasure than you could ever imagine

Don't expect any public stuff, Baldwin is still an extremely religious man whose values are not to be messed with: these things are meant for the privacy of your quarters alone, there's no need for him to bring this sacred thing you two have out where all eyes could possibly see

He'd probably be more on the vanilla side, being mostly against anything related to giving pain (he'd be indifferent to receiving it since his body is mainly numb, but he wouldn't enjoy it either)

Although he would probably enjoy being the more dominant one in the bedroom, the power dynamic would still remain on a pretty balanced level: you're still his beloved wife, his only equal in his eyes. That's why I could confidently say that Baldwin is the perfect example of soft dom

His favorite position would probably be missionary, just so that he could be able to see your pretty face while he pounds into you

Also because he could get to hold your plush thighs and see the delightful rolls that form on your belly

Your body screams femininity and fertility to him, an alluring combination that gets him going for as much time as you two have

His numbness also grants him a reduced sensibility, so he can afford to go more rounds at a time without having too many problems from it

But as the years pass, his mobility becomes more restricted by his declining health, and along with his agility and stamina in battle his sickness gets the best of him even in the bedroom

And through it all, his burning desire for you was what got him going, what made him spare just a little more energies to later spend with you

The two of you would have to adapt, though, probably changing positions and frequency at which you guys have sex

You might start trying to be the one on top, and he'd guide your every movement while also trying not to lose his mind over just how perfect you look riding him, your every curve bouncing as you move up and down over his cock

He dreams of giving you a baby in those moments, filling you up to the brim, seeing your body get even fuller with your conjoint love. It really saddens him to think that it might never happen

But hope is the last one to die, and he gets his hopes up every time that he comes into your welcoming body, emptying his seed into you, hoping that one day this union will give life to a creature as beautiful as its mother

#kingdom of heaven #king baldwin x reader #f!reader #headcanons #the leper king #king baldwin iv #king baldwin x you #anon request #smut #ask me anything

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hellsfirekeepsyouwarm · 8 months

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I Swear To You

Frank Castle x Reader Requested:

Hello my lovely writer, I'm in great need of some protective care taking fluffy angsty Frank Castle fic. And so I was wondering if you are interested in my request =) please let me know what you think. Frank has a cute new neighbor. They ended up talking a lot, Frank even flirting with her, but doesn't have the guts to make a move. One evening she was on a date which went sideways. The creep drugged her. As she notices something is wrong she snuck out of the bar calling a taxi to go home as fast as she can. He manhandled her as he notices she waiting for a taxi but she makes it home... She barely made it to pay the driver as she stumbled to her door to out if it from her spiked drink, so she isn't able to open her door let alone find her key. She collapses at Sehr front door, lying in the Cola night (maybe she hit her head pretty badly when going down). Frank comes home and finds her in feoneof her door. She's hypothermic and he notices her weird state and knows instantly she was drugged. So he takes care of her and her wounds and tries to warm her up. He nurses her back the next days

I hope you like it and thanks for requesting, and sorry for pushing this out for too long.

TW: Mentions of dru-gs, mentions of SA, puking, a terrible man doing terrible things

Frank was a goner. The moment he spotted you at the end of the hallway, gently balancing on your high heels, dress hugging your curves perfectly, hair and makeup done like you were ready to walk the red carpet, he knew he messed up. He messed up when he let his facade fall, and let you see the real him. Or part of him. Nothing was out of place, he came back from work, catching your right opposite of his door, going to a walk, to get a coffee, to meet up with your friends. You greeted him just the same, but your smile was giddy, a little bit too wide for a regular day.

He was oblivious to a lot of things, but even he could see that you are going to a date. And the guy is pretty fucking lucky tonight. He could see you wanted to impress, and you already won, because he was fascinated. He took sneaky glances, tried to act casual when you eyes spotted him walking towards you, shoulders heavy with a long ass day behind him. You greeted him as usual, asked about his day as usual, but he just couldn't act like usual. He had to acknowledge how beautiful you looked, and he did just that. A compliment, then a hidden question to confirm his suspicion. Your hips swayed as you walked away from him, giggling at his compliment, dissepearing into the night.

He was in deep. Too deep.

You had a good time, the best since a while. He was charming, charismatic, a kind face with a killer smile. Smooth talk, lingering touches. He was literally perfection. He really was.

As the night progressed, your glass never emptied out fully, he made sure you had plenty to drink. You didn't think much of it, his glass was the same, always full, often smiling into the golden liquor that grazed his lips. You ate, but surely not enough for the amount of drinks you consumed. How much did you really drink? You couldn't recall when your vision started to feel so tunnel like, or how your head felt heavy like a brick strapped to it. The more you felt it, the often his smile faltered.

First you thought you were just tired, haven't ate enough, that's why you are being a lightweight now. But in the back of your mind something told you it wasn't that. You only drank wine, wine that most of the time brought the frizzy numbness to you and the giggles out from you, meanwhile right now, you feel like you drank an entire cupboard of alcohol.

He is closer now. Pulled his chair next to you sometime you don't remember happening, if you saw it, you already forgot it. His breath fanning you ear as he speaks to you, something along the lines of going home, having a good time, taking it somewhere more private.

You wonder if you can walk to the restroom, or even stand up on your feet. You never had to wonder. Alcohol never made you think you physically can't move your body as you want. Panic have settled in your bones, silently urging you to do something. Anything, just to get away from him. You felt his fingers grazing your thigh, pushing your dress higher with every stroke, his voice still murmuring into your ear, although you cannot understand what he's saying.

You excuse yourself, trying to mimic you half an hour ago self. Flirty and joyful, you try to laugh it off, telling him you have to freshen up, telling that you have to pee badly, giggling while admitting it. You must act good, because when you slip off the chair, his warmth doesn't follow, nor his voice. You heart is beating rapidly in your chest, probably the only thing that you can concentrate on to not fall face first to the ground.

You are so fucking hopeful you walk somewhat towards to restroom, so he doesn't realize you are figuring your way out of the place.

A cute face emreges in front of you, your body oddly colliding with the person, you hands flying up to steady yourself on their shoulder. You would be so embarrassed if you were sober. It's a waitress, asking you if you are alright, honest concern in her voice.

You mumble something out, praying it makes sense and she'll know what you need.

"You want to go home? Want us to call a taxi?" She asks with a comforting voice. "Do you need us to call someone?"

Frank's name comes to mind first, and you silently scold yourself for never asking for his number.

"Hmmm, no."

"Let us call a taxi, yeah love?" She says, gently pushing your body forward with her hands eloping you in a side hug. Everything is blurry, your vision only picking up bits and parts of the world around.

You were more than sure that he put something in your drink. If your body wasn't so numb, you would be an erratic mess right now. Your senses are limited, everything comes and goes like a dream. You are not even afraid what he had put in your drinks, you just want to get away from him far away enough so he cannot talk the sweet lady out of helping you. You momentarily feel the cold breeze outside before the early winter air hits you in full force, the cold easing your flaming skin.

"HEY, excuse me. Where are you taking her?" The hair stands up on your whole body from his voice. Sweet, hidden malicious. "No i won't take a step back, where are you taking my girlfriend? Honey look at me!"

You don't have anything in you to respond. You just want to go home.

"Sir you need to leave her alone."

Hushed voices follows movement, softly pushing and pulling you around. Where is your purse? Did you left there at the table? You have your phone and wallet in it, you'll need that.

"My purse, my phone.." You mumble, feeling your body lowered to a flat surface.

"It's in your hands love, take care." The lady says, her voice is distant. You squeeze your hand, feeling a tiny little strap in your palm confirming your fingers are locked on your bag. You barely feel the material on your skin.

"Where to?" Your eyes go wide with a new voice calling out. You are getting comfortable at the back of a taxi, an older man looking at you, waiting for an answer, the dim light up on the car's ceiling giving him a really bad angle.

You hear yourself telling him the address, the sound is like someone else and not you. The car goes smoothly, at least that's how you feel it, the seats smell funny, and the lights outside paints a weird image through the windows, your head's starts to spin as you can't comprehend your surrounding no more. You just wish the taxi driver is kind enough to lead you to your door.

You wished and you were so wrong. He calls out to you plenty of times before you manage to get out of the car, almost tripping over your own feet while doing so, trying to give him money for the ride.

And that's it, the car speeds off behind you, leaving you trembling on the sidewalk. Just a few steps right? That's all it takes to get to your apartment.

Your body sways with each drag of your legs, barely standing up. How you manage to get to your door? You don't know, probably will never know. But you eventually do, legs giving out right in front of it, landing on your knees with a sharp pain then ending up on your butt, the ice cold ground burning your skin where it connects.

Your body gives in to the drug in your system, turning the world to black.

He took a peaceful walk to the nearest diner, a place he and you are very fond of, often bumping to each other there, one of those times you said yourself how you love the oldschool vibe and the quiet there. Frank only grabbed a coffee to go, the couple of minute walk clearing his messy head, head that is filled to the brim with thoughts of you. It's rare to him, to have something else on his mind than his family or blood rage and revenge. It's refreshing and terrifying. When he left, you weren't home yet, almost two hours after you waved goodbye to him, and he started to feel restless. Two hour isn't too much for a first date? He wouldn't know, even back in the day he wasn't the guy who took girls to a date. His parents raised him old fashioned, but he usually liked the simpler things. Car rides, walks with deep talks, cheap picnic with soda and snacks. So what does he knows about fancy restaurant dates?

It's cold, too cold for the tiny dress you were dressed in, but he would take you home right? He would take you home, making sure you walk in your front door, seeing it close behind you before leaving. But that's him, and he knows for sure not every man thinks like that.

