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#Idk if this ha been done before but this is their entire relationship

yanderes-galore · 2 days

Note

i love the way you write yandere mettaton and yandere mettaton fans have been starved for new writings (maybe idk) may i request yandere-daze prompts 8, 11, and maybe 2? i feel like it makes sense idk potential plot: after showing you off to the world as mettaton usually does, a fan gets a lil too close for comfort (could be a friend or a random monster/human) and mettaton has no choice BUT to take action, and poor darling takes it harshly, before eventually getting dragged off somewhere else where mettaton an darling can have a moment of peace. ofc, not without a fight. ya you can use the plot if you want or go nuts, i'll be happy either way /pos

I can try, sure :) Hope I get the vibe of clingy Mettaton right.

Prompts Here

Yandere! Mettaton Prompts 8, 11, 2

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

"You think I’m a monster? You’re the one that made me like this!”

“Please pay attention to me!”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Isolation, Controlling behavior, Implied abuse of power, Heavily manipulative behavior, Delusional behavior, Forced relationship implied.

Ever since monsters returned to the surface, Mettaton has been putting on shows for monsters and humans alike. Of course, he hasn't done it alone. He has you, his beloved co-star, right by his side on every performance.

Many knew you two as a duo, be it on talk shows or concerts. You two were closely linked and had fans of all sorts. There was just one rule when it came to you.

Don't touch.

Mettaton took such a rule seriously. Others could look, talk, and admire you. However... only Mettaton could hold you. This was a rule Mettaton often enforced during shows.

You can look... but you can't touch.

Mettaton adored you during the performances you both shared. He's easily jealous, sure, but in the end he knows you belong to him. At least... he thought that.

Mettaton's eye nearly twitched when he saw you speaking with a fan. His glowing eyes stare as you smile and laugh with them. He tells himself you're just being polite.

Anything for the fans, right?

Perhaps you know them! Yes, they must just be a friend.... He can allow friends, can't he? Why is he still so irritated?

Then he sees you hug them....

No. Touching.

"Sorry, Darlings!" The robot coos, stepping over to you and scooping you against his waist. "Me and my little co-star have to go! It was wonderful to see you!"

It's then Mettaton escorts you away from the large crowd. He keeps you close to him, metallic hands gripping you tightly. You struggle to keep up with him, the star not answering until he pulls you into the dressing room.

"Darling..." Mettaton coos, glowing eyes glaring down at you. "What was THAT?"

"I was greeting someone I knew? They were congratulating me for becoming famous!" You shoot back, Mettaton grimacing in response.

"Whatever happened to our rule? No one touches you but me! No exceptions." Mettaton huffs, the sound coming out like air from a vent. "After all, then everyone would ask to touch you... and I hate sharing."

"You're getting angry over nothing." You try to reason, but Mettaton refuses to listen.

"Nothing? Then surely it shouldn't be hard to cut that person off, no?" Mettaton seethes. "Surely you can do that for me?"

"You don't get to control me because we work with each other." You frown, Mettaton's eyes twitching in irritation. "They're a friend!"

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Darling!” Mettaton sighs, strolling over to you. "Cut them off... or I'll do it for you."

"What is wrong with you!?" You fight back. "I thought you were just protective... but this is something else entirely."

"What's wrong, Darling?" Mettaton hums, seeing you back away from him. "Scared of me?"

You wouldn't want to admit it, but in this moment you agree. You are scared of him. You're scared of him because he's not usually this... Jealous? Possessive?

"You think I’m a monster?" Mettaton chuckles, eyes never leaving yours as he corners you near a wall. His gaze turns a dull pink before he leans closer. "You’re the one that made me like this!”

Mettaton watches you as you shudder. You stare up at him with fear in your eyes. The sight makes Mettaton hesitate... but he can't deny the fact he feels excited.

"Now, don't look away from me..." Mettaton whispers, watching you try to avoid eye contact once he leans in. "You know I want your attention more than anything else, right?"

Mettaton frowns when he watches you shake. His metal fingers caress your face softly. It's an attempt to comfort you... yet also to steal back your attention.

"Aww, baby, I'm sorry..." Mettaton hums, "You just make me so jealous sometimes... Please pay attention to me, Darling!”

You try your best to reason, but it seems you can't with the delusional robot. Before anything else happens, thankfully, you're interrupted. The door knocks and Mettaton shoots up in shock.

"Y-You two okay in t-there?" Alphys calls through the door. You sigh in relief as Mettaton looks upset he was interrupted. With an irritated noise, Mettaton answers.

"Of course, dear! We'll be out now~!" Mettaton answers in a cheery tone, dragging you once again to follow him outside.

You're lucky you were interrupted when you were...

Who knows what he had planned if Alphys wasn't worried.

#yandere undertale #yandere mettaton #yandere mettaton ex

38 notes · View notes

e1dritchjackal0pe · 25 days

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ

Summary: Your arranged marriage to the na-Baron is something that you look upon with a sense of dread and reluctance. His violence, brutality and cunning are something that haunts you. You should fear him. You do. But for some reason, you can't seem to stay away.

Warnings: 18+ content. MDI. AFAB, she/her pronouns. Reader is a virgin but not entirely inexperienced, virginity loss. Hints of morally gray reader. Oral (F!Receiving), biting and blood, PinV, non-protected sex, Canon typical violence (blood, death, gladiator fights). Feyd. Not proofread.

Notes: 20.4k words. The essence of enemies to lovers. The reader is an Atreides but not a daughter of Jessica. IDK ya'll, something about seeing Austin Butler bald and deranged has altered me.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.

Your heart is in your throat. It feels as though it's lodged itself in place between the cartilage and flesh to choke your windpipe, making each breath snag and tremble. You can practically feel it pulsing along your pharynx. You try to focus, steeling yourself by lacing your fingers together until you fear you might break them. Not even the litany that has been engrained in you since childhood serves to center your thoughts, but still you try. Chanting lowly in your head and quietly under your breath as not to be heard. As not to reveal your anxiety, but you know that the evidence of your distress must be more than obvious. And it had been very apparent since this morning, as you prepared for your travel to Giedi Prime where you will be married.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

The looks that Lady Jessica had given you were harsh and piercing. The eyes of a teacher. You had found no forgiveness in her arms even though she has done her best to take the place of your mother. But she is a Bene Gesserit first. Always. Just as you must be. But you must also be an Atreides. Duty is your purpose. It runs in your blood. It's the very reason why you pull air into your lungs. It's why you were even born. You have to honor that. Even if it requires sacrifice. Even if fear trembles down each and every notch of your spine; even when your thoughts are scattered and wild; even with the entire trajectory of your life being placed into the palms of some of the most ruthless beings in the universe. You will survive.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

You swallow harshly, trying to force down your nerves with it but the way that the craft shudders and trembles with the strain of breaking through the foreign planet's atmosphere doesn't help. It only serves to make your inner turmoil worse. Your gaze sweeps around the cabin, a hollow thing meant for military, not comfort, and the presence of a small squad clad in their combat armor reminds you of the strained relationship that your family has nurtured with this house for several millennia. A reminder that you aren't supposed to be here on your own. Nearly clawing at your own hands and struggling to center yourself as the cold, dark walls of the ship tremble and shake like the stomach of starved animal. Your wedding was supposed to take place on Richese, a neutral planet that no longer governs political alliances with neither Caladan nor Giedi Prime. That is what had been negotiated long before you were even born, with both Houses having been too paranoid to allow both products of their lineage onto enemy territory. But a month before the wedding, the Baron had sent word. An invitation of sorts, that he wished to encourage the House of Atreides to allow the union to commence on his soil as a token of good faith. As a signal that all of the bad blood and the violence shared between each party could finally be laid to rest.

But as with most houses, it was more than just an invitation. It strengthened the Harkonnen image to place forth the olive branch and if Duke Leto refused it could be seen in bad light. A sign of weakness or distaste. The summoning could not be refused lest it smear the Atreides name in the eye of the Emperor, always a fickle and superficial man. Even with that logic, you can't help the spike of anger that rouses in your chest and threatens to burn. It's because of that sense, no matter how correct it may be, that you're sitting in this damned ship, breaking into the polluted atmosphere of a dead planet when you could have had just one more day on soil that wasn't obscured and marred by heavy cities and volcanic rock.

Selfish. You're just being selfish.

Even though she is not here to guide you, the image of Lady Jessica's eyes flash within your mind, sharp and exacting despite their light shade; amplified by the delicate, embroidered fabric that framed her head just this morning. School your face, her expression tells you. And she - or at least the mental image of her, is right. You can't let yourself fall to your emotions, no matter how strongly they want to eat you alive. You've prepared for this moment since your first breath. You've spent nearly every waking moment practicing in the ways of the Bene Gesserit under the guidance of Lady Jessica. You'vee spent countless hours poring over the history and politics of both houses in preparation for your future role; what must have amounted to months of studying the culture and customs of the Harkonnen. All of them seem to be rooted in violence and savagery in some way or another. Aggression and cunning are prized traits. Bloodshed is coveted. The people according to old texts and educational filmbooks are just as severe as their environment. An environment that they had cultivated from their brutal and avaricious nature, tearing up all of its resources until nothing was left.

You can't help but wonder if you will suffer the same fate.

But if you are going to be honest with yourself, it isn't the toxic hellscape or even the idea of marriage that puts you on edge. It is him. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is someone who is notorious for his violence. Stories of his conquests and cruelty echo out across the houses, Minor and Major; there is not a soul who hasn't heard of his reputation. And despite having been promised to him since before your birth, you haven't met the na-Baron once in your life. Both houses had been too stubborn to schedule an interaction between the two of you. Most likely due to mistrust. Plus, a meeting isn't necessarily required for a marriage to commence, not one amongst houses, at least. But the fact that you haven't so much as seen the na-Baron's face has always left you feeling horribly vulnerable. Like you have been left to navigate you footing in the dark and the slightest misstep might leave you to tumble into the void. It had been another reason why you have always been so adamant on learning of the Harkonnen people; some desperate venture to discover as much about your soon to be husband as possible. You've tried to paint some sort of image of him in your head with the information provided by word of mouth and old filmbooks. Gurney had been one of the first people to warn you of Harkonnen ruthlessness. Their proclivity towards greed and violence. A violence that they don't even spare their own people from.

"You will have to be strong," he told you just before you had boarded onto the star craft, eager to speak to you before you left forever. It was his worry you knew. He was panicked inside despite being the picture of composure. The look in his eyes had kept you frozen in place, locked onto him even with the mild thrum of chaos and bodies clamoring around you, servants and soldiers alike working to prep the ship for your flight, loading trunks and chests full of your personal belongings onto the carrier. It was firm; the type of resolution that is brought from experience. From a personal sort of pain and the glint of it left you feeling empty; gutted. The only thing that kept you centered was the grip of his hand on your forearm, firm and warm in its hold like it may help to drill his words better into your skull. "Every moment will be a fight for you. Harkonnen sniff out weakness like dogs. You cannot yield. Ever."

You've heard words like that about them all your life. Horror stories from Atreides soldiers who had encounters with opposing Harkonnen forces. Tales of stark, pale skin and the glint of snarling blackened teeth before they deliver a killing blow. Features that a younger version of yourself never would have imagined for her intended. But those naive, wistful fantasies that you used to entertain as a child are long gone now. Replaced by the harsh realities of war and bloodshed. When you were a girl, still ignorant to the true depth of your duties, you had imagined someone with kind, intelligent eyes as your future husband. Someone patient and understanding; even with the whispers of the Harkonnen's true nature lurking over you like leaping shadows. But back then you were young enough to have hope. Back then, you would dream of him too in the flashes of deep, piercing eyes; you'd hear the low rumble of a voice while blades flashed and carved through pale air.

And on some nights visions still torment you. But now they taunt with the sensation of phantom touches and the mirage of balmy skin that sears against you own so intently that sometimes it tears you from your slumber with ragged breaths and a humiliating heat between your thighs.

You can feel the pressure in the cabin shift around you, weighing over your head and bearing down on your shoulders as the ship continues its descent. Your ears pop, and the sound has the awful, paranoid visual of snapping bones and tendons projecting across your mind. You pull a heavy breath into your lungs, holding it there while you try to shift your thoughts onto something less violent. Escaping to fond memories to try and soothe yourself. For a just a moment you pretend that you are not here at all, but back home on Caladan. You can see the ocean. The long stretch of crystalline water, glittering underneath the cast of the balmy sunlight as trawlers coast along the current to capture netfuls of fish, looking like dots along the distant horizon. But it's always the wind that you love the most. Even when the skies are clear, unmarred from the blot of heavy rainclouds, you can always smell the presence of a storm in the air, perfuming the breeze with the earthy musk of petrichor and the fresh salt of the ocean. You can practically feel the brush of lush grass sweeping along your palms, prickling along the sensitive skin with the damp hint of the dew that seeps from the rich ground.

Your reverie is shattered to a million pieces when the metallic hum of the craft's engine reverberates across the walls and floor of the cabin, signaling that it is approaching the ground; preparing to land. Each pulse of the sharp groan sounds like the pound of a nail in a casket. You can just barely focus around the wild patter of your heartbeat in your ears and for a moment you think that you might become ill. You could still feel the warmth of your brother's arms around your body. The way that he had clung to you. Like he was afraid to let go; to watch you slip from his life. In turn you had latched onto him, hesitant to unwind your arms from him, trying to claim the feel and scent of him to memory. But you couldn't have remained that way forever, and when you had pulled away from each other, the corners of his mouth were perked up into a smile. But it was too dull, too forced to be truly happy. You saw something mournful peeking through it, even while he tried to appear composed for your sake. You know how much he opposes of your intended matrimony. You have eavesdropped on the arguments he has shared with your father behind closed doors, attempting to fight for your sake even though it was a lost cause. His fear that you might not survive the ruthlessness of the Harkonnen, his misguided guilt for you taking his intended place. It had made you sorry for him the first time he had confessed that remorse to you. That he felt as though he was the one to blame for your marriage because it was his initial future to wed into the Harkonnen House had he not been born a male. Even with your near constant insistence that it was not his burden to bear, he refused to shed the weight of his self-imposed guilt. Always so damn stubborn.

You had done your best to return his smile, softly squeezing his hand to comfort him and center your mind while the briny Caladan wind swept across the landing pad. But the memory cannot keep your heart from plummeting down to your gut when the craft finally touches the ground, shuddering lightly as it lands with a deep whir.

You're here. You are actually on Giedi Prime now.

There is officially no turning back.

You feel like a ghost when you are drawn to rise, and you hardly register the fact that you haven't moved from your place on the seating to stand on your feet once the ship is still. You feel like an empty vessel, seeing but not registering as everyone moves about the empty space with practiced ease to stand before the hatch. The small unit of four soldiers have all built a formation around you and your own handmaidens, who stand diligently behind you. On any other occasion, they would have lined themselves in front of you all as well. Especially during affairs with the Harkonnen. But this is not a regular affair, and as trivial as it may seem, something as simple as guards posed in front of the Duke's daughter could be viewed as an act of distrust. A blight on your wedding and the union of the houses.

Despite the way that everyone holds themselves; the images of discipline with perfect posture and heads held high, the apprehension that taints the atmosphere could be mistaken for a tangible thing. You could still see glimpses of tension set in the soldiers' shoulders; you could see the rigidity in their necks, anticipation and worry hidden underneath their armor.

Your father should be here too. Your family. But you know that they can't. A matter of ill, convenient timing that required them to board their own ship to leave for Arrakis. The Emperor had passed the fief to the House of Atreides, calling them to abandon their position on Caladan - to abandon your ancestorial home - in favor for the desert and the production of spice. It was an unexpected development, but one that your father would not turn down. As angry as you would like to be, you know how difficult this is for him. You have wanted to blame him for so long. And for a while you did. He's your father. He is supposed to protect you. To keep your happiness and security in mind. But because of the perspective, it is also easy to forget that he is more than just your father, he is also a Duke, with countless lives to defend and shelter. He is an Atreides.

You are an Atreides, and there is no call you do not answer.

You had shared one final look with him on Caladan, underneath the golden rays of the morning sun. You didn't flinch or waver underneath his gaze. You remained firm, and some sort of understanding passed between the both of you, melting away the hatred and betrayal that ran thick in your blood stream. In that split second, you saw so much pass through his eyes: determination, acceptance and something like a bare shred of loss before it was quickly masked by unwavering resolve. A resolve that you too had to master.

A dull jolt sounds out across the dark, metallic space and with it the large hatch of the ship begins to open, exposing a sliver of pale light. Butterflies erupt inside of your gut at the sight of the glow, brushing along your stomach and threatening to overcome you with a rush of nausea. But you hold yourself still, attempting to swallow down the unease but suddenly your throat is bone dry and stuffed with cotton. Perhaps the only thing that keeps you in place is the promise the Feyd-Rautha will not be present at your arrival. A small respite that your father had been able to secure you in the form of a Caladan wedding custom; that your husband should not be able to see you before your ceremony, lest the matrimony fall to bad luck. And in truth it is a tradition. One that has trickled down through the ages from Old Earth, so it was not necessarily done by means of deceit. Even so, the Baron had apparently been less than thrilled by the prospect of keeping you and his nephew separated once on the same soil, though it seems that your father still had managed to persuade him regardless. A small victory for you at least.

Now all you can do is hope that the Baron has stuck to his word.

You watch with ice in your veins and frozen lungs as the ramp continues to lower, yawning open akin to the jaws of an animal that threatens to discard you at the feet of starving beasts like scraps. More of that harsh light flows into the dark of the cabin, spilling over the heads of the soldiers, eating up the floor until it slips over your body, rising up over you until it reaches your eyes like a blaze; threatening to blind you with its intensity. You wince from the brightness of it, blinking rapidly until your eyes adjust to the absence of shadows. The surprised, low hiss that erupts from behind you, tells you that one of your handmaidens has also been taken off guard and blinded.

With the continuation of its descent, it begins to reveal a blackened skyline of buildings that rise like slopping monoliths. Massive structures eat up the ground and cast stretching shadows across the dark platform. It strikes you that the little bit of the visible sky is a pale, as though a flat storm cloud had consumed the heavens. It isn't blue like the skies back home, or even orange or anything. It is simply a white void. It's all monochrome. Devoid of color and life. Everywhere that you look is either a piercing black or a violent white that almost burns to behold, and it is with a quick, almost hesitant inspection downward that you discover that the emerald hue of your silk dress has turned a shade of a deep smoky black from the strange illumination.

But you don't get time to dwell on the discovery for long before the ramp meets the ground with a dull groan. It might as well as be a death sentence. You just barely catch sight of the of the figures that are lined along the platform, silently waiting for you to step out into the light. In your stupor, you have noticed that the number of Harkonnen that wait for your exit is a rather small group. It is not a massive procession with banners or celebration; there is no intrigued crowd of citizens awaiting to evaluate you. No more than five Harkonnen stand out on the platform, focusing on you with the distance the separates your parties with clasped hands and heads held high. The Baron it seems, holds no excitement for your arrival and has made no effort to welcome you on Giedi Prime. The message has been made clear of what he thinks of this union. Of you.

The bastard.

The world has gone hush. Dead silent as everyone awaits your move. And it is with that thought suddenly that you realize that everyone is waiting for you to take action. You are no longer expected to follow. You aren't allowed the crutch of following after your father or Lady Jessica's footsteps. They aren't here to guide you anymore. You steel yourself with a deep breath, drawing up your shoulders as you will yourself to step forward. Your legs are suddenly heavy like they have been strapped down with boulders and iron, but you force them into a stride regardless. Even when each move forward feels like a motion closer to your demise.

You can hear the gentle clink of your Handmaidens heels as they dutifully trail after you. It gives you some comfort, no matter how small, that you have some familiar faces amongst you. That you aren't completely alone here.

Still, you try to distract yourself. And in some mad scramble, your mind latches onto some old passage that you had read back on Caladan during one of your distant studies. It has you daring to sneak a few glances upward to the pale sky in between your focus forward, squinting through the glare, ignoring the way that the delicate chained veil draped across your face nudges against your eyelashes in your search for the sun. You had heard of its description countless times, seen holograms of it before, but none of them had managed to do the true thing honesty. In its blaze, it is claimed to cast an infrared shine which explains the bleak, washout coloration of the planet. But seeing the source of said lighting was entirely different. You do your best not to openly gawk at. To not stare at it for too long. The last thing that you want is to go blind; your fortune is terrible enough as is. But you're unable to stop yourself from stealing fleeting peeks at the star. If you didn't know any better, you could have mistaken it for a sort of eclipse. It looks like a black hole has torn through the heavens, gaping like an open wound, and you would have no idea that it was burning if not for the streams of light radiating from its rounded edges like a halo.

Even with the remnants of your hatred smoldering through your body and turning your muscles rigid, you can't deny that there is a kind of odd beauty about the star. It's strange to see something that you had learned about so many years ago, and there is some detached part of you that has not fully accepted that you are even truly here. That small piece is still safely tucked away on Caladan, admiring as the sea meets the cliffside in a rolling crest of foam and froth.

But that still is not enough to keep you from your reality.

You all come to a unanimous halt, standing to leave a decent breadth between you and the Harkonnen. You have heard many things of the Baron of Giedi Prime. His guile. His hedonism. Whispers among the houses claimed him to be a gargantuan man. Someone whose intensity and mannerisms alone command attention and make men cower. The Baron, you quickly deduce, is not here. It seems that he has sent his advisors and servants in his stead. Whether that be from arrogance or indolence, or hatred, you are not sure.

The man who stands at the in the center of the greeting committee holds himself with an air of importance. Back straight and hands clasped as he analyzes your small party. He is awfully pallid, just as his other companions are, a product of being denied ultraviolet rays that could be found in your planets own sun. The hulking black star cradled in the sky above you is hardly able to provide a proper tan it seems. The stark, unforgiving light casted from the solar body bathes you all in a layer of an achromatic hue, and it glints across the rounded skin of his bare scalp. They are all bald, you have easily observed, and you can just faintly recall reading a chapter in regard to Harkonnen beauty standards. Their proclivity to remove every ounce of hair from their bodies as a sign of cleanliness and purity; the means to extract themselves from their meek beginnings and perhaps, to a degree, a way to separate themselves from humanity. But the dark vertical strip that stretches across the expanse of his bottom lip signifies his position as a Mentat.

"Lady Atreides," the Harkonnen advisor greets, voice deceptively placid and monotone. "We are grateful for your arrival. I trust that the trip was respectable." His words are kind, but the expression on his face is decidedly neutral. There is something about him that instantly unnerves you. Be it the unrushed nature of his mannerisms or the sly look in his eyes, you are not sure, but he sets you on edge.

You force yourself to speak, calming your features into something just as blank and fixed as his own. "It was fair," you answer truthfully, before pointedly scanning the surrounding area. "It is a beautiful planet." A lie is you have ever said one, and the Mentat does not appear to be ignorant to your sad attempt at charm. Even with the unmoved aura that radiates from him, you are sure that you spotted a small glimmer of amusement pass through the dark of his eyes.

"I am pleased you think so," he replies easily. "In any case, I have my orders to deliver you to the Baron as soon as possible. An event is being held in the honor of your union to the na-Baron. You shall not want to miss it."

The confession feels as though it has doused you with ice water, but you refuse to show your distress. You're not stupid. You know that at some point, you would have to face the Baron. You were just hoping that it would not have been so soon. You should have known better, you suppose, that the Baron would give you single moment of reprieve once on his planet, and now you are suddenly not so sure that you want to have to attend a celebration of any sort.

"Wonderful," you force a smile, one as polite you can manage while making sure to keep your voice gentle and inviting.

"Leave your soldiers here. They won't be necessary."

The request leaves you troubled. For a moment you stand there silently, a little dumbly even. That last thing you want to do is leave your only form of proper protection outside on an unfamiliar world. Especially one as hostile and deceitful as Giedi Prime. But you do not have many options here. You are in no true form of power. You are not yet married to the na-Baron, you are lightyears away from your own planet - which doesn't belong to your family anymore by the Emperor's decree - and your father must be on Arrakis by now; even farther away. You are now the one who dictates your fate and survival, and although promised to the na-Baron, your life is still not secured. You must be tactful.

You turn your head to look over your shoulder at the soldiers who diligently stand behind you and your handmaidens. Your focus meets the unwavering stare of the lieutenant; his hardened countenance, his lips pressed into a firm line. The nod you give him is subtle, but it is still a command, and with it, he and his men silently step back.

When you return your attention back on the Mentat it is difficult to tell if he is pleased or not with how blank he keeps his features. It's unnerving but then he spins on his heels without any more fanfare and his fellow Harkonnen are quick to shadow him. Hesitation bears heavy in your gut, but even with your instinct telling you to run; to flee, you steel yourself. Drawing in a deep breath to clear your mind, you follow.

You are not sure what you had expected to find when you had allowed the Mentat to lead you. Some wild, senseless part of you feared that he may have taken you to your death. Led you to a trap to be slaughtered. But no dagger has been raised to your chest. He has not summoned soldiers from the shadows to pull you away and toss you into a tomb. Or maybe in a way he has.

The doorway that you stand before is daunting. Affixed in front of you like a rival. It is such a trivial, ordinary thing. You have passed through thresholds millions of times in your years, twisted knobs and guided doors open to pass through them. But suddenly, such a mundane thing seems to stand out like a hazardous sign - a bad omen. You know who lies beyond it. Who you must face. Now your bravery threatens to allude you. To leave you abandoned and flailing. It does not help that your handmaidens had been dismissed for you. Guided away by Harkonnen servants, and when you had asked the Mentat as to where they were being taken, what intentions lie ahead for them, he didn't answer. His silence on the matter has left you disturbed; fueled your mind to wonder and theorize about the worst. That they may be harmed.

He stands next to you now, just as silent as before, watching you expectedly.

No. You cannot flounder here. You cannot cower or cry. Your duty - your lineage will not allow it.

With a newfound determination, you step forward with your chin raised proudly. Activated by the motion, the dark door slips open, beckoning you enter, and you answer the invitation without wavering. The Mentat doesn't follow after you, but you hardly pay that any mind, too focused on analyzing the room that you now stand in. The space is open and capacious, and you spot a line of servant girls rowed up to the right with their backs against the wall. They don't glance up when you look at them, even though you can tell that they are aware of your presence. They remain silent, eyes trained on the floor and posture rigid. There is fear in them.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, you attention leaves them to wander to the opposite end of the room. His back is facing you, but even then, you are certain that all of the stories you have heard of him will not prepare you for this moment. Even as he perches - lounges on the support of his seat from fully across the room, his presence commands your attention. The order that his being silently instructs is only amplified by the cool, harsh light that pours down around him from the viewing window, highlighting his shape as he sits like a gargoyle poised. The gossip was true, it seems, he is a corpulent man and shares the same ashen complexation as the other Harkonnen that you have seen thus far. And suddenly as curiosity burns in you to see the face of the person who has harmed so many, who has left his blight on the galaxy.

"Are you joining me, or are you intent on staying in the shadows?"

The voice is so rough and crude that it shocks you, prickling over your skin with the all the coarseness of sandpaper, and you just barely refrain from showing your displeasure at its harshness. It's graveled as it passes into your ears, but it seizes one's attention instantly, causing the hairs scattered along your body and at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Still you move forward, by the impulse of your own intrigue or the authoritative quality of his voice, you aren't certain, but you cross the breadth that separates you all the same. Each step reveals more of his face to you. The slope of his nose, the crow's feet that cluster around the corners of his eyes, the prominent frown that weighs upon his face. He doesn't spare you a glance as you stop beside him; intently focused on what lies outside of the balcony.

"Lord Baron," you greet, nodding your head down and bending your knees in a curtsy.

His hand raises up in a manner than almost seems reprimanding, and it causes you to freeze still, staring at those fingers like he might mean to strike you. But the curl of them is far too lax to deliver a proper blow and it is enough to give you some relief.

"There is no need for formalities, " he speaks. Then his stare is on you: flaying you open, evaluating, weighing, searching your worth. But underneath the judgement of someone like him, you cannot waver. "We are family now, are we not?"

The mere implication has you fighting off the urge to shudder in disgust. Instead, you straighten yourself and manage a polite smile. Or you hope that it seems polite at least. Thankfully, he doesn't wait for your answer. He casts a brief glance to the vacant chair close you, and you need no verbal instruction on what he wants, even though he still gives it.

"Sit," he offers. Commands really.

It pains you to comply, to follow the will of the man that you have been guided to resent since you realized consciousness, no matter how small the order, but you swallow your pride.

Carefully you turn on your feet, being mindful not to nudge the small table that is posted beside the chair, and you make note of the pair of theater binoculars that are displayed on the counter, waiting to be used. Gathering the light pull of your skirt to sit without crumbling the fabric, you allow yourself to recline in the seat and try to ignore how close you are to the Baron. But you suppose that you should learn to come to terms with it. He will be a permanent fixture in your life, whether you like it or not. Though it does not make it any easier to swallow down the bitter taste of loathing on your tongue. Desperate for a distraction your eyes are quick to look out past the boarders of the balcony and the sight that greets you latches onto your focus instantly. It is a wonder how you had even managed to miss the view upon your entrance. But in your defense, you were a little preoccupied. Now you are hardly able to look away. The sheer mass of the structure leaves you captivated. Great, sweeping, walls rise; climbing up towards the blank heavens with rows of seats secured between the hulking barriers. Pale, shifting shapes roar and cheer inside the stands in a fervent display of excitement and anticipation. People you quickly realize. All of them chanting loudly. But the distortion their voices all layered up into a chaotic stream makes it difficult to understand it. The walls that hold them and the very room you sit in encircle a massive plot of bare earth. It is an arena.

You have seen a few of them in your lifetime. Visited the old coliseums on Caladan. The same ones that your very ancestors had fought wild bulls in. You walked along the ancient, stone walls and pillars, cupped the golden sand within your palm and allowed it to run through your fingers. But the sheer scale of this structure is mindboggling and the number of people that have all massed together to bear witness to its exhibition is even greater. The Mentat had promised you a celebration in the honor of your marriage, and you had been left to wonder what that said celebration may have been. But now you have your answer. There is the evidence of a ferocious fight having taken place in the arena. The face of the white sand bellow has been disturbed. Blemished and smudged by footprints and the clear sign of a struggle; that the fighters had rolled along the ground and tussled for their breath. But even more damning is the dark stains that are streaked and pooled along the course earth. Even with the coloration altered black by the dark sun above, you know that it is blood.

"A gladiator fight," you conclude aloud, and there is even an edge of scornful humor on your tone. "If you truly wanted a spectacle, you could have me thrown down there. I'm sure your people would love to watch an Atreides be slaughtered." You are not sure where the comment comes from. A sudden burst of confidence or perhaps defiance. You regret your snark as soon as you register the words, but it is too late for apologies now. You simply squeeze your clasped hands together tighter, even while your head is held high. A raspy, amused sound erupts from beside you, like air escaping a puncture, and you just vaguely realize that it is a chuckle. The Baron is laughing even as the smile hardly reaches his face. It is a small sound. Barely even qualifying as a laugh, but it eases you still.

"A spectacle indeed." He says it as though he is in on a secret that you are not privy to. Part of a joke you might never know, and it immediately snuffs out the small sense of composure that you had achieved. "But I have no use for you dead."

"Then what use do you have of me?" You pry.

He hums, a hushed, guttural sound. "Do you know why you are to be married to my nephew?"

The question gives you pause. There are many duties that you are required to perform in the union with the na-Baron. It is a political alliance first and foremost. A joining of two rival houses, meant to put to rest the animosity that has burned between you both for over 10,000 years. But it is also much more than that. You are to give him an heir as well, the continuation of his lineage. But the Harkonnen are not the only ones who intend for you to produce a child: the Bene Gesserit also demand a progeny of your union (though the Baron must remain ignorant to that design). It is why your mother had been sent the Duke in the first place, to correct Lady Jessica's mistake and birth a daughter. To birth you. So much is dependent on this marriage to flourish. Much that you yourself probably are not even privy to, but it is your duty to perform regardless. If you fail, your family name will forever be smeared and the possibility of the Kwisatz Haderach may be lost to eternity. And you will not allow your mother's death to be in vain.

"Yes."

Once more he turns his head to face you and his eyes glint with a deadly intensity. "Then you know of your purpose. "

It is a plain sentence, but it speaks volumes in its simplicity and its intent is not lost on you. It is a warning. A set of instructions that you are meant to follow. Keep your head down, your mouth shut and fulfil your function as promised and you may make it out of this arrangement unscathed. It has anger flaring in the pit of your stomach, prickling over your skin and heating up your face. The desire to say something in defense of yourself rises up high, but you know that you must hold your tongue. You are sure that he can see your opposition in your eyes as much as you try to control it, but he does not mention it. His vision roves over your visage like he is studying you and your reactions, in search of weakness.

"Now watch." He says and returns his attention back to the bloodied sand beneath.

Your eyebrows furrow, openly showing you confusion. What the Baron desires you to see, you don't know. You can hardly imagine what he has in store for you but given the nature of the arena and the Baron himself, it surely won't bode well for you. You don't dare to question him or ask that he elaborate. Your mouth remains fixed shut as you survey the colosseum with your breath locked within your lungs. An unwanted type of anticipation prickles at your fingertips and toes; spurred on by the way that the crowd rouses into a frenzy and the vibrations of their riotous cries strike across the atmosphere. The sound of their shouting spikes until it is thunderous, and you can hear the blunt sound of their fists beating against the stadium like a hammer striking down on an iron nail. Despite the many voices overlapping and yelling to be heard of the others, somehow in their clamoring, their words have become clearer. And it is not just words that they are spouting. It is a name.

Feyd-Rautha.

You are certain that your lungs cease to function. That they die inside your chest while you still live. The na-Baron is going to fight. You're going to see him. Despite wanting to slip your eyes closed, your body betrays you, leading you to scour along the dark sweeping walls of the arena in a terrified search that does not stop until your vision lands on what looks to be a massive entrance built into the bordering wall of the colosseum. Your heart flutters like a startled bird, quivering wildly like a pair of wings would. "I thought my father said that we would not see each other before the wedding?"

"He said that he could not look at you. But there was no discussion of you witnessing him," the Baron answers.

You do not know why the prospect of it makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat, wishing that you could sink into the cushion and vanish. Perhaps it's because seeing him would truly sink the severity of your new reality in. There would truly be no avoiding it once you do. All you can think of is all of the rumors and gossip that you had heard over the many years. The horrible tales of a psychopath. A man unhinged. No better than a rabid dog on a frayed rope. People spoke of a remorseless monster that delighted in blood and was unflinching in delivering death. Other's claimed that his appearance is just as terrifying as his actions. That he's gaunt and hideous to behold with awful, jagged teeth and bloodshot eyes.

That is not a truth that you are ready to face, and your desire to remain ignorant to the possibility of his unsightly features burns in your gut. You are so caught up in your own anxieties that you hardly register the blaring of the announcer's voice sounding across the stadium, warbling over the sound system to praise and declare the arrival of the man who you have been dreading. You're entirely conflicted; transfixed as the entrance on the far end of the arena begins to slip open, even though your instincts tell you to turn your focus elsewhere. The floor, your hands, the crazed crowd. Anything. But is like watching a great fire or a calamity. The entire time your consciousness warns you not to look, but you are unable to. It is almost as if you have been casted under a horrible spell. Bewitched to see him even though you don't wish to.

You stare helplessly at the threshold of the arena, and for a moment you wonder if it might be the entrance to the underworld instead. A dark, consuming void for a demon to come crawling out of. But this demon does not crawl. He marches.

A figure strides out from the gateway wielding two recurved blades and the crowd erupts in an exhilarated cry. From the distance and height, you are unable to discern his features, but the way that he carries himself is already more than enough to give insight to his personality. His steps are long, eating up the ground in quick, measured paces; his shoulders are raised and straight, exuding pride. It's the saunter of someone confident in themselves and their abilities. Someone who is not just in their element but basking in it. He raises an arm high in the air, brandishing his fist and the weapon he clutches in it to address the masses, pointing the tip of the blade to sky as it erupts in a flurry of strange fireworks that burst and flourish like blots of heavy ink. The crowd punch their own arms up in turn and shout his name like an impassioned prayer.

The apprehension chilling your chest begins to thaw, giving way to a strange sort of curiosity and before you know it, you're reaching for the theater binoculars placed on the table beside you. Anticipation thrums in your veins, nearly making your fingers shake around your grip of the handle as you lift the device up to your face, lining it up to peer into the eyepieces. It takes a moment for your brain to process what it is seeing. Who it's seeing. It's surreal how his once distant, blurred features have become clear and amplified underneath the optics of the binoculars. The familiarity of him strikes you like an unforgiving wave despite never having met him before. But everything, from his gait and the shape of his face seems as though you have gazed upon it a thousand times, ran your fingertips across the rise of his cheek bones and the plains of his face even though you haven't. The familiarity terrifies you, but it also keeps your attention firmly locked onto him.

What catches your attention first are his eyes. It is difficult to tell their shade from underneath the monochrome emittance of the sun - they seem dark but some buried, distant instinct whispers that they're truly blue. A light shade akin the ocean, glittering in shades of pale cerulean and teal. It strikes you how they burn with a calculated excitement. A dangerous, fervid type of delight as he gauges the crowd with rapt attention. Even with the intense light bathing most of the scenery shades of white you know that the pale complexion of his skin is natural. Paired with the sharp angles that create his features it makes him seem as though he could have been cut from marble; a statue gifted with life and will. His lips, you shamelessly notice, are plush, and are set into a soft pout.

Even with resentment for the Harkonnen still fueling your heartbeat you're unable to deny that the stories and claims that you had heard about his appearance were awful exaggerations. Absolute lies. You don't want to admit it, but there is a kind of beauty about him. Not one that you would have found on your home planet, but he's quite attractive in a way that is almost lethal. It strikes you in a way that it shouldn't.

You continue to watch him as he comes to halt in the center of the arena, twisting his feet in a circle to look upon every section of the crowd before facing the direction of the balcony. He begins to lower himself to the ground, resting a single knee onto the sand in a sort of bow. All the while his eyes are trained upward, dangerously close to where you sit and you know that he's looking towards the Baron, kneeling to show his respects. All you can do is pray that he will pay your presence no mind. That he won't care enough to acknowledge you.

It seems that the universe has no desire to answer your prayers this day.

His dark focus flickers onto you so suddenly that you hardly have time to register it. As your eyes meet through the glass of the device, you suddenly feel as though you have been laid bare. The deafening cries of the masses fade down into a distant hum as all of your focus centers down onto him. You've never felt so exposed in your life. Like all of your every part of you has been spread open and seen; the darkest facets of you are held forward. It's like he's actually seeing you somehow. Peering at you through the distance that keeps you apart. But it's impossible for him to truly make out your features underneath the guise of the decorative chains that drapes over your face. He can't properly see you from your place this high. Still it feels as if he is looking directly at you, past the distortion of the distance and the cover of your veil and peering into your soul.

You drop the pair of binoculars away from your face, severing the image of his focused gaze and the odd connection that had been created. Still you can't drop your attention from his figure down in the arena, but the loss of the close, magnified image of the device offers you some type of reprieve. He had felt too close, too near with their usage and the distance helps to soothe you. And with your regular vision provided to you, you are able to notice the other entrances posted along the walls are opening.

The na-Baron realizes this as well. His head cocks in the direction of the open threshold to his far left, rising up from his crouched stance to properly assess it, eyes trained on the dark gapping gateway as a man ambles out from the shadows. Two others emerge from separate doorways on opposite sides of the colosseum, and Feyd-Rautha shifts his body to appraise them both in their slow approach. The three of them all but shamble towards the na-Baron, feet dragging lethargically across the sand like they caught under a drunken stupor. The realization dawns on you easily, and you are unable to stop yourself from turning to face the Baron with bewildered scowl. "They're drugged?" You accuse, sparing no judgement in your tone.

"We cannot risk the safety of the na-Baron," he explains without shame, and draws a deep drag from a smoking pipe clutched within his hand. "Measures must be taken."

You want to argue. But what use would that be? There is not an ounce of remorse or shame in his body. You've known this for years; you didn't have to meet him to realize that. You have heard countless tales of the Harkonnen's selfishness and deceit, so it should be no surprise that they're underhanded enough to rig a fight to the death in their favor. That they couldn't even do their slaves and prisoners the respect of dying in a fair fight. And the na-Baron stands so proudly in the center of that ring, holding himself high as though the scales have not been tipped in his favor. You knew that you were to wed a sadist. A violent, venomous man. It was a shame that you had to marry one that is also dishonorable.

In the prisoners' approach, blackened figures seem to materialize from the walls of the arena looking like creatures out of a twisted fable. There is a great number of them, six you believe, if your hasty count does not fail you, all clad in a dark skintight material. But even more strangely are the horned headdresses that they all wear; it extends over their countenances to make them appear faceless and inhuman. They vigilantly wander along the border of the arena, and some even dare to skulk close to the slaves as they near the na-Baron, wielding some sort of weapon within their hands like they are prepared to strike the fighters if necessary. They must be referees of some sort, but their costumes make them look like dark spirits instead.

This game truly is devised in Feyd-Rautha's favor.

The gladiator-slave that approaches from the left is the closest, covering the distance that separates him and the na-Baron quickly despite being lamed by the hinderance of drugs. With the raucous roar of the crowd resonating across the air, the suspense is palpable, hanging heavy and almost painful like a breath that has been held for too long and the people are desperate for release. You can't help the way that you watch expectantly, holding onto the handle of the binoculars like it might help keep you grounded while you observe Feyd-Rautha from the safety of your perch.

He faces the approaching fighter. And for a moment you think that he is going to make the man hobble to over to him entirely, too cruel or perhaps even lazy to meet his competitor head on. But when the fighter brandishes his sword in an overreaching arch Feyd lunges forward on spry feet, cutting up the small remaining bit of distance with two massive strides and blocks the blade with his own. The arc that the prisoner had raised his weapon in was far too high. It left his most vital organs exposed to be gutted, and the blink of an eye the na-Baron takes the opening, deftly shoving the tip of his opposing weapon into the man's stomach and driving it in deep. The fighter's body goes limp near instantly, the hand holding his weapon slackens and when Feyd-Rautha pulls his sword from his opponent's stomach, he stumbles back on weak legs before tipping back onto the sand, lying belly up in a dead weight to bleed out on the ground.

You have heard of death all your life. Soldiers of your house have shared their stories of gore and anguish to you before. The horrors of the battlefield. And you yourself are no stranger to blood and bruises, having been trained by the best of your father's ranks and even Lady Jessica herself in the ways of fighting and hand to hand combat. Your teachings were meant for survival. Defense. But this is senseless murder set in the guise of entertainment. Cruelty.

Feyd-Rautha does not share the sentiment. He twists around to face the remaining fighters, mouth twisted into a feral snarl, muscles tense, ready to deliver another killing blow. He is clearly on some type of rush after claiming his first kill and his eyes dart between the pair of gladiators, gauging which one to attack first. Both of the prisoners have synced their steps as best as they can, with one coming towards the na-Baron from the front while the other nears from the back, intending to slay him together.

But Feyd does not appear to be stressed by the prospect in the slightest, in fact you are sure that even from your elevated height you can still make out the presence of a smile on his lips. Delighted and fueled by the rush of adrenaline and the hope of slaughter. He evaluates them both carefully, waiting them out. He doesn't have to wait long though, because suddenly the one who stands behind is rushing towards him in a move that is entirely too impatient, the lapse in judgement probably brought on by the influence of the substance coursing through his veins. The other fighter is still too far from Feyd to offer any assistance, making them both fail in their effort to overwhelm him and attack at once. The na-Baron deflects the strike of the prisoner's sword easily, shoving the man back with the union of their blades to create enough space to deliver a harsh bone rattling kick to the man's bare chest. He stumbles back a few feet, dust spraying in his flounder as he struggles to collect himself from the soiled earth.

Feyd doesn't have time to strike him down while he is vulnerable, because the second fighter finally reaches him, dipping his body low with the intent to strike his sword into the na-Baron's unguarded back, aimed for the spine. But Feyd is unsurprised by the attack; smooth and effortless in his movements as he rotates around on his feet to slip from the blades course and with the glint of silver the man's throat is sliced as he passes the na-Baron. You hardly would have realized that his neck had been cut at all if not for the way that rivulets of black have begun to pour from the wound, slipping down the pale hue of his skin and dripping to the bleached sand below before he collapses.

The crowd somehow manages to erupt with even more passion to goad their na-Baron on dispatching the last man. But Feyd doesn't move on prisoner while he's still down on the ground, up righting himself on sluggish, weak knees. It is hard to stomach the sight of it, and you're certain that you can feel the oily, distant impression of nausea bubbling in your stomach. It urges you to look away, but you can't. You are frozen still. Locked into place as you watch Feyd pace around the arena like a predator stalking the bars of its enclosure. He's impatient in his wait for the fighter to finally get up on his feet, and you find yourself a little disbelieving that he would even allow the prisoner that little bit of respect, instead of slaying him while he was down and unable to properly defend himself. Maybe there is some honor in him after all. It's buried and diluted, but it seems there may be a shred of it still.

The gladiator finally raises himself to his feet, spreading his legs wide to distribute his weight between his feeble legs. You can see resolve slip across the man's body, straightening his shoulders as best as he can to secure the grip he has on his weapon. But it only prompts more of that amusement to flicker over Feyd's features before he springs towards his opponent. They meet in the clash of lethal blades, and their bodies twist and move like well-oiled machines. Even being drugged and exhausted, the prisoner's movements are powerful and practiced, but you doubt that it will be much of a match for Feyd. He has too many aspects in his favor. The game has fully been fabricated for his victory. But even with that in mind, you would be foolish not to acknowledge the way that the na-Baron uses his body. It is truly a sight - hypnotic almost. The slices he takes with his sword and the strikes that he bares down at his rival are tight. Swift, calculated blows that are charged with raw strength. He acts with pure, practiced confidence. It's clear that the art of combat comes as easily as breathing to him; second nature. The sight of him dodging and deflecting jabs underneath the extreme shine of the dim sun is an impressive display, and you can't help but wonder how well he would fair under the pressure of a fight with real stakes.

Maybe it was the controlled vehemence of his maneuvers and how skillfully he brandishes his blade, but you think that he would thrive.

The gladiator is still alive, outlasting all of his fellow prisoners and it's honestly a wonder that he has made it this far. But you don't miss the casual way that Feyd holds himself, the security in the slices he delivers and how easily he dodges and moves around his opponent. Often dipping low into the man's space to nick his flesh with small, annoying cuts before dancing out of his field of reach. He's playing with him. Drawing out the fight like a bored cat toying with a wounded mouse. You can see the hope and determination dying in the gladiator with each passing second; it melts from his limbs, giving way to a venomous, mindless agitation. It makes him sloppy.

He leaps at Feyd with little thought, desperate to get a decent lick in but the timing is once again ill and his body too open. The mistake does not go ignored and the na-Baron uses the mishap to sweep his opponents legs out from underneath him. And curiously, he casts one of his blades aside, banishing it to the sand. But you don't have to wonder for long before his hand strikes out like a serpent to grip ahold of the fighter's hair, using the leverage he has on the sluggish prisoner's head to harshly force him down and secure him on his knees. You can see the way that the man's face twists into a pained grimace, teeth gnashed together to fight off his agony as he pants raggedly, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Feyd stands behind him like some sort of figure of death. A creature sent to drag weary, tortured souls to their end.

You see the gladiators loose grip twitch around the handle of his sword, struggling to build up the last remaining scraps of his energy to swing the blade back and drive into the na-Baron's ribcage. But he doesn't have time to deliver the blow. Feyd raises his own weapon, hitching his arm back to build up tension in his hold. In that exact moment, you are certain that your eyes meet. That somehow, between the distance, his gaze reaches your own, focused in its intent like he is looking for your approval, like he is gifting you a sacrifice in your honor. You hardly have time to think of the implications of it before he drives the sword forward into the back of his victim's neck, severing the man's spinal cord and shoving it forward until the tip of the blade peeks through his throat. It is a horrid display of brutality. The violent sight almost forces a gasp from you, and you can feel your body shudder at the presentation of it. Your mind has long since gone blank, too rattled and shocked to form a coherent thought and the frenzied way the masses arise and breakout into a rapturous applause fills you brain like a haze with the wicked, rhythmic chanting of his name.

He extracts the blade from the captive's body, spraying a dark splatter of blood across the pale sand with the pull and lifts the gore-soaked weapon up into the air in a silent claim of his victory.

"Is he everything you had imagined?"

The Baron's course timbre breaks you from your daze. Your head swivels to him like a doll, but the challenge proposed in his tone rouses your focus to the center. He wants you to be afraid. To shy away from his nephew. Why you aren't sure. Perhaps he simply enjoys the idea of an Atreides cowering, but you will give him no such pleasure. You harden your gaze before you speak next, making sure to project your resolve clearly when you answer.

"He's perfect." It scares you because it doesn't even feel like a lie. It leaves your tongue too easily, like the compliment belonged there. Like your body and soul held it as a truth that you aren't ready to accept, and you're not sure how to cope with that. But what you say next surprises you even more.

"I want to meet him."

A part of you had hoped that the Baron would refuse your request. That he would stick to firm to your father's traditions and prohibit you from seeing the na-Baron until the wedding ceremony. But you know better than to think that he would honor or be controlled by old superstitions. All too soon you find yourself being led by timid servant who wordlessly guides you deep into the inner depths of the arena. The look that the Baron had spared you before you left had been unsettling and sharp, and it made you wonder if you have agreed to go to your own execution. In your descent, the rabid cries of the masses fade into a distant warble, and with it, the corridors become dim and chilled like the walls of a forgotten crypt. The caution in your gut churns with that treacherous sense of anticipation and you struggle to concentrate past the separation in your emotions. You're not sure if you should be fearful or intrigued and it leaves you caught between a confusing sort of purgatory.

The little bit of suspense hanging over you reminds you of when you used to dream about meeting him when you were both young. Nearly longed for it even, when you'd lose yourself to childish flights of fancy and daydreamed of love and adoration. It scares you to think that the sense of pining you had once entertained for him may have never truly gone away. Even with the stories of his brutish conquests, a blemish on your naive yearning. A stain of red; soaked with the scent of iron and viscera.

The sight of his violent display down in the arena seemed to confirm all of the horrid rumors that you have heard throughout the years. His indifference towards death, how casually he is able to take a life. It should all disgust you. And to a degree it does. It coats your tongue with something acetous and tart. It makes a shiver threaten to tremble down your spine. But as much as you wish to hide from it, you can't deny that he intrigues you. That the sight of him gazing upon you from the ashen sands of the colosseum like you were an ambiguity that he desired to unravel made your body thrum. You wonder if he would look at you so openly in the same way once you are both on even ground. Or if perhaps, some pathetic, traitorous part of you had simply imagined it.

The servant stops suddenly before a wide threshold, forcing you to still in your tracks to watch as she steps to the side and bows silently without so much as meeting your eyes. And then she leaves, turning sharply on her feet with the gentle echo of her feet pattering along the obsidian floor while she skitters away.

You're on your own now.

You're not sure what you will find when you cross this barrier: pain, misery . . . pleasure. A primordial type of anxiousness wells up inside of you, screaming at you to turn heel and run. You could do so easily. Escape these dismal, tenebrous chambers before he even realizes that you're here. But you're quick to squash that wild impulse. It is a dangerous thing to entertain. You must eliminate that urge all together. You're not an animal. You are an Atreides. A Bene Gesserit. You have survived the Gom Jabbar. You passed the test. And you will survive this.

With no further hesitation you step forward, focusing on sound of your dress whispering over the floor as a means to center yourself. As soon as you cross the threshold it opens up into a massive space, but the shadows are so thick and vast here that it is difficult to see where the walls truly begin or end. A pair of servant girls stand in the corner, just as rigid and silent as the others that you've seen so far, standing with their backs to the wall like they mean to merge into the shadows and hide. The only light to speak of pours from the ceiling, broadening in its descent to encapsulate the massive round pool that sits in the center of the room like a spotlight. And there, lounging along the far end of the bath with his arms draped along the border, relaxed in the murky, steaming water, is the na-Baron.

When your eyes meet you have to wonder if this is what prey feels like when locked within the gaze of a wolf; poised to lunge and jaws longing to bite. The way that he had gazed upon you in the arena had been appraising and seeking. Like he was sizing you up and searching for your favor all at once. But something in his stare has shifted since then and dipped into something searing and stifling, and it serves as an obtrusive reminder of who you've willingly confined yourself alone with. But you're unable to stop yourself from admiring him as he does to you. Roving your examination over his face, and you find your attention captivated there. The glow of the florescent lighting reveals a delicate cream undertone in his skin, and the light blush in his lips that had been hidden outside, stunted by the black sun. It breathes a sense of life into him, and nearly separates him from the otherworldly image that had been crafted by the violence he had basked in earlier.

"You must be lost."

The voice that speaks abruptly is husky and inflected with an accented lilt that blends into the rasp of it. It buzzes over your skin, and you can feel it murmur across your fingertips, but it is not enough to distract you from the confusion that sparks in you from the comment. He must notice the perplexed look that crosses your face because you don't even get time to ask him for clarification before he speaks next. "We're not to see each other. Or was that a lie?"

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought that he sounds insulted. Like the mere suggestion of you not meeting each other before the wedding had been a great offence. But surely it simply came from a place of ego and not genuine rejection or hurt. That would require affection. And that is an emotion that you're certain the na-Baron is incapable of. Still, regardless of if he truly harbors a sense of fondness for you are not, keeping this relationship as cordial as possible is in your best interest for both of your sakes.

"It wasn't a lie," you finally answer, clasping your hands together in front of yourself. "But I wanted to congratulate you on your win. . . And to finally see the man that I am intended to marry." The final admittance comes out somewhat reluctantly. But it catches his attention still. You can see the intrigue openly flit through his eyes and he tilts his head while he surveys your from across the room in a curious manner.

"And what do you think?"

You are not sure if the question is in reference to himself or his performance in the arena. Either way, your answer still stands. Though you find yourself reluctant to reveal it, even while it burns in your throat. But the way that the na-Baron watches you with a glimmer of restrained vehemence in his heavy stare almost rips the truth from the depths of your chest. But your eyes pointedly flicker back over to the servants in the corner before moving back over to the na-Baron. The question hangs heavy in the air, silently exchanged between the two of you.

"Leave us," he dismisses firmly, without removing his gaze from you. They nearly spring forward on their feet, vision casted down on the floor as they cross the room and vanish past the threshold like a pair of phantoms. You catch the subtle nod of his head as he watches you, and it is hard to tell if it is done with disinterest or an air of mocking. "There. You may speak freely now."

You don't hold in your answer now. "Disappointed," you say firmly, and you're thankful that your voice comes out stronger than you feel. A palpable shift rushes over the room. It is frigid. Moving over the blackened walls like a cold front and seeping into your bones; brought on by the subtle vexation that shifts across his features. You can see the muscles along his shoulders and the plains of his chest ripple underneath his pallid skin, tensing in his ire. It has you stuck in place like the bottoms of your feet have been glued to the floor. It doesn't feel like you're in a room with a man but sharing the space with a hunter that has its teeth and claws poised to slice. But you know that you can't cower. Not with men like him. If you give him and inch, he'll take a mile. And if you are going to make it out of this arrangement alive, you're going to have to try to stand on even ground. "That fight. It was supposed to be in my honor. But it isn't much of a victory if your opponents are impaired with drugs."

"It was out of my hands," comes his answer. It nearly could have been overtly defensive if he hadn't delivered it so steadily and direct. It's a knee jerk reaction to assume that he is lying. It has been instilled in you since birth to be wary of the Harkonnen and their words. And perhaps it is simply a dangerous form of hope, but the intuition in your gut promises you that he is telling the truth. But even then, it is difficult to find forgiveness.

"And you fought anyway."

"Careful." His voice cuts across the atmosphere like a sharp growl. He bares his teeth with the warning, letting you catch a glimpse of that dark snarl and for a moment your mind treacherously imagines what it would be like to feel the sharpness of it grazing along your skin. "I've taken tongues for less."

The threat does not strike fear in you like it should have. Like you expected it to. The longer you spend in Feyd-Rautha's presence, the more that your initial caution begins to ebb away. For better or for worse, confidence seeps in to take its place. You shock yourself for the second time today by moving towards him instead of backing away like someone with common sense would. Though if you're being honest with yourself, you have always flirted with danger. The temptation towards things that you should not want has always taken you to places not meant for you, and it is a trait that your family and teachers alike had struggled to dissuade. That you yourself have always fought. But you can't resist the urge to close the distance between you and him, following after it blindly like you're being tugged along by an invisible string.

He trails your approach with that calculated sort of interest, fully invested on your form as you carry yourself up the pair of steps. You continue to move even once you reach the final platform, but your feet do not stop moving. It is like some subconscious part of you is determined to cut as much distance between you and the na-Baron as possible. He doesn't tear his attention from you once. It's fully fixed to you as you saunter around the boarder of the bath like he couldn't bear to look away from you, and it fuels you to keep moving forward, only stopping once you stand beside him. He turns his head to gaze up at you from his position, studying you as he lounges.

"I'd save that for after the wedding, it may be difficult to say my vows otherwise." You level him with a firm stare as your tone shifts from subtly sardonic to hardened, and possibly even disappointed. " Though I'm glad to know where we stand."

You see something harden in his gaze. What, you are not sure, but the ferocity of it makes you breathless and something heated stirs in your gut.

"I mean you no ill will," he assures you, as if he had not just threatened you just a moment before. But the gravelly tone of his voice is distracting. It courses over your skin like an electrical current, humming and warm across your body. "I will bring you the heads of a thousand men if it pleases you."

It's not the admission itself that shocks you. You know that slaughter comes naturally to the na-Baron. You have witnessed that firsthand. But the sincerity and passion that cradled his words made it sound like a promise. A vow. And you know for certain that he is being purely honest. It floods you with disbelief. The way that he watches you is raw. Vulnerable but not weak or insecure. He said it with the zeal of a devout follower speaking of their faith. Full of hunger, reverence and sincerity. It makes your knees weaken and the oxygen in your lungs is suddenly useless. The devotion burning in the dark hold of his stare is something that you never imagined Feyd-Rutha could be capable of. You know that it is not love. That you are not naive enough to believe. But it is admiration. Consuming and wanting. It is almost frightening how he looks at you. Like you are an oasis, a banquet, and he is a man parched and starved. It only draws you to him even more. Like a moth fluttering closer to an open flame; hoping to be burned in its welcoming, vicious warmth.

"Why?" Your voice comes out weakened. You nearly pant, trying to breath around the fit of your bodice. It has suddenly become too tight, squeezing around your ribcage and sweltering against your skin.

He does not answer immediately. Instead he rises from the depths of the dark water, shifting to turn his body to yours, causing the water to ripple and gleam underneath the light. You can smell the perfume of the oil on his skin, fresh and warm like amber. A scandalous part of you is tempted to glance downward, even though you know that the height of the dusky liquid still hides the most intimate parts of him, but you are unable to tear your eyes away from his. They look like heavy black chasms, drawing you in and stealing your focus until he is all you can see. You can just vaguely register that he's stepping closer to you. He angles his head as he draws near, and you feel the point of his nose brush over yours through the chilled chains of your veil; the warmth of his body seeps past the barrier of your dress and sinks in deep, settling between the cradle of your hips.

"You and I; we belong together." He says it like it is a fact. A creed. To him it is. He beholds you like you are something worth worship. And the thought of having such a formidable man observing you as though you were an answer that he has been seeking makes something in you burn. It is scorching. Powerful. It knocks you breathless. "I dream of you."

The admittance makes you gasp. You briefly wonder how he could possibly have been touched by the sight of visions. Much less ones of you. How he had managed to see you in his sleep just as you had seen glimpses of him. But your marveling is quickly flooded and overruled by images of your own past dreams dancing and flashing in your mind. Pale hands sweeping across your body and leaving white-hot trails in their wake; the sting and glide of teeth and tongue; the musk and salt of sweat in your mouth. It rouses a heady sense of curiosity inside of you. And when he raises a hand and slips it underneath your veil to cup your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the shape of your lips, it makes your interest burn hotter. When you speak next your voice nearly catches in your throat. "What do you see? In your dreams."

The weight of his stare pulls you in and grips you tightly, heavy with a wild sort of hunger that might eat you alive. When he speaks next, the smoky rumble of his voice courses over you and clouds your head with a low mist. "Let me show you."