The coffee warming his palm, giving him some sort of comfort to his uneasiness, his eyes searching for the familiar door when he takes a turn to your street.

No lights up yet? Now he's worried. You might went home with him. It's possible, you are a beautiful grown woman, who probably knows very well what she wants. But his jaw clenches nevertheless at the thought. His eyes dart away in shame, knowing he has no right to be mad at you for having a good time.

His head snaps back so quick it hurts his neck, in the corner of his eyes a big dark spot in front if your door that wasn't there before. He blinks for a few times to make sure it's not just his brain tricking him into some illusions. His mind failed him before, showing him terrible things that weren't really there, but the rapid beating of his heart and the pounding in his head is a signal of the familiar danger he encountered so many times before. The type of feeling in his gut when he knows the worst is coming.

And nothing could have prepared him for your frozen body on the freezing ground. In your tiny dress, exposed skin sticking to the concrete, the contains of your purse scattered around.

His instinct kicks in with full force, his hands fumbling for a pulse under your skin. He checks your wrist and neck before pulling your numb body up to his embrace, without thinking twice about who might see him taking you into his apartment. God knows how did you end up there, and he's not risking it if your date shows up at your door, finishing what he had started.

Because why else would you be lying knocked out in front of your home, why couldn't you get in, why else would you loose consciousness if not because of a doing of a horrible piece of shit man?

He is a man on a mission. Something he felt ages ago, and now it's welcomed with a sense of purpose and a sharp sting in his heart.

You are terribly cold in his hands, and he has to hush the voice in his mind that tells him the worst possible outcome.

He rushes to his bed, putting you down on his sheets gently, fingers trembling as he pulls your damp dress off of you, at this point he can't bothered that you are nearly naked in his bed, this isn't how he imagined it. He rushes off, his boots heavy on the creaking wooden floor, looking for the warmest clothes he has in his mostly empty wardrobe. It's a hoodie and sweatpants he comes up with, the best he can offer.

He knows you'll be greatly embarrassed when you come to your senses, so when he removes your undergarments, he tries to do it as respectfully as it's possible. One clothing off and another on, your icy skin burning under his warm hands, the sensation leaving a bad taste in his mouth. A reminder that he has a bastard to find after you are recovered.

His mind is racing, the loud thump in his ears slowly quieting down as he checks for your pulse again, cursing himself that he doesn't have a damn thermometer. He should have called an ambulance, he thinks. But god knows how much time they need to get here, if they ever. He's being selfish. But you are in good hands, he wants to think you are okay with him.

He's greatful for his years in the military, now more than ever. When it comes to himself, he's tactical and precise but numb. Any wound he stitched up and treated is decent enough, but nothing more. His own discomfort and pain is a welcomed guest. But right now it's not his body that is in pain, and he's not allowed to be careless and emotionless. You are wrapped up in his bed, safe and sound, but it's nothing to soothe his nerves.

He grabs a towel from the bathroom, the exact same of the pretty set you gave to him a couple of weeks ago when you saw his own torn up one, insisting he needs it way more than your wardrobe where you kept it since buying them. He gently lifted your head from the soft pillow, neatly covering your damp hair in it, your soft breaths music to his ears, he leans closer, just to confirm you are breathing evenly.

He considers for moment before deciding to open your eyes with his fingertips, his suspicion is confirmed by your blown pupils, the color of your eyes barely visible from the blackness of it. He sighs, rage and anger coursing through his veins, tempting him to get up and find the fucker. It would be easy, so easy. But you need him more than he needs to ease the bloodlust.

Just now he realizes he is still in his coat, sweat glistening on his forehead, his body hot under the layers he should get rid of, dirty boots tainting the already year long stained flooring of his apartment.

He glances over to you, a last conformation you are okay before he himself changes from his street clothes.

He doesn't mean to overstep, but when he goes back to you, and you body is just as cold as when he found you outside, his mind is set. He carefully slips in to the bed, he himself isn't sure how he manages to get under you, he searches for the best way for his body to give off it's heat to you. So you are now trapped between his legs, back laying heavily on his abdomen, hair tickling his bare skin. It's more intimate Frank anticipated, but to be honest, he wasn't debating about it much before doing what his brain told him to do. He would change his mind about the position if he couldn't feel your body soaking up his warmth. It's satisfying, how you take unconsciously, and he's basking in the feeling of giving. It's been so long since he was able to serve gently, in a quiet manner. Like when he ruffled his son's hair, or put the school bag on his daughter back. Or how he played with a single strand of Maria's hair, putting it behind her ear.

So his hands pulls you closer, every part of you hugged by his body, giving and giving everything he has to offer.

Your head hurts. No, not hurts, splits into two, even more when your eyes open with a painful sharp feeling behind them. You would groan if your throat would let it slip past the desert that's inside. The rest in your bones mixing with various aches under your skin, and the comfort around isn't enough to reach your body. You are tempted to back to sleep, sure another hours wouldn't hurt, before you mind clears up, shaking the sleep out of you.

It hits you like a lightning. What day is it really? What day was yesterday?

You shot up, dizziness almost pulling you back down with a terrible feeling in your stomach. Before you could comprehend anything that's happening, something is held to your face where soon you empty out the contains of your stomach. A soothing hand appears on your back, trying to keep your hair there while you puke your literal life out. Sweet words reach your ears when your traumatized body calms a little bit down.

"You are alright, sweetheart." It's Frank's voice. "How you feelin'?"

Your grimace, disgust being the only thing you are feeling besides every ache of your body. "It's okay, darlin'. Just breath, let it out if you have to."

You look sideways, seeing him half naked, his body so close you can feel his warmth radiating towards your trembling body. He's concerned face is looking for something in yours, perhaps panic that why he is here with you, or the fact, that you aren't in your own room, or apartment, or why are you wearing his clothes that hangs on you loosely. There is an explanation for it, you know that, and you don't have the will or the energy to be panicked. Despite these thoughts, you heart beats out of your chest, hearing your blood rushing in your ears.

"What happened?" You ask. If you are with him, he's having all the answers. What is the last thing anyway that you remember? You getting ready? Was it yesterday? Your date. You don't remember your date. It's daytime right now, so it's surely passed.

Maybe it's too apparent on your face how you put together the pieces in your head, or he's just panicking at how you are starting to panic that you don't realize. Your shaking body is fumbling with the duvet around you, eyes snapping to Frank then to your surroundings, frantic with your every move. Like an animal cornered.

"Hey hey hey..You are alright! Look at me darling! Look at me." He forces you to look in his eyes, warm and safe, attention seeking. "You were drugged last night, but you are okay, you hear me? You'll have a hell of a day today, but it's gonna pass. Nothing happened, okay? He did nothing to you."

It's sincere. Everything he says he believes. How does he know?

"How..?"

"You know how, sweetheart. Let me get you some water okay? Get back in bed." He commands, leaving you on the side of the bed. So he is Frank Castle after all. You had you suspicion for a while, and you might asked too risque questions he caught on. How does this makes you feel? Kind of relieved, and grateful? You are grateful that your neighbor is a cold-blooded killer?

"There you go. Drink slowly, okay?" He murmurs, a black t-shirt now covering his upper body. You take careful sips, eyeing the man next to you without shame. He does the same, watching intently with so much comfort in his eyes.

"I don't remember anything." You voice is defeated, drained even without using it for hours now.

"I know, i'm sorry." Tears are threatening to fall as your mind tries to navigate the information that you have been drugged.

"What if he.."

"Nonononono, look at me! He did nothing to you. He put it in your wine, let you have too many drink, but he did no more than that!"

You nod. Accepting it. He's the Punisher after all.

He takes your hand in his, planting a faint kiss on top on your knuckles. "You are safe, i swear to you."

You are safe with him.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle oneshot #frank castle #the punisher x reader #the punisher

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eli0004 · 2 months

Text

AoT as songs during a breakup and why [Pt. 1 Men Edition]

[Contains: Eren, Armin, Jean, Connie, Reiner, Bertholdt, Levi]

Warnings: insecurity, implied cheating, drug use, pining, toxicity, crying

Author’s Note: WHEW 😅 Ik it’s been a minute, I’m feeling better now despite the small bursts of fatigue here and there. Back to writing 🫶

…

Eren- [Black Cats- ZillaKami]

After you two break up, Eren goes through three phases. Anger at you, anger at himself, and finally just trying to forget and pretend nothing ever happened. He’s the type of guy that smokes until he’s numb, and forces himself to ignore the heartbreak. If he broke up with you, he’ll probably be back in your DMs in a week. But if you hurt him, he’ll expect you to come back and apologize. The man is too prideful to beg.

Armin- [If Only- Fink]

Sweet Armin 🥹 baby boy, he blames himself. Even if the breakup was your fault, he’s thinking of all the ways he could’ve been better for you. He’ll run through every possible reason you felt like he wasn’t enough for you, any sign he missed that he wasn’t trying hard enough. He won’t get over you, even as the time passes, there will always be room in his heart that he’ll keep unoccupied in case you ever decide to come back for him. This boy will love you forever, even if it hurts.

Jean- [It’s Called: Free Fall- Rainbow Kitten Surprise]

Jean is a very emotional guy…in private. He won’t outwardly show how it affects him, he’ll go out with friends and make an appearance at parties like it’s no big deal. For the first while he’s able to fool himself too. It’s one night when he gets home after a trip to the lake with his friends and starts thinking about how quiet his evenings are without you, he breaks. He feels a bit hopeless, and frustrated that he can’t just turn it off. He doesn’t want to feel it, because he’s scared it will consume him. He’s scared that other people will recognize his vulnerability.