You are not sure when he had slipped the veil from over your face and off of your head, but you hear it fall behind you. Hitting the floor with a sharp, twinkling clatter. But you hardly pay it any mind. Too entranced on the heat of Feyd's palm cupping your face, holding you close while his heavy, heated stare bores into your own and in your haze, you admire that they are truly a shade of blue, just as those old visions promised. A gorgeous splash of color caught in a world of black and white. He shifts closer to you - as much as the low edge of the bath will allow, and with it you feel the sultry impression of his body heat glides over you. The cradle of his hand on your face slips from its place, traveling downward until it reaches your neck. Your heart skips a beat when the hold of his fingers reaches around your throat, and you're sure that he could feel the wild pulse of it fluttering against his palm. A flicker of amusement passes through his gaze, and suddenly it feels like some kind of test. He wants to see if you'll crack and flounder while he holds your life in his grip. But you find that the urge to flee has vanished. It's been wrung from you as though it had never been there, and suddenly you can't understand why you had ever wanted to run in the first place.

The pressure of his hand tightens like he means to squeeze the air out of you and to block your breath. Fear doesn't rise up to greet you. This isn't a challenge that you have the desire to shrink away from. You want more of it. Of him. You lean into his touch instead, tilting your chin back to bare your throat to him, and you see a ravenous type of delight pass over his expression when you do. The weight fixed around your neck; the heady scent of the rich ointment wafting from his skin dips more of that intoxicated haze over you.

For a moment you wonder if he might actually rip the oxygen from your lungs and attempt to send you to your death. The tight hold of his hand and the dark look glittering in his eyes imply that he might. But then his hold goes light, and you nearly mourn the loss when he allows his fingers to slip from around your neck. Disgracefully, you almost feel a low whine rising to the tip of your tongue. A desperate plead to have his touch on you again. But like an answer to your silent prayer, his hands unanimously run down your body, roving dangerously close to your breasts, leaving your skin tingling in their wake as they trail down and past your ribs to settle on your hips.

Time seems to slow when his fingers pluck at the smooth fabric of your skirt, bunching the material up into the cradle of his palms until it starts to slip up and over your legs, gradually revealing more and more of you. He doesn't stop until its rucked up enough to slip his hands underneath your dress, and you silently gasp at the warmth of his palms blossoming over your hips. His fingertips dig into your skin harshly enough that you know it'll be tender tomorrow, but you welcome the sting.

You can see the silent question glimmer in his eyes. The whisper of his nose gliding over your own and the nearness of his lips beckon that you come closer. He steps back just enough to allow you space, and without further prompting you lift your legs over the lip of the bath. The water is nearly scorching when you slink inside, nearly sweeping up to your waist and encapsulating you like melted wax. His grip on you didn't waver or weaken as you moved. If anything, it grew stronger, like he was worried you might slip away from him, even though the idea of escaping is a faint memory for you now.

When he tilts his head closer to yours, you think that he finally might kiss you and satiate the restless hunger that's been buzzing between the both of you. You feel the low brush of his breath against you lips when he speaks, and the throaty rasp of his voice curls out in one word:

"Beg."

It gives you pause. As soon as you hear it something defiant rises inside of you. But it isn't aggressive or wildly so. It's languid and playful. Testing. Despite the shred of desperation that you had nearly caved into earlier, you have no desire to give in so easily now. You aren't going to roll over so quickly. Not without good reason.

"No," you answer calmy, resisting, even when lust burns in your veins. "Give me a reason to."

In truth, you aren't sure where the burst of confidence comes from. Your experience with things of this nature - the touch of a man and pleasure, isn't nonexistent. You've indulged in a few nights tangled in the arms of a random temporary lover. Secretive kisses exchanged in dimly lit corridors, the ecstasy of a mouth between your thighs. But the art of it is not something that you have fully grasped onto. Flirtation and conviction in regard to sex doesn't come naturally to you. So you aren't sure why you feel inclined to tease him like you know what you're doing. But you want the challenge. Some twisted, perverted side of you wants to see the glint of the psychotic excitement that he had displayed in the arena. You want his hands on you while his eyes burn with that unrestrained ferocity. It's dangerous to goad him on. To taunt him like you understand him. You're playing a dangerous game. Like prodding at a wild animal in its enclosure, or waving a blazing, red flag in front of a pacing bull.

A fearful part of you expects for him to get angry. That he might lash out and punish you assuming that you could toy with him so freely. Maybe he'll remind you of your intended place and tell you that you aren't equals. That you mean nothing to him. But he doesn't do any of those things. Instead, he sinks down to his knees, lowering himself until the water rises up to his chest. His eyes don't stray from you once, and the hold on your hips remains firm. The intent and hunger in his eyes nearly make you lightheaded. He watches you in a way that's starved. It has you wondering if you're going to make it out of this alive. But a stronger part of you can't wait to be torn apart.

His hold on your hips gently nudges at you, guiding you to lower yourself until you're seated on the edge of the bath. You spread your legs without him having to ask, and you can see the hint of an arrogant smile perking at the corners of his mouth when one of his hands sweep down to your knee, prying it open. Anticipation simmers inside of you, searing deep inside of your gut like a hot ember. You feel his fingers sweep along your undergarment, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric to tear the delicate scrap of clothing from your hips as though it was made from paper. It stings against your skin when it snaps free, breaking with a sharp hiss as it rips apart.

You watch in awe when he lifts the frayed fabric up to his nose to draw in a heavy inhale. Embarrassment prickles at your face when you realize that he's breathing in the arousal that had soaked your underwear. It's vulgar. Filthy. But it has excitement buzzing over you and seeping into your bones. You hardly pay attention when he tosses the tattered fabric somewhere across the room, too transfixed as he leans himself forward between your knees, making a space for himself around the cradle of your thighs, hovering dangerously close to where you need him the most.

His stare pierces yours, digging a place for himself in your mind and soul, and latching on as he delivers a promise. "I'll make you scream."

Coming from anyone else it would have made you scoff or roll your eyes and cringe. Despite your inexperience, it's a line that you've heard before only to be met with utter disappointment. But you can feel the determination rolling from him, and you know that it isn't a lie. Still, you're prepared to say something snarky. To try and knock him down a peg or two before he's even started, but you never get the chance.

His head is between your thighs in an instant, spreading you open with his tongue, hot and sweltering against you. It wrenches a startled cry from your chest, and your hands scramble blindly to support yourself, clinging onto the chilled edge of the bath and the damp warmth of Feyd's shoulder so that you don't tip over. He's only just started, and his enthusiasm already leaves you suspended in disbelief. He works his mouth against you with a ravenous intensity, swiping his tongue over you before dipping it deep inside of you in a way that has liquid pleasure pouring over your body; making your nerves light up like wild, hot sparks. Your hips lift up in a mindless roll, grinding over his mouth to chase after the curl of his tongue, and he follows after the sway of your body, unshaken by your desperation.

Already you feel like you've been lit on fire. Dipped in a pool of nectar and bliss. It has your legs quivering, tensing and flexing with every suck and stoke from his mouth. It pulls ragged gasps from your heaving lungs, and you just faintly register the airy, punched out breaths lightly echoing off of the walls of the room. You can hear the wet drag of his lips and tongue licking at your cunt, tipping you closer and closer to euphoria. It's filthy. Utterly debauched. The very notion of the daughter of a Duke sleeping with a man before her wedding - fiancé or not - is scandalous, and you should be entirely ashamed that you've even wound up in this position at all. But you can't manage to find a single ounce of humiliation in your body. You're in too deep now. Nothing else matters but this moment. Nothing except for him.

Your head rolls down on your neck, and you're immediately insnared by the sight of him watching you. Most of his face is hidden by the skirt of your dress bunched around your waist, how your thighs frame his head, but you can see his eyes clearly. A haughty sense of excitement dances in them, clearly pleased with the mess that he's already made of you. You want nothing more than to wipe that arrogant look from his face, but it's almost like he can sense the quip that you're prepared to use, because the wet heat of his mouth licks over you before he closes his lips around your clit and your mind glazes over. He drags the hint of teeth over you, lighting up fire in their wake and then he sucks. Your back bows tight, breasts heaving underneath your dress, and you openly sob. But he offers you no reprieve, no chance to breathe.

With little warning he slips a finger into the wet entrance of your cunt, forcing your walls to stretch around the width of it as he curls it deep. You've touched yourself before. Used you own fingers to pleasure yourself, and you've only ever felt the hand of one other man before. A random soldier amongst the Atreides ranks, but that had been some time ago. The width of Feyd's is much bigger than your own. Thick and long enough that a single one has you gasping. The stretch of it nearly burns. But it builds a heavy ache between the apex of your thighs, rooting itself so deeply along your spine that it tears another watery cry from you. The motion of your hips turns choppy, losing your rhythm in your desperation to reach the scorching pleasure that looms over you like a wall of fire. He barely gives you time to adjust to the first finger before he's inserting another in alongside it, making the muscles of your abdomen contract and wildly. The walls of your cunt flutter around the thickness of his fingers; your body desperate to fall into the throes of release.

The fullness of it makes your mouth drop open in a silent scream, forcefully teetering you along the edge of something all-consuming and debilitating. You can taste it searing on your tongue, feel it on your fingertips and all the way down to your toes. Uninhibited moans and broken mewls of his name have begun to spill from your mouth. Punched out of you by the ceaseless drag of his tongue and weight of his finger inside of you, crooking along your walls with nasty, wet squelches to shove you closer and closer to that shattering precipice. It forces out a gutted cry that nearly stings on its way out, and you can feel Feyd's pleased laughter reverberate over your flesh in response, and the low tremors only inject more rapture into your veins. It's so close. Welling and foaming up like boiling water; a rising tide that threatens to sweep you and drown you.

All at once it stops.

You cry out like you've been wounded when he tears his mouth from you and removes his fingers from your cunt, leaving you empty and aching. You don't even try to hide your betrayed scowl as you glare down at his face, which looks entirely too delighted for your liking. Your lungs struggle around a ragged gasp, making your voice catch in your throat. "Wha- why you did sto-"

The question hardly has time to leave you before he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your inner thigh. It sears across your nerves, molten and white-hot, ripping a pained yelp from your chest. The smile on his face is pleased, stretched wide into that dark, impish grin. Your attention is stuck on him as he drops his jaw open, holding your scolding glower as he slips his tongue out to glide it along the sore bite mark that he left with his teeth. The wet warmth of his tongue laving over your skin, soothing the sting that he had made has your brain splitting between pain and pleasure, merging the two sensations into a muddled, delicious blur.

"Feyd." You meant for it to come out reprimanding and harsh, but instead it sounds thin and panting. You see the satisfaction spark in his eyes at the weakened tone of it, and seeking more out like a glutton, he reaches his hand forward to roll one of his knuckles over your clit. It's pure torture how he's keeping you hung along the edge of bliss. You're still sensitive from your ruined orgasm and the simple graze from the back of his hand has you doubling over like you've been struck in the gut. He tilts his head back to nuzzle his face against your own when you lean in close enough. An action that's deceptively sweet for someone so violent. It has something that feels a lot like affection bubbling up inside of your chest; dulcet and soft. You tear it away and burrow it deep before it can grow.

Guided by instinct, in a scramble to replace that unwelcome hint of tenderness, you tilt your head to join your lips to his. You can taste yourself on him, earthy and mildly sweet, and just the thought of you marking him with something so intimate - so filthy, makes you weak. He's quick to respond, meeting you eagerly with tongue and teeth. It's nearly bruising. Just as harsh and impassioned as the way that he fights, and it has you moaning into his mouth. But it isn't enough. Your hands turn greedy, sweeping over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, and in retaliation for teasing and his earlier bite, you sink your nails into the skin there, meanly dragging them until your reach his clavicle bone. But he doesn't hiss or wince in pain. The groan that spills against your lips is one of pleasure. The sound has your body thrumming and winding up tight, and paired with the steady circles he draws on your clit it has you dangerously close to tipping headfirst into the throes of melted bliss. But his touch is too light, the rhythm too slow to fully guide you into it. It leaves stuck on the edge of a torturous limbo, and you nearly whimper against his mouth.

You break the kiss in an effort to regain a sense of clarity, but he's quick to chase after you, nipping at your lips and alleviating the sting with the point of his tongue. "Feyd," you repeat, and this time it sounds horribly close to begging. You can feel your resolve cracking. Splintering down the center and melting with every glide of his finger against your clit.

"I already told you, Atreides," he murmurs it like a taunt and promise all at once. "All you need is ask."

He makes it sound so simple. So temptingly easy, but you try to cling onto your pride with a shaking grip. You know that he can see the conflict openly reflected in your eyes. The urge to fight. He moves his face from yours just enough to tilt his head as he evaluates you. It feels so condescending and the low, patronizing way that he tuts at you has a small whisper of determination peeking through the cloud of lust that fogs your mind. But he presses his knuckle against your clit in a mean drag, making your body clench and twitch like it had been stung with a live wire, and with it all cohesive thought blanks out.

"Why are you fighting?" He asks, leaning his head to run his teeth along your ear, and then the wet blaze of his tongue trails up your throat to lick the salt from your skin. "It could be like a dream."

It's such a simple sentence, but it reminds you have of how you've gotten here in the first place. The promise of pleasure, the feel of skin under your teeth, the rough grip of his hands on you. In truth, you aren't sure what you're resisting for. What game you're trying to play and win. You're just torturing yourself at this point. Holding yourself back from what you truly want needlessly. It's because of pride. The trait to endure, to remain resolute underneath the call of a challenge or opposition has been instilled in you. You've been taught to be unyielding, to hold yourself back from temptation. Especially when facing an adversary. You cannot show weakness lest you bring humiliation to your house. But you're quickly learning that you don't have much shame anymore. Being in Feyd's presence seems to drain every ounce of it from your body, shifting you into something debased and wanting. And you want him.

"Please, Feyd, I need you touch me," you beg, panting against his lips. "I need you to fuck me. I need - "

You aren't certain who moves first. If it's you who slips down from the edge of the bath or if he's the one that takes ahold of you by the hips and tugs you onto his lap. The murky water splashes and ripples from the disturbance, bathing over the lower half of your body in a warm rush as you meet in a desperate sweep of grabbing hands, and the passionate exchange of lips and the harsh graze of teeth. You follow after him as he shifts so he's leaning against the boarder of the bath, allowing you both to focus on the press of your bodies grinding against each other without the worry of falling into the water. His hips roll upward, tearing a surprised gasp from you when you feel the hard weight of his cock nudge between the apex of your thighs, brushing over your clit in a slow drag.

The feel of it is jarring almost. Dousing a small chill across your body with the reminder that you're beginning to reach the point of uncharted territory. You've never gotten this close with anyone else before. Had never entertained the idea or even desired it. Your explorations of the male body had never gone past you taking them into your mouth or vice versa. This is completely out of your depth and all of the efforts that you had taken in preparation had done little to soothe your nerves. You had spoken to your chambermaids and Lady Jessica alike about sex before, the art of love making and what you should brace for, and they had all warned you of pain. A deep tearing pain and the blood that comes with it. It had given you hardly any inclination to anticipate losing your virtue.

But even with worry tensing your gut the fervent, burning desire that's consumed you hasn't released you from its snare. Still, Feyd seems to have noticed the rigidity in your body, the way your muscles have coiled in your internal distress. He tips his head back to part his lips from yours so that your eyes can meet, and you can see amusement glittering in the darkness of them like your nervousness is humorous somehow.

"You have nothing to fear. I'll be gentle, just this once." The reassurance (or threat, you aren't quite sure) skirts over you, rough and enticing within the gravel of his voice. One of the hands that he has on your hips softly grips around your wrist, and you're left to watch curiously as he guides it down into the inky water. You gasp when he slips your palm around the weight of his cock. He's rigid and smooth in your hold, and when you inquisitively stroke your hand up the length of him, it's a little intimidating to discover the substantial girth of him. You swallow nervously around the saliva that pools in your throat. It's difficult to focus around. It's like your own body is confused, thrumming with an electrical sort of anticipation, and the clutch of anxiety that stubbornly burrows deep underneath the influence of your lust.

But there's something about the arrogant glint in Feyd's expression that makes you bristle. It gives you a touch of confidence; small, hardly there at all, but it's enough. You grip him before your determination can falter, holding him steady as you line him up to the soaked entrance of your cunt. It takes you a moment to notch him against you - a combination of your nerves and lack of practice. But when you finally do, you have to draw in a deep breath to center yourself. He's thick and warm against you and it's such a foreign sensation. A side of you still hasn't caught up with the fact that you're well and truly here, tangled up in such a scandalous position with the na-Baron - your enemy. Your rival. But it's even more shocking with how little the fact is beginning to bother you. It should frighten you. It should sicken and repulse you. But you find that it doesn't in the slightest. You only feel the damning lick of desire, the urge to chase after your pleasure and to feel the na-Baron come undone underneath you.

With a deep inhale you begin to sink yourself down on him before your nerves can get ahold of you. The stretch stings from the head of his cock working inside, the muscles between the junction of your hips straining from the effort. It's already intense, splitting you open with a fullness that you have yet to feel before even though he isn't even halfway in. Every shred of oxygen has been punched out from your lungs, and your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as you continue to slip yourself down onto him, forcing your body to accommodate to the width of his girth. Liquid, molten honey drips down the length of your spine, blurring with the raw sting rooted deep inside of you, nearly making you double over from the intensity of it.

"Easy," Feyd hums suddenly, reaching up to cup the side of your face. When he swipes his thumb underneath your eye, you just vaguely register the dampness there. Tears. You hadn't even realized that you had begun to cry from the overwhelming nature of it all, and even though it's expected, it's a little irritating to see how unbothered he appears to be while you feel as though you're coming undone at the seams. But the warmth of his hand against your cheek pulls you from the searing, electrical pressure of your muscles giving around his length, a beacon in a storm. It's another oddly, sweet gesture from the someone so brutal, and combined with the soothing weight of his hand on your waist, it has another bout of that horrendous affection rising up inside of you. Even when he lifts his tearstained thumb to his lips to lick the damp salt from his finger.

It's all too overwhelming. The sensation of his body on yours, his eyes on you, the push of his cock filling you up. It has more desire building up inside of you and it guides you to sink even more of yourself down on him, eager to take every inch. You feel it when the crown pushes past the tight ring of your cunt. The abrupt pop sends heavy tremors across your body, making your spine bow forward like a melted candlestick. It's like every bit of your energy has been sapped from you by a single motion and you have no choice but to let your head prop against his shoulder as you collect yourself with a trembling sigh. But you don't bother giving yourself any reprieve, discarding his earlier advice and bearing your hips down to force more of him deep inside, and your jaws drops open in a silent, punchout scream when your walls stretch to accommodate him.

Your mind has all but melted underneath the intensity of it, shifting to a blank with each inch that you take. By the time that the back of your thighs meets the support of his lap you feel like pure, useless mush. Reduced to pliant mess by the sudden fullness that's been stuffed into your cunt. You swear that you can feel him in your throat, shoving your lungs tight against the walls of your ribcage, keeping you breathless.

"I told you to go easy." The rumble of his voice breaks out, bleeding past the clouded over haze in your mind in a deep rasp. It's difficult to discern if he's mocking you or chiding you, but knowing what you've learned of him already, it's safe to assume that it's probably both.

You distantly feel you shake your head against his shoulder, more of that defiance rearing up. "I don't want to go easy," you counter. It takes you a moment to build up the strength and coherence to pull yourself back, tilting your chin up to assess him. His eyes are like burning pits, a yawning void that wants to eat you alive. But you don't have it in yourself to shy away from it. Instead you lean forward, slipping your hands around to grip the back of his neck, supporting yourself has you brush your nose along his. The press of his body underneath you is unflinching, his expression relaxed, but you are certain that you feel something in him waver. The hint of a vulnerability. A fleeting glimpse of it. But that's all you need. It's more than enough to tell you that if you want to, you can just as easily have him wrapped around your finger.

You angle your head closer, pressing soft kisses along the plush of his lips and the sharp cut of his jaw. "Please," you beg softly.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, hot and hungry, pulling you into another frenzied kiss, licking into your mouth to taste you. Just the glide of his lips against yours is enough to have that heated coil in your stomach already winding up tight. You feel like you're drowning. Caught up in a torrent of heat and bliss. It has your hips rising up mindlessly, instinctively working yourself on the length of his cock in a desperate need to chase after your pleasure. Stinging aftershocks trickle across your muscles with each short drag, but it only serves to make your nerves hum; aching so wonderfully deep that your eyes nearly roll back.

His lips leave yours to trail along to corners of your mouth, sweeping down your jaw to nip and bite along the delicate skin of your throat, intent to leave his mark on you. It distracts you. Pulling your focus onto the sharp cut of his teeth on your neck, that it completely catches you off guard when he secures an arm around your waist, pinning you close to his body before he thrusts his hips up into yours like he's determined to carve his place between your them. The pace that he sets is grueling. A merciless rhythm that strikes the air out of your lungs with each pronounced roll. He fills you in a way that hurts, stretching you open with every plunge of his cock. But it's an exquisite type of pain. It feels like it's tearing you apart just to piece you back together again.

You struggle to meet his pace. Your movements aren't as coordinated; choppy, and he doesn't wait for you to catch up and figure out the greedy movement and rhythm he's set. The sway of the water around your bodies seem to stifle and aid the motion of your hips simultaneously, dragging them down and lifting them all at once. You're practically useless above him, forced to sit and take it. But he doesn't seem annoyed or undeterred in the slightest with the way that he pounds himself into you. It has your brain going fuzzy, glazing over with the impression of his veins gliding along the walls of your cunt. His chest rubs against your breasts, shifting the smooth material of your dress over your nipples, and the added friction makes your back pull taut.

The heat of his mouth closes over the vulnerable stretch of your throat and you can feel the tip of his tongue glide over your pulse like he's tempted to sink his teeth in deep to drink the flow of your blood. Your cunt clenches down on his girth at the thought, and you're rewarded with a low, guttural groan that reverberates across his chest from the inside out. It makes you eager to hear more from him. To make him just as broken and debauched as you are.

You can hardly recognize yourself anymore. The way that he's practically turned you into an animal; wanton and gluttonous. You can hear the sound of your own voice, unrestrained and loud as it cries out in pleasured moans and whimpers. You don't think you've ever heard yourself this way. So uninhibited and sinful. None of your past lovers, as satisfactory as they had been, had ever been able to pull reactions like this from you. It nearly makes you feel like a stranger in your own body. Unfamiliar with your skin. But it's irresistibly good, unprincipled and shameless. But it feels like pure release, untethered by expectations or rules. And like a starved thing, you want more. You want more of him. To hear him, to feel more of him, to taste him on your tongue.

In a wild craving to hear the throaty sound of his pleasured breaths, you slip your throat away from his mouth, ignoring the disgruntled snarl that stretches across his lips to grip the nape of his neck. You lean forward before he can question you and press your teeth into the smooth flesh that stretches over the junction of his shoulder, careful not to break skin but enough to cause the sting of pain. It's like a prize when a deep groan rips out from his chest, but the sharp, bruising thrust that follows closely behind nearly dislodges your teeth from him. He must have noticed the grip of your jaw waver because he slips a hand up to cradle the back of your skull, securing you in place.

"More," he demands in a thick rasp.

The sound of the request has liquid fire dousing over you, and you don't have the strength or desire to resist. You sink your teeth down even more until it threatens to split skin underneath the weight of your bite, stopping short before you could do any actual damage. But the irritated, almost forlorn sigh that greets your ears catches your attention. His fingers flex around the back of your head like he wants to shove you closer. But surely he doesn't want that. Your teeth will tear right through him if you apply any more pressure.

"Harder." The insistent order comes out like pure gravel, and matched with another wild thrust, it has your teeth clamping down on his shoulder. The muscles in your jaw squeeze tight until flesh breaks and something iron and strangely bitter spills across your tongue and threatens to pour down your throat. The noise that leaves him is gutted and wanton. Your body clenches around him as soon as you hear the ragged panting that trickles from his lips, setting you alight with even more ardency, and the sting of your bite searing across his nerves somehow manages to fuel him with even more vigor. He rams his cock into you with heavy strokes that are debilitating. You nearly feel like a doll, nothing more than a being for his pleasure, if not for the reverent way that his hands begin to glide along your body. Clutching you to him like might slip away.

It pulls you close to him, and the position has his pelvis grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips. Unable to hold in the string of moans and whimpers that beg to slip from your chest, you have to slip your teeth from his skin to pant and cry against his shoulder. It's like the sun is eating at your body. Warmth, and heat, and rapture scorching you from the inside, threatening to burn and tear you apart. You can taste it, warm and sweet on the tip of your tongue, mixing with the dark tart of his blood into an intoxicating flavor. It makes you lose all sense of yourself with your mind slipping under a blank mist. Your body is so distant from you now and the only thing that keeps you connected to it is the pleasure and ecstasy soaking your limbs and filling your lungs; the thickness of him stretching you open and stuffing you full.

"Feyd," you gasp like a warning and a plea, blindly clawing at his arms and shoulders to keep you tethered down and present. But each relentless thrust just hurtles you closer to that yawning precipice. The head of his cock brushes against something deep and devastating inside of you and that's all it takes for you to split apart with a ragged scream. You hardly have time to brace for it when it finally reaches you. Bursts of white and piercing stars explode behind your eyes like a kaleidoscope; fire and electricity seize you tight, forcing every muscle in your body to wind up tight like you've been shocked. All of the air has been snatched from your lungs making your feel as though you've blacked out; lightheaded and sluggish.

You can hear Feyd grunting in your ear, but his pacing has turned messy, losing the pronounced, steady rhythm he once had in his desperation to reach his own end. Thrusting into you in a manner that's almost wild. Both of his hands find your waist and his fingertips dig in deep enough to tear a weak cry from you. With a long, guttural moan he reaches his climax, burying himself deep into your cunt as he fills you with a flood of pulsing warmth before sagging back against the boarder of the tub.

You aren't sure how long you stay like that for, suspended in a space tucked between your body and thrumming, pulsing heat. When your breath comes back to you, it's labored and deep, drawing in the scent of perfumed oils and the heady salt of sweat. You've gone limp, limbs lax and useless as your full weight drapes across the firm press of Feyd's body underneath you. It's soothing to have him close, even though it shouldn't be. There should be fear in your chest. Self-disgust and betrayal should hang over you like a cloud, but there's nothing except for satisfaction and peace. Maybe it will leave you once the influence of pheromones and the high of sex dissipate, and reality will come hurtling down on you with the conviction of a calamity. But as of now, you have no desire to entertain any of those anxieties. You nuzzle closer to Feyd, tucking your face into the crook of his neck with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times, even while a faint part of you worries that he'll shove you away. That he might push you from him and rise from the bath to leave you abandoned in water turned tepid and soiled to remind you of your true place here. But he doesn't. He lets you settle over him, idly running his fingertips up the divot of your spine from over the cover of your soaked dress.

You feel the thrum voice of his vibrate across his chest before you hear it, and a part of you expects some sort of scathing remark.

"Did I still disappoint?"

Your eyebrows furrow at the question as your slow-moving brain struggles to follow the question, and the near flat quality of his voice doesn't assist you any. But when your finally grasp onto the realization, you can't fight off a light smile that perks at your lips from the notion that he might be teasing you. The affection is back with a vengeance. Blossoming in your chest, saccharine and warm. But now you don't have the strength to try and shove it away or to distract yourself.

"Hmmm," you hum lowly, feigning consideration as you draw in a deep sigh. "I suppose you've redeemed yourself."

The scent of something strongly metallic fills your nose, settling deep and pulling you from the gentle fuzz that's stuffed your skull. It draws you to pull yourself from the cradle of his chest to evaluate him. Your eyes are quick to scan his pallid skin and you immediately notice the rivulets of black that pour down his shoulder, streaming from the angry bitemark that has been cut into his flesh. Guilt spreads through you at the sight even though he had commanded - begged, really, for you to do it. You're sure that his blood is still smeared across your lips in a dark stain. More proof of the pain you had eagerly inflicted on him.

"I'm sorry," you apologize softly. You reach down to cup some of the murky water into the divot of your palm, it has healing properties you remember reading, and lift it up to gently pour it over the wound. Even though it must sting, he doesn't so much as flinch underneath the feel of the medicinal liquid flowing over the gash.

"Don't be," he assures. He glides the pad of one of his thumbs across your bottom lip, and you distantly gather that he's collecting the glaze of his blood there. His eyes follow the motion like he's entranced, and the intensity behind it could have sparked another bout of lust in you if you weren't already so spent. He lifts his black-stained fingers between you both, rubbing his fingertips together as he watches the smear of blood glitter underneath the cast of the pale lighting. "I'll wear it with pride."

There it is again. More of that odd, unwavering devotion. Perhaps you should be suspicious of it. It could be some sort of ploy to lull you into a false sense of security, but instinct tells you that he's being purely honest. And that might be even more frightening. If he's already so committed and consumed by lust and entitlement now, then there's truly no idea what could happen if his admiration were to evolve into something deeper. Darker. Less restrained. Horrendously, the prospect of it intrigues you. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to bask under the attention of Feyd-Rautha's obsession. An even sicker side of you might hope for it too.

You snap that thought shut and bury it deep before it can flourish. You concentrate your mind on your surroundings instead, like the dark water lapping along the edge of the bath, soaking the expensive fabrics of your dress, now damaged and defiled, and the musk of sex and fragrant oils hanging heavy in the air; the press of his flaccid cock still stuffed inside of you. But the weight of Feyd's stare cuts through all of it, gravitating your own to raise to him in turn. You can see the pale hint of blue reflecting in them, just as gorgeous as the expanse of a wild ocean. It draws you closer to him and he angles his head to join his lips to yours. For the first time this night this kiss is something soft and gentle. It feels like reverence when the plush of his mouth parts against yours. Drawing in the taste of you on the tip of his tongue, exchanging a mix or your arousal and his blood with the glide of your lips. It's a kiss that pulls you down into his orbit. It makes everything fade it an unclear background until the only thing that matters is the warmth of him underneath your hands; the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming steadily within his chest. With another delicate nip of his teeth and the sweep of his hands around you, temptation rings throughout your bones and begs you to fall into him.

And without any resistance, you do.

#feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #feyd oneshot #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #dune imagine #dune oneshot #dune 2024 #dune x reader

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kooktrash · 1 year

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DITTO ➢ jeon jungkook

summary: you’ve got everything you need right now, amazing boyfriend, amazing job, amazing friends, but when you receive life changing news you’re not sure how to bring it up to your boyfriend. your indecisiveness and failure to be open with him puts a huge toll on your relationship and he just wants to know that if he continues to love and walk the same path as you, you’ll do the same and ditto.

➢ established relationship [angst] boyf! jk x girlfriend!y/n [she/her. female anatomy]

➢ 12.9k words

warnings: teaser. soft boyfriend jk but relationship issues. smut. angst. fluff. separation anxiety. bath sèx. unprotected. oral (f and m). rough but sensual sèx. doggy. reverse côwgirl. y/n has trouble making decisions. heavy makeout. jk is literally perfect idk. not a break up story but they do take a break. dog parents. happy ending. [not a pregnancy fic] [haply ending]

song inspo: wasted affairs — minds eye , ditto — newjeans , still with you — jungkook , another (demo) one #2 — mac demarco

*interact to boost story if you like it!!! greatly appreciated <3*

It started on campus, exactly a year and ten months since the two of you started dating. You didn’t even talk that first day past a quick apology for bumping into each other before carrying on with your lives. A couple days later you found him on a dating app, he was attractive but that’s not why you swiped right on him. If anything you thought he was out of your league, the only reason you swiped right was to see if he had done the same. Imagine your surprise when you matched instantly and later on that night he sends you some cheesy joke that probably worked on all the girls he sent it to. You remember being thoroughly unimpressed and you told him so too.

He was just supposed to be one of those guys you talk to while you’re bored and then ghost when they try to meet up. It just didn’t go as planned when you saw him on campus a couple days later and he didn’t shy away from approaching you, practically following you to the bus stop and everything.

You don’t know how it happened but somewhere between going out for drinks on your first date to sharing the same laundry hamper, you realized you really love this kid. You were practically inseparable after that first date and although you haven’t been dating long, you hate being apart. It’s not even a crazy obsessive, ignore everyone else sort of way—it’s more that you just genuinely enjoy each other's company all the time. You don’t even have to talk or look at each other, just knowing you’re there is what makes a difference.

Now this doesn’t mean you haven’t gone without seeing others since you started dating. You did live separately at first and after graduating, Jungkook did a two month apprenticeship back in Busan so you couldn’t be together then either. Yes, he was coming down practically every weekend and calling or texting you throughout the day, even delivering food to your place from an entirely different city, but you had still been apart. It just feels better to be together entirely, y’know?

“What?” Jungkook asked with a little smile as he watched you squirm. You sat on the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal that matched his. You were in a loose top and his boxers, your hair was pinned back but still messy. Your breath was still nasty from sleep and you had mismatched socks on, yet this is his favorite side to see of you. The chance to see each other in such a way felt oddly domestic. It didn’t feel like you were just his college sweetheart—it felt like you were his lifelong partner. Now you’re looking at him with this smile on your face as he stuffs his face with Lucky Charms and he just has to know what’s up.

“Nothing,” you said as you dug around in your bowl, “I was just wondering what we’re doing today.”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook said as he placed his bowl in the sink waiting to see if you were done too and when you passed him your bowl he began washing them, “But we agreed to go to Joon’s place later for grilling.”

“Let’s do something you want to do till then, last weekend was my turn,” you told them as you hopped off the counter. You could see the corners of his lips turn upward in a side smirk making your eyes narrow. He looked over at you.

“I mean… if you really want to do what I want, I don’t think we’ll be leaving home at all,” he said with a wink that made you roll your eyes.

“Last night wasn’t enough? I’m sore,” you said as you picked up the mail from the tray and began to sort it, looking for coupons or something. He watched you separate it into a pile for him and then a pile for you.

“Never enough, I’ve got the stamina of a rabbit,” Jungkook said, lifting an arm to flex his bicep. You laughed lightly, “How manly.”

“Okay, okay, we need to get groceries today, I’m out of my protein,” Jungkook said more seriously, “We could probably get lunch, take Bam on a walk, it’s super nice out today.”

“Then Joon’s tonight?” You asked for confirmation and he nodded. When he finished washing he came over to where you were. His hands found your waist and immediately pulled you into his front. You whine when you hit his hard chest but your arms make their way around his neck anyway. He smiled down at you, “I love you.”

“Ditto,” You smiled leaning forward to kiss him but he tilted his head back, “Come on baby, I wanna hear you say it. I know you love me too.”

“Jungkook…” you said, still smiling. You felt this gross kind of love for the guy. You know the kind where you’re looking at them doing the most basic thing ever yet in your mind it’s like, ‘damn, I really love them’, then you cringe because why would you be so vulnerable to even think that? Yeah, that kind of love, it’s still hard to say it sometimes.

“I love you too,” you told him almost shyly and then he began to squeeze you in his embrace. You groaned at the tightness until his lips were on yours. It was short and sweet, just a quick moment of affection before you were pulling back. He released a light chuckle, “Your breath stinks.”

You scoffed, “You think yours smells any better?”

“I do actually,” he smirked as he let you pull away from his hold, “It smells like your pus—“

“Go shower!” You said making him laugh as he went to do that and left you alone in the kitchen. Normally you would join him but you had other things to worry about at the moment and you didn’t need Jungkook around for it.

You went into the living room, opened your laptop and checked your emails. You went to school for journalism and you’ve spent over a year interning at a well known editorial company. They specialized in digital news but they had a few actual magazines out, it was a global company and Jungkook had been so excited when you got the internship. He went as far as throwing a little party for you with all your friends.

Today is the day you’ll get an email telling you if you landed one of the open positions in the company, there were too many interns and too few openings so you’ve been stressing about it lately. You’ve yet to tell Jungkook but only because you’ll feel like you’re letting him down if you don’t get it. Your heart was beating out of your chest when you clicked on the right email thread and read it to yourself.

Jungkook was very confused in the beginning. One would say he was a player all throughout high school and the start of college. His longest relationship before you was a mere six months and he wasn’t mature during it. When you came along he thought that maybe it would just be a little fling before the two of you moved on, but the more he talked to you the more he realized neither one of you was going anywhere. Now, he understands that you haven’t even been together for two years but he can easily say that you’re the one, you just get him.

Sure, you argue here and there but you don’t hurt each other. Your communication is amazing, like that of a married couple that has been together for over a decade, and there’s just no stress with you. He knows what to do when you’re upset or how to make your eggs in the morning. You know when he’s running low on multivitamins and you make the calls for Bam’s vet appointments. Sometimes Jungkook even thinks Bam likes his mom, aka you, more than his dad. That’s that Jungkook has had him longer than he’s been dating you. Overall, you just fit into his life like the missing puzzle piece that completed him.

“Come on Bam, we gotta go inside,” you said later on in the day. You and Jungkook just came back from taking him on a walk at Han River and he was way too energized. You were already running a little late and you still had to feed him. Jungkook brought him over easily and the three of you went up like the little family you are. Jungkook watched you lovingly as you filled Bam’s dog bowl and got him water before washing your hands.

“Ready?” Jungkook asked you as he stood at the door with the keys. You nodded, looking around to double check everything was right before the two of you left for the evening.

Everyone was at Namjoon’s place before you two and his backyard smelt like grilled meat and a bonfire. Lawn chairs were spread throughout and there were two coolers of beer. You grabbed one for you and Jungkook and he pulled you onto his lap in one of the chairs.

“No, listen, I’m right,” Taehyung said as he talked with his hands. You looked over at the girl to your right, “What’s he going on about?”

“Oh you missed it, him and Hobi have spent about ten minutes arguing over which soda is better,” Yuna said with a little laugh looking just as amused as you, “So far Hoseok’s winning with a fair argument for Sprite.”

“Mountain Dew is better,” Jungkook cut in with a mischievous grin as the other two turned to glare at him and point their anger in his direction. You tried to smile as you leaned back into his chest. His hands were around your waist resting on your thighs, pressing his chin against your shoulder.

Yuna was Hoseok’s girlfriend and the closest friend you had out of everyone. You met her after she started dating him but you quickly befriended each other through mutual interests. Aside from Jungkook, she probably knew you better than any of the others—even your own personal friends. You’re not sure if you were being obvious about it or if Yuna had been wondering this all along but she knew some sort of news came.

“Come with me to the kitchen,” Yuna said as she stood up, “I brought dessert but I need help carrying it out.”

Without question you nodded and Jungkook released you from his hold so he could have a better debate over fizzy drinks with the others. The two of you headed inside Namjoon’s house and once you were alone in the kitchen, the questions began.

“So?”

“So?” You asked as you looked around for this dessert. Yuna crossed her arms over her chest, “Have you heard from the job?”

“Oh um,” you cleared your throat feeling a lump form as you looked back to see if Jungkook was still where you left him. He was sitting in the chair with a huge smile on his face as he tipped back his beer for another drink. “I got the job.”

Yuna gasped loudly as she grinned, excited now, “That’s great! Oh my god I’m so happy for you, what did Jungkook say? Are you guys doing anything to celebrate?” Her smile dropped, “Why don’t you look happy about it?”

You didn’t say anything, feeling your eyes begin to water and you had to step further into the kitchen so the others wouldn’t see you. Yuna followed you watching as you nearly broke down crying. She panicked, letting go of her drink to get close to you, “What’s wrong? You got the job… that’s great. It’s what you’ve wanted for a long time now an—“

“It’s abroad,” you finally said, “Like thousands of miles away and it’s not short term, it’s forever. The pay is great and I would get a high position but… but…”

“Have you told Jungkook? I’m sure you’ll work it out, I swear the guy would follow you to the end of the world if you asked him to,” Yuna tried lightening the mood, “Didn’t he write that cheesy song about walking the same path as you? He’ll be happy to go with you.”

“I can’t ask him to,” you admitted as you tried wiping away the tears, “He’s already put the down payment for the studio, all his clientele is here. His friends are here, his family is here. I can’t ask him to pack it all up and go with me. We’re not married, we’ve only been together for a little over a year. It would be selfish of me.”

Yuna looked at you with sincere sympathy, “So what are you going to do? Are you taking the job? It’s what you’ve wanted…”

“I know,” you sniffled as tears kept falling, “But I don’t know.”

“Aish! I heard you! Paper plates and napkins, I’m going!”

Jungkook’s voice was heard clear as day and just so happy as he closed the sliding glass door behind him. He was tasked with the job of bringing out silverware since you were inside and he was asking for you. They all told him to come in and find you, and bring back plates for them while he was at it. That’s why he came in with a huge smile on his face, “Babe?”

Yuna’s bewildered eyes matched yours and you turned to face the sink acting like you were busy as you forced yourself to stop being so emotional. Jungkook’s feet dragged on the floor as he came over spotting Yuna first. When his eyes landed on you he felt his heart leap, “There you are—“

He stopped himself when you refused to look back at him. It’s like he could sense that something wasn’t right. He shifted his gaze to Yuna, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh um,” Yuna looked at you and you couldn’t let her say anything, so you turned around facing him with your reddened eyes and puffy nose. Instantly Jungkook came to you, cupping your face softly, “Hey, hey, what happened?”

You tried to smile, “Nothin—“ “Don’t tell me it’s nothing, what’s wrong?” His voice was a soft whisper, immediately going into protective boyfriend mode, “Do you want to go home because we can leave right now.”

“I’m fine, I swear, I’m just… stressed,” you told him and it was obvious he didn’t fully believe it but he didn’t want to push it either.

“Jungkook! The plates!”

“Get your own damn plates! I’m busy!” He shouted back almost aggressively and Yuna took that as her cue to leave you two alone—even though you wished she didn’t.

“I’ll take them the plates,” Yuna said, using it as an excuse to leave and Jungkook didn’t even look in her direction as she left. His focus was solely on his girlfriend and why you looked so sad right now.

“Baby, talk to me,” he had a sad pout on his face, “Please? You were fine in the morning and I don’t know, yeah a little quiet around lunch but then we took Bam out and you were happy, so what happened?

“Did Yuna tell you something?” His jaw was clenched. He knew Yuna would never say anything to upset you but his protective side was coming out and all he knows is that you’re crying and Yuna was the only one with you. You shook your head, “No, no, I’m just stressed you know, um, about work.”

His brows furrowed like he didn’t fully believe you before trying to relax his expression, “Work? Is it because of the opening? I know you’ll get it, there’s nothing to worry about. You work your ass off and they’d be stupid not to give it to you, so please don’t cry—you’ll make me cry. You wanna see me cry?”

You laughed with a small sniffle, “It’s okay, I was just worked up but I’m fine now, let’s go back out.”

“You sure?” He asked wiping away the last year from your eye with the pad of his thumb, “We could go home, watch a movie. Oh, we can try on those new face masks, Bam loves them too—wanna know why? Because his mommy makes sure it’s on right and he gets his nails painted in the process. You’ve made him high maintenance, y’know?”

He’s trying to brighten your mood and it was working because you were laughing.

♱

It was a quiet night yet he couldn’t fall asleep. The room was dark and the air was on, his girlfriend slept peacefully next to him and yet he couldn’t go back to sleep. He slept for about two hours before he woke up. He’s just had a lot on his mind these last couple of days and he just can’t seem to figure out what is happening. He stared up in thought feeling his arm grow numb from having it under you.

Unable to clear his head, he made the decision to move his arm out from under you so he could stand up. As quiet as he could, he left the bedroom and went straight to the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water.

You seemed different these last couple days. From the moment he picks you up from work to the moment the two of you go to bed. It's not that you seemed ill or anything but you did seem stressed about something and no matter what he does to make you feel better it’s not working. He knows it’s probably about work but he had absolutely no doubt that you’ll get the job so he doesn’t want you stressing over it.

He wishes you would just talk to him. He doesn't need you to rely on him because he knows you wouldn't, but he'd like for you to realize he's here for you. If it was about work he hopes it all gets settled soon. If it was about him he's not sure what he'd do.

In reality, there's absolutely no reason for you to be upset with him. The two of you have a healthy relationship and it's no question that you deeply care for each other. He loved you so much, and you love him just as much so why can't you just confide in him?

"Jungkook?"

Oh. He was still in the dark kitchen grasping his half empty glass. He looked to the bedroom where you must've noticed he was missing. Shaking his previous thoughts away he finished up his water letting his glass sit on the counter. With a stretch of his arms toward the ceiling and a small yawn he was walking back to the room. He could barely make out your figure but he could see the way you were turned to face the door.

He quietly climbed back into bed feeling you shift a little as you mumbled, "Where'd you go?"

"To get water, come here, let's go back to sleep," he whispered back to you as he tucked himself in next to you. He went to pull you into his arms but you turned the other way instead. He could practically feel the distance you were putting in the middle and just like that all the thoughts were racing back to him. So were you stressed because of him?

"You can't sleep?" You asked drowsily, he nodded knowing you couldn't see him before rasping out an answer, "No."

It went quiet between you two as he continued to stare at the ceiling unable to get tired. You were already half asleep but you could tell he was struggling tonight. Without much debate you turned on your other side to face him and moved closer. His eyes shifted down as you began to snuggle into him and he was quick to turn on his side too. The two of you met halfway and your limbs locked with his while he hugged you to sleep.

He looked at your closed eyes, feeling the way your breathing evened out in relaxation while in his arms. It was so late and you probably had to work early and yet here he was troubling you by being awake.

"Jungkook," you whispered, your voice a little raspy too. He looked down at you, "Hm?"

"Go to sleep," you muttered under your breath. He sighed, "I'll just go to the living room and watch some tv until I can sleep. I know you've got work early."

He didn't give you much time to process what he was saying before he was getting up and leaving. You laid in bed, eyes opening a little watching him leave. You were left alone in your shared bedroom and the guilt was just eating at you. You knew you were being distant but you just have no idea how to even bring up the news about work. You don’t know how he’ll take it, but you do know you don’t want to leave him and make him think he’s the one doing something wrong.

You were sitting up now, yanking the covers off as you padded across the hardwood floor out the door. Jungkook was laying down on the L shaped couch watching a movie on a low volume. His phone lay on his chest, an arm tucked behind his chest and the other on the remote.

He looked over to the bedroom door when he heard it open. His eyes were big and rounded, innocent looking as you shuffled over to where he was. He didn't question it when you were sitting on the edge of the couch moving to lay over him. He welcomed you with an arm around your waist as you snuggled into his chest. He reached out for the remote, lowering the volume all the way as you let your eyes shut. A small smile appeared on his face as he made himself comfortable on the couch to fall asleep.

"Y/n's just, I don't know, distant?" Jungkook huffed, he raised the dumbbell with the help of Hoseok spotting him. "I feel like something's wrong. I can't tell if it's something I did or what and it's driving me crazy."

Since this morning he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about this. What if he was the problem? Why else would you be acting like this?

He finished a set with a puff of his chest trying to catch his breath as he was standing up. Hoseok took his spot, "Did you forget a birthday? Dinner? Anniversary?"

Jungkook shook his head no as Hoseok began his set, "Are you crazy? I would never forget any of that stuff, if I did Y/n would kill me.”

"Maybe she's not even upset, maybe Y/n's just stressed or tired," Hoseok huffed, "Try and give her time to talk, you know she doesn’t keep secrets from you. Maybe she’s just trying to figure out how to bring it up so just give her space.”

"I can't," Jungkook shook his head, "If I do she’ll never open up to me, trust me. Y/n’s not the vulnerable type.”

It's true. Jungkook knew you all too well. Since the beginning he had to be the one initiating any contact. He never understood why you doubted yourself but you never made the first move, not even when Jungkook had very specifically informed you he liked you. You're always worried you'll come off too clingy and you just don't get that it's what Jungkook wants. He’s way more affectionate than you and it does not mean you’re not like that with him but he’s way more open about his feelings than you—always has been.

"Then I don’t know what to say man, Yuna is an open book, she’ll tell me anything," Hoseok stood now next to Jungkook as they both took a small break. They were practically done for the day anyway so they left to the men's locker room. Jungkook bit his lip nervously, "Has she told you anything about Y/n? They were together at Joon’s when Y/n was crying. You think you can see if she knows anything?”

“I’ll try,” Hoseok said as he reached into his locker for his gym bag, “How’s the studio looking?”

Jungkook appreciated the attempt to change the subject and went on to talk about it, “Great. All the new equipment came in and I’ve already got some clients registered for CrossFit training. Thankfully since it was an old gym I didn’t have to make much changes on it.”

“That’s great man,” Hoseok said with a warm smile, “See if Y/n can do an article about it in the magazine.”

"Nah, she’s stressed, I don’t want to give her more work especially if she had to run it by her bosses first," Jungkook tells him as he takes his helmet and tucks in his underarm. It was a nice enough day for him to ride his motorcycle today and since he isn’t picking you up from work he can ride around a bit and try to clear his mind.

"True," Hoseok told him as they exited the large gym. Jungkook walked over to his motorcycle, a slick black with polished silver detail. Harley Davidson plastered on the side. His helmet was black too, it matched the silver with a chrome reflection and it fit him perfectly. You got it for him over Christmas.

"So you’ll ask Yuna then?" Jungkook asked honestly.

"I’ll see what she knows," Hoseok told him as he walked to his car, “Get Y/n flowers, that might cheer her up.”

Jungkook sat comfortably on his ride as he put his helmet on. He nodded, waving the man away as he turned the key for the ignition. Without wasting another minute he was walking his bike back before taking off out of the parking garage.

Once he was at his apartment he jumped in the shower, music blaring as he tried getting ready to work. It’s his last week of teaching classes at his local gym before he can put all his focus on his own business. He’s had a lot on his plate too.

Hoseok got to his place a while later, his girlfriend was already home watching tv in their living room when he came in, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said tilting her chin up as he planted a kiss on her cheek in greeting. Her nose scrunched, “Go shower.”

“I will in a sec,” Hoseok said, checking his phone to see if Jungkook has texted him yet.

“How was the gym?” Yuna asked him, making him release a sigh.

“It was good, Jungkook was just… I don’t know, he’s worried,” Hoseok said looking over at her, “About Y/n.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, choosing instead to stare blankly ahead at the screen. He cleared his throat, already able to tell something was going on, “You know anything? Why Y/n’s been acting differently? He said you were with her when he found her crying.”

“Babe, it’s not my place—“ “Come on, I’m not going to tell him if it’s bad, I just… is Y/n breaking up with him?” Hoseok asked, “I just want to know. You know Jungkook and Y/n are inseparable and if she dumps him I genuinely don’t know how he’ll take it.”

Yuna bit her lip nervously, “She’s not dumping him… but, um,” she knew she should tell him but he’s her boyfriend. He knows she knows what’s going on and if she doesn’t say something she’ll risk having an argument over secrets.

“You know how Y/n’s been working hard to get a permanent position in the magazine?” Yuna went on to say. Hoseok nodded as he tried to smile but he couldn’t, “She didn’t get it? I mean, it’s okay, I know it’s probably hard but it’s not something she should keep fro—“

“Y/n got the job,” Yuna said seriously watching Hobi’s face brighten before she could go on, “Just not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a permanent relocation with a high salary,” Yuna told him, “It’s not here and she’s got about two months to accept or reject the offer.”

“Oh,” Hoseok said. He didn’t know how to feel at the moment. Y/n was a good friend of his because of Jungkook. He was there to celebrate your internship and they all had been anticipating you getting this position. It was all the two ever talked about. On one hand he’s happy, you’ve worked hard for your job and this is something you went to school for. You deserve it.

On the other hand, he’s thinking about Jungkook. The kid has been one of his closest friends for years now. He’s seen him change through time and it was for the better when you came along. Everyone knows the relationship hasn’t been too long but, the way Hoseok sees it… Y/n is just right for him. They ground each other, they’re stable and they hold a lot of love for one and other. Jungkook quit getting wasted every night, passed out at some party never remembering where he was. He cleaned up his act when you came along and graduated with a Business degree and now he’s on his way to become an owner of his own training gym. Everyone knows you’re the one who was supporting him along the way and in Hoseok’s eyes it doesn’t matter how long two people have been together to know if they’re the one for each other.

That’s why he’s at a loss for words right now. Jungkook has asked him to see if Yuna knows what was going on and now that he knows he’s not sure what to tell his friend. It’s not like he could just say, ‘Oh yeah, the thing is, Y/n did get the job but she’ll have to relocate permanently if she accepts it but you just got your studio so that’s probably why she hasn’t said anything to you—and really no one knows what this means for you two and your relationship.’

“What do I tell him when he asks me about what you know?” Hoseok asked his girlfriend who only shrugged.

“I don’t know, just… don’t bring up Y/n’s job,” Yuna told him, “It’s better if nobody does.”

♱

That’s how the game began. Well, it wasn’t necessarily a fun game, it was more so a ‘How to keep Jungkook from knowing what was wrong until Y/n can tell him on her own?’

Hoseok had to let the others know. It wasn’t his intention to spread it around like gossip but after hearing Taehyung ask Jungkook if Y/n was still waiting to hear back about the position and making him go on a rant about how his girlfriend is too stressed to even speak to him, Hoseok had to say something to them.

Of course it made Yuna feel guilty because you trusted her to keep it between you two and she couldn’t—but you didn’t know any of this.

“Babe?” You called out to him as you got home late one evening. You looked around an empty house wondering if he was even home but his keys and shoes were at the entrance so he had to be.

“In the bathroom!” He shouted back and you left in the direction of your bedroom immediately. The door to the master was open and you went in to watch him begin to run a bath. He looked over at you, “Just got off?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small sigh as you leaned against the sink counter, “Mind if I join you?”

He smiled as he came over to where you were and placed his hands on your waist, fingers already gripping at the hem of your shirt, “Wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“Should we call Bam and make it a spa day?” Jungkook asked as he let you undress and went into the warm bubble bath. You shook your head, “He’ll make a mess.”

Jungkook didn’t argue with that as you came in after him and he immediately pulled you into his chest so your back was against him. His fingers tickled at your sides making you turn to mush in his arms till you relaxed against him. You rolled your eyes at his attack on you but you were smiling. Jungkook was happy to just get that from you. You let him pour water along your back and front before dropping some in your hair. You turned just enough to do the same to him and he let you run water through his hair. He’s not sure if you’re feeling better or not but he always enjoys time he gets to spend with you.

“So I need your help this weekend, I thought about it and I think I’m actually gonna paint the walls at the studio,” Jungkook began a casual conversation with you as you began to wash his hair with shampoo as he lathered your body in body wash. You nodded, “Okay, what color?”

“I want to do them white but with a black accent wall, probably chalk paint or something? I don’t know, then you can help me with calligraphy and it could be like my schedule wall, just an idea though,” Jungkook said, “I think I’m just getting excited.”

Your heart stopped for a short moment. You were hoping tonight would be the night you finally talk to him about work. You want to take the position but at the same time you want to turn it down. It’s such a good opportunity for you in the long run but right now you’re dating Jungkook. You don’t know how long your relationship will last since you’re still in your twenties and haven’t dated long, but he makes you want to stay. You just feel conflicted.

You tried to smile, “I like it, it’s going to look so good.”

Jungkook let the subject go as he washed your back, “I love you.”

“Ditto,” you laughed when he planted a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“I love you,” he placed a kiss on your neck, hands caressing your soapy arms.

You smiled, “I love you.” His hand traveled from your arm to your shoulder before making it to your chin and turning your head to face him. You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his and he released a low hum.

The kiss deepened further as did your back against his chest. The hand Jungkook used to turn your face toward him was traveling down your neck making you wiggle a little between his legs. With that small action and the fact that the kiss turned more hungry, he was releasing a quiet growl that rumbled through his chest. Your mouths parted at the same time but neither one of you moved back before going back in for a needy tongue kiss.

Jungkook didn’t need much convincing to let his hands roam your body, first cupping your breasts. A hand of yours had made it to the back of his neck clinging to him as he kissed down your neck, sucking harshly and licking away the pain.

“Baby,” you whined softly into his ear as his middle fingers and thumbs pinched the buds of your nipples so that he could run his index finger over them. You couldn’t stay still and by the hardening length along your back you knew your movements were affecting your boyfriend. He massaged your tits in his hands, squeezing them together and pulling them apart doing it over and over again as you fell full lax against his shoulder.

“You think I can still feel your dripping pussy in the water, baby?” Jungkook asked, tracing the finger that left your nipple numb with arousal down your navel and closer to your pelvis. You nodded against him and with a knowing smirk, he let his hand feel the water further as he slipped the hand between your legs and right over your cunt.

Jungkook groaned into your mouth as he swallowed your moans in a kiss. Of course everything felt different underwater but there was no denying the sticky slick pooling between your folds. He dipped his long middle finger between the wetness, immediately eliciting a quiet whine from your pretty lips. You tightened your hold on the back of his head, fingers sinking into his hair pulling him down deeper for the kiss.

He knew everything about your body and just how to make it react, like when he let the palm of his hand roll into your clit when his finger came out before plunging it back into your entrance and releasing pressure from his palm. The only sounds that filled the room were of the splashing water and your moans while Jungkook fingered you. Your other hand clung to his forearm, thighs threatening to shut at the immense pleasure he was giving you.

“Nuh uh,” he tsked in your ear as he sped up his finger, teasing the folds with his ring finger before making room inside your cunt for two fingers that hooked forward and back, “Don’t you dare close your legs.”

“Jungkook, please,” your legs were shaking as you bucked up into his hands and pressed into his hard cock forcing moan after moan from him as well. You could feel the rumble in his chest against your back and you just wanted to melt into him.

You and Jungkook had a very active sex life and it’s clear that these last couple of weeks you’ve both grown distant through time but it feels so good right now.

He traced his finger tips down your sides trying to turn to face him better. You moved onto your knees letting Jungkook help you hook them over his lap so you could be pressed against him better. Your hand was on his firm and wet chest as you traced it toward his neck before bringing him in for a kiss. His fingers were soft down your back until need became of him. They tightened in the locks of your hair using his hand to feel along your front.

“Is this why you wanted to bathe together tonight?” He asked as he continued to press against that soft spot inside your wet cunt that made your legs shake. It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but you couldn’t even remember what you actually wanted to say now that he was bringing you to release with only two fingers.

“Fuck,” you moaned out letting your hips rut against his cock, “Me, oh god I need to feel you baby.”

Jungkook used his free hand to grope at your breasts but it quickly slid down to your navel pushing you back and forth grinding against his hard length. He was releasing short grunts into your ear, “Up.”

Your feet pressed flatly against the floor as he slipped his fingers out of your wet pussy to guide your hips up for you. You held onto the edge of the tub to hold yourself up as Jungkook moved a hand down to his dick giving it a couple strokes as he pointed it up. He slid down just a little more for better room and just like that you were sinking down onto his hard length raw.

“Oh,” Jungkook released a low groan, “Baby.”

He licked his dry lips watching the way you took him inside. The water was still filled with water and bubbles but he was able to see enough of your cute butt. Jungkook’s abs tensed so much that it was visible and flexed which made him look even hotter than usual. He begins to raise your hips feeling the warmth your pussy brought to his stiff cock.

Jungkook began to meet your thrusts with a buck of his hips and just like that did he begin to fuck you.

He leaned forward to leave wet and sloppy kisses along the back of your shoulder blade down to the way it flared along your back, moving his hands to grip your waist harshly. Jungkook's nail dug into your soft flesh as he lifted your hips up and down on his cock, “Take me so well, baby.”

He bit into his lip, watching in awe at the way your hips gained more determined rhythm to get him off, he could see glimpses of your spine following your movements. Your hands nearly slipped off of the edge of the bed coming very close to falling face first into the water but it didn’t stop you from saying, "I'm gonna cum."

He released a short grunt as he pushed himself up so that he could stand on a leg and knee, "Grab the edge." You did as told, reaching for one side and holding onto it pressing your chest into the side of the tub and Jungkook placed a flat palm against your lower back. You’ll both be sore from being crammed in the tub but it’s not like this is the first time. He bit into his bottom lip to suppress a loud moan from slipping out as felt your familiar ring of nerves clenching around his member as it sucked him into your folds. He wasn't going to last much longer either so he’s gotten rougher.

He was pounding into you from behind so good that he needed to drop his weight on your. His wet body pressed against you, cold water droplets falling onto your back making you twitch in surprise.

His hand snuck under your stomach to hold you close as you felt his face press into your back as he moaned, “Fuck, baby, so fucking good.

“You make me feel so good,” he repeated, “Cum, fuck, please cum baby, I—I—ngh.”