Connie- [Who Needs Love- Trippie Redd]

My man is a LIAR. Connie hates you. He’s talking shit, he’s saying you were toxic and he’s glad you’re gone. He doesn’t need you and he could have anyone he wants, so why be sad? Until he runs into you at a party and you drunkenly admit that you still love him. Suddenly the world is colorful again, and loving really is worth the pain.

Reiner- [Creep- Radiohead]

Even if Reiner isn’t a loser, in his own mind he is. He went into your relationship believing you deserved so much better than him, he never understood how you managed to look at him and see anything worth loving. Everything he ever did was to ensure your happiness, so if leaving him is what will make that happen, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch you post on your instagram story when you go on dates, he’ll see your happy lil smile and he’ll smile to himself, ignoring the tear that escapes his eyes and moistens his pillow. He tells himself that he’s just proud of you, and glad you’re doing well.

Bert- [Break- Alex G]

Bert is a loser, and he believes he’s a loser. It’s endearing, because he doesn’t understand how he managed to pull you in the first place. He would walk to the ends of the earth and back barefoot to make you happy, his love knows no bounds. He’s a certified simp and he doesn’t mind being called one, because he doesn’t see any reason not to be proud that others are acknowledging how diligently he loves you, how devoted he is to your happiness. When things end, he feels cheated and drained. Like it was all for nothing. The type of guy who will say he’ll never love again, and even if it’s not true, it will definitely be a long time before he does.

Levi- [Killer- Phoebe Bridgers]

Levi has some pretty significant abandonment issues. He’s another one that would do anything to see you smile, he believes that the more he does for you, the more worthy of love he is. He doesn’t see himself as lovable unless he can be of service. Even if he doesn’t show it, Levi can be pretty insecure. He knows he isn’t the most approachable, he can be blunt and brash, and he doesn’t always know how to be gentle. But your love makes him feel like he’s good. He’s not ready to give that up, and he’s thinking of all the ways he can show you he wants to make it work. He can’t accept that it’s over, and one way or another he’ll have you back in his arms.

#help i feel like this is garbage #i wrote it in like 20 minutes #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #aot smut #aot headcanons #aot x y/n #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #armin arlet x reader #eren jeager x reader #connie springer x reader #jean kirsten x reader #reiner braun x reader #bertholdt hoover x reader

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obscuremantisman · 5 months

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man, i've lost idea of what i was writing, i'm just feeling like writing bout an old siren male reader. Would you guys like that?

Anyways, have this, some more of my random thoughts about Eyeless Jack, with a small scenario with you, i guess.

⪧ I appreciate criticism, ideas, and your opinions. ⪦

I feel like Jack's ritual proceeded with him getting shaved, thus why his eldritch form would be pretty much hairless.

He was unconscious, drugged hard so as not to struggle against the horrors he'd pass. But he shot up, he woke up to the pain inside his eyes, hot tar mixed with blood escaping his eyelids and burning his cheeks as he agonized.

He was cold, naked, and scared, the chains holding him down as he contorted and sparmed to get free. His screams echoed through the place as the cultists rushed to hold him down. He could hear them whisper among each other, this wasn't the way it was supposed to go.

Those were the last words that Jack Nyras heard, "We have to continue! we don't know if our master won't be back this way! Just-.." Before he was consumed by the pain and fell into the arms of death.

I honestly feel conflicted about how Eyeless Jack is mostly portrayed, i hate it more than i like it. He is so.. so cutesy? so casual, so, so very human (spooky).

He was human in the far past, and the whole ritual gives me the idea that he'd become numb towards his old self if he could ever remember anything about it.

What is that weird black around him that looks like a hoodie? It's his skin. One of my interpretations it's that the cultists poured hot tar mixed with blood not only on Jack's eyes, but on his body too. Whatever entity was trying to possess Jack, was shaping him from inside out as it tried to accomodate, using that mixture put on his body and fusing it to Jack's skin. It shaped his claws, it furthened his senses. Then the ritual stopped, the entity had left the unfit vessel, Jack woke up, woke up to hunger, woke up to fear, breaking out of his chains and feeling the primal instict for survival.

Although i think like that, i also think that the Eyeless Jack with a hoodie looks very cool, i love the idea of eldritch beings with casual clothing in general, and a hoodie does matches Jack.

But sadly i don't think any hoodie or pants is strong enough for that thing. He'd ruin any clothing in the span of hours to days.

Jack would probably look awkward in clothes too, i can imagine him act quite goofily while wearing them as it's such a weird experience for him. It'd rub agaisnt his skin as he moves, and it'd tingle his senses with the new sensations.

If you were to put somehow a shirt around Jack, you'd find yourself probably stifling a laugh at the way he looked in them. He'd be in a tense stance, feeling the fabric around with his claws, slowly creating holes on it while trying to figure out what in the world is that thing.

And apparently, the little tag on the shirt rubbed the back of Jack's neck in the wrong way few seconds later into his investigation. Which got him to be desperately hissing and clawing at the back of the shirt. You wouldn't be able to even do a thing because he'd be too agitated, his sharp claws going all around, but don't fret, it's not necessary for you to intervene. He's already shredded the shirt into pieces by the time you've opened your mouth to offer help.

I think it's neat that one headcanon that Eyeless Jack is actually able to remember about his past, like in most versions. It gives a little more of humanity to him, an extra layer of complexity that i don't think is explored enough and is just brushed off like nothing.

I feel like he'd be so different from his human counterpart since he's literally a newborn eldritch abomination. Like, the moment he woke up, it wouldn't really matter if he did have memories from the past or not.

One thing i see is the fact that people like to give Eyeless Jack some insecurities, which is neat, but the only real scenario of insecurity i can imagine that this thing would have is if he were to have a human companion. And if you're curious about what the insecurity would be, it'd be because of his smell. No, it's not because he eats humans nor his looks, he can't see nor can i even begin to imagine this dude having an existent patience to be docile to a human that actually cares about what's on his menu.

Oooo i forgot to talk his face! I just love the way he can be just anything behind that mask, but i most definitely do not think it's a hot dude behind it. I also don't have a fully formed view on how it is, but i like to imagine it to be haunting, worn out, a tragic tale of the past being told in his simple complexion. The people who draw him alien-like have a special place in my heart, for sure. Lots of teeth? funky teeth? an abnormal mouth? disgusting black goo that spills from time to time from a funky face? weird long sharp tongue? i looove it and i eat it up every damn time.

And the last subject i'd like to touch is about Eyeless Jack, what do i think it would be of him if he was able to somehow form a bond with someone? and what if it was you? yeah, it's impossible, bye. But on an actual note, you'd have to somehow survive against him, much like Mitch did. god i hate that guy, why is he canon?

Your relationship would start off as the expected, the prey and the predator, Jack trying to shred you into pieces and you escaping each damn time like a rascal. With a very, very long time that relationship subtly became friendlier. Jack would come around to stay in the kitchen, sniffing the air as you cooked, to steal your bed as rain poured outside and the weather dropped colder, and to in rare ocasions, drop by a few organs for you. He has tried to get you into eating these little gifts. Hisses, growling and teeth clanking definitely not convincing you in the slightest. Jack still happens to come around to hunt you, but those are rarer and they are definitely lazy attempts as the scars around your body from such encounters are lighter than others. Jack thinks of you as his human pet and you think of him as your eldritch pet, you two simply accepting the existence of each other.

Sorry for the big delay, i'm not in the epic writing mood, got lots of ideas in head.

#eyeless jack #creepypasta eyeless jack #creepypasta #eyeless jack hc #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack x male reader #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x gn reader #there is nothing really romantic going on #you're just there interacting with him on a scenario #this is more of my thoughts about him and how he is portrayed i guess

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azsazz · 2 years

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Lips of an Angel

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Request from @eddiesbixch696 : This randomly came to me because the song came on the radio but an absolute angst fest of an Azriel fic based on the song Lips of Angel by Hinder. The whole “my girl is in the next room but sometimes I wish she was you” lyric as he watches Elain. Ugh I love breaking my own heart sometimes 😭

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 578

Notes: Fantastic song. Love.

_________________________________________

Azriel hasn’t stopped staring at the drink clasped between his scarred hands. The amber liquor is the strongest he has but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. It doesn’t burn his throat the way he wants, doesn’t taste like gasoline like it sometimes does when he’s trying to out drink Cassian.

It doesn’t remove the memory of you.

He stares longingly at the empty bottle in front of him. The bottle stares right back, mocking him. He wonders for a moment if Elain had replaced the drink with something else, but he knows it’s not her doing but his own. How could he be so stupid to think that it would help numb the pain when he’s been doing this nearly every night for ages.

The liquor is smooth as he finishes his last drink and Azriel grimaces, disgusted by the velvety liquid and hearty grains. He sinks back into the couch, eyes blurry and mind straying.

He sighs, eyes gliding to the closed bedroom door. Elain is sound asleep inside and he should be in there, curled up against her like he is most nights, but his mind’s been betraying him, teasing him with the thought of you more and more and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

It’s been years since the two of you had ended things, all because of the girl in the room next door. She’d been like a breath of fresh air for him, and Azriel had spiraled. The bond hadn’t made itself known between the two of you yet and he thought that in some way he had a right to Elain, that the mating bond would form between them quickly, three brothers and three sisters.

He realized too late just how wrong he was.

Elain was all wrong for him. She smelled of freshly turned earth and flowers, like the awakening of springtime. He was used to your familiar scent, like the broad night sky and the tang of rain. It had consumed him rather than suffocated him. Her soft bright hair was too silky against the cut and jagged scars littering his skin, it irritated him endlessly. Yours were always a welcome treat, so expressive. And she had perfectly round doe eyes, so much more innocent than he. They hadn’t seen even a taste of what he had, what he shared with you.