He made his body flex from how hard he was tensing up to keep himself from spilling inside of you as you came around his cock.

“Jungkook, baby,” you whined, body trembling as Jungkook kept you pressed against him as you rode your high.

When you came down you began to shiver. The water was cold and so were you, plus you were ultra sensitive so it was unbearable. Jungkook could feel the way you trembled and he was trying to keep himself warm, at least his cock warm, but he began to pull out. He rather get you two dressed and not freezing before he finishes himself off.

He could ignore his hard on even as it twitched against his navel as he stood making sure to pull him with you. You slipped on your thin bathrobe letting him do the same and with a chaste kiss on the lips he walked with you out to your bedroom.

“Jungkook,” you called out to him just as he tried leaving to his closet. He turned to you waiting patiently for you to say something but you just walked toward him in your little robe that hid absolutely nothing from his lustful gaze.

You stood so close to him now and before he could what was up your hand was pulling at the tie around his waist. He let you open his robe exposing the hard cock that had just fucked you to orgasm. He didn’t even bother looking down at it, keeping his eyes on you as you have him a couple experimental strokes, his mouth drawn open in a silent, desperate moan that had him panting.

“Don’t you want me to make you cum?" You asked as you kissed down his chest toward his dick. Jungkook looked blissed out with his eyes rolled up, lips parted and his entire face just looking relaxed, “Fuck, yes baby, make me cum, fuck, I need it.”

You bring your face closer to his tip, licking it teasingly, tasting the bead of precum on your tongue. In one swift movement, you flatten your tongue on the underside of his cock, a teasing longs swipe from his balls to his tip. You stopped at the head letting spit pool in your mouth and onto his cock keeping your eyes on his as he watched you swallow more of his length into your mouth.

Jungkook gripped the corner of your vanity table for support as you sucked his stiff cock to your heart’s content. You held the base of his cock with one hand, bobbing your head in a quick pace since he was already so close from fucking you just moments ago. Jungkook watches the way his cock disappears into your mouth, the feeling of your mouth, your hands working other areas. He could feel the way you tried to breathe through your nose and relax your throat, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth. You took steady breaths through your nose doing your best to relax your throat and flatten your tongue. Jungkook panted lightly, feeling the throb of his cock as his tip hit the back of your throat.

You roughly swallow around him, suppressing a gag as you resume to deep throat him.

"That’s it baby," he groaned, tossing his head back in bliss. Moans were pouring out of his mouth, his groan is muffled into his hand, "Just like that."

Just like that, he released a low growl as your mouth flooded with his thick release. His mouth hung open, hips almost locking from how hard his muscles flexed. Your kisses became tender as you jerked off his wet cock, making sure he got it all out after a week or two of no sex. You placed a sweet kiss on his hip bone as it protruded before you, making him release a breath laugh at your form of comforting him.

He let his hand fall into your hair softly cupping your chin to help you up as he stared at you with loving eyes, “You’re so good to me.”

You didn’t say anything as you pressed your face into his chest for a hug so he wouldn’t see the hurt in your eyes.

If you could just get the courage to tell him.

♱

Jungkook was happy, he really was. Life was just good at the moment. His business is really starting to come together, his girlfriend is supportive, his friends are wonderful. He’s just a happy guy.

“The Prince has arrived!” Jimin shouted in his usual eccentric manner as he stormed into Taehyung’s place with a huge grin on his face. Jungkook was caught stuffing his face with ramen as the guy walked in greeting everyone.

“How was the flight?” Jungkook asked as he finished chewing and swallowed. Jimin had been gone for a couple weeks on some dance tour but he just got back yesterday. Everyone met up together today to see him. Jimin came by and did the usual male handshake, “Long, I slept like fourteen hours when I got home.”

“Grab a bowl, we’re having ramen,” Taehyung said as he plopped down on his couch, “Beer in the fridge.”

“Wow, a meal for a king,” Jimin said as he left to the kitchen.

“Didn’t he say he was a Prince?” Namjoon asked Jin who just shrugged in response.

y/n: just got home

jungkook: do you want me to pick u up? jimins here

y/n: that’s ok, I’m just gonna hang with bam

jungkook: ok :( love you

y/n: love you too <3

“So,” Jimin came back a little later and took a seat next to Jungkook, “When can I stop by the studio?”

“Give it a couple days and then you can,” Jungkook said as he set his bowl down on the coffee table, “Y/n and I just painted the walls this past weekend and it smells like paint—gives me a headache every time I go in.”

Jimin smiled, “It’s cool that you and Y/n are still going to pursue your own things.”

Both Jungkook and Jimin missed the way the others shared a similar glance. Jungkook’s brows furrowed for a second before answering, “Yeah, I mean, what else would we do? We’ve got to find a way to support each other, yknow?”

“You’re right,” Hoseok cut in quickly, “You support each other well for everything.”

Jimin was missing the cues being sent to him by the others. In his defense, he’s been gone for a while. All Jin told him was that you got that job offer but to not bring it up to Jungkook, but that was days ago! And would Jungkook be talking about his studio if he was planning on moving with you? No. So, he honestly thought the guy knew and you two were working it out.

“Yeah, I don’t think I could handle taking the news well,” Jimin went on, once again not understanding why everyone was looking at him with glares in their eyes, “I mean, if my girlfriend was thinking about moving across the world for a job, I wouldn’t take it well. I think I’d probably—“

“Y/n’s not moving,” Jungkook said with a small laugh, still missing the truth, “She hasn’t heard back about the offer yet but it’s here.”

The room fell silent.

Jungkook looked at them all, confusion crossing his features. Now he could sense it, he could sense something was going on around him and he had no idea about it. Why would Jimin assume you would need to relocate? Everyone looked at him with this sort of look in their eyes that began to make him wary. He released a small, cautious laugh, “Why would you think she’s moving?”

Jimin dropped his head realizing his mistake and now understanding why everyone was sending him those looks. Hoseok cleared his throat, “Jimin was just talking, you know how he is…”

“Yeah, yeah, I um, I don’t know why I said that, just ignore me.”

“No,” Jungkook shook his head, feeling something build up in his chest. It was a mix of concern and maybe anger? What were they talking about, “I want to know what you meant.”

He released a nervous laugh, “Y/n’s not—she hasn’t told me—she got the offer?”

“Jungkook…” Namjoon cut in, “It’s not up to us to say anyt—hey!”

Jungkook wasn’t listening anymore. He was looking for his keys so he could go home. What are they talking about?

You were in your bedroom with Bam. He was laying perfectly still on your lap as you played some movie in the background while brushing his teeth. You haven’t had dinner yet since you were waiting for Jungkook and you’re sure that even though he had ramen, he would still be hungry.

Todays the day you’ll tell him since last time ended in sex. You’ll get him nice and relaxed before bringing up the job and then you two can talk it out and see what to do. You’re still not sure if you’re taking it or not but you’re sure that after talking with Jungkook he’ll help you come to a decision that’s best for you.

“Y/n!”

A smile came to your face as Bam immediately jumped up ready to greet his owner, “Over here!” You said back as you began to move off the bed, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Before you could get to the door it was swung open and you immediately knew something was wrong. Jungkook looked angry, there was no denying his stone cold expression. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!?” He scoffed loudly as Bam stood at alert between you two, “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, Y/n. Or are you going to wait for my friends to do it for you?”

Your heart dropped. What?

Jungkook couldn’t hold it in, he hit the wall lightly, “Say something! Did you get the job?”

“I… yes,” you said quietly and he took a deep breath. He wanted to feel happy, he was happy but… were the guys right? Were you leaving? Why haven’t you told him anything?

“How long have you known?” Jungkook asked, trying to remain calm. You closed your eyes scared, “A month, I didn't tell you be—“

“A month? A fucking month, Y/n?” His breathing was becoming erratic as he tried to push that strange lump in his throat down, “Why—what—oh my god. You told everyone else but me.”

“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t tell anyone—only Yuna—“ you said as realization hit you. What did he mean by everyone? Who told him? Who knew?

“And you couldn’t talk to your boyfriend?” Jungkook asked, “Y/n, baby, I—we’re supposed to be a team. We’re supposed to tell each other everything. We, fuck, you don’t trust me?”

“Jungkook please,” you begged as you tried to reach for him but he moved back, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you. I did get the job but I would have to relocate and I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to talk to you and see what we can do or what I should do and… and—“

“But you didn’t talk to me, Y/n!” Jungkook yelled, “You’re saying this but it doesn’t change the fact that you couldn’t talk to me.”

“I wanted to tell you on my own time,” you said. You couldn’t even bring it in yourself to get loud or more vocal. Jungkook scoffed, “When was that gonna be? Were you just gonna shoot me a text while you’re flying across the world?”

“That’s not fair! I haven’t even accepted it yet, I wouldn’t just leave you like that,” you told him as you tried getting close again. He couldn’t even look at you right now.

He’s so proud of you for getting the offer and he wants you to do what’s best for you. He doesn’t know if he’s temporary in your life or not but it doesn’t help that he wants to be selfish and tell you that you can’t leave him. He doesn’t want you to go but it’s not like he could control it. The guilt would eat at him if he ever tried making this choice for you.

Jungkook just doesn’t get why you couldn’t even tell him. You distanced yourself from him and this entire time he thought he was the one who might have done something to upset you.

He released a small scoff as he leaned against the wall looking defeated, he let you hug his waist but he couldn’t even look at you right now. He was in extreme duress at what this means for the two of you. He can’t just pack up his life and follow after a girl who can’t even be open with him.

“Do you love me?” He asked so suddenly that you couldn’t process it quickly enough. He mistook your moment of silence as hesitation and released a deep sigh as he tried pushing you away gently.

“Yes,” you told him honestly as you gave him space.

He laughed bitterly, “You can’t even say it.”

“Jungkook, I love you.”

“You know, I’m getting real tired of having to practically beg you to tell me you love me,” Jungkook’s voice was hoarse. He felt awful because he knows you love him but the way you close off from him and keep him in the dark makes him think it’s not reciprocated to the extent of his own feelings.

“Baby, please just sit with me and talk and we can figure this out,” you said trying to guide him toward the bed but he wouldn’t budge.

He shook his head, “I don’t want to talk it out. You couldn’t tell me when it happened Y/n, you distanced yourself from me and I genuinely thought I did something wrong. I thought that maybe I was the one who did something to upset you and I’ve been worried sick thinking that you weren’t in love with me anymore. So if you want to talk about unfair, there it is.”

“My girlfriend doesn’t want me enough to confide in me and can’t even say she loves me unless asked,” Jungkook felt his eyes begin to burn but he ignored the feeling.

“No, please, that’s not it, I just didn’t want to worry you if I didn’t even know if I was taking it or not,” you kept repeating, “I want to talk. I haven’t talked to anyone about it. I don’t know how everyone found out but please…”

“Y/n, I need space.”

You froze, “What?”

He couldn’t meet your eyes, “I just… I really love you and I’m mad you couldn’t talk to me about it but at the same time I feel like it isn’t my decision to make. I don’t want you to stay because of me, if you want to take the offer…”

He was struggling to speak as he began to walk away, “I can’t do this.”

“Jungkook I want to be with you, that’s not going to change so whether you believe it or not, you have a huge impact on my decision an—“

“Y/n, please,” Jungkook ran his hand over his face, “I want you to stay. I want you to stay so fucking bad but I also want you to do what you think is best for you. I can’t ask you to turn something down for me even if everything inside me wants to. I just… I don’t think I could go with you.”

“So I just need some time,” he said as he grabbed a duffel bag from his closet, “And I mean, let’s face it. We haven’t been together long enough for you to want to stay for me.”

“So you’re breaking up with me when I haven’t even decide—“

“No, I’m not. I would never. I’m just going to give you space,” he cut you off, “I’m going to give you time to decide what you want to do.”

“Okay but it still sounds like you’re just dumping me,” you told him as he packed a bag, “Feels like you’re giving me an ultimatum, you or the job.”

He took a deep breath, “I’m not dumping you, I just—can you just understand where I’m coming from? We’re supposed to be a team and yet sometimes I feel like it’s too much work for you to be open with me. You aren’t as vocal about our relationship and I am totally fine with that but sometimes you can’t even show me that you feel the same. You turn away from me, you lie, you can’t confide in me, and honestly if you really wanted to talk about that offer with me you would’ve done it in the beginning instead of push me away. That makes me feel like shit because I’ve been trying and trying with you and it’s like… you just don’t care.”

“I want us to work out, I really do because I love you, and I know sometimes you struggle saying it but you love me too and that’s why I just don’t get why you couldn’t just come to me first,” he kept going, “I had to hear it from everyone else and do you know how embarrassing it is that everyone’s been knowing more about my girlfriend then I have? I get that it wasn’t your intention but it’s what happened and it does make me feel shitty.”

He looked over at you and he could see the tears forming in your eyes and this time he understood why. He had finished packing his bag and went to you right away. He felt like crying too but he couldn’t tell you why. Like he said, he wants you to make the decision that’s best for you. If you want to try long distance… he’s not sure if he’ll be able to handle it but he’s willing to try for you. If you want to break up, he’ll be heartbroken but he understands the circumstances. You haven’t even been dating for a year, he can’t expect you to throw away your dream career for him even if it hurts to think about it.

He held your face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut to fight back a couple tears and pressed a kiss to your boyfriend, “I love you.” He wasn’t expecting you to say it back, he was expecting the same old ditto.

“I love you too,” you whispered and he felt his chest practically squeeze his heart painfully. He left his lips there on your forehead, no longer giving a kiss but just basking in your presence for a little longer.

“Where are you gonna go?” You asked as he finally pulled away. He shrugged, “I’ll stay with one of the guys for a while, I’ll be back, I promise.”

You watched him rally up Bam and even though you didn’t want either to go you understood. If you could’ve just talked to your very understanding boyfriend about this then you could’ve saved both of you from this weird feeling. This is what he was talking about though, you’re not breaking up and yet thinking of him not waking up beside you hurts.

Bam ran over to you as Jungkook stood at the door and you leaned down to hug him too as he licked your face like he knew he wouldn’t see you for a while.

When he left it suddenly felt a lot lonelier than before and the second the door shut behind him he let himself cry. That made him feel ridiculous because this is not him breaking up with you but if you could’ve just talked to him, if you could’ve just been open with him things wouldn’t have happened this way. Some people might think he’s being dramatic but he’s changed and grown so much in the past two years and it would be a lie if he said you didn’t help him on the way, so to stop you from doing it too is like a punch in the gut.

♱

He ended up at Namjoon’s place where he’s been staying the last couple of days. He’s just the most understanding even if he doesn’t fully agree with how either of you have handled things.

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic Kook, but I can’t tell you that I fully understand everything,” Namjoon said on Jungkook’s fifth day of being there, “If Y/n takes the job offer and leaves I know you’ll be happy that she’s going after something she’s wanted for a while but also sad that she’ll be gone. Do you really think you couldn’t try long distance?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know,” Jungkook said as he ran his hand over his face clearly stressed, “I want to try if that’s what Y/n wants but… I want to be able to see her, hold her, know that I’m going home to her and if she’s away, I can’t. I would love nothing more than to go with her but I can’t just uproot my life for someone I’m not married—even engaged to. A big move like that could damage our relationship and I just don’t want to risk it.”

“If she asked you to go, would you think about it at least?” Namjoon asked. Jungkook thought about it for a moment, “If she asked me to… and I knew she wanted me there, I would—but I know Y/n would never ask me, especially not now that I’m doing the studio.”

“So you already have it in your mind that Y/n’s leaving?” Namjoon asked. He could tell that his friend was struggling right now. He had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, he’s not eating that well but he’s stubborn. He was upset, very, and that’s why he needed some space but at the same time he just missed you so much. It’s like he wanted to prepare himself to not be with you every day if you did decide to move. He was seeing if he could actually handle it.

“I’m just preparing myself for the worst.”

“I’m so sorry Y/n, like you have no idea how awful I feel,” Yuna said once while you three were getting coffee. You needed a couple mental days to think things through and she’s tried talking to you a few times but you just weren’t in the mood to talk. A week has passed and you finally decided to respond and go out for coffee with them.

You released a tired sigh as you leaned back on the small arm chair you sat in, “It’s whatever.”

“Y/n, this is my fault,” Hoseok said, “I just—I just wanted to make sure nobody talked about work before you could tell him yourself. I thought we were helping but obviously not so if you need to blame anyone, blame me.”

“I don’t blame you guys,” you said to them, “You’ve known Jungkook for a long time, I’m just… it was just a lot and I should’ve just told him right away.”

“I get why you didn’t though,” Yuna told you, “You didn’t want to worry him if you didn’t even know what you wanted to do.”

“But um, this is just me asking you as your friend,” Hoseok said, “Do you know yet? It’s almost been two months, don’t you have to make a decision soon?”

“Not yet,” you told him. You looked tired and mentally drained about this and that’s not what you want at all. “It’s my dream job but… it’s far and I would essentially be alone starting over so there’s just a lot to think about. And Jungkook thinks what he says shouldn’t affect my decision but it does.”

Hoseok and Yuna nodded understandingly knowing that if they were in the same situation it would also be a difficult decision to make. It was quiet between all of you as you thought about the job offer again but you finally gathered the courage to ask, “How is he?”

“Um,” Hoseok cleared his throat trying to think of a way to ask without making you too worried, “He’s, y’know, he’s just wanted time alone. He’s not mad at you, I think he just thinks you’ve made up your mind and he thinks he’ll hold you back.”

You groaned, “But he wouldn’t. He’s one of the most genuine and supportive guys I’ve ever met and it pisses me off that I just haven’t really appreciated him as much as I should have.”

“Y/n stop,” Yuna said, “He knows you love him and he knows you’ve been thinking about this a lot and that’s why he’s trying to make it easier on you even if y’know, that’s questionable.”

♱

Jungkook’s a mature guy, he swears it, everyone knows this but it’s been a long time since he last drank without knowing he was going home to you. He doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s been two weeks and he only knows about you from what Hoseok has told him—which isn’t much since he’s vowed to keep his mouth shut about what either of you say. You miss him, he misses you but he wants you to make your decision without him around. He doesn’t want to influence you on a life changing decision. He loves you too much to hold you back. He’s just also growing a little delirious now.

“This is such a fun night!” He yelled so loudly heads turned in his direction but he didn’t care. His friends tried getting him to walk straight but he’s a little too drunk for that right now. His arms were up like he just made the winning goal as he repeated himself, “I’m gonna get so fucking drunk tonight.”

He spun in a circle acting like he was on top of the world at the moment. Namjoon grabbed him by the back of his shirt, “Come on man, you’re already drunk, I think we should call it a night.”

“Let him have fun,” Jimin said laughing as Jungkook continued to walk in circles spinning himself so much that he was dizzy and with that feeling of puking. “He’s been a zombie for weeks now and this is the first time I’ve seen him relax. Let him get it out of his system.”

This was 100% Jimin’s idea and listen, he’s a good friend, he really is. He’s just the more carefree type. He feels bad for telling Jungkook but in his mind it’s not that serious and right now he’s just happy that his friend’s not passed out on Namjoon’s couch, sad.

Namjoon huffed as he tried to reel Jungkook back in, “Yeah and look how well he’s doing that.”

“I feel great, hyung! I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders! I feel like I can fly!” Jungkook said, spreading his arms out accidentally whacking some bystander.

“Hey!”

“Sorry!” Jimin said pulling Jungkook back before he started a fight with someone. He’s drunk enough to do that and he knows that Jungkook will be very willing to start a fight just so he could hit something. That’s the kind of guy he was before you and right now he’s got a lot of emotions running through him at the moment.

“I’m not!” Jungkook yelled in response to Jimin’s apology to the stranger and he watched him with a smirk. He was definitely looking for a fight right now, just like his old self would.

“Alright let’s get him home,” Namjoon said with a sigh as he attempted to help Jimin keep Jungkook walking before he really pissed someone off. Jungkook could handle his own but he’s a clumsy drunk so probably not right now.

Jungkook tried freeing himself from their grip, “No! I don’t want to go to your place. I want to go home.”

“Alright, so what are we still doing here?” Namjoon asked more annoyed now, “You’re just being stubborn at this point and if you really wanted to be with Y/n, you would be! So quit acting like this and go talk it out! You’ve been mad she won’t talk to you about things and now you’re doing the same. Look at how you’re acting. If Y/n was here she’d kill you for acting like a fool and I know you’re not actually having fun. You’re just acting like you are so that you don’t think about what’s going on and it’s not working!”

At that reminder Jungkook seemed to freeze up, as if he hadn’t been yelling at the top of his lungs about how fun the night was. Jimin looked serious now, realizing that this wasn’t all that okay, and he needed to get Jungkook back to Joon’s place to sleep it off. Namjoon was being a little cruel but it’s what Jungkook needed to hear right now and it's up to Jimin to be the sympathetic one.

Jimin pulled Jungkook into his side, “Let’s just get you back to Joon’s place and get you sober before you do an—Jungkook!”

He was nearly sprinting into a cab, swinging the door open and locking it before his friends could get to him. He told the driver an address and he was off. Don’t ask him where he was going because it was obvious. He’s going to you.

It wasn’t until he stood in front of his door that he realized his mistake.

“Aish,” he cursed himself as he stared around the concrete hall of his apartment. On one side was the cement railing facing the building courtyard and on the other was his old place. He grabbed his keys, it’s too late now, right? You’ll probably be sleeping and too tired to have this conversation again but he needed to see you. He muttered incoherently to himself as he let himself in making too much noise in his drunken haze.

Jungkook followed his usual routine. He knew exactly where to leave his keys and his shoes. He knew where to hang his coat and where the extra blankets and pillows were. He knew which remote was for what and where the outlets were.

You had been sleeping—or at least attempting to—but it was strange to sleep in an empty bed. It was a little hard to sleep when you were positive there was an intruder. You couldn’t even ask your big buff boyfriend to go check it out because he’s been gone! You should probably stay in bed and pretend you’re not home but you’re also scared to do nothing.

So you gathered all the courage you could and also your phone so you could be ready to call the police—oh and one of the dumbbells Jungkook left here before he split, just to be safe.

Now imagine if you actually used it on the intruder who was currently fussing with one of your blankets trying to get himself comfortable on the small couch. You released a sigh holding a hand to your racing heart, “Jungkook!”

He looked over at you, wide awake, “You’re awake?I—I didn’t want to wake you, I just wanted to be here when you woke up and—”

“Why are you here?” You asked as you went up to him. He resisted the urge to open his arms for you to crawl into. He was slurring on his words as he spoke to you and you can tell something was up.

“Are you drunk?” You continued to ask him questions and he was just trying not to seem that way because then you’ll ask him why he’s drunk. Jungkook was trying his best to seem comfortable. His arm was behind his head and his other hand on his chest, a leg kicked up on the couch, tangled in the blanket but it didn’t feel right. After some time he gave you a brief nod to your question and looked at you, “I want to come home.”

You turned away from him and for a second he thought you were just going to end it with him right now over the fact that he need a break.

“You’re so mean,” your voice was shaky and he sat up immediately worrying you would cry, “Y—you just left because you needed space and now you’re coming back in the middle of the night and… ugh I missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, “I thought you made up your mind. I thought you were just trying to hold off telling me and I was scared but Y/n… I’m telling you right now that if you want to leave I’ll go with you. I’ll follow you wherever and I just needed time to realize that my home is with you no matter where we g—“

His breath was nearly knocked out of his chest as you fell into his arms. He’s never held onto anyone so tightly in his life. He held you like his life depended on it and you cling to him like a little koala sitting on his lap.

“I’m not taking it.”

He couldn’t hear you at first, he hadn’t processed it but when he did he froze, “What? Baby, I, if, what are you saying right now?”

You pulled away from his chest to look at him, sniffling a little, “I’m not taking it. I’ve been stalling making this decision because I thought I didn’t want to let anyone down but I realized it’s because I don’t want to do it. If it was here I would take it but I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make you pack up your life and go with me. I don’t want to leave our amazing friends. I don’t want to leave everything behind and Bam wouldn’t be able to see Tannie.”

He laughed softly as he brushed your hair out of your face wiping your tears in the process, “Always thinking about Bam… but I want you to be sure about your decision honey, I want to know this is what you want because like I said, I’ll follow you wherever. I just don’t want to see you cry.”

“No, I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to be here with you and with everyone and I’m sorry I’ve made this so difficult. I just… I’m bad at making decisions and, fuck, I’m just sorry. I could find a job anywhere, I know they’ll hire me and I won’t have to leave everything behind for it.”

Jungkook felt mushy inside. Part of him still felt guilty that you were turning this down but he also knows that no matter how hard it is to decide on something, once you’ve done it, there’s no going back. Like with him, once you decide on each other that’s that. He’s not letting you and he sees that you won’t let him go either.

“And you’re positive this is what you want? You won’t regret it?

You shook your head, “I won’t,” sniffling, you added, “I love you.”

He smiled, “Ditto.”

You laughed softly as he pressed his lips against yours, “I’m so fucking in love you, Y/n and we’ve made this so much more difficult than it needed to be and I’m sorry for that.”

“Let’s just forget it,” you told him, “Let’s just go to bed and move on.”

He released a content sigh, suddenly holding you by the waist and standing with you clinging to him, “We’ll talk in the morning, just to make sure. For now I’m taking my crybaby to bed and tomorrow we’re bringing Bam home together because he missed his mommy so much.”

“Mommy?” You said even as tears filled your eyes, still being a crybaby, “I missed you both so much.”

“We missed you too.”

::.

wow okay this was a rollercoaster but like a good one idk

it came out softer than I wanted but whatever

also banner change cause Calvin Klein 🤭

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dcxdpdabbles · 1 month

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I don’t know if you’ve done something like this before, but I always see Danny as the bigger brother and Damian as the younger brother. What if it was swapped and Damian was the older brother? I feel like there’s so many ways this could go.

Maybe Damian was a really good big brother and loved Danny, but it was seen as a weakness and Danny was taken away from him by Talia or Ra’s? And when he arrives at Gotham, he’s used to being the big brother not the baby brother, and doesn’t know how to react.

Or maybe Damian was a bad older brother and now that he’s a part of the batfam he can see how older brothers are meant to treat their siblings, and regrets his and Danny’s relationship?

Or maybe, he didn’t even know about Danny and feels he’s been replaced as the Demon’s heir. (Especially with Danny’s powers – I feel like Damian would just think that he’d been replaced by a better model)

I hope this makes sense. Idk I just feel there’s so many possibilities.

Ten years old: Damian

Damian bursts and slams the door of his room, fuming. It makes a nasty crack appear on the door frame, which he knows will get him another scold once Pennyworths spots it.

As if that servant has any right to speak to him, let alone reprimand him. Pennyworth seems to be under the impression that his impish wit is appropriate behavior when addressing the masters of the house.

Why does Father tolerate such behavior? Damian will never know. If it were his grandfather or Mother Pennyworth's entire bloodline, it would have been erased for even thinking about it.

Perhaps it is due to Father's modest way of living.

Damian had been shocked to find that his esteemed father, the one he had spent his entire life proving he was worthy to meet, lived in such a tiny manor. Damian was raised in castles upon private islands with an army of servants. He at first thought it was due to Father wanting to live without many earthly possessions, to appreciate the green of the world, and to live honorably.

He had no idea his Father simply couldn't afford the lifestyle Damian grew up in.

If that wasn't bad enough, Father seemed attached to his idiotic and weak adoptive brood. He acted as if they were blood children! What's worse is that he expected Damian to do the same. Then, when Damian treated them like blood siblings and took them as a real threat to his inheritance and tried to eliminate them, his father grew upset with him!

That is not how you treat your brother. Father had sneered at him once he threw Drake over the railing of the cave. He thought the man would have been proud he had been able to catch the smartest one off guard, had been clever enough to lure him to the edge.

Damian had been sent to his room, forbidden from training and going out on patrol while the rest of the brood had gone out. He had been punished like a child.

He throws himself onto his bed, muffling his outrage screams into his pillow—a terrible habit he only allowed himself to partake in when alone.

"Not how you treat a brother," he scoffs, his lips moving in his native tongue but his voice muffled against his pillowcase. Suddenly, a flash of bright blue eyes that used to stare up at him in trusted awe crosses his mind. His scowl deepens as he squishes the image, just as he had tramped on that foolish trust years ago.

Everyone knew that blood siblings were the only competition that needed to be eliminated. He may have allowed himself the passing fancy of caring for his younger brother back in his youth, but Damian had outgrown such attachments.

He had no time for them.

He was disadvantaged in the Wayne household since now he was the youngest and not the eldest. Damian would not allow himself to be dealt with as Dann- as his younger brother had.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fourteen years old: Damian

Damian took a deep breath, allowing Gotham's crisp, foggy air to rush into his lungs, bringing peace alongside it. He sat with his legs crossed and his arms resting comfortably upon his knees, palms facing the sun, on top of the large boulder his father had installed inside of Damian's meditational garden.

The meditational garden had been his eleventh birthday present.

Back then, Damian had still been getting used to living with the man, and it had taken only a tiny argument where Damian may have let it slip that even the gardens were wrong and he hated living here.

It hadn't meant anything to Damian, just a show of his lack of control over his emotions, but Father had taken it rather seriously. He felt he needed to help Damian find comfort in his new surroundings.

His father had rearranged the entire west garden to reflect the Chinese-inspired gardens where he used to sit with his mother. The first time Damian saw the revealed landscaped project, he felt his breath hitched at how accurate everything was.

He hadn't known tears had fallen from his eyes until Richard had wiped them off for him.

Damian often found himself retreating to his garden- for it was his. Father had allowed him to fence it off, keeping all his other Waynes Siblings out of Damian's space- whenever life got too complicated at the manor.

He would go. He found that all his life lessons on how to handle blood siblings, killing, and basically everything Damian was got him yelled at and regarded as a monster rather than a prodigy.

He went here when it became apparent that he was not making friends with others his age in or out of the Robin suit. When Drake, Todd, and Richard laugh, they reference stories or experiences foreign to Damian.

He came to this garden the day he realized that his mother loved him, but only under certain conditions. He no longer fit those conditions, so she threw him away.

He had been eleven, then twelve, then thirteen, yet the pain of her betrayal had never lessened. The directionlessness that haunted his ever-waking hour threatened to drown him most days, especially as he found it harder and harder to be content with his peers.

Damian may not fit in places, but he did here in his meditational garden. He felt himself pulled to the large, smooth boulder right by the pavilion, for its shape reminded him of long days past.

Damian had survived all the changes in his life because of this boulder. It was tall, smooth, and a good two heads taller than he, even after hitting a growth spurt on his thirteenth birthday.

He remembers hopping on three nearby rocks to reach the top, just as his younger brother used to do in Mother's garden. Had the boy also used the tallest boulder to escape the dread of his uselessness? Did he, too, used to sit in the same pose, breathing slowly and evenly, attempting to tame the unease that rested underneath his skin?

Had he gone back to Mother's garden if Damian had failed in removing him from the line of succession?

The brief reminder of the boy makes Damian stomach roll.

The reason why he chose this boulder for meditation didn't matter. Damian had made his choice all those years ago. He had not regretted his actions back then.

Now, he had to live with what he had done.

He takes another deep breath, trying to suppress the impish laughter of his younger brother, who used to smile at him like he hung the stars and the moon.

When he breathes out, the laughter turns to screams. The echo of mother's dark laughter and Father's weeps.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nineteen years old: Damian

Damian is hard at work within his WE office. He has been recently placed in charge of the Meta-Youth Outreach community, and he wants to show Tim and Father that he can be trusted with such an important role.

Every day, more Metas were popping up in younger generations. Unlike when Damian was a boy, the kids seemed unafraid to show off their powers. Their peers rallied around them loudly, demanding tolerance just as the generations before them demanded for the LGBT and POC communities.

Of course, not all of them, but enough that Damian felt there was real hope for future metas. It wasn't taboo to carry the gene anymore. That was leaps and bounds ahead when he had been running around as Robin.

He now worked under a new title, Crow, and had passed placed Robin in retirement. Now, the title and role sit in the cave, waiting for someone new to take up its call.

Jason joked that two years was far too long, and Father was due to arrive soon with another blue-eyed, dark-haired child ready to take on the world. Damian can hardly wait. He is ready to train and inspire the new Robin.

Maybe it will even be a meta child. Duke and Jarro were tired of being the only ones with powers in the family.

I might even find the next Robin on this list. Damian thinks with a chuckle, reading over the children's names his program would be housing this coming summer. He designed the camp to help teens learn to control their powers in a safe environment but also let them meet others like them and help them build meaningful relationships.

It was mostly kids who just unlocked their meta genes—most facing a traumatic event, but others waking up one day with the power no longer dormant.

He did not want the kids to feel like they were being sent to a lab to be studied. Damian knew something about being angry, confused about the change, and wanting to help them find their way.

He also had some experience with meta children. After all, his younger brother had been a meta. Damian's mother had convinced him that Danyal's powers made him a better heir and, thus, a bigger threat.

He had befriended his brother to lure him to his death, but he had taken time to help him learn of his ice powers, and for a while, he had made Danyal truly happy.

Damian could never make it up to him, could never wash away the blood on his hands, and even though he had told his family long ago, even though Father had wept, his father and brothers had forgiven him.

Damian is grateful, but he has not forgiven himself.

He hadn't been the one to land the killing blow on Danyal; it had been his mother who took the dark honor. Danyal hadn't looked like the perfect blend of his parents but rather a closer copy of his Father and she hated him for it.

Damian knew he played the most important role in her plan.

He wanted to dedicate his life to bettering the lives of children like Danyal, born with powers in a world that was cruel to his kind. He tried to help create a world where children like him could find resources for help and learn to run around and laugh without a care.

Damian signs on the last acceptance letter—one Danny Fenton, whose parents discovered he became a meta only a few months ago. He wants to come to camp to learn how to use his energy blasts, and he takes a deep breath.

Fifty new children for the Danyal Memorial Movement. Hopefully, he can help them all.

14 years old: Danny

Meanwhile, Danny's adoptive parents know he isn't a meta, as Danny had already told them about Phantom, but Maddie wants to surprise her boy with the meta camp anyway. She knows Danny still looks up to his big brother even after all these years.

The older one did help smuggle him out of the League of Assiasngs the day Ra ordered his death. Talia had loved her sons to the bitter end, and she called upon her two old college friends to raise her youngest in her place.

Jack couldn't agree more with her idea, knowing Danny had followed all the news about Damian. His boy hadn't been able to get closer to his dear elder brother, for doing so would have earned all the hard work his birth mother and elder brother did to get him to safety, but now that Ra and his army have perished, he thinks it's time to reunite the two.

In Talia's memory, they will ensure Danny and Damian meet again.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Dear Elder Brother's Mistakes #I tried the 3 + 1 story structure #Danny is Damian younger brother #Damian growing up after “killing” Danny #Danny thinks Damian was aware of the plan to help him escape #Talia died offscreen and never told them the truth

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cr4yolaas · 1 month

Text

for lovers who hesitate — tsukishima kei

synopsis: you find your old academic rival at your new job. every bone in your body says it’s fate, but everything else seems to be stopping you.

notes: puking cuz idk how i feel abt this one. i worked on this all thru out my trip and there was a lot of scrapping and rewriting and deleting the entire thing and rewriting it again, but i think this version is the best i could get it to. i <3 tsukishima kei

tags: fluff → angst → fluff, self-indulgent long fic, reader smokes, reader has trauma w/ their parents, mainly fem reader oriented but gn pronouns used, reader has self-destructive habits, themes of self-doubt from both, tsukishima is probably ooc, slow burn but not really, the most awkward love confession ever, mitski rdr x radiohead tsukishima (sorry), proofread but not really

tsukishima kei, for once, was at a loss for words.

there you stood beneath the bright green foliage, your face marred by the heatwaves of the sun and still all too familiar. he thought, for a moment, that he had the wrong person — you had taken on a rougher appearance, but his body, heart, and soul still recognized you. and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to you.

where had the last decade gone?

he coughed into his fist and walked past you, feigning ignorance to your arrival. when you followed after him with a keycard of your own, he found himself flustered.

no words were exchanged. he was playing the silent game with you, although he quietly hoped you would say something first.

and thus, he continued his shift as usual, with the added oddity of you shadowing him alongside his boss. he just couldn’t find the proper words to place on his tongue, nor the right gestures to show that he did want to talk, he just didn’t know how to.

but truthfully, what was one supposed to say in such a situation?

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

you believed that tsukishima hated you. and you wouldn’t blame him.

when you applied for this job, you had no expectations going into it, save for the hope of a higher salary and a lighter load than your previous job. what you had not anticipated was to stand face to face with the man you swore to hate in your youth.

a sliver of hope embedded itself within you; an overwhelming desire to perhaps refurbish a long lost relationship had taken root. but when he looked away so persistently and spoke not a word to you, that sliver dissipated into meaningless sand.

you continued your work as best as possible. it was a routine job — set up the displays for the day, guide whatever visitors came around, and leave in the afternoon. but when a certain blonde was sneaking glances at you and somehow always in your vicinity, it proved to be easier said than done.

you were too afraid to admit that his presence was refreshing. that, in the midst of the mundane and borderline unhealthy cycle you had formulated within the past handful of years following graduation, he had proven to be an odd factor; he stood as a disruptor to the routine. it was unwelcome. and even still, you craved it and more.

tsukishima kei had always been a constant in your life. you just didn’t expect him to reappear so soon, so suddenly.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it was a wednesday. an uneventful shift had come to an end. and just as you rid yourself of your work attire, a verbal invitation to a work party was sent your way.

the prospect of it was almost laughable. you were under the impression that the body of employees in a museum would be too reserved to host parties such as this, and you were quickly proven otherwise. thus, you accepted instantly.

as soon as you sat down, you regretted it just as quickly.

the moon had just barely begun to hang bright in the sky, and yet the table was already full of drunken coworkers that you hadn’t seen before. loud chatter filled the room, as if this table was the only one in the establishment. it was overbearing.

before you could take even a sip of your drink, you excused yourself under the pretense of needing to use the restroom. instead, you escaped outside, the gentle breeze reestablishing your senses and reeling you back in.

he was also there.

“oh,” he exclaimed softly. his eyes drifted away from yours, the warmth of his cheeks illuminated by the dim lamp above. oh was the first word he had ever spoken to you since graduation. you nearly laughed.

“hello,” you offered quietly, still testing the waters of conversation. your gaze fell to his fingers, slim and cherry-kissed and blemished, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “um… i didn’t expect to see you here…?”

tsukishima laughed lightly at your tone, as if to conceal his own anxieties. “likewise.” he watched as you pulled out a cigarette, the stick meeting your lips like it were more than natural. “did you come all this way to stalk me? or to follow me? after all those years of silence?” he teased, although a tinge of bitterness dripped from his words.

you shook your head aggressively. “no, no, i just…” you bit at your lip for a moment before continuing. “i’m taking a break from my actual job. i needed to wind down before i return.”

tsukishima hummed at your response, evidently oblivious to your lie. he looked at you for a moment too long, his eyes grazing over each alteration and unfamiliar feature. he could not help but admire you in this light — the soft strings of moonlight in contrast with the neon signs glaring against your complexion painted an image he hadn’t seen in ages.

for the first time in a long time, tsukishima kei thought you were unbearably pretty.

what he didn’t catch wind of was your nervous shuffles and your incessant skin-picking as you stood beside him. he didn’t realize that the cigarette was a distractor, a tool to pull you back in. and he failed to acknowledge the stutter in your voice as you spoke to him, for it hadn’t crossed his mind once that you thought he disliked you. not that it would matter to him, anyways.

it’s too soon, he thought to himself. this is stupid, he argued. i’d mess it up if i did anything reckless, he reasoned. all of which were excuses to fight against the overwhelming reality of his vulnerability.

you turned your head away, the extended silence whittling away at whatever confidence you once bore. tsukishima watched with framed eyes and a calculative stare, as if scrutinizing each and every action you took. unbeknownst to you, it was the exact opposite of that.

the soft call of your name from inside the bar pulled your attention away, much to his dismay. he witnessed your frame disappear through the doors, your eyes flitting towards his so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

this was foolish. tsukishima decided that much. but despite his claims of how stupid it was, he was getting reeled in faster than he could pull out.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

despite how hard he tried to display his ignorance, tsukishima was caring at his core.

silent glances exchanged between shifts morphed into small conversations shared whenever possible, as if the tension that previously barred you from interaction had dissipated into nothingness.

at some point, he dropped off a neatly wrapped bento box to your desk, the fabric littered with small dinosaur doodles.

“what is this?” you questioned, an amused lilt to your voice. you failed to notice the way pink rose to his ears, too enamored by the intricate arrangement of veggies and rice.

“don’t think anything of it. i just had leftover food and didn’t want to waste it.” the excuse slipped through his lips as if it were truth, earning him a soft smile from you.

there were butterflies whipping their wings against his ribcage so aggressively they might have bulged out from his skin.

eventually, you invited him out for a walk to the convenience store nearby during your break. and after that, it became routine. with an umbrella in one hand and his wallet in another, tsukishima walked with you down the street to buy onigiri and sandwiches and sometimes a sweet treat nearly every day, and that shared hour became his favorite part of work.

it was silly.

you sat beside him in the booth, your blistered hands carefully unwrapping the plastic from your meal. to your left sat a can of soda. and to your right, he was there.

“i need to stop living off of these,” you complained while motioning towards the onigiri in your grasp.

tsukishima shook his head. “what else would you eat?”

“your bento boxes,” you commented absentmindedly, your bites becoming larger as you neared the center of the rice. “i liked it, when you gave it to me that one time. you should make it again.”

he looked away, his chin resting atop the sweat of his palm. slowly, he turned towards you. “it’s just a bento box. surely you can handle making one.”

“oh, shut up!” you laughed while shoving him lightly. “the fact that you can even make one is shocking. all you have in that head is volleyball and shit.”

“our old test scores say otherwise,” he quipped. the shift in your eyes left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“whatever,” you muttered before leaving to throw out your trash. a pit grew in tsukishima’s stomach.

the blonde mustered the last of his resolve and made an offer. “i’ll teach you how to make one.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

of all the things tsukishima was bracing himself to see, a thinly-walled apartment that was less than well-maintained was the last thing he was prepared for.

you came out from your bedroom in clothes that were far more casual than his, your hair disheveled and your steps uneven. “sorry for the mess,” you uttered while bending down to pick up a hoodie sprawled across the floor, alongside a plastic bag that looked empty. he could only watch in awe.

he placed his bag down on your counter before arranging the ingredients, each brought from his own home. the clatter of your rushed cleaning echoed behind him. and when you finally stood beside the man, he could not contain his grin.

tsukishima decided to hold his tongue. instead, he opted to gently guide your hands through each step, the perspiration collecting on his skin a stark contrast from the rough texture of yours. he realized how little you knew, despite your insistence that you were more than knowledgeable in what you were doing — it showed in your unstable cutting and your hesitance when preparing the pot for boiling — but he refrained from commenting, in fear of disrupting the peace he’d constructed.

on the other hand, you were horrified.

to admit that you were inferior to him in yet another aspect uprooted the envy you had burrowed deep within yourself, and you were terrified of letting it overspill. he was so calm — at least, that was what it looked like — and you’d be damned to ruin it.

mitski’s soft hums reverberated in the background, your shaky chopping filling in the rest of the noise. it was almost satirical — the solemn melodies coated your bare bones and rendered you silent, a strong juxtaposition to the warmth exuded from the closeness of your skin to his. neither of you did anything to interfere, save for an earlier comment from the man questioning your music taste.

(“then what do you listen to?”

“… radiohead.”

“wow. as if that’s any better than mitski.”)

tsukishima found himself smiling at your pride in your creation. messy, yes. but within each ingredient lay a remnant of him, and that was enough.

a stream of small talk emerged into you sitting on the couch together. the music dimmed down to white noise and an old romcom that had only two star ratings played on your TV, the poor quality adding to the humor. your legs leaned against his beneath the blanket. and there was peace.

tsukishima knew what it was. he knew what this would blossom into, and he could only hope and pray he didn’t mess it up in some way. your quiet yet crude commentary disappeared into the tender air, and he remained silent, as if absorbing each syllable that fell from your lips.

it was so quiet, and so vulnerable, and so delicate that he felt like he was going to explode.

he didn’t question it when your head fell onto his shoulder. he didn’t make fun of you when your colorful reviews on each scene turned into sleepy ramblings. and he didn’t say a word when you dozed off against him, your whole body against his.

instead, he looked around. he took note of the dust collecting on the cabinets, the water marks on the windows, the clothes and food and plastic scattered all over your living room, the dead plant on the shelf, and the half-empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. it was all a far, far cry from the cleanliness and stability of his own home, and yet, he thought to himself, this is so like them. and he thought, i could live in here, if it were with them. and again, he thought, this could be a home.

tsukishima kei was of the belief that he did not have a type. but as he observed your house and reflected on its singular (?) inhabitant, he figured that this was his type. his type was your quiet laughs and your sharp remarks and your wrinkled clothes and the scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to you. his type was you.

he exchanged one last glance to your sleeping figure before getting up and leaving you to rest. not without wrapping up your lunch for tomorrow, and not without a small smile on his lips.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

hell came to you on a thursday morning — the day following whatever had happened between you and tsukishima. you hadn’t put on your uniform just yet, and your belongings sat outside of your locker.

your boss scrambled into the office, his brows furrowed and his larger hands closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. the sweat that collected between his wrinkles shined beneath the dim lights. his breaths were haggard and rushed and shallow.

for the first time in a long time, you felt fear.

“there’s people who want to talk to you outside,” he whispered. “they want to talk to you now.”

there was no one else in the building. no one other than you, your boss, and the people who were so adamant on speaking to you.

so why was it so loud as soon as you stepped out?

the eyes of your mother came into your vision first. then, the stare of your father. and finally, their faces blended into one large picture that made sense.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

withered hands slammed against the table. you watched the papers and the dinosaur trinkets rattle. “that’s no way to speak to your parents.” you could feel it — the air seeping out of your lungs, depriving you of breath; the trembling in your palms; the cloudiness in your peripherals. you could hear them, but you couldn’t hear them. at some point, their vocabulary was solely financial, and at another point, it grew cruel and violent, akin to wild dogs gnawing away at your skin. you didn’t know where it was going. the hastened footsteps of an unidentifiable coworker neared, and the shaky breaths of your boss behind the door grew louder and louder.

you needed to leave.

your feet led you away before your mind could. the yelling softened, until finally, the only sound was the chirp of birds and the whirring of cars.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t see you for a week. he didn’t hear any mention of your name, didn’t find your face in a crowd, didn’t feel the vibrations of your voice against his chest. you had disappeared, and no one told him why. it wasn’t until your name didn’t show up on the schedule that something clicked.

it was cruel. you were cruel, he decided.

tadashi sat on the couch while his roommate leaned against the counter. the hum of the air conditioning blinded the blonde’s senses.

“i don’t fucking know what i did,” tsukishima groaned into his palms for the twentieth time that night. “they just left. they quit and i can’t even contact them because i was stupid enough to not ask for their number or email or anything. i don’t- i don’t fucking know, ‘dashi, i don’t.”

“i’m sure they had some good reason,” his friend attempted. “i don’t think they’d do that if it weren’t within some sensible limit. it was fucked, yeah, but… i don’t know. i think they’ll come back when the time is right.”

it was tiring. it was tiring to be left alone not just once, but twice. and it was tiring to have it hurt so much more the second time.

tsukishima ran a hand through his hair. “it��s so stupid.” another groan spilled from his tongue. “i’m so fucking tired of this.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

this was just about the fourth job you had applied for.

the museum could no longer be a part of your routine — instead, it morphed into loud nights and bustling men and the clinking of glass; it emerged from quiet and gentle tours around dinosaur exhibits to noisy cheers and yelling and the more-than-occasional bottle thrown at your head; it turned into pure, devastating loneliness.

it was compact. it was suffocating. it was overwhelming. it was everything the museum was not. but you could not return there, no matter how much you ached for it.

you were avoiding him. avoiding everyone.

a gentle nudge from a blurred face reminded you that your shift was over for the night, coupled with an apology for the gash that formed on your head from another drunken man who had no outlet for his anger other than you. with heavy steps, you trudged back home, thankful for the week’s pay and the free food and drinks.

it was quiet.

the lights were off, and the LED numbers on the microwave read way past midnight. a dull pounding resided in your chest.

just the other day, it was so vibrant. you were alive, and so was he, and it was going well. but it was wrong. you realized that much when your parents came to remind you, and you realized it again as you quit the same day.

the thumping in your chest spread to your head, and your back met the wall with a force that was sure to upset your neighbors. carefully, daintily, you slid down, your body reaching the floor gently.

you missed him. but it was wrong.

that night, for the first time in a long while, you cried.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tucked away in a small alley in sendai resided an establishment with only three tables and a bar that was worn down from years of use. and behind it, tsukishima found you.

he was only out for a walk. at least, that was what it was until his feet brought him elsewhere and he stood face-to-face with the most suspicious of buildings. and when he saw you, it felt as if all the anger and guilt and distress that riddled his bones and flesh and blood withered away, as if it hadn’t coalesced within his veins over the past month.

before you could hide, his hand snaked around your wrist, his touch light yet desperate. “can we talk?”

talking entailed bringing him back to your apartment. and by extension, it included him witnessing your house somehow being worse than before.

tsukishima found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and you found yourself sprawled across said couch. he picked at the blisters on his fingers before quietly asking, “why did you do that?”

he could hear your nervous habits — the shifting, the fidgeting, the harsh lip biting. “i don’t know.”

“bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

you turned over onto your side to face his back. “my parents found me,” you explained meekly. improper guidance leads to destructive tendencies. tsukishima kei, in his high school years, was deemed your only obstacle to complete succession — always a few points ahead, a few questions ahead, a few steps ahead — and your poor influence from youth only fueled such a fire. and so, you felt that it was reasonable to loathe him. your judgement was clouded beyond repair.

tsukishima listened. he listened to every detail, every portion of your retelling of each segment of your childhood, and your teen years, and your silly hatred for him. he listened to you talk about what you did after graduation — how you got into a good university but dropped out and hopped between a multitude of jobs (thus proving your claim at the work party to be a lie), and how you were constantly escaping from both the stress and your parents.

he listened so intently that it was overbearing. you didn’t tell him that. instead, you talked and talked and talked until you sculpted him into someone who knew your entire life, as if he were there from the beginning.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered through stubborn tears. you hated it — how exposing it was, how you had practically dumped everything onto him in one go, how you couldn’t help but beg for forgiveness in the end. most of all, you hated how easily he gave you his forgiveness.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t leave your house at all that week. you found no energy to complain.

in the morning, you’d find him cleaning whatever disaster you left behind, whether it was the pile of laundry on your bed or the collection of full trash bags next to the front door or the food (or rather, the lack thereof) in your fridge. he was silent all the while, and that hurt more than any berating he could have done.

“why are you still here?” you asked him one night. you had finally moved from the couch to the bed, and tsukishima couldn’t be any prouder. (any movement at all was enough to be proud of, he felt). “you shouldn’t want to be here.”

you watched him heave a heavy breath as his shoulders drooped. “because i want you,” he admitted, his voice unmistakably tender and soft and ridden with a youthfulness that he unearthed from deep within himself. “i want to be with you and i want you to be happy and i just want us to be happy together, for once.”

he spoke of his affections so fluently, as if he were born to share them with you. and still, every bone in your body was whispering otherwise.

even so, tsukishima promised that he would be willing to wait. even if it meant watching you down an unreasonable amount of beer at an unreasonable hour.

he promised to sit through it all with you, even if it meant listening to you call his name out in long, drawn-out tones. even if it meant hearing you confess your long-harbored affection for him. even if it meant hearing you say that you never told him, not even in high school, because you felt like you didn’t deserve to tell him.

tsukishima didn’t understand.

he failed to comprehend how you didn’t feel deserving, when his whole body, mind, and soul was bound to you; when, in the depths of the night, he’d burn pink in the night at the mere thought of you; when he was so uncharacteristically smitten for you. he didn’t get it. he didn’t think he ever would.

not that he said anything about it — at least, not in that moment. not when you were inexplicably drunk, to the point where you couldn’t move a limb without tumbling over.

but, without a doubt, he went to bed with a stupid grin and a berry-kissed face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it took another couple of weeks before tsukishima would see you at work again. you entered through the doors as if you never left, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or neutral or anything else, because his guts only knew tenderness with you at that point — all the fake ignorance and stubbornness and denial had been cast aside.

you basked in a shared silence in the locker room, until you finally admitted that you were, in fact, healing. to some degree, at least. you asked him to come over again under the pretense of seeing how clean your house was. you detailed every segment of your life, from when he last saw you to your entrance into the museum, including how you made yourself breakfast for the first time in forever and how you drank a cup of water almost every day. and he was so overwhelmingly proud, so much so that it spilled over and he couldn’t contain himself.

“i love you,” he blurted out, his rushed admission cutting off your rambling. you whipped your head towards him, but he was looking everywhere except for you.

“what?” you exclaimed.

“i said i love you. i’m in love with you. what don’t you get?”

your jaw hung open, just like that of a fish. “wait- what the fuck?” much to his amusement, you jumped up and began pacing around the room. “i like- well, i guess, love,” you paused, the vocabulary uncomfortable on your teeth. “you too, but like- what the fuck? who told you that?”

“you did.”

“what?”

tsukishima kei was laughing. he was laughing at you, and yet, you weren’t as angry as you expected to be. he was laughing, and all you could do was relish in the noise.

“so,” he hummed delightfully, an amused smirk on his lips. “am i still coming over?”

you (begrudgingly) agreed. again, he laughed — this time, at the heat rising to your face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

through the cracks between your blinds, silk strands of sunlight crawled through, a soft reminder of the morning. beside you, a mountain of warmth lay, with his glasses still on his face and his hoodie misshapen on his body.

tsukishima was always the first to rise. he would wait for your eyes to flit open gently before getting up and making breakfast, despite your protests that your food was probably better than his. he never listened.

the splatter of coffee into your cup served as the only noise in the room, save for the dull noise of the morning news on the TV and the cars passing by outside the window. you watched intently as the blonde set up the table, his lip drawn in a tight line but his eyes shimmering with contentment. “eat up,” he spoke quietly as he took a seat in front of you.

tsukishima kei was, by no means, a cruel person. he was just a little rough on the edges and occasionally didn’t quite know how to say things without being mean. but as he sat with you, eating breakfast made by him in your shared apartment; as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead before leaving to change, ignoring your groans about the remnants of syrup on his lips; as he drove you to work as the sun settled in the sky; you realized he was simply a man in love.

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simpjaes · 2 months

Note

hi i just stalked the crap our of your page and HOLY CRAPTHIS IS MY NEW GUILTY PLEASURE

can i req seeing how enha hyung line would take care of you after railing you soooooo hard????

hyung line + aftercare after very intense sex

warning: uh....painful sex, fainting, dissociation, anal, implied squirting, degradation, idk just a lot of intense sex stuff ig

note: it's a lil messy, i've been running errands all day and am using this to push myself back into the writing brain :D

★ heeseung:

what i wanna say is that depending on the circumstances, he'd probably throw a towel at your head and walk away to shower alone but we all know heeseung is so much more than a careless fuck boy for the most part. in my opinion, if he's got you where he wants you and he's allowed to fuck you as hard as he can, rendering you faint, dizzy, and almost dissociated, he either has some sort of feelings for you, you're someone else's girlfriend and he wants you to like him more, or you're already in a committed relationship lmfao

and you know, you thought that after he managed to pull three orgasms out of you, fucked all three of your holes, and managed to get you all twisted up for him to cum in places he definitely isn't supposed to, you really thought he was done.

but then he chuckles, taking one look at you once his own mind clears from his orgasm and it's like...how could he not just continue to fuck you? you look so pretty already fucked open, lying there with tears in your eyes and shaking?

you'd hear something akin to "you're gonna take a bit more, open those eyes back up for me," and "i can tell you can take it, just keep your eyes on me."

it's kind of pathetic, actually, how you really do just lay there and take it until he says you're finished.

so, yeah, when you're with someone like heeseung, there's always a thought in your head about if he'll even take care of you at all after the fact. at least, the thought is there before he breaks your brain. even if every time before this where he's needed to bring you back, he has without question and with a voice from him that is always so rare to hear.

just kinda hard to imagine someone who fucks you near to the brink of passing out, sometimes actually passing out, finding it within themselves to take care of you as deeply as they fuck you, yknow?

but, time and time again he has to remind you that he's not only capable but willing to make sure you're well taken care of. after all, you do your part in taking it, so he'll do his part in giving you what you need too. only after scooping half the mess with his fingers and feeding it to you, of course.

after that though? he's very much hauling you off for a warm shower and tenderly washing you. very very gentle with his hands, knowing how sensitive your holes are. he'd compliment you, he'd praise you for letting him absolutely destroy that ass, and ultimately, lay you to sleep next to him regardless of what the relationship status is, making sure you're well aware that he's not just using you for pleasure. he's very much appreciative of what you bring to his bedroom, and there's no reason to pretend he isn't.

☆ jay:

i like to think that jay would have you in fucking pain and barely able to stand on your own two feet by the time he allows you to close your legs with deep groans as you try to catch your breath.

honestly, the stamina this man has and actively spends on you could render anyone immobile for at least a week with the way he snaps his hips and holds you down from wiggling away in sensitivity. and man, the things he'd fucking say to you through it. so degrading, so controlling and dismissive, entirely fucking insulting. you're shocked time and time again that even while knowing it's just sex talk, it still hurts your feelings every single time.

then again, he's aware of that. but you're so goddamn pretty when you're crying and moaning, it drives him insane to know you endure it for his pleasure.

you're soaked by the time it's over and done with, he's soaked, and honestly the swollen marks against your ass still burn intensely when he rolls you over on your belly to get a good look at his work.

always with a breathy "aw, baby, i really fucked you up this time, huh?" or a little "took it so well, you still can't even focus your eyes on me, can you?" before rubbing any and every pained mark he left on you.

after his own brain clears of the sex-fog, he'd wrap you up, really warm and tightly in his arms as if his hug would wipe away any of the spit and cum drying between your bodies, as if it could mask all of those insults he flung at you. still, he'd be fluttering hundreds of kisses against your neck and ears, whispering little compliments about how pretty you are when you're barely able to keep your eyes open, about how much he adores you, and how often he wishes you'd believe these words over the silly orgasm-fueled insults.

still whispering, throughout the entire session of his care after the fact. always loving that you let him harm you as long as he's healing you just as good. and he does, truly, with the back rubs and the showers, tons upon tons of sweet kisses. constant praise. he'd put your lotion on you and rub it in thoughtfully, occasionally some medicated cream if his fingernails dug in a little too deep.

always always always holds you against his chest when you drift off to sleep, making sure any pain in your body feels more like love than anything else, and promising time and time again that he'll make sure you always fall asleep knowing he loves you, and that he doesn't at all think you're a fuck-doll, that he wouldn't let his friends have their turn way you.

(i am madly in love with him, pls look away and stop thinking of him now thank u)

★sunghoon:

ah, sunghoon. yeah. sunghoon. this man would leave you a fucking mess of tears and drool, edging you for hours. hell, he edges you for fucking days just because he can. not at all because you've been bad, or a brat, or have managed to make him jealous.

this is one of those days. you could tell he came home with that look in his eye, grabbing your face and practically forcing you to lift on your toes just so he could whisper the planned torture against your tongue.

so, after the second day with you whining, fucking begging to be released from your prison of sensitivity and lust, maybe he gives it to you. maybe he wakes you up from a deep and much needed sleep with fingers harshly pinching your clit.

ah, the pain. that alone was enough to make you cum, and you did. unfortunately, he didn't like that very much so your new torture was to get off as many times as he expected you to.

after about, what, the seventh orgasm? you stopped counting, it was closer to eleven in the afternoon and he'd been giving it to you for hours, all over that little mishap.

an eight orgasm knocked your ass out, exhausted, spread out, fucked senseless. you could barely hold your head up, but he does it for you. first by your hair, but noting the look in your eye indicating that he really needs to stop by this point.

and sunghoon is the type that would stop at that point. something in his brain clicking and forcing him back into that perfect boyfriend persona, where the only thing in the world he wants to do is make you happy.

and he knows it's not that you're not happy right now, it's mostly just the fact that he thinks he broke you're brain and you forgot how to feel anything other than his cock ramming inside of you.

so, he'd remind you time and time again. how his hands can do so much more than choke you, and how his lips can be sweet and less bruising against your temple when you really need it. you'd feel entirely loved when he's taking care of the mess he caused. both physically and mentally for you. needing to bring you back to reality with soft touches and tight holds.

it worked every time, because by the next morning, you'd just be moaning and groaning about how if he hadn't of make you breakfast in bed, you may have very well slashed his tires for the amount of suffering he put you through.