She was too fragile to be around, Azriel slowly came to realize. You had known and understood the darker parts of him, loved him for it. He didn’t ever feel the need to hide his dark thoughts and feelings around you, how scared he could be sometimes. You wouldn’t cringe when he’d come home bloodied from training or battle like Elain would. You’d guide him quietly into the wash room, knowing that he’d speak to you when he was good and ready, your soft hands cleaning him of his sins.

Oh how he wished he could feel your hands on him once more.

Sometimes he thought that he could. A phantom whisper of your fingers across the expanse of his wings or trailing down his arm to tangle your fingers with his. He could recount every single place that your hands had roamed and had imagined it was you who were touching him when he’d fist his cock or when he was nestled balls deep in Elain’s pretty pink mouth. You. You were everything he wanted, needed, and he’d fucked it all up for no reason.

#azrielxreader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/you #azriel/reader #azsazz #acotarxreader #acotar #acomaf #acowar

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frvnkcastles · 1 year

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WRETCHED & JOYFUL ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: Frank sees your scars for the first time.

Warnings: DESCRIPTIONS OF S*LF-H*RM SCARS. Please proceed with caution. Some making out, doesn’t go all the way to smut.

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s note: I broke my 3 month streak recently and wrote this to process. Much love to anyone who might relate <3

The weight of his body on top of yours felt secure and all-encompassing, the warmth and firmness of his bare chest stealing away the little breath you had left between seared kisses. His arms were over your head, closing you against the mattress, and you couldn’t help but shut your eyes and let the moment consume you.

It felt like a dream, one that you had repeated an endless amount of times, but this time, the feeling of his lips and the scent of his cologne were all real and not a mere figment of your imagination.

Right here, right now, this moment was perfect.

It wasn’t the first time Frank kissed you, and right now you doubted it would be the last, but you had never been like this — enveloped between his firm body and your soft mattress, the buttons of his shirt drawn open and his chest for your hands to wander across, and your breath hitched in your throat as he moved to kiss down your neck and his stubble grazed your skin.

It was entirely too overwhelming, in the best possible way, but enough to numb your mind from any mundane thoughts, any daily worries that haunted you whenever he wasn’t there. That was why you didn’t hesitate when his large hand dipped to the hem of your sweater — why it slipped your mind that undressing you came with the burden of what hid beneath.

Frank’s eyes roamed all over you, hungry and curious as he sat back just enough to take in the sight of you, his hands balling up your sweater and tossing it onto the floor without a second thought. With your eyes heavy with intoxication of him, you watched his chest rise and fall as he watched you beneath him, the denim of his jeans abrasive against your bare thighs.

Then, his gaze found your arm, and the half-hearted smirk on his lips fell. You recognized the look instantly, and you were punched in the gut with the realization that in your need for him, you had forgotten to worry about revealing all of you to him — and tonight, you weren’t concerned about dips of soft flesh or stretches of imperfect skin as much as you were about them. The scars.

A lump rose in your throat, and panic delved into your heart as you silently watched Frank process.

”Sweetheart…”, he finally spoke up, his voice husky and heavy with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. But it wasn’t all pity — it was, on some level, understanding, and that somehow broke your heart even harder.

”Hey, we can pretend like I ain’t see a thing”, he continued, suddenly more of his assured self when he saw the fear in your wide eyes. Fear of what, exactly, he couldn’t pinpoint. Of rejection? Judgment? Well, he had hoped you’d expect better of him, but he understood. He did. He didn’t want to push or pressure, not when you looked like a single touch would shatter you right there and then — so he waited patiently, leaving it to you to tell him what you wanted.

”It’s okay”, you finally managed, your lip trembling slightly as you sat up on the pillows, brushing your hand across your scarred arm and not missing the way Frank tensed when you did. Still, there was something safe in the way he softly looked you over, convincing you to speak up. ”I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But it’s… not my favorite thing to constantly hide from you”, you hesitated, and swallowing, Frank sat down opposite from you and gave you a slow nod.

”You don’t owe me nothin’, sweetheart. But I promise, you ain’t gotta hide with me. Shit, you deal with my messes every goddamn day, yeah? I’mma stick by you all the same”, he promised, making sure to keep his eyes on yours, not staring at the faded scars littered across your arm. He remained patient and respectful with you, and you certainly noticed.

”Promise I’m not gonna scare you away?” you asked with a quiet chuckle and repeating the sound, Frank ducked his head briefly before glancing up at you.

”Promise.” He spoke so sternly, you couldn’t help but believe him. When he reached for your hand, you extended your arm over to him and let him encompass your smaller fingers against his palm. ”Y’know I love you, right?” he asked quietly, then, almost shy, and you melted into a smile.

”I know, Frankie. I love you, too”, you whispered before leaning over to him to press a kiss against his beaten nose. ”And don’t ever think you’ve caused any of this”, you pleaded, and with a hesitant nod, he made a silent promise. You knew him well enough to know he wanted to blame himself, which was why you were glad when he asked for clarification.

”You don’t gotta answer this. Aight? I make you uncomfortable, you tell me to shut the fuck up”, he insisted, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. ”What, uh… What’s… How come, y’know?” he asked, stumbling, just a hint awkward but you appreciated his attempt to remain respectful.

You swallowed. It was a loaded question, but one you wanted to help him understand. ”Sometimes it just hurts too much. Too many loud thoughts in my head at once, too many overwhelming feelings… I guess, in some weird way, I just want to be heard. To be taken seriously. I’m hurting but when it’s on the inside…”, you struggled to find the right words. But the look in Frank’s eyes suggested that maybe he understood.

”Yeah, hey… I hear you, sweetheart. I ain’t sayin’ it’s the same, but that, uh… that makes sense to me, I s’pose”, he licked his lips, still holding your hand with soft caresses against your skin. ”And you’ve seen me. I got plenty of my scars, too. You’ve never once judged me, huh?” he reminded, and with a soft smile, you nodded.

A silence fell in the room, and you wondered if, after all, it had been a bit too much.

”Kinda ruined the mood, huh?” you chuckled nervously, and rushing to interject you with a pfft, Frank gripped your hand a bit tighter.

”Nah, don’t say that. I ain’t goin’ anywhere”, he gave you a grave look before gesturing at his lap. ”C’mere”, he whispered, and unsure what he was planning, you slowly crawled to straddle his hips, your hands landing on his chest while his came to rest on your waist.

”What are you thinking?” you asked with bated breath, watching his eyes as they eyed your arm with your permission, allowing him to take in the sight fully.

Slowly, Frank reached for your wrist and held your arm up so he could place a kiss along the scars, followed by another one, and another, and another…

”I think you’re beautiful”, he murmured, looking up into your eyes in a way that sent your heart reeling and stomach flipping. ”Fuckin’ beautiful and goddamn brave. You amaze me, sweetheart. So strong”, he showered you with praise, leaning in to kiss your jaw — not so heated this time, promising you that he had no ulterior motive, only the hope of showing you even a sliver of the affection and love you deserved.

”That’s bold coming from you”, you argued with a content sigh, and with a protesting grumble rising up his chest, Frank leaned into you more.

”This ain’t ’bout me. I fuckin’ adore you, ’s what I think”, he stated matter-of-factly, and when you broke into a faint smile, he couldn’t help but do the same. ”Means a lot you’d share with me. And hey, any time you need me to hold your hand through the urge, you lemme know. I’m all in”, Frank continued, his low voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and softly shushing you, Frank wrapped his arms around you and let you drop your head to his shoulder. He hugged you, his firm hands holding you tight as you cried, so grateful and so safe in his arms.

And while it wasn’t a fix or a solution, his promise to stand by your side was hope.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #tw: sh

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lilac-den · 6 months

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TSR Snippet - A Tired Day

Warning: Contains angsts and self-loathing for MC!

It's been three days since I lost them.

Two nights since I last had a good night's rest.

And merely an hour since the final day of the funeral was over.

The rain is heavy, the air is cold and everything just seems so...numb.

I stare at the doorknob in front of me, connected to my new apartment that Benefactor decided to give me as a gift.

"You don't have a place to live in, right? Just take up this one. Don't worry about rent. Consider this an investment."

I still don't get why ze wants to hire me. But I don't have much in me to question further, nor the choice to refuse the offer. The cops went and turned my old apartment into a crime scene and, because of it, the landlord blames me for the 'mess' and 'noisy ruckus' that she doesn't even let me grab my stuff to properly move out.

"Get out before you get more of my tenants killed!"

I finally gather enough energy to grasp the doorknob and twist it, swinging open the door.

The new apartment is brand new, which is surprising already. There's no odd smell or broken hinges, nor are the flooring and walls marred with past damages from previous tenants or residents.

Everyone would love this place.

I stop just before the flooring and begin pulling my feet out of their shoes.

"Welcome home, [Name]!"

I lift up my head.

But no one is there, no one waiting in front of me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. I must be imagining things.

Even lifting my feet feels so heavy as I take my first step in unfamiliar territory. I don't even make it to the couch. I simply let my body drop onto the floor and let the weight sink me against the wooden surface.

"[Name]! What are you doing?"

I lift my head slightly, eying a familiar pair of feet and legs.

"You shouldn't be sleeping here! Come on, get up. I'm bringing you to bed."

"No..." I wave her off. But her voice persists. I can even tell there's a pout on her somehow, like a faint presence with significant warmth.

"No, you're not going to sleep here!"

Hands wrap around my arm and in that brief moment, I feel bits of warmth. I move my hand to grasp for that warmth.

I only touch my own fingers.

I blink and find myself facing the empty space.

I could have sworn-

I close my eyes and refuse to let that thought go on. I prop myself up with my arms and exhaustively move off of the floor. Feeling particularly heavy, I look down at my clothes, heavily soaked from the rain outside.