☆ jake:

bro is taking care of you not only after sex, but the entire time during sex. there's not a single moment where he's intentionally trying to hurt you, or forcing you to take more than you can handle.

it just....kind of happens on nights like these. where his hands are clinging, and his throat is begging, and your body can't say no. with his pretty puppy dog eyes asking if he can try anal, with his fingers slamming too deep, with his grip on you so tight you know it'll bruise, with his ability to knock the breath out of you and not give it back until you're nearly blue in the face.

yeah, most of the intense shit is accidental, but god is he taking care of you. always apologizing but continuing, always promising to make it up to you, always feeding into your ego more than his own, reminding you that the pain his body lends only comes from the immense amount of need he has to practically crawl inside of you and live there forever.

it's kind of amazing actually, that someone who starts so gentle can also end with blood in his mouth from bitten lips and swelling bruises all over your body.

he tends to you hand and foot. carrying you where ever you need to go even if just to your closet three feet from the bed, dresses you, undresses you, fixes your hair, does your skin care, all while kissing the bruises and ignoring the fact that he knows he'll never have enough of you, and you're probably always gonna be in pain when he loses his control like that.

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #heeseung smut #jake smut #jay smut #sunghoon smut #jaeyun smut #jongseong smut #hardthots

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quirklessidiot · 6 months

Text

title: Y/N and her boys [sneak peek] pairing : Upper classman/popular kid!Gojo Satoru x F!reader, Exchange student!Eren Jaeger x F!reader, MMA Fighter/Celebrity!Ryomen Sukuna x F!reader, Childhood Bestfriend!Aki Hayakawa x F!reader, Varsity football player!Itoshi Rin x F!reader (use of she/her pronouns) Genre: Alternate Universe-University setting, romance, fluff, angst (if you squint), slice of life, drama, all cliche romance genres unite! (Based on the Manhwa, Bunny and her Boys)

Summary: Y/N’s denied the existence of pretty boys and god forbid she’d ever end up dating one yet with one horrid break-up, she decides that relationships aren’t just meant for someone stupid like her but the problem is — five of them suddenly appear and god, why does it seem like they can’t get enough of her?

General warning for the story: mild sexual content, cliche tropes (help), mahito is his own warning, minor character death, mentions of depression, a lot of second-hand embarrassment from y/n's part (shes not a cool girl, SHE IS A BUBBLING MESS AND THATS OK <33), insecurities, bullying, and mentions of cheating Notes: english isn't my first language! (dont judge me) this multi-chaptered story will probably be 20-30 chapters (idk) in ao3. you can totally tell this story is rooted from self-indulgence LMFAO. Im not sure if i should cross post it but im leaning towards ao3 more either ways, can't wait to release this on friday!

also can u guess who she ends up with :P rb’s are appreciated yay FULL VERSION IS RIGHT HERE!

SNEAK PEAK

“Maybe…Maybe we should break up.”

There's another round of silence between you two, and you know that you can’t exactly take it back anymore since you had said it loud and clear, “Woah, woah, I told you I wasn’t with Misa.” his voice turns louder, and the background noises are good as gone as if he had left the noisy place, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you-”

“I said,” you try to control the stammering of your voice, trying to avoid the stares of the people who cast odd glances, “We’re done. I don’t want to see or hear from you again.” and before he could let another excuse out of his mouth, you end the call. It is only now that you notice how your legs have been quivering and your mouth has gone dry, seemingly like a pup who had just been born and trying to walk. You lose your footing and sit down on the dirty pavement.

No tears were shed at that very moment, probably because you were only stupefied, and it was written clearly on your face that this wouldn’t be something you’d recover anytime soon. Heck, you couldn’t even grasp the idea entirely that someone you’ve been friends with for years and, eventually, a lover would do that to you.

Was it as easy as a snap of a finger?

“Miss? Miss?” someone calls out, but it only bounces back to him like an echo in a cave. You remain still, eyes blinking rapidly while the rest of your face is slack. Everyone around you continued to move, but you remained there like a decorated statue.

“Miss? Christ, you’re about to be–” the husky voice also stops, and it’s only now that you look up to find a man. He seems stocky but, simultaneously, smaller, as if he didn’t want to come off as intimidating when he maintained eye-to-eye contact.

He is incongruous with everyone who walks by since he desperately tries to hide his features with a baseball cap and a dark face mark. The only thing you can see are strands of his bleached hair, his eyes that resemble the sunshine that peeked through the glasses of whiskey, and the swirls of ink becoming visible underneath his coat when he stretches out his arm.

If this were any other day, you’d run in the opposite direction because he looked like an unscrupulous loan shark, but your body remains in a state of unknown fatigue that you just wanted to stay still.

You watch as his face softens, the lines on his forehead somewhat disappearing when he watches the color bleed from your face. “...Alright…” he stops, squinting as he crouches to your level. His thick thighs encompass the rough expanse of his straight jeans, and you wondered if he had been an athlete or something. Aside from his built, his presence was rather invigorating, “oh…” he continues, “Sorry, you-uh…” The confidence he had to throw you off is gone like the evening dust as he motions his index finger up and down his face.

At that moment, you feel something wet running down your cheek. It seemed like the waterworks were late.

You didn’t want to be a pity party in front of anyone, and you’d expect there to be only bystanders, not ‘good samaritans’.

You sniffled, violently wiping the tears away as you felt your ribs were too tight when you took one long breath, “I’m fine…” you respond monotonously.

Who were you even fooling?

“Right…” you carefully watch him take out a handkerchief, “Fine, sitting on a dirty pavement near my car doesn’t make you look fine, Miss.” he prodded.

“Well, what do you care, anyways?” you tried to keep your voice from cracking, but the stranger showed no qualms of anxiety or fear, nor did he seem mad at your snappy attitude. The blue handkerchief is laid on his palm, waiting for you to take it, yet you exhibit no signs of accepting his kindness. Instead of forcing you through like the usual status quo, he returns it to his pockets.

The odd man.

“Well, for one, I don’t want to run your feet over since I’m parked over here,” he thumbs towards the black jeep that’s parked in front of you, “And my mom didn’t raise me to leave a girl sitting alone, crying her eyes out…”

“Well, did your mom tell you to mind your own business, as well?” your body remains heavy and distant from the stranger, not minding if it came off as rude, but you’ve always been wary of them, especially the ones who claimed to be nice. You wouldn’t be swayed even if you were in a vulnerable place.

He sucks in a deep breath, quite surprised that you had the energy to exchange a vehement response to him. Weren’t you just about to bawl your eyes out?

“Well, you honestly looked like you deserve some niceness after whatever happened.” he conceded, remaining suspiciously friendly, “Piece of advice, though, if it’s a guy, he’s not worth it.”

“I-what makes you think it’s a guy?” there it goes again, the unknown tightening of your throat and the way the gummy lids on your eyes would heat up as if a pipe of water was about to burst and flood the segways any moment.

“It’s always an asshole who doesn’t seem to know how to treat a woman right.” he lamely explains, and slowly but hesitantly, as if he was waiting for you to move away, he places one hand on top of your hand.

Unlike a while ago, you weren’t as hostile, but you were confused about why the stranger suddenly did this and didn’t seem to tilt away like you usually would, “So go home tonight, Miss. Cry it out and wake up tomorrow for yourself. You’ll be fine.”

You don’t even see his entire face, but the way he gently caresses your hair as if you were a long-time friend had your lips quivering, and without even realizing it, your torso bends forward. You bury your face in your arms, finding solace in your makeshift fetal position.

The stranger says nothing more; honestly, you didn’t even mind. His newfound presence is comforting.

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #aot x reader #eren x reader #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader #csm imagines #aki hayakawa x reader #aot imagines #guess who the guy is lmfao #📝📝.y/n and her boys

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anashins · 17 days

Note

So this just happened to me but I found out my bf doesn’t have my contacts saved with any kind of emoji or cute nickname. Maybe a suggestion for a Drabble? Feel like a child writing this but idk how this has me so bummed and sad

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: fluff, romance

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: As you find out that Jaehyun doesn't have your contact saved on his phone under a cute nick name, you start comparing your relationship to others. After all, that must mean you're not special to him - right?

A/N: I hope everything went well for you, dear! My bf always says, “I don’t know, you have to tell me!” - so just tell him! Because men are simple but their partners' feelings matter to them, even if they seem childish to you 💞

“Under which name did your boyfriend save you on his phone? You know that?”

You looked at your best friend who tilted her head as though in deep thoughts. For a moment, you hoped she wouldn’t know, wouldn’t care, and that you were overdramatic after all like you had feared all along, but almost instantly, she replied,

“When we started dating, he had me saved as ‘my girl’ without any kind of emoji. When we officially decided to get together, he saved my contact as ‘baby’ with a pink heart, and it remained like this until now.”

Your best friend wasn’t the first one who you had asked and whose answer was almost identical to your other taken friends you had questioned about this topic: Their boyfriends all had them saved on their phones with either a cute nickname, some meaningful emoji or both.

Your own boyfriend had you saved on his phone under your government name.

You usually never looked at his screen as there were always so many things going on with different people from his group, from his management and from people in the industry in general, so it was always buzzing anyway.

But when a week ago you had been lying next to him, sending him pictures from the activity you had done together shortly before, your name popped up in his chat history.

Your full name.

You had been bummed, and he had happily continued on as if he hadn’t minded you seeing this, as if this was the most normal thing in the world and didn’t make you feel less special among all his other contacts - and there were a lot for an idol.

After all, even when you didn’t have as many connections as him, you had your boyfriend saved as,

‘Yuno-ya’ with a pink heart.

It wasn’t the most romantic nickname as you weren’t calling each other pet names at all, but still cute and emphasized his contact to filter his name out of all other people.

Now, hearing all the other boyfriends having your female friends saved as something special, it made you feel even sadder as if the entire thing hadn’t been bothering you for a week already.

“Under which name has your boyfriend your contact saved on his phone?” your best friend questioned back.

You sighed out loud.

“I don’t like it when you make that face,” Jaehyun immediately said to you instead of a greeting when you came over to his house later that day. “And you have randomly started making it the last time we met. I’ve been worrying all week, but on the phone you always say everything is fine when it’s clearly not. Tell me now, did I do something wrong?”

You bit into your bottom lip. You felt that now was the chance, now or never before it would eat you up from the inside and you would never be able to let go of it. “Under which name do you have me saved on your phone?”

Jaehyun widened his eyes, completely blindsided by this unexpected silly question, apparently. “Pardon?”

“My contact,” you described it better for him. “Under which name can you find me in your contacts?”

He confusedly proceeded to speak out your full government name.

“Exactly!” you called him out.

“I don’t understand.”

“You have me saved in your contacts under my full name!”

“Well… isn’t that your full name? Under what name should I save you then? Should I make one up or…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on! What’s the problem here?”

You folded your arms in front of your chest. The longer you went on to explain this situation to a very oblivious Jaehyun, the sillier you started to feel. Were you exaggerating? But none of your friends had said so and claimed your feelings were valid.

Suddenly, your voice was very low when you poured out your feelings to him as there was no turning back anymore. “My friend’s boyfriends have them all saved on their phones under some cute nickname. Or with a cute emoji at least. I also have you saved as Yuno-ya with a heart. It makes the other person feel special and makes the contact stand out from everyone else. It gives you a little surge of excitement whenever that person’s name pops up. As you have me saved with my full government name… it makes me think if you see me as everyone else and I’m not that special to you.”

Your breakout followed a few moments of silence in which you kept your gaze locked to the ground as you were now kind of too embarrassed to face Jaehyun. Hearing these words… you felt so childish.

The pat you felt on the top of your head only shortly later convinced you of the opposite though. When you lifted your head, Jaehyun wasn’t laughing and he didn’t look like he wanted to make fun of you or didn’t understand your feelings at all.

“I’m sorry,” he said with genuine concern. “I… didn’t know. I have everyone saved on my phone with their full government name as there are just so many people that it really gives me a hard time to separate them all or even remember who they are. Even the members aren’t an exception, only my parents. It was just a habit I followed when we exchanged contacts and I was never bothered enough to change it. If I had known it was this important to you, I would have done it right away.”

Was it really this simple? Some men like your boyfriend just didn’t know, were totally unaware of such things and you simply needed to tell them to change whatever bothered you, no matter how silly and childish it might sound?

He was a perfect partner for you and you couldn’t believe you let such a futile thing question his feelings for an entire week.

Jaehyun smiled at you and pulled out his phone. “Don’t ever think again that you’re not special to me and I never feel excitement rushing through me whenever your name pops up on my phone. Your chat is pinned at the very top and your number saved as favorites. Among everyone I regularly keep in contact with, even if I don’t answer for hours, I always answer you first. I always recognize your picture, no matter how many times you change it. Upon first glance, I always recognize it’s you. My beautiful girl.”

He gave you a kiss on the cheek and then proceeded to type something into his phone with a wide grin, obviously changing your name name.

“What did you save my contact under now?” you asked and wanted to catch a glimpse, but Jaehyun quickly pulled his phone away from you.

“Text me now and you’ll see.”

#jaehyun #jeong jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun x you #jaehyun x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x you #nct x reader #nct 127 x you #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 scenarios #requests

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deancasbisexual · 8 days

Text

Jensen Ackles. I love him. I think he's very talented, beautiful, and he seems sweet. Big fan of the guy. I want him to achieve great things...with that being said, that man confuses the hell out of me. Specifically, his stance on Destiel. I truly can't tell if he is for or against it....or neutral? Idk he's been sending mixed signals.

I mean sure he got on stage years ago and said things like "Destiel doesn't exist" and "I didn't play Dean that way." But if that is really what he thinks, then why has he said and done things off stage that contradict that? Hell, why has he said pro Destiel things ON STAGE within the past year or so if he doesn't like it?

Why did he happily sign scandalous Destiel fanart? Why did he hype up bi Dean to fans in meet and greets and signings? Why are there fan stories about how happy and on board he is when they ask to recreate Destiel moments for their photo ops? Why did Misha say him and Jensen were both aware of how Dean and Cas' relationship was written? Why did he (allegedly) write a Destiel song? Why did he get absolutely GIDDY over the handprint callback and how Destiel fans would react to it? Why does he keep bringing up wanting to see a Destiel reunion where they talk about Cas' very romantic confession? Why did he say Dean should have told Cas he loved him too if he knew that scene was romantic? Why did he say before S15 that Dean's storyline with Cas (the one where it is confirmed Cas is IN LOVE with Dean) was the one he was most excited to tackle? Why did he play Dean as flustered and curious when Aaron hit on him (as confirmed by some writers)? Why all the Destiel jokes with Misha and Jared over the years? Why did he want the confession scene recorded on his phone in case it was severely edited or even excluded from the episode? Do I need to keep going?

Like he isn't homophobic and he DEFINITELY doesn't have any issues playing queer characters (considering he has before) so...what is his deal with Destiel? Is it a network censorship thing? Did he just genuinely believe it would never happen until it did? Were him and Misha doing a sort of good cop bad cop joke on the fans? Was HE just joking the entire time and pretended to not like it? Did he black out when filming so he genuinely didn't see how gay Destiel was until he rewatched the show after it was over or something? Like I need answers. Jensen Ackles LET ME INTO YOUR BRAIN.

#destiel #deancas #jensen ackles #spn #supernatural

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its-time-to-write · 9 months

Note

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well and that you had a wonderful weekend:) My request (if you can) is short and sweet: the first time meeting Jamie’s mum! Maybe a heart to heart between the two women (you loved him first and because of that it is my honor to love him for the rest of my life typa deal) IDK anyway have fun with it and thank you!!!

Done! I love Georgie so much. Like, she gives off total mom vibes in the way where she seems like she’d try to be the sunlight in everyone’s day, you know?

there is happiness

You’re not taking a bus to fucking Manchester. Shit, you’ll take the train or a cab or maybe even walk before you get on a bus for upward of four hours with the Richmond Greyhounds.

So why are you packing things into a duffel bag to do just that? It probably has something to do with the man sitting on the floor, debating which pants to pack.

“Do you think I should take the Calvins?” he asks, pretending not to notice the murderous glare you shoot at him.

“Don’t know why it matters,” you reply carelessly. “No one’s going to be seeing them anyway.”

Jamie gets up and slides his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Aw, don’t be so hard yourself babe,” he says. “You’re not no one.”

“You know what I mean,” you say, hugging his arms closer. “I’ll have you know I am very, very upset at you.”

You can feel his smirk against your neck. “Right, yeah, if upset is a new aneurism.”

“Euphemism,” you correct. “Wait. Shit. Or is it aneurism? Hey Siri, what’s the difference between a euphemism and an aneurism?”

Siri responds from your phone.

You say, “Ah yes, an aneurism is what I’m going to have on that fucking bus ride on the way to meet your mum for the first time.”

Jamie flops backward onto the pile of clothes on the bed. “Babe, I don’t know why you’re so stressed out. It’s just my mum. She don’t bite.”

“Ok, sure. Yeah. I’ll calm down if you tell me exactly how many people you’ve brought home to meet her since making it to the Premier League. Actually, you know what? I’ll make it easier for you. You can even include platonic relationships.”

Jamie’s silent.

“E-fucking-xactly. It’s just been Roy and Keeley. I wasn’t even this stressed when I met Ted because he likes everyone, but this is your mum. What if she hates me? It’s scary.”

“It’s not scary,” Jamie laughs. “She’s gonna love you.” You’re standing in between his legs now and he pulls you on top of him. “You’ll be fine, love, I promise.”

—

The bus ride was as expected. Smelly, loud, and filled with laughter. The team is still getting in the swing of things without Ted, but they seem to be picking up where he left off.

You’re not really tired, especially since it’s mid-morning, but you’re pressed against Jamie’s side and he’s warm as always, so you find yourself drifting off.

—

The boys check into their hotel. You’re not staying with Jamie because the boys have all sorts of team-building things going on and Jamie’s mum insisted that she needs girl time.

You squeeze Jamie’s hand the entire way over to his mum and Simon’s place and he doesn’t even make any jokes about it, just squeezes back.

Your heart rate shoots up a million times when Jamie knocks, then slows down about 10% when Georgie swings open the door and grabs you in a hug, barely giving Jamie any notice.

“What the fuck?” he asks, amused. “Hey Simon, how’re you doing?"

“Oh lord, I told myself I wasn’t going to cry,” says Georgie, wiping away a tear. “Never thought he’d come home with a real, actual girl.”

Jamie makes an offended noise. “The fuck do you call all the girls I’ve been with?”

Georgie swats his arm playfully. “You know what I mean, love. None of them were built to last. Only one I sort of liked was that Keeley Jones, but I was never quite convinced you were right for her. But this one- well, must be the first girl you’ve brought home since primary school.”

“Come inside, come inside,” says Simon. “No sense standing in the doorway with the food getting cold.”

He ushers everyone inside and to the couches, and Georgie is latched onto Jamie’s arm now. He’s chattering away about the upcoming match and Roy as the manager, leaving you to take in your surroundings. There are photo prints on the walls and soft lighting and a table with photos of Jamie at every age.

You smile at him as a baby, same giggly face as ever.

It’s a nice evening. Simon’s made dinner and Georgie can’t stop beaming or ruffling Jamie’s hair. You’re the only other person on the planet allowed to touch his hair without warning.

He has to leave all too soon (“It’s a pillow fight, babe, and Sam’s fucking asking to get decked in the face,”) so you kiss him goodbye then head inside. It’s just Jamie’s family minus Jamie, and you have no idea how it’s going to go. Is this the moment Georgie tells you she actually hates you and you need to leave her baby boy alone?

No. What happens instead is she takes your arm and leads you up the stairs to Jamie’s old room.

“Hasn’t changed since he left,” she beams. “Now come on, let’s chat just us girls! I feel like I already know you, what with the way Jamie talks about you all the time. Hardly a word out of his mouth that isn’t about you or footie.”

You grin. “He’s a man of singular tastes, that’s for sure.”

Georgie laughs. “Oh, I bet you’re good for him! Don’t let his head get too big, that’s for sure. My wee sexy baby always did need someone to take him down a few pegs here and there. But don’t let him fool you. He’s fragile as the next person, that one.”

You smile and say, “You two are so similar. He calls himself a ‘sexy baby,’ or a ‘wee sexy lad,’ all the time. And he can’t fool me. I know exactly who he is.”

Georgie’s eyes twinkle as she squeezes your hand. Not quite as strong as Jamie, but still the same type of grip. “Oh I’m sure of that, darling. I’m glad he’s got you all the way out there in Richmond. He’s been alone for a good while.”

You’re well aware of Jamie’s history since leaving Manchester.

“You know, Keeley’s actually the one who kind of kickstarted all of this,” you say. “We’ve been friends for ages, and she- well, she sort of helped Jamie become a better version of himself.”

Georgie laughs. “Oh, you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me, love. I raised that lad, remember.”

“Ok, fine,” you say smiling, “She broke up with him because he was a massive prick, which started this whole redemption arc and she kind of forced us together at this event and, well, you know the rest. I just feel really, really lucky to be with him. Like if I were anywhere else at any other time, we could have missed each other. I could have missed him so easily.”

You shake your head. It’s hard to imagine a life without Jamie, and you wonder where you’d be at this exact moment if things had gone differently. What would be happening if you’d fought Keeley just a little more?

It doesn’t matter because Georgie’s squeezing your arm and saying, “But you’re here, darling. And it’s so wonderful that you two found each other, because I haven’t seen my baby smile like that in ages. I’ve got no worries about either of you.”

She pulls you into a hug, and it’s all you can do to keep from tearing up.

God, who knew Jamie’s family would be so quick to accept you?

—

It’s late now, but you’re positive Keeley is still awake so you open your phone to send her a message.

You could have warned me, you text.

Three bubbles appear, then: what do you mean babe?

You roll your eyes. Fucker. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your crazy football knockers are staring at me while I’m trying to sleep.

Keeley instantly responds with three angel emojis. I’m watching over you like a fucking guardian angel!

There’s a pause, then she texts, don’t know what Roy is. maybe the devil.

You snort at that. Roy Kent? Grump with a heart of gold? You don’t think so.

You close your text thread with Keeley and open the one with Jamie.

Nice football sheets, you write. Maybe we should get some for our room.

Jamie responds way too fast with an Amazon link and and an x. You smile then flip your phone over on the nightstand so you can get some good sleep, with Jamie’s guardian angels staring down at you.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #ted lasso

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

Note

Aita for telling my partner they need to be better at communicating during sex?

NSFW ask, but this has been an ongoing issue for a while and I’m very frustrated

My (19M) partner (21NB) is my first true sexual partner. They’ve been with other people in the past, some good experiences but mostly bad. I on the other hand have dated before and have had pseudo-sexual relationships (just touching) but my partner is the first person I’ve properly done the horizontal tango with

That being said, with my just-touching exes, we’ve always been extremely careful about communication in the moment. My most recent ex and I had the stoplight method even when we weren’t being kinky. It was reassuring to be able to check up on her and for her to be able to do the same. Maybe we were playing is too safe, idk, but that’s what I became comfortable with during sex

With my current partner, however, this has never been the case with their exes. I think I might be the first partner they’ve had that actually took time before making any sexual advances to ask them what they like and how I can make them happy because in the moment when I did, they looked confused.

Being horny young adults, we did eventually sleep together, and during the act, I realized that neither of us had checked in on the other outside of the initial “is this okay?” when removing clothes (I was the one who asked) so I slowed my roll and asked my partner if they were with me. They were not. They sputtered and said that I brought them out of the moment, and I became really really concerned that they had been disassociating the entire time because of previous sexual trauma. I told them I wanted to stop, they did not, so I rolled off and whispered into their ear while (and I apologize for not finding a better way to describe this without being overly graphic) I was straight jorkin’ em off. They were happy, they fell asleep, and I felt awful.

About half an hour later they kicked me out because their mom was coming home from a New Years Eve party (it was my 19th birthday which also hurt), but that’s not relevant, I just need the timeline in place.

We’ve done more sexual things since then and every time I try to check on them, they get weirded out. I stopped doing it in the moment so overtly and changed tactics to asking “what can I do for you” and “what do you need baby”, and this seems to get the job done. However, afterwards when I ask actually ask them how they were feeling, they would say that “the afterglow’s ruined” (which is wild because we’ve been together for six months and I’ve never finished -> I am a pre-op transman and my partner is AMAB, aka has told me that they don’t know what to do with my parts and once joked that sex would be easier if I had a dick, for context)

The last straw was tonight (March 4th) when they came over to my place and we started making out. I wasn’t really feeling it, so I tried to back off and shift to just lazy kisses, but my partner didn’t stop so I pulled away and said: “not tonight, baby”

They said: “if you weren’t in the mood, why did you kiss me?”

I said: “because I like kissing you?”

They said: “you should have told me you didn’t want to do anything. I don’t want to get the wrong idea.”

I said: “I’m sorry, I should have. I thought I wanted to, but I changed my mind. Can we go back to watching anime?”

They said yes and we watched another episode of a show (dungeon meshi!!) before I finally asked them why they don’t check in with me the way I do with them

They said: “I don’t like talking during sex. Ruins the vibe”

I said: “Okay, so can we find a system that lets the other know how we’re feeling when we don’t want to talk? Like how I use signs when I go nonverbal?”

They said: “I don’t see the point. If you don’t want to fuck, just push me off.”

I got mad and said: “What is wrong with you? I don’t want to push you off, I want to talk about it!”

They told me I was getting worked up and left. It’s been two hours and I feel like total shit for pushing the subject when they’ve expressed that they don’t like my expectations for sex. Am I too high maintenance?

TL;DR, I annoyed my partner by asking too many times for them to talk to me during sex, they got pissed and left my house. Atia for asking too many times?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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moronkombat · 6 months

Note

Idk if you’ve done this before but can you do nsfw alphabet for Kenshi?🙏

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very affectionate, tender and caring with his partner after sex. Toned arms will wrap around you, holding you close while he kisses the top of your head. Once he has a comforting hold over you, do not expect to be getting up any time soon. Kenshi's aftercare is a very cuddly experience

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kenshi favorite part of himself are his hand. Fingers are slender and long. Ink patterns cover the entirety of it making it feel leathery but smooth. Though the tattoos were gained during his time with the Yakuza, he still marvels at just how delicate his hands look. They do not look like the hands of a killer or someone seeking vengeance. His hands are that of a pianist or someone who plays the violin. Perhaps in another lifetime he would be such an artist

With his sight lost to him, he mourns the entire visage of you. He uses his hands to feel you and etch out your features. His favorite place to trace is your face. The curve of you nose, the dip of your cheek, he loves being able to trace them over your skin

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Has no strong preference in terms of where he finishes. If he's looking for a mess then he'll cum on your stomach or ass. If he's wanting to be more romantic then he'll cum inside you

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kenshi's dirty secret is he almost wishes you'd tie him up or bind him to the bed. Typically you're the one tied up but he's always been curious how to feels but has not yet brought that up to you. He wants you to play with him, tease and taunt him so that he can break free of those bindings and punish you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Kenshi had experience under his belt and knows what he is doing. He's had relationships in the past, both casual and long term so he knows his way around the bedroom. If he had a partner who wasn't experienced he would guide them

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

There many different positions Kenshi is partial too but he has two favorites. When you ride him and taking you from behind. Your hips grind and swirl against him and he groans. The sense of touch so heightened that he feels this ecstasy within his bones. Moaning whispers travel straight through his ears and to Kenshi your breathless wisp a booming thunder

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It can be a mix during sex. He can be very serious and concentrated. However, he also likes seeing your face twist and squirm when he plays a bit too much. Your reactions make him want to play with you more and more

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kenshi is groomed but not shaven. He prefers it neat and tidy and will frequently trim it to keep it at an acceptable. Also has a bit of chest hair that he forgets to shave at times

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy and romance are one in the same for Kenshi. He expresses his love for you not only verbally but with his action. Really enjoys taking you out to eat somewhere nice and bringing you to impressive sights even if he cannot experience them to the fullest. Spending time with you is very important

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does but it's not as enjoyable as having sex with you. Therefore, he does it rarely, maybe every other week or so. Will typically masturbate to thoughts and pictures of his partner when he is away from them

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bondage and Restraints- Kenshi enjoys bondage because he loves your reactions . You make such pitiful whining noises when his hands roam you but you unable to touch him. You shutter under him as his tongue travels down your naval and you begin to writhe so beautifully. You are so exposed to him and he will consume all of you

Biting and Scratching- This is something he likes both ways. He likes when you dig your nails into his back. It truly makes him feel alive. At the same time he also loves leaving little love bites as small reminders of your bedroom tango

Discipline and Punishment- Just the idea of this is pure sex to Kenshi. He likes when you're naughty and misbehave so he can punish you. He's never too intense with it and doesn't leave bruises. His punishment is more teasing you for awhile, leaving you wanting him to touch you more but denying you this

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Prefers the bedroom because it feels much more private. He'll also light candles or dim the lights to create a more sensual feel

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He is turned on by your body and your words of affection. Simon is motivated by your words and affection. He also quite likes when you misbehave. He acts annoyed by it but he loves it. He loves when you're a bit mischievous with him so that way he can make it up to you later

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While he enjoys your teasing, he does not like when it is constant or when his partner is unaffectionate. He likes a partner who can be lighthearted and funny but also caring and sensitive to his softer side

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Kenshi rather likes receiving oral over giving it. Not to say he won't, he will. But there is just something so devious with her head between his legs, mouth so stuffed full that Kenshi simply cannot go without

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He knows how to be slowly sensual and rough as an animal. The choice is heavily what his partner is seeking. His preference is a mix between the two. Something that can be ruthless one moment and then tender the next. Best of both worlds according to him

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kenshi is a fan of quickies. He sees it as an exciting addition to sex and a way of letting off steam quickly. He doesn't engage in them frequently but will do so spontaneously to spice things up

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Definitely willing to experiment because he likes when it's fresh and exciting. Won't do anything that will cause himself or his partner too much pain and discomfort as that is something he is not interested in

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Typically can go for about 2-3 rounds. He doesn't necessarily become exhausted but prefers to engage in some tender aftercare with his partner instead of continuing to go multiple rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has them and will use them on his partner if he finds himself in the mood for it. He'll typically have a few on standby and prepared for his partner

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Incredibly unfair and teasing. He will take his time tormenting you and sending so close to the edge of oblivion. He will let you finish eventually but not after having his fill of you

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

All of his senses much more reactive so what may seem so simple to someone else, can be earth shattering to Kenshi. This often leads him being very vocal in bed. He will try to keep them at bay but his partner feels too excellent around him. He'll moan and whimper, often right into your ear as he pulls you close to him. Kenshi, when in the right moment, finds dirty talk rather appealing. There's just something about taking you from behind that makes his mind twist. He'll call you names, vile and wretched names that have your gut coiling and flexing within itself

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Something he would like to try in the bedroom is some role play. Nothing too intense but something light and fun to change things up a bit

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kenshi is a grower and has more length then he does width. Exceptionally sensitive when touched and caressed, especially the underside

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Above average sex drive. Nothing too demanding but enjoys the company of his partner multiple times throughout the week

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

While he isn't tired, he does enjoy cuddling with his partner after sex and falling asleep with them. He holds his partner tight and tells them sweet words before falling asleep

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat fanworks #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #kenshi takahashi #kenshi x reader

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binniebakery · 3 months

Text

Lover

nonidol!au soobin x gn!reader fluff established relationship ♡ Summary: based off of taylor swift's lover !!! soobin is being the gentleman he is, neither of you know how to not be sick🤨 ♡ Warnings: tall soobin agenda??, reader gets called cute, someone's a little sick smh, lmk if theres something im missing! ♡ A/N: second fic wow.. l! this was a little self-indulgent but I really hope yall enjoy! idk if someone has done this before im sorry adsfasdf this song smacks and soobin is so lover coded i had to put my thoughts down asap (erm also not proofread so!!! 😻😻)

You were never really a morning person. It was a Saturday, why would the sun be so cruel as to wake you up as it shone through the beige curtains of your bedroom? As soon as your lashes fluttered open you realized that the blanket had been pulled away from you, only covering half of your shivering body. Sure winter was coming to an end soon, but snow still covered the ground outside and the warmth of your sleeping boyfriend’s body seemed more inviting than ever. You flipped around to catch Soobin softly asleep. His hair was messily fluffed around as one arm rested above his head, the other mistakingly holding on to the bunched-up blanket that was meant to cover your side of the bed instead of holding you. You couldn’t possibly be mad at someone for stealing your blanket when he slept like such an innocent angel. After all, you knew any other time he would be willing to give you the entire thing just for you to stay warm. And there’s this dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear.