Shower.

I close my eyes and sigh. I can imagine Maverick telling me with a stern gaze, more worried about me catching a cold than getting the floor dirty with my drenched self.

Then I laugh. I laugh and laugh and laugh as something warm and fresh run down my cheeks while my head tears apart with its wound, the pain my only source of relief in this bleak oblivion.

I make my way to where I believe the bathroom to be. It is a small apartment, fit for one person. The Benefactor has mentioned there to be two bathrooms - one for guests, the other a personal one.

I step into the bedroom, opting for the personal bathroom. I turn on the lights.

The bedroom isn't much, but it is at least furnished. A king's size bed, a bedroom closet, a window overlooking the night sky and a door of what I imagine to be the bathroom. The walls and floor are in cool colours; not too bright to hurt the eyes nor too dark to be absorbed by it.

It feels so big to stay here.

I continue my walk for the bathroom, my clothes already sticking against my body with its soaked embrace. In spite of my wet state, I move over to the bathroom sink and my face with the water in the hopes it was cold like the one in our previous apartment.

No surprise, it's warm. I raise my head to look at the mirror.

Enid's eyes stare back at me.

Guilt and pain consumes me and I headbutt against the mirror, a resounding crack echoing against the bathroom walls.

Something crimson runs down my face, around my nose and off my chin. My reflection stares back at me, my own eyes blazing.

Why?

Why did it have to be them?

It should have been you, I hear my voice. Whether that's reflection talking or me saying it...I can't even tell anymore.

But the heartache is still there, reminding me of all that I lost.

#TSR #Snippet #MC

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toowildintheseventies · 8 months

Text

Trade Mistakes

chapter two: strangers

A/N: slow beginnings here, but trust me, okay? i’m trying to tell a story here. i’m hoping that this chapter has enough little hints of despair, angst and love to keep you all satisfied. next chapter should pick up a bit and give us some sweet, sweet slow-burn romance.

Pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You’re a woman with many vices. Smoking, drinking, spending time in shitty clubs, and your undying love and obsession with your ex-boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. You had spent your entire adolescence with each other, until he had unexpectedly broke your heart and disappeared. For the last few years, you two had lived separate, mysterious lives. Until you are reintroduced under strange circumstances and fictitiously rekindle your relationship.

Warnings: alcohol use, drug use, implied drugging, possible attempted sexual assault, violence.

Tag list: @midnightmystic @doetic

— —

You don’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore.

You first notice when you’re getting ready, late for your evening at Iceberg Lounge — so late that your roommate had already left you behind over an hour ago. It was between coating your eyelids with dark eyeliner and fixing a long, pink wig over your natural hair when you saw an unfamiliar, dull look in your eyes. Your face seemed foreign. Completely unrecognizable.

You realize that you’ve muddied your personality for so long, changed so many aspects of yourself to fit into whatever glittering society or dull evening party you find yourself in, that you’ve completely lost the hold on yourself you once treasured.

It’s something you try not to think about for too long, though. There are more critical things to dread and worry about. Your existence is, unfortunately, last on the list.

In between taking a confidence shot of vodka and stumbling around your apartment looking for your keys, you realize that this loss of complete self must have happened after your breakup. Seven fucking years ago. Truthfully, in the time of becoming somewhat of a tabloid icon and the beloved girlfriend of Bruce Wayne, you never felt more like yourself. Even if it was all an act. Now, you feel much less polished and refined. Instead, your existence is only for survival, not the false concept of love and future security.

The thought follows you all night. You notice it during your drunken, stuporous walk to the club, catching your reflection in the dark-tinted windows that follow you down the long path toward the Lounge. That dead, lifeless look in your eye is ever-present and mind-consuming. It’s so obvious to you, even with the layers of makeup and your messy wig. You start to wonder how long you’ve looked like this, and how long it took you to notice.

It only takes a flirty smile and a flash of your ID to get access to the underground bar. Everyone who works at the Iceberg Lounge knows who you are, and understands how well your presence is beginning to be for business. It doesn’t take much for the security guards and club bouncers to bend to your will and give you access to almost everywhere. You’re rarely spoken to, but everyone’s gaze follows you as you walk past crowds of drunken dancers on the floor and dropheads strung out on the staircase.

It’s loud and numbing inside the lounge, drowning out all of your previous worries and self-hatred. The music nestles itself inside of your brain, silencing your thoughts and floating you towards the dimly lit bar in the corner where your roommate stands behind the counter, pouring liquid haphazardly inside of cheap glasses and yelling at customers over the chaos and noise.

Her face instantly brightens when you walk towards her and sit at one of the vacant bar stools in front of the counter.

She drops everything, ignoring the other customers and the cocktail she is currently making, and turns towards you instead, “Are we drinking tonight?”

You hum happily, pushing the faux, pink bangs out of your face, “Yes, please.”

It only takes a few seconds for a drink to appear in front of you, and you pull it towards you quickly, drinking through the straw as you look up at your roommate through your lashes. The drink is strong, almost too strong, and you push it away from you once it’s halfway empty.

She glances at your drink in between grabbing cash from customers and handing out a dozen shots to a drugged-out politician that you recognize from the news, “Rough day?” she asks.

You sigh and pull the drink back towards you, “You have no idea, Bella. He was everywhere today.”

The use of he tells Bella everything she needs to know. Bruce Wayne has become somewhat of a constant concept between the two of you, especially since his face and image seem to be following you even more aggressively since his appearance at the Mayor’s funeral months ago. All of the things that happened after the funeral were unimportant to the tabloids and scummy magazines, which were more focused on gthe one-time appearance of Bruce Wayne in a public place, notably the first time he appeared at a crowded event since your mysterious breakup.

You had mentioned your relationship to Bruce Wayne only a week after moving in with Bella, over a bottle of wine as the two of you sat in your empty, unfurnished living room. It was a casual, drunken mention – when you were still grieving the breakup and still begging for answers. Bella, whom you previously hadn’t spoken to since your Freshman year of high school, was unsurprisingly shocked and obsessed. Obviously, Bella hadn’t been following the drama and tabloids that have circulated throughout Gotham during your five-year relationship. That night, you had shared every detail and story you could think of. You cried and complained next to her on your cheap couch, and she held you without judgment. You’ve been good friends ever since.

Typically, Bruce rarely comes up in conversation. You do your best to forget about him and pretend that you’re not still hurting, almost seven years later. But some days, it’s more difficult than most. Especially since you continuously deny any attempt to date again, and instead you stick to flirting with shitty, older rich men for money and attention.

Today has been an especially bad day.

“Some Wayne executives had lunch at the bistro today,” you explain between sips of your drink, “I kept hearing his name as I took their order and gave them their check. They paid with the fucking company credit card, Bella. With that ridiculous Wayne crest on the front. I sincerely doubt they didn’t recognize me. I heard them whispering.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Bella whispers, leaning towards you across the bar counter. Most of the customers have wandered away from the bar, leaving the two of you alone, shrouded in the loud music of the dance floor to talk openly, “What else happened?” she asks.

You sigh, “Another letter from Alfred. An invite for breakfast at Wayne Manor and a little bit of money. I know he means well, but I don’t think he understands how much it hurts me. I hate the reminders. I doubt Bruce knows he’s speaking to me. I hate the idea of him keeping it from Bruce like I’m some sort of terrible, hideous secret.”

For the last seven years, you and Alfred still kept in contact, for the most part. It was something he promised in between your continuous calls to Wayne Manor in an attempt you get you to shut up and stop knocking at the door. Alfred played a huge role in Bruce’s upbringing, and you knew Aflred became somewhat of a father figure to him, something you entirely envied. Alfred was good to you, too. He was kind and respectful, always making sure you were well taken care of during college and your weekend trips to Gotham. In all honesty, you think he adored you. Alfred believed you were obviously good for Bruce, and that you kept him grounded.

You were grateful for his unfaltering support, including the money that was stashed away in unmarked envelopes. He never left you. It would be cruel to ignore that very obvious, painful truth. Though his existence in your life, even limited, still burns and scars you. You wish Alred never needed to take care of you. You wish your quick meetings and unsigned letters weren’t in secret – and instead, you still saw him across the breakfast table, or watched him as he adjusted Bruce’s suit before the two of you walked out the door. You wish nothing ever changed.

“Are you going to go?” Bella asks, “To see Alfred?”

You shrugged as she poured you another drink, “I don’t think so. I’m tired of hurting myself just to have some sort of connection to him. It’s too painful.”

Bella nods, “I think that’s the smart choice, honey. After all, you have a lovely life without the two of them, don’t you? You don’t need to keep reopening old wounds.”

The bar becomes busy again as the night grows longer, and Bella is forced to move away from you to finish drinks and break up fights happening at the end of the bar. To keep yourself busy, you continue to sip on your drink and watch as people pass through the bar. Many of them are smart, influential men who control Gotham, who haven’t been deterred from visiting Iceberg Lounge by Falcone’s death and the mysterious attacks from the Riddler. Instead, the underground of Gotham is more alive than ever, and a thousand times angrier and vengeful. There are others finding a home at the bar too, including familiar faces that tend to keep your bills paid and your drinks full and strong. Mixed in with the miserable and corrupt men are the bar showgirls, who basically hate you for stealing away their attention. You ignore their vengeful side eyes and sly remarks of greeting, instead focusing on the drink in front of you and the memories of Bruce Wayne that have unhappily infiltrated your thoughts.

Bella eventually comes up to you again with the fourth drink of the night, handing it towards you with a quick, giddy comment about it being sent to you by a man at the end of the bar. Before she walks away again, she leans towards you across the counter, so close that you can smell her cheap perfume and see the flecks of glitter in the corners of her dark, brown eyes.

“You have to face it eventually, she whispers to you as the music grows louder, “That fucked up ex-boyfriend of yours owns this city. He’s Gotham’s prince, and you’re bound to be reminded of him everywhere. But here’s the good part: you own this fucking scene. Something that is completely untouchable, and completely yours. I doubt you’re going to see any marks of Bruce Wayne here.”

You smile as you pull away from her, ignoring Bella’s use of the word prince when describing Bruce Wayne – knowing that if you recognize the metaphor your heart will burst and you will begin to feel like you are absolutely drowning. Instead, you direct your smile towards the direction of the bar Bella came from as she walks away from you towards the back.

You make eye contact with a middle-aged, slightly ugly man in an ill-fitting suit across the bar. He smiles as you scan him up and down, and doesn’t hesitate to get up from his barstool and walk towards you. As soon as he stands up, two other men appear from the dark shadows around him and walk behind him as he makes his way towards you.

“Enjoying your drink?” the man asks as he sits down beside you, reaching for your exposed thigh.

You shuffle away from him, instead reaching to place your own hand on his, “You bought it for me?” You ask, answering his question with another.

He nods, and you smile with false happiness, “Then of course I do,” you answer.

The flirting is nauseating. You like to pretend it is something you can handle, and something you even enjoy. But ultimately, it makes you sick. You can’t deny your skill and experience by pretending to be someone you are not, or pretending to play a part – but it doesn’t make it any easier. Each night, you question your own choices that brought you to sitting at a disgusting, secretive bar smiling at cruel men. Though when the money falls into your hand at the end of the night, you’re entirely pleased. At least you don’t fuck them. They just want a smile and a kind word from you, and the men fall at your feet.

The rest of the night becomes a nonsensical, confusing blur. More drinks are brought to you by a different bartender, Bella disappearing into the back as her shift begins to end. The man and his two mysterious shadows stay close to you for the rest of the night. You’re eventually dragged away from the barstool and into the crowded sweaty dancefloor, and then to a darkened, worn booth in the back of the lounge. You let yourself get dragged along, smiling, dancing, and sweet-talking your way into the night, halfheartedly dreaming of your bed at home once the night is over. You once catch a quick glimpse of yourself in the dirty mirrors that line the walls near the booth you lazily lounge in, and you can still see the glimpse of unfamiliarity in your eyes, even though the glassy, drunken gaze. You do your best to ignore it, and instead, bring your entire focus to the constant chattering of your unbearable companion. Your constant, girlish attention is the way you make your money, anyhow.

Some sort of chaos in the middle of the night strips your focus away from the man sitting beside you at the bar, and you hear the distant screams of anguish and ricocheting gunshots. As you turn toward the man next to you, you notice that his face becomes pale and his palms sweaty. He stops speaking and instead moves away from you silently, staring straight ahead towards the disruptions. The two other men who have been following you all night like coked-out bodyguards become rigid and stoic, and begin to run in unison towards the sound of the chaos and fight.

You stare at your drink, noticing the way everyone around you suddenly grows incredibly quiet out of fear and confusion. Suddenly, you’re beginning to feel much more drunk than usual.

You attempt to take a deep breath, but it feels as if each time you breathe your vision becomes more blurry and unfocused. Your mind becomes foggy and unreliable, and you can barely make out the vision of the man in front of you. You study the drink that had been placed in front of you and watch as the drink bubbles and foams in a deeply unfamiliar way. Something is very, very wrong.

Bella is gone from the bar, which is usual for this time of the night. Everyone else around you is unfamiliar and seemingly unkind, too wrapped up in their own shady, terrible business to pay you any mind. You’re completely alone, forced to escape the man next to you on your own.

As soon as you begin to recognize your dangerous situation and move towards standing up away for the man, his two bodyguards reappear, one of them reaching for you. You’re too slow with your reaction time, and he grabs your forearm forcefully and pulls you towards him.

You watch as the other bodyguard leans towards the man sitting in the booth and murmurs something only the few of you can here, “He’s here,” he whispers, “It’s time to leave.”

Suddenly, you’re getting pulled away towards an unfamiliar door and pushed into an alleyway. You can feel the man gripping onto your arm, so tight that you are sure his grip is going to leave bruises. The longer you stay standing the more confused and lost you become, which only solidifies the actuality that something is very wrong with you and your incredibly unfortunate situation.

The three men are walking you through the alleyway as you attempt not to trip over the holes and trash that litter the street. You can feel your heel breaking and every muscle in your body throb as if you’re about to completely collapse onto the hard, concrete ground. You can see a parked car in the distance with its headlights on, and you watch as one of the bodyguards motions towards the vehicle, signaling for the car to move closer toward the four of you. Your whole body seizes with panic as you dig your heels into the ground, pushing and shoving the man away from you. He roughly grabs at your arm again and pulls you forward in protest. You’re too exhausted and spiked to fight back for too long, and eventually, your body begins to give out as you are pulled closer to the car.

Footsteps come up from behind you, causing the three men that surround you to freeze in place, the two bodyguards with their hands on the guns hung on their waistbands. You attempt to use this moment to break free of the man’s hold, but his grip only grows tighter.

The footsteps move closer to you, and you hear the fearful, angry grunts of the men that surround you as they cock their guns and point toward the vision in the shadows. In a quick moment, the attacker is terrifyingly close to you, and the two men are pulled into the shadows in a violent, quick moment.

Everything’s happening too fast. You’re drunk, tired, and maybe drugged. You can’t tell. Either way, you think you black out for a moment. Everything goes fuzzy and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, almost drowning out the sounds of the fight. Your vision falters, just for a moment, and the chaos around you disappears into a drunken, confused nothingness.

You hear everything. The breaking of bones, the powerful grunts of the attacker, the screams and shouting of the others. You can make out quick glimpses of awkward limbs flailing and powerful punches — but you aren’t all there. It’s as if you’re watching from far away, like a dream. You're not entirely convinced that this is actually happening, that what you’re experiencing is grounded in reality. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t make out the body of the attacker. Instead, all you see is a figure of shadow, as if he’s shrouded in the darkness of the alley.

When you regain a bit of awareness, the man who had an aggressive hold on your upper arm is on the ground of the alleyway, bleeding and sputtering for help. The other two men are running down the street, and you can faintly make out police sirens that seem to be following behind them.

You back away from the man on the ground, and you feel your whole body shake out of fear and confusion. When you look up, you see the shadowy figure step forward towards you, and the panic fully sinks in.

You don’t know why you do it or why you think it’s a good idea in the haze of anxiety and drunkenness. But in a quick moment, you make the decision that you need to fight, and that you need to get away.

You pick up the first thing you see. Which happens to be an old, rusty pipe near your feet. You grip it with both hands and swing it rapidly around you, like a warning shot.

“Stay back,” your voice shakes, “Don’t come any closer.”

Your fragile warning and ridiculous weapon do little to keep the shadowy figure at bay. Instead, he steps closer.

His hands are at his sides, his walk gentle and careful. A fleeting thought of calmness and security comes over you, and you start to believe that maybe you aren’t in danger.

After all, the men he attacked and scared away were awful. Drop dealers, corrupt politicians, or simply evil men with terrible agendas. Even if they weren’t any of those things, they were still pulling you, drunk and drugged, down an alleyway into darkness. Not a good look.

In one way, didn’t the men get what they deserved? They were terrible men who had horrific intentions. In that way, it was hard to imagine them being victims. The attack and brutalization was simply an action of justice.

It was the word justice rattling around in your head that snapped you back to reality and forced you to look up at the figure in front of you.

The figure hidden in the shadows wasn’t a pissed-off drug addict, or some crime goon who got power-hungry like you initially believed. This wasn’t an inside attack or some type of blind vengeance. It had been Batman, the hidden antihero who had become a ghost story within Iceberg Lounge, and who was now standing in front of you, still and frozen as if he was attempting to make some type of serious, terrible decision.

You lived in Gotham, so you knew of Batman. You remember the terrible chaos and destruction that happened months ago during the Riddler’s attacks. You remember hearing about his appearance at Iceberg Lounge and his presence during Falcone’s arrest and murder — which failed to make anything change within the hidden world of Gotham. His name and the fuzzy, shapeless photos of Batman around the dark city were front-page of almost every newspaper, he was spoken about on almost every Gotham news channel. He was whispered about at the bar, and you heard the ridiculous, terrifying stories of his encounters every day. He wasn’t a secret, even if no one knew who he truly was.

But, his existence meant very little to you. You had more important things to worry about, like getting to work on time and paying the bills. You didn’t think you’d ever come into contact with him, and at a certain point, you chose to ignore the stories as if they were some narrative of fiction.

He brought some sort of justice to the streets of Gotham, a silent, violent protector. He wasn’t in the business of hurting people who didn’t deserve it. The worst he’s done is disappear without any regard for others, which is what you expect him to do now.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he makes another step closer, and you panic once again.

You’re still not in your right mind. Something is still wrong, something unfamiliar is still coursing through your veins that steals your vision and makes everything feel more confusing and dark than it already is.

You continue your grip on the pole, swinging it wildly in his direction, which he ignores. He just moves closer, reaching for your arm. You hear the sound of the pole making contact with his suit, which results in a soft, low grunt from him. He makes no move to fight back.

You scream. It’s not a noise you knew you were capable of making, shrill and terrifying and more loud than you’d ever been before. You’re quickly silenced by a large, leather-gloved hand that covers your mouth. In your shock, you drop the pole to the ground and shut your eyes, your scream still muffled. You hear him speak, in a low, deep voice, and it sounds like your name.

He backs you up against the wall, and when you eventually stop trying to resist him, he slowly removes his hand from your mouth.

He hesitates. You watch his eyes as he scans your face, and you can see something similar to panic and worry flashing in his eyes. He seems unsure of his next actions, unsure of what to do with you.

It takes all of your strength not to pass out as your vision continues to blur and your mind continues to run away from you. He seems to be keeping you still and steady, with a firm grip around your waist that stops your knees from completely buckling.

It’s silent for a moment. You continue to follow his gaze, watching his face as he seems to fall through different emotions. And that’s when you notice him.

After all, you always believed you’d recognize blind and deaf.

You know those eyes. The same eyes that have haunted you for over a decade. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love. They were unforgettable. Even before he left you, his eyes tormented you. They always left you uneasy, a little fearful.

You were too enamored that he stood before you to concern yourself with the unfaltering consequences of recognizing Gotham’s darkest hero. You didn’t care.

“Bruce?”

You felt yourself smile when you spoke his name, without even meaning to. It was so natural to you, that even all these years later you still reserved such a specific smile. Always a little seductive, or playful, with a hint of condescending admiration. A smile just for him.

You probably looked terrifyingly broken. Dazed, bruised, and barely able to hold yourself up against the wall. You can feel a bruise formulating on your upper arm, where the man had held onto you tightly, but it feels like a lifetime ago. You know you must look unrecognizable, so far away from the young girl he once loved and adored. Now, the two of you were strangers. More than strangers.

You watch him for a response. His face continues to contort through a thousand different, little emotions. He’s angry and fearful, his eyes focused and pupils blown with ridiculous terror. For a moment, though, you watch his eyes soften into something akin to goodness. He looks more familiar than ever now, with his eyes gentle and mouth slightly open in a confused, terrified stupor.

Bruce’s hands tighten around your waist, his fingers digging into your side. You know he can recognize the way your knees weaken with terror and blind confusion. Like everything, Bruce can recognize things happening to you before you can. Years after seeing each other for the last time, he still knew more about you than you ever learned about yourself.

The unfamiliar, drugged sickness was back, alongside the confusion and fuzzy thoughts. Somehow, you begin to convince yourself that you are about to die, huddled in the darkness of an old alleyway. It almost becomes a comforting, mind-numbing thought. Of dying in his arms, in a twisted, terrible way.

Finally, Bruce opens his mouth to speak. Moments before you can make out what he said, you slump against the wall and pass out in his arms.

88 notes · View notes

bbyquokka · 1 year

Text

desperate love

pairing: seo changbin x gender neutral reader

genre: mutual pining, friends to lovers, non idol au, smut – MDNI

synopsis: months of pining for one another, you both indulge in each other after being left alone for the night

warnings: smut, chan is readers brother, masturbation, dry humping, sexual thoughts, cum in underwear.

words: 2.5k ~ (2566)

☆ m.list — ☆ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it's wrong.

you shouldn't be doing this. he shouldn't be doing this but neither of you can help it. it feels good, too good for you both to just stop.

you're his best friend's sibling. it's goes against all the rules to be doing something like this. but he's loved you from day one and when an opportunity like now presented itself in front of his eyes, he snatched it with greedy hands.

chan introduced you to his two best friends, changbin and jisung, a few months ago. changbin knew chan had a sibling but he wasn't expecting it to be you. he first met you several months ago, and by ‘met’, you served him at the local music shop you work at.

he shops there on the regular, it's where he gets all his equipment from. one day, he was struggling on what to pick and you helped him. as soon as his eyes rested upon you, he fell in love instantly. his heart beating against his chest, his works lodged in his throat. he felt his brain melting and the ability to be a human, failing.

he started visiting the store on the regular. he didn't need anything, he just wanted to see you. he thought falling in love was bullshit. no one could possibly fall in love with someone when they don't know the person on a personal level; yet here he is, smitten for you in an instant.

same as changbin, you too, also didn't believe in love at first sight. you've been watching him from afar, picking up on his small and cute habits. how his brows would knit together when thinking. how he'd chew his lips whilst contemplating.

despite not knowing anything about him, you picked up on his hobbies. you knew he either liked to create or work with music considering he shops at the store, you also know that he likes to exercise. some days, he would come into the store dressed in nothing but shorts and a plain tee. you thought about him on the daily, hoping that he would come to the store on your shifts and when he didn't show, you couldn't help but feel disappointed.

you spoke to chan about it, told him how you think you've fallen for a regular. when you described him to chan, he laughed and said it sounded very much like his friend, changbin. you refused to believe him until he introduced you to changbin and jisung.

changbin was shocked to his core. he knew chan had a sibling; he talks about you all the time! but he didn't expect it to be the person he has fallen for and thinks of on the daily. you to, also shocked because chan was right and you hate that, but you decided to play cool. not be over the top and be too full on, after all, it is just one sided feelings to you.

it slowly became a regular thing to see changbin and jisung around the apartment. chan knows about your feelings towards his best friend but he had no idea that changbin feels the same way, until changbin started to show telltale signs.

a simple touch from you would be enough to make changbin flustered and beet red. he acted so shy and gentleman-like around you, making sure you were well cared for and your needs were being met. both your feelings for one another slowly, but surely, started to escalate and that's when you both realized it was becoming a problem.

a simple touch. a brush of the shoulder. looking into each other's eyes accidently; it's all enough for you both to feel tingles of pleasure. a desperate ache between your legs forming. mind numb and consumed with changbin and vice versa.

on days where changbin would hang out with chan, which at this point, he was using chan as an excuse to see you, he would go home, horny and hard.

you're so innocent, so sweet to him. the thought of wanting to corrupt you, consuming and indulge in your body and warmth is too much for changbin. his eyes fluttering shut, hand around his hard cock as he pumps himself to the dirty thoughts of you.

he'd whine and whimper your name, silently praising you. flashes of your pretty face and perfect body would spring into his mind which only fueled him. sometimes, masturbating once wasn't enough and he soon found himself doing it twice, sometimes three times a day.

bedroom. taking a shower. at the gym. once he felt brave and did it in your bathroom. his strong urges to just steal a piece of your underwear and take it home to use, overwhelming him. but he's a rational man, he could never do that to his friend's sibling.

you too, also couldn't help the strong urges. every time you saw changbin sitting back on the sofa, his legs spread, you felt the urge to straddle him. to bounce on his cock. to hear his pretty moans and watch his face scrunch up with pleasure. you often wondered what type of moaner he would be. is he loud? quiet? does he whimper and groan or does he sound soft and gentle.

one day, changbin left behind his hoodie. you stole it and rushed to your bedroom before hiding under the sheets. you nuzzled his hoodie, his musk, manly scent making you feel dizzy and foggy with lust. you touched yourself, masturbated to changbin whilst inhaling his scent from his hoodie.

you couldn't help it; neither of you can. seeing each other is just too much for your minds to comprehend. the sexual tension between you both is thick with chan and jisung knowing, but choosing not to say anything.

aside from the sexual tension, you and changbin also became very good friends. with the common interest of music, it was easier for you both to talk to one another. you exchanged numbers, went out for coffee dates and shopping trips together.

changbin took you to his favorite restaurant, paying for the expensive meal. you promised to make it up to him, his mind instantly turning to dirty thoughts to which he shook away and soothed you that's it's ok. you started to spend more and more time with each other, the love that you both feel for each other, blooming and exploding in the form of erratic butterflies that lay dormant in the stomach.

you both want each other. both need each other, so how did you end up in the situation you're currently in?

chan has a date with someone he's been seeing on the regular. as soon as he left, you phoned changbin, explaining that you're bored and wanted him to come over; to which he did. you watched some movies, ate some food before winding down for the night.

you got a text from chan saying he won't be home. the date went well for him then.

“seems like it's just us two for the night.” you state, putting your phone down.

“what do you mean?” changbin asks, gently stroking your legs that's currently draped over his lap.

“chan won't be home, so it's just us..” you trail off. “that is, if you want to sleep over..”

“huh? oh! oh yeah, yes! i mean, if that's ok.” you giggle, sitting up and shuffling closer to changbin. the tips of his ears turn red, faces inches apart.

he could kiss you right now. the tension between you both thick, making it hard to breathe. your eyes flicker to his lips, tongue licking your own. changbin clenches his jaw as he fights every fiber of his being and thoughts.

“would you like that, bin?” you ask sweetly, fluttering your lashes. you boldly place your hand on his thick thigh, feeling it tense under your fingertips. he swallows thickly, words lodged in his throat.

he's fighting a battle that he knows he will lose. he's weak to you. he wants you so badly and you want him. the way your heart beats against your chest, nerves swimming in your stomach.

“i would.” he whispers. he leans in close, lips threatening to touch yours. “but we can't..”

“why..” you whisper, bottom lip grazing his own.

“you're my best friends sibling..”

“but bin. i want you. i've wanted you for so many months. call me weak but i just, please..”

he can't believe what he is hearing. you? the person he has thought of day in, day out, also want him.

“what do you mean, yn?” he asks carefully. he wants to make sure that it is what you're implying, that's it's not just for sexual pleasure.

“bin.. i–” you flush a deep red, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed. it's now or never. you take a deep breath and close your eyes, swallowing your pride and the feeling that it could all go very wrong.

“i love you bin. i have done since i first saw you. the day you walked into the store was the day my heart leaped from my chest and never came back. i think about you all the time. wonder what it would be like to be yours. i want to be involved with you, bin. romantically and sexually..”

“seriously?” changbin cannot believe his luck. you also feel the same way as he does. months and months of pining for you, wondering and feeling anxious about confessing to you has all led to this moment.

“fuck yn..” changbin groans, kicking his head back as he pushes back his curls. you bite your lip as you look down at your lap. your thoughts of whether it was the right thing to do, silenced by changbin grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap.

your eyes widen as you straddle him, hands placed on his shoulders as he strokes the skin of your hips.

“binnie?” you whisper, swallowing when you see nothing but love and lust glazing over his eyes.

“how can you say something like that so casually. it's taken me months and months to pluck up the courage to tell you how i feel and you've done it so effortlessly.”

“well, i am nervous bin. it's not easy..” you giggle, wiping your clammy hands on your t-shirt. “wait, does that mean..?”

“mhm.” he hums, nodding slowly. “i've wanted you for as long as i can remember yn. my feelings and thoughts were innocent, i swear! but the more time we spend with each other, those innocent thoughts became dirty..”

you flush red, shifting on his lap to which changbin lets out a soft groan from the friction. you bite your lip gently, deciding to test the waters.

holding onto his shoulders firmly, you sit flush on his crotch. he's in sweatpants, his typical comfy wear meaning you can feel him. you can feel everything; from his size to his thickness. you slowly and cautiously rock on his crotch, providing friction for you both.

you watch changbin fight a battle inside his head. his head telling him to stop, you're his best friend's sibling and it's so wrong. but he wants you, he wants you so badly-so he will have you.

“y-yn..” changbin softly pants, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips. you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, your soft pants fanning against the skin causing goosebumps to rise on the surface

“binnie..”

“we shouldn't..” he whispers, hips bucking up and matching your tempo. his actions and the sweet sounds that emits deep within his chest contradict his words.

“why?” you ask out of politeness. you know changbin wants it just as much as you. he shows no signs of slowing down or stopping. his length slowly turning hard, poking and rubbing you.

“because chan.” you lift your head up to look at the flustered man. his cheeks holding a nice, pink tone to them, lips parted and glistening from his saliva. brows furrowed together as nothing but lust is evident in his eyes.

“fuck him.” you mumble, brushing your lips against his gently. “just, indulge in me bin and i'll indulge in you. we want each other so give in.”

his lips press against yours in a sweet but messy kiss. tongue and teeth collide and clash together. desperation evident in the way his hands roam your skin. throaty groans and moans escape the two of you. the built up hunger for one another finally being set free as you grind faster and harder on his clothed length.

his hands squeeze and caress your skin, fingers brushing and teasing your nipples. he holds you close, holding you so tight like his life depended on it. pleasure surges through changbin, tingling in the tips of his fingers as he indulges in your warmth. he swallows each and every gorgeous moan that escapes your lips, his mind going foggy with lust.

“fuck fuck fuck..” he pants, lips trailing down your neck to suck on the skin. you whimper softly, fingertips digging into his broad shoulders. his underwear feeling sticky as the material soaks up his pre cum that's free flowing from his slit.

“fuck bin. good.. feels good..” you moan softly. his teeth gently sink into the skin of your neck, canines scraping the skin softly as you hold onto his biceps for stability.

you feel like you're floating, your body hot and sweaty. your hips moving so fast that it's uncoordinated and sloppy. you give a few bounce as if you were to ride him before going back to rocking back and forth; this time, adding more pressure.

you can feel his size and thickness rub against you. it makes you shiver, only heightening your fantasies of sexually pleasing changbin.

“i can't..” he whispers. he kicks his head back, tilting it to the side as he lets out soft whimpers. his chests heaves up and down, beads of sweat slowly roll down his temples. the burning knot he feels in the pit of his stomach, threatening to snap with each rub, bounce and groan from you.

his cock twitches in his underwear. he bawls his hands up into fists, desperately trying to hold on. it burns but he doesn't want to cum, not yet anyways. he wants to be inside you in order to do that but with the way your hips are moving so deliciously along his length, you're making it hard for him.

and then, you whisper those three words he has longed to hear.

“i love you.”

his stomach dips, muscles contract as he grips onto your hips tightly. your eyes widen at the sudden movement but you soon smirk once you see changbin's head hanging low, broken sobs and moans escape his lips as his body shakes. his sticky mess coating his underwear, making him feel gross and ashamed. it pools in his underwear, seeping and creating a wet patch that you can feel from his sweatpants.

“sorry. so much, so much cum. it's never been this much before.. fuck fuck..” he pants as he's in a world of his own. his body trembles with each release, however, his cock remains hard.

“everything I've ever wanted and more. but i want more.. i want so much more. i want you. i want to feel you. fuck; i need you.” he groans.

“take me, binnie. we have all night to indulge in one another.”

note: part of starry's treasure trove! i know its been a while since i uploaded something, it might be like that for a few months. im still writing (kinda) but uni is taking up majority of my time. i will upload when i can (when i have something completed, lmao) ty for being patient with me! 🖤🥺 don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. curious as to what is next? here is my wips list! i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

tags (open): @sstarryoong ; @oshimee ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @cixrosie ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @hyunluvxo

#kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #straykidsland #skz smut #stray kids smut #seo changbin #seo changbin smut #seo changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #changbin #changbin smut #changbin x you #changbin x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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kit-kat-katie · 1 year

Text

There Are No Victors, Only Survivors

A/N: First fic ever on here... I'm a little nervous, but excited to start a new chapter in my life! Let me know what you think of this! [ I also read the books 7 years ago and I'm almost done binge-watching the movies so don't burn me alive if I get the lore wrong :) ]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader (platonic or romantic)

Summary: After winning the games, you go on camera to discuss your win with Caesar. Footage of the games causes you to recall a painful memory, one you'd rather leave in that arena.

TW: Trauma from the games, large crowds, murder

The crowd screams your name as you enter the stage. Your ears still ring from the sound of canons, your mind is numb from the numerous deaths you witnessed and caused, and your lips are dry even though you had plenty to eat and drink before this.

Caesar kindly waves you over, and you stick a warm smile on your face as you head towards him.

"Our victor, everyone!"

The crowd goes wild, and you bow to absorb as much attention and positivity as you need. You're a possession of the Capital now, and any out-of-line move could end with 24 dead tributes instead of 23.

It's just an interview, just like before the games. Stay calm... you can do this.

"Now, there are many pressing questions that the people of Panam want to know... including myself," Caesar nudges your side, and you laugh as if it's the funniest joke you've ever heard, "but there is one question that is on all of our minds: who did you hear after the jabberjays were released?"

You pause, and the smile slips from your face for a moment before you notice a camera. You quickly recover with a small head shake.

"My mom and my dad, of course." You gracefully answer.

"Really? No special someone? You seemed too torn up after that bird followed you around for three whole days." He exaggerates, and the crowd has a mixed reaction to his question.

"I-" You pause as you hear footage play from the screen behind you.

The crushing of leaves and the pounding of your heart are the only rhythms that your ears hear. Your feet carry you along, but your mind is in a much different place.

The game makers, after deciding that their handmade hell wasn't enough torture, decided to send each contestant a jabberjay just to see what would happen.

The screams of your mother and father were the first, and you immediately jumped up from your hiding spot to find them. When you realized that the sound was coming from a bird, you tried to bury your head in the sand and continue along as if nothing was happening.

The cries of loved ones turned into the cries of your friends. The ones that you had trained with in District 4 before you had been reaped. Those kids, especially the younger ones, gave you the motivation to keep fighting.

You didn't sleep the first night, and the second night was interrupted by nightmares and cannons booming every other hour. You figured that the other tributes had gone mad and had taken their anger out of each other.

...Good thing you kept away from the pack and tried to survive on your own.

The third day, however, was your breaking point. The screams of your friends had died out, and you thought that damn bird had finally left you alone. You were a defenseless fool in that moment, especially when the scream perfectly matched Finnick's voice.

He was your mentor, your friend, and had been your rock when you were scared of being another victim of the games. Hearing his screams, his cries for help... it broke you behind anything that had happened to you so far.

You didn't hesitate to pick up a rock and strike the bird right between its eyes, killing it on the spot.

After that, you came crashing to the ground with tears in your eyes. You didn't eat or drink anything that day as your thoughts were consumed with worries of his safety.

When you looked up to the sky to see the tributes that were honored at night, you realized that there was only one left: a career from District 2.

You didn't have to do much, as she stumbled upon your camp later that night. You managed to gather yourself enough to grab a knife, but she didn't attack you.

The desperation, the fear, the anger inside of her eyes... but everything else about her was deflated and depressed. You were sure that you looked the same, if not worse.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and you say a small prayer before throwing the knife into her chest.

The last cannon went off, and your ears were buzzing as you were announced as the newest victor. Nothing seemed real anymore, for all you knew, everyone you had already cared about was dead and the jabberjays were just used to mock you.

After being airedlifted out of the arena, you were taken to the Capital, where Mags and Finnick were waiting for you. You nearly fell over when you took a step towards them.

"Easy there, honey. Don't want you hurting yourself before your big interview." Finnick catches your arm, and you softly thank him before taking Mags' hand.

"The jabberjays, they sounded like my parents and my friends and..." You pause as a few tears slip past your eyes, "and you two."

He pulls you into a warm hug as you bawl your eyes out, not only for the three lives you had to take inside of that arena but for the part of you that died in there as well.

"So, who is that someone that had you all choked up, huh?"

You blink for a beat as you pull yourself back into reality.

"My best friend - they're my everything, they've been my rock for so many years, and I'm so happy that I get to see them again."

The crowd eats up your answer like it's a five-course buffet as Caesar smiles at you.

"Well, I'm glad that they are part of the reason that we have such an amazing victor!" He takes your hand and raises it high, and the crowd in the Capitol grows louder.

Your body was there, and your innocence was destroyed in the arena, but your thoughts and feelings were settled on one special person.

Finnick.

#thg x reader #thg #the hunger games #x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfic #the hunger games fluff #fanfic #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick imagine #finnick x reader

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