Smiling as you wrapped your arm around his side, you leaned in to press your forehead against his. Of course, just softly enough so he wouldn’t wake up. The sun’s rays hardly peeked into the room but it was enough to perfectly land on his features and highlight his button nose as Soobin occasionally sniffled in his sleep. His dark hair and lashes a lighter color from being showered in sunlight. Work had been stressing him out more than usual lately and he finally was able to get a few days off. Just in time for him to start catching a cold. Luckily, you being the cautious couple you are, were able to catch the symptoms in time and he had been recovering quite quickly. That’s when it hit you that you needed to walk to the nearest market to restock the tea he had been drinking for dear life to help with his scratchy throat.

You pressed a kiss onto his forehead and as carefully and quietly as you could, sat up from your bed. Right as you were about to slip a foot onto the cold floor, you felt a large hand lazily reach for you, lightly dragging an index finger down your arm in soft protest. “Mm hey, where you going?” a soft mumble could be heard from the once sleeping giant that lay beside you. You turned to see Soobin forming a soft pout. “Just to the store really quickly Binnie. Need to get you some more tea for your throat.” you responded, softly poking his doughy cheek. “So.. you’re going without me?” his pout was now more prominent than ever, cutely contrasting his deep and groggy voice. “Soobin, you’re still recovering. I don’t want to reverse that” you sighed. Your boyfriend was now tugging at the hem of your sweater. How can someone be so endearing? “It’s fine, justmythroa-” he wasn’t even able to finish his sentence as he coughed and reached over to grab the half-empty water bottle that sat on the nightstand. Can I go where you go?

“Please.. I feel fine I swear y/n. I’ll wear a mask and everything. Can’t have you going by yourself.” he pleaded with a soft smile. You knew Soobin was clingy when he got sick, but it was obvious this time that he wanted to make up as much time as he could for how busy he had been the past month. How could you say no? Can we always stay this close? You made sure your boyfriend was wrapped as tightly and warmly as possible. Holding onto him tightly as you walked down the street. The urge to constantly adjust his scarf every few seconds scratching at your brain. You looked up at him to see Soobin smiling fondly down at you. “What? Toothpaste on my mouth?” you tilted your head. Soobin chuckles and shakes his head. “No, you just are extra cute today, nothing new.” Forever and ever.

On your way back to your apartment, you felt your own throat begin to feel sore and itchy. Most likely due to the reason that you weren’t wearing a scarf yourself. Not wanting to alert the overprotective giant bunny walking beside you, you (not so) discretely coughed into the arm that wasn’t currently wrapped around your boyfriend as soon as a loud gust of wind whooshed by. On instinct, Soobin immediately stopped in his steps. “Did you just cough?” he said as he stared you down. “No- I-.. okay yes sorry I just don't want you to think I’m si-” Before you could continue you felt warmth wrap around your neck. “Binnie! What are you doing?! You’re going to get sick again!” Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? “Hey, hey, don’t fuss you need it more, I already feel better just being with you. Plus, we’re already here.” Soobin pointed out as you realized you were only across the street from your apartment. Smiling softly, you intertwined your cold fingers with his warm ones as you finished your journey back home. Or you could say home was right there in that moment, holding you close and offering his scarf.

With every guitar string scar on my hand take this magnetic force of a man to be my, lover

As your boyfriend quickly put the laundry away, you were just about finished making tea for the both of you. Pouring the tea into your favorite mugs, you felt a warm pair of arms wrap around you. Soft music played on your tv speakers as the snow began to fall outside. “This might be the last time we get snow this year..” you mumbled as Soobin rested his nose into your hair. “Mhmm.. how’s your throat bunny?” he responded. “Hmm.. you know I think I need a kiss better from someone.”

Soobin chuckled, a light smirk on his face as he turned you around to pull you in. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t. After all, you’re getting sick, I’m getting sick-” he teased. “Oh can you please just shut up and give me a kiss” you laughed as you pulled him in. Just like every kiss you had with him and every kiss to come, his lips were sweet and inviting. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned down to wrap his around your waist and lift you up. Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover Sharing soft laughter and light touches, you both remained protected and oblivious to the harsh cold outside. Winter was getting warmer, not because of spring, but because of your lover.

#tomorrow x together #soobin #soobin fluff #soobin x reader #soobin x y/n #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt scenarios #BakeryTreat♡

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bonefall · 5 months

Note

Is Sandgorse still abusive in BB? If so does he still save Sparrow? Idk I think it'd be a neat thing for Talltail to brood on and move past once realizing the truth. Like just because your abuser did a "Good Thing tm" doesn't mean you have to forgive them or that all of a sudden it excuses their past a tion towards you.

Or did you remove this plot beat entirely? If so I don't blame you :P

Weird that Tumblr search isn't giving me all the stuff I tagged :/ hopefully after finals are done I can compile a 1st draft/The Story So Far for the rework of Tallstar’s Revenge

It's now called TALLSTAR’S COLLAPSE. It is actually a story I am rewriting with tragedy in mind. It's about Talltail fleeing WindClan with his starcrossed lover, Sparrow, only to eventually be drawn back to it where he becomes a perpetuator of all the things that made him leave.

To answer your question; Yes, and. Sandgorse is abusive and there's a LOT of nuance to this situation. I'm not sure if he still saves "Sparrow" though because I have waaaay more of a point in mind with Tallstar’s tumultuous relationship to him.

Summary of changes,

Tallstar's Collapse

Sparrow is the Clanmew name Jake takes when his group interacts with WindClan. His first language is actually a dialect of Townmew!

(Also Firestar has no known father in BB)

His group is nomadic. They go from place to place trading goods. I need a name for both them and their cultural "cluster" but in my head, Jake's family is the Algernauts because Algernon is the current leader

It's important the Algernauts are extremely endearing because leaving them is VERY painful

(and something i want to frame as the wrong choice for tallstar, emotionally)

WindClan is in a very sensitive period of its history. Before Tallstar was born, Heatherstar began the Mothermouth Moorland War, to take a very large parcel of land from ShadowClan. A good 1/5th of it.

Naturally this is a huge project and incredibly ambitious. Sacrifices Must Be Made

The sacrifice she has chosen to make is the death of tunneling. Because she's smothering it.

Tunneling is PEACEFUL, defensive at best. You can't dig them in a floodplain, they would be useless for holding the Mothermouth Moorland territory

Tallkit is born into a terrible position. Son of the head tunneler, mother in a terrible depression, and Heatherstar trying to pry a wedge between the "future" and the "past"

Im also planning to change his name. He was born Slowworm-Kit, which has a connotation of cleverness in Clanmew. To bully him, Shrewpaw calls him Wormtail, because Slowworms drop their tails if pulled. It means "you will get trapped in a cave-in, and when they pull your tail, it'll fall off"

But it doesn't translate well into English... so I'm not sure what his Heatherstar-given warrior name would be. Wormwing or Wormleap maybe, like he "defied fate" to become a wonderful moor-runner...

Or maybe the prefix is Drop? Droptail as the mean bully name and Dropflight as the warrior name...

Anyway, when he returns, Heatherstar welcomes back the extra claws and honors the lesson he learned with "Talltale." In Clanmew this is "Story-travelled," his leader name meaning "Tale-star."

Anyway. Back to the cat drama

Talltail (name pending) is in a tight spot. I kind of want to show everyone being a victim except Heatherstar herself, who has all the power in this situation.

Not that it excuses anyone

Sandgorse is watching something he loves dying, an ancient tradition passed down for generations. He is trying to force his son into a position he shouldn't HAVE to occupy, but his child is the one thing he might have any control over

(Until Tall breaks it ofc)

Tallpaw was just a kid. He needed to take out his bullying and the stress on something, and that was usually his mother and the concept of tunneling

Palebird has been completely neglected by her mate as he focuses on the person he WANTS his kid to be. She NAMED a Fading Kit, a serious social taboo, and even the support of the nursery and Woolytail can't pull her out before Tall's kithood is over

Heatherstar is using Tallpaw as a political pawn and Tallpaw is too young and hurt to realize it. He was given to her sister, Dawnstripe, and endlessly praised for his skill and talent in a time where he NEEDED positive feedback

Which is making his relationships with his parents worse

All the while, there's VIOLENCE. Regular raids and counterstrikes. Cats die and get injured, and it only escalates as Tall gets older and Cedarstar is reaching the end of his lives, hoping to end the conflict before then

And in all this chaos and uncertainty, there comes Sparrow.

Just a trader and an honored guest, there's been lots of these nomadic visitors since the time of Windstar herself, but they've become quite rare.

When Sandgorse dies suddenly in that collapse (TITLE DROP) Talltail has the push he finally needs. It's too much. He can't process this

Sparrow begs him to leave with them, they don't even need to confront anyone, just come!

IF IT SUCKS HIT DA BRICKS

I have tons of really nice little things planned for this part of the story. It's several chapters of Talltail being free.

He engages in the funeral rites of Wee Hen, asking if he may sit vigil for her. His new family is honored to allow it, Reena even tries to do it too and falls asleep

(Little sister energy)

They meet all sorts of people and go to many places. Talltail learns that the world is vast, and there's an endless amount of knowledge out here.

It all starts crashing down when him and Jake find a litter of abandoned kittens, and become parents.

They're a few moons old.. around the same age as his halfsibs back home.

It starts bringing back memories. He wonders how they're doing. If they made a nice grave for Sandgorse...

The sudden longing for his own mother strikes him like lightning.

For the first time in eons, he feels GUILT over leaving. He thought it was over-- he's living his own life now!

But what if they're hurt? What if there was a battle and he couldn't help? What if his mentor died and he didn't even know?

What kind of a horrible son doesn't even say goodbye?

The problems that made him leave seem so small now, and the homesickness is like acid leaking from his stomach, dissolving his guts and leaving him hollow

He's raising kits who will never know what it means to earn a title, or have a permanent home, or--

(Any of the other things he should have learned don't have meaning outside of clan culture. Things they wouldn't miss.)

He cherishes the memories he makes here, raising children with his mate, but something turns inside of Talltail. Like the groaning ache of a hundred stones on top of a decaying mineshaft

The REAL collapse is this. An existential crisis Talltail can't escape from.

And eventually, it comes tumbling down with one last, horrible nightmare.

In his dream, he came home only to find the sandy camp abandoned, the dens decrepit, full of musty scent and cobwebs.

Sandgorse was there. And they talked.

His dad was gruff as always, disappointed. But he didn't say anything the real Sandgorse would say.

The nightmare said, "You really did turn out like me. We both left your mother when she needed us. Turned our backs on our leader. And now we're both dead to WindClan."

Tall wakes up crying. Jake is there to comfort him, but the conversation they have is sad.

Jake tries to tell him that's all not true, and even if it WAS his dad, his dad sucked and would only say that to hurt him!

But... Tall can't believe it. Jake's right but also wrong. He IS all those horrible things.

And...... how can jake ever Understand? He does not know the Bonds of a Clan cat

(thought terminating cliche. Outsiders Cant Understand Our Bonds.)

He stays a few more days, but that nightmare was the end. And everyone sees the change.

The kits are apprentice-aged. He stayed until they would be old enough to keep up with the Algernauts.

And he says goodbye. He won't ever leave without saying goodbye ever again.

Jake says it doesn't have to be goodbye, he'll always love him, and they can visit! They can see each other again!

And Tall says yes. That this isn't the end. It's... see you later, my love.

(...but they both know how violent it's getting between Wind and Shadow. It isn't safe to visit.)

It is the end. But neither can admit it.

But after Tall is a fair distance away, one of his kits tackles him.

POSSIBLY Post-Tallstar's Collapse

Not sure if I'd put these in a novella or still make it part of it, but these are all directly related to the fallout of Tallstar's Collapse

Most likely is that there would be overlap between this and Brokenstar's Cataclysm, so the same events would be seen in different perspectives.

The kit's name is Fly. Tall has to wait for him to catch his breath and stop crying before they can talk.

Fly already lost parents before. He says he knows he can't make his dads stay together, "But PLEASE, papa, let me choose where I go this time!"

How could he say no? How could he send his son away after a plea like that?

He told him it would be hard. That he would be trained. That there would be dangerous fights.

Fly didn't care, he said he could be strong. He could do anything he needed to.

So... Tall took him to WindClan, where he became Flypaw. He became the warrior he promised he would be.

And Tall didn't notice how much the kid was changing until it was too late. Flytail took to it as if he was Clanborn-- but had to work twice as hard, fight thrice as viciously.

Though Talltail was graced with an Honor Title and open arms, he'd adopted his greatest rival.

Fly and Tall started competing for deputyship as soon as they finished training apprentices; Heatherstar had a fondness for the two of them.

In the end, Talltail won the spot by springing into action and saving Heatherstar's young nephew, a little golden tabby, from an adder.

Flytail continued as one of the more aggressive warriors in the Clan, surviving increasingly violent and bitter battles, until it came to a head in Heatherstar's Last Stand.

Her final battle as an old leader was a gruesome, definitive curbstomp in the last strategic point ShadowClan held above Carrionplace.

One of the losses was Lizardstripe-- neck snapped in Flytail's jaws.

Runningnose, and by extension, the oak-tree to his long-shadow, Brokentail, remembered this. Especially when Runningnose's father Mudfoot collapsed later that year.

As Talltail took leadership from the dying Heatherstar, a familiar regretful guilt wormed into his belly.

His son Flytail stood with a bloody mouth, eyes wet with sorrow, looking down at the leader Talltail once loved almost as much. Appreciating her sacrifice.

(secretly he didnt choose Deadfoot as his deputy just for his honor title or the battle move he invented... he chose him because there was a shocked, sorrowful look in his eyes at the fallen shadowclan cat. Sympathy seems more honorable in this moment.)

Tallstar is a wise leader... but his fatal flaw is naivety. How could he think he'd bring his son into WindClan, and not see the boy grow into a ferocious Warrior?

And naivety is what he displayed when he offered Raggedstar a peace deal. WindClan would keep the land, but they would pay a small tax of rabbits over the winter.

It was unprecedented. It was merciful. It was stupid.

When the winter was over, what would stop them from pushing further south?

Would they trade back the frogs and the flax, come summer?

On the blood and bones of so many warriors? As if giving up was ever an option?

Brokentail killed his father to prevent him from taking the deal, and reawakened Ripplestar's War Tactics.

BURN the peat. KILL the prey. OFFENSE is defense. A dead warrior is 10 less claws. A dead apprentice is 1 less warrior.

Stolen kittens are 1 more warrior on your own side.

Tallstar paid the ultimate price for letting Flytail follow him home that day. On the night of the massacre, Flytail went down fighting alongside a mate and a daughter. Dogpiled by Tangleburr and her squadron in revenge for Lizardstripe and Mudfoot.

Tallstar's granddaughter Stoneclaw, made a warrior and sitting for her vigil on that night, was the sole survivor of the little family.

The event stopped her from speaking again, like she's still sitting vigil.

Tallstar is a character who almost broke free of the control of the Clans. For a brief moment of his life, he was free.

He thought maybe he could change things a little, protect his Clanmates from the battles by being part of them, have the Mothermouth Moorland and protect the peace at the same time. But you CAN'T.

You can't fix broken systems without fundamentally changing them. He thought he could be a nice warlord and that would work on the Clan whose territory he had inherited. Power acts through people just as much as they act through power.

And that's Tallstar. He who travels the world, yet is never able to go far enough. Always falling just a little short of the point, believing that love and mercy is enough while blissfully ignorant of the pressures of pride and power.

Into this role, as a successor to this leader, Onestar is unwillingly thrust.

#BB!Tallstar #Better bones au #BB!Flytail #Tallstar's Collapse

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withwritersblock · 2 months

Text

The Fall of Home

~The Fall of Home by Los Campesinos!~

Author's Note: idk honestly it's mostly word vomit ngl Italics are flashbacks Summary: Nate wins the cup and needs his childhood best friend to celebrate with him Warnings: Swearing, implied smut, shouting Word Count: 3,990 Nathan Mackinnon x fm!reader

She sat on the couch watching the dying minutes of the Stanley Cup finals. She watched Nate push Gabe towards the bench, her heart beating hard against her chest. It was t0o close. Not enough to feel as though they had done it. The Avalanche jersey covering her frame had Mackinnon on the back. It was Nate’s old jersey from his first few years in the league before the Avs switched to their new ones.

Her childhood best friend had done it as the last ten seconds of the game the puck was in the Avs offensive zone.

It was like watching in slow motion as she watched the bench itch with anticipation as the clock winded down from five seconds. The buzzer goes off and the entire team throws their gear everywhere as they cheer and scatter on the ice. Her hands cover her mouth as her eyes well up in tears.

It had been his dream since the second Nate realized what hockey was. She watched him pretend to lift the cup on the lake behind his house countless times. Now in mere minutes she would get to see it done in real life. Except it is on her TV.

Her fiance smiled widely as he hugged her side. “The cups coming back to Scotia!” Daniel mumbled as he kissed the side of her cheek. She smiled politely as she stared at the screen seeing Nate on the screen.

Daniel didn’t know that Nate and herself grew up next door to each other or that he was her first kiss. Or the first person he called after he got drafted first overall. Or the fact that they act like they're in a relationship every time they see each other again. Cuddling, kissing, dinner with each other’s parents.

And sex. A lot of it.

Except Nate hasn’t been home in two years. His family has gone and visited him in Colorado instead. She visited him once in Denver and stayed with him, in the same bed. Except nothing happened between them because of Daniel. Daniel entered her life during a difficult time. It was two months before COVID really went rampant. They went COVID crazy and moved in together right when the lockdown happened. His idea.

Nate stayed in Colorado, despite many of his teammates using the time to visit and stay with their families. But she had Daniel. She didn’t need Nate.

Except she still missed him as the months progressed and the further they had time apart it was as if the feelings she had for him were getting less and less suppressed. But he had a new life, new people, new and better successes. Hell. He just won the Stanley Cup.

She even had a new life. Sure, it was still in the same community she grew up in but she had Daniel and a life that she’s supposed to be happy about.

“Are you crying?” Daniel questioned, a small furrow in his eyebrows. She shifted her gaze towards him for a brief second as she blinked rapidly. She looked back towards the screen to see Nate get handed the cup.

“Cole Harbour, you got another cup!” the announcer shouted as Nate shook the cup in the air with a wide smile on his features. She hasn’t seen him smile so wide since he was drafted.

“It’s just-look at ‘em,” she was referring to Nate.

“Yeah, they’d deserved it from the beginning,” Daniel said as he stood up from the couch to get another beer.

She watched as Nate handed it off to Jack Johnson, a player who’s waited over a thousand games to achieve this. She tilted her head back as she wiped the tear that fell onto her cheek.

~~~

It had been several hours later and multiple Instagram story reels that have kept her up as she watched the team celebrate. She remained on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand. Her phone screen lit up with a call coming from Nate. She furrowed her eyebrows harshly as his contact photo popped on the screen. It was a picture of them back in his Halifax days. He was kissing her cheek, sweaty and still in his jersey.

Pulling the phone to her ear, it was loud on his end of the phone. “Y/N!” Nate shouted, “I need you in Denv-ver, when I get there tomorrow!” he shouted. He sounded blacked out. She smiled to herself, happy to hear his voice. His voice was practically gone but it was still amazing to hear. “I need to see you, we’ve got to-to celebrate,” he slurred.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” she said laughing, “Enjoy your night Nathan,” she said, getting ready to hang up.

“Wait! Wait,” he chuckled, “I’m sorry you couldn’t come to Tampa, I wanted you here so bad,” he explained, the words taking forever to leave his lips. “Bu-but you’ve got a fi-fiance,”

Her features scrunched together as his voice was rasped as he was fighting hard to get the words out. “What does Daniel have to do with-”

“Because-” he hiccuped, “Because he has you and I don’t,” he let out. Her eyes widened as the words left his lips. Her stomach began to do flips as the words played in her mind on repeat.

“Because he has you and I don’t,”

“Oh dude, come on! Give me the phone, Nate! Give it to me. We said no drunk calling!” Erik’s voice rang out on Nate’s end of the phone. “Sorry, Y/N. He’ll call tomorrow when he’s sober!” Erik’s voice was closer to the phone as he spoke.

“Oh okay,” she mumbled as the phone call ended. Her hand began to shake as she pulled the phone from her ear. What the hell did he mean by that?

It was hard to take anything he said seriously because he was drunk, he probably won’t even remember calling her. She brought her wine glass to her lips as she drank it all in one swig.

She lifted her gaze from her lap to the sound of loud footsteps coming from her hallway. “Baby, we’ve gotta get up early for that thing with your parents tomorrow. Remember? Come get some sleep,” Daniel said, his voice groggy from probably just waking up.

She met his eye, praying for an ounce of butterflies or a feeling in her chest that told her he was the one. Or the spark that everyone talks about when you meet your soulmate. But nothing came out of it. She took a deep breath as she nodded, “Yeah, I’ll-” she cleared her throat, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“So, things are pretty serious with him,” Nate mumbled as he messed with his fingernails, avoiding her gaze. She hummed as a reply as she avoided meeting his gaze.

She was laying in his king sized bed in his apartment in Denver, contemplating on why she decided staying with him was better than a hotel. Because all she wanted to do right now was kiss him. It’s been three hundred and forty three days since she last kissed him and she missed the feeling of his lips on hers.

“Why didn’t he come with you to visit me?” he asked, turning his gaze to her trying to read her features. She pulled her lips between her teeth as her eyes widened slightly. She took a sharp breath before looking towards him, her eyes landed on his bright blue eyes. His eyes were slightly swollen as he was recovering from a broken nose still from a few weeks back.

“He doesn’t know that we’re friends,” the last word difficult to leave her lips, “He just thinks that I’m on a trip with friends to Denver to see a few games,” she explained. Nate fought off a smirk on his lips as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“How’s your mom keeping that secret? If I remember correctly all our childhood photos together are all over the living room,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

She chuckled as she inched towards him, slightly. “My brother decided to have four kids in the span of three years. So she replaced all of our photos with my niece and nephews.”

Nate let out a huff of air as he shook his head, “I don’t envy him. Triplets, right?” he asked and she nodded.

“They’re adorable, but a handful,” she muttered.

She met his gaze as she took a deep breath. He smiled softly as he adjusted the pillow under his head. “Is he a Penguins fan or Avs fan?” Nate asked, referring to Daniel. It was common in their small community to be either a Pittsburgh Penguins fan for Sydney or a Colorado Avalanche fan for Nate.

She scrunched her features together and Nate’s hand hit his chest like a fake dagger. “You couldn’t find an Avs fan to date?”

She rolled her eyes playfully as she laid onto her back, forcing her gaze to the ceiling. “You should get some sleep,” she muttered.

Nate laid facing her still, admiring every detail about her. The way her hair laid across his pillow. The curve of her lips and the flutter of her eyelashes. “Y/N,” he let out barely above a whisper, his heart racing. She turned her head to meet his gaze. His eyes trail from her eyes to her lips. Needing to kiss her but he couldn’t. Nate was not one to make moves on someone else’s girlfriend.

But this was Y/N. She was everything he’s ever wanted. Even down to the fake wedding they had when they were nine, it was the first time they kissed. They were nine, kisses at that age barely count but it was the first of many.

She met his gaze, pursing her lips forward slightly as she watched his eyes flicker between her lips and her eyes. “He’s lucky to have you,” he let out finally. She smiled softly, “But I’ll beat the shit out of him if he hurts you,”

“You would knock him out with one punch, he’s not very strong,” she muttered as he chuckled.

The next morning she was woken up by Daniel shoving her awake, “Wake up,” he mumbled as he began pacing in their bedroom. She rubbed her hand across her eyes as she was adjusting to the sudden touch to her body. “What the fuck is this?” he asked, shoving his phone into her face, she pulled her hand away as she stared towards the Facebook post that her mom shared early this morning.

It was hard to read as his hands were shaking, “What-”

“What the fuck is this?” he asked again, dropping his phone onto her chest. She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked over the Facebook post.

The caption said From the lake behind our houses to the big stage! Our family couldn’t be more proud. Can’t wait to see the cup in your hands this time! #GoAvsGo #NateDogg

She cringed at the wording but her breath caught in her throat as she saw the collection of photos she added. Each photo shows Nate with her family. Majority of them with Nate and Y/N cuddling cozy and even one of them with him kissing her cheek. “Daniel, I can explain,” she said as she began to stand up from the bed.

“How fucking long were you going to keep this a secret?” he accused as she dropped his phone onto the mattress. Her mouth opened as she tried to find words to say. There was nothing to say. “I mean his contact photo in your phone is him kissing you!”

“Wait, you went through my phone?” she countered as she looked at her phone in his hands.

“No, he called you and I saw the picture. I mean, is the jersey you wore last night his? Like off of his fucking back?”

“I never wanted to lie or keep it from you. What was I supposed to say? Oh by the way, my best friend growing up is now this super famous athlete, I never see anymore.” she expressed.

“He’s not your best friend, all these fucking pictures your mom posted is you two looking coupley. This one is from a year ago when you were in Denver, I mean what the actual fuck. Have you been cheating on me?”

“What no! Will you stop shouting and sit down and have a conversation?” she countered. He shook his head while taking a deep breath. He reluctantly sat down beside her on the bed, refusing to meet her eye.

There was silence for a moment, “Nate and I grew up beside each other. We were born four months apart, our parents are best friends. He was my first friend. We had a weird relationship,” she hesitantly looked towards him, he was still fuming. “We were never in a romantic relationship but,” she let out a huff of air, “Sometimes it felt like we were?”

“I haven’t seen him since the last time I was in Denver, and nothing happened between us. He knows about you and Nate would never even try anything,” she explained. He shook his head.

“So what? You guys have had sex?” he questioned. Her mouth clamped open and shut and he groaned. “I can’t believe you’ve kept this from me!”

“He’s my past, Daniel, he doesn’t matter!”

“But he was a huge part of it! And clearly still is! He’s called you like four times!” he let out as he stood up from the bed. “And you know what, I don’t want to be with someone who keeps such a massive part of their life secret. I’ll move my stuff out by tomorrow,” he expressed, furious. He took a hold of his phone and stormed out of the bedroom.

“Daniel!?” she called out. She let out a huff of air before switching her gaze to her phone that was now lying on the floor.

“You look at those fucking photos and tell me how to feel!” Daniel shouted again. “I can’t compete!” he said before he left.

She tried to feel something for Daniel leaving. Her body was stiff as her mind was racing with thoughts of Nate. Instead of Daniel. She was wrong. He does matter. He always has and despite all of the time apart, he was still so important to her.

~one week later~

She laid in the bed that she once shared with Daniel. He moved out the next day from the apartment after several more fights regarding Nate. He took the ring from her finger and threw it out of the window. Y/N knows she should’ve told Daniel about Nate. It was easier having him be a celebrity in her life than someone she loved. Someone she loved in more ways than one.

She’s spoken to Nate every day since they won. He would call twice. Once in the morning to recap the drunken things he would say well into the night. His drinking slowed down as the weeks progressed but he’s been celebrating every day since. Each night he would call and beg her to come see him in Denver. Every night she would consider it until she would realize he was too drunk to remember. She’d always leave it out the next day they’d talk.

She laid naked beside him as she traced her manicured finger along his chest. Tracing each line of his muscle, each outline. His hand fluttered his fingertips along her skin. He would trace his index finger from the base of her neck in a zig zag to her lower back.

“When do you go back to Denver?” she questioned barely above a whisper. He took a few seconds to reply as he continued the pattern on her back.

“Tuesday,” he let out, shifting his gaze from the ceiling to her. She lifted her head to look down towards him. She leaned down and pressed her lips against his softly. He lifted his other hand from his side and rested it onto her cheek. “This might be the last time I’m back here for a while,” he let out as he stroked his thumb across her skin.

She raised her eyebrows teasing as she pecked his lips, “Let’s make the most of it then,” she muttered between kisses. He smirked into the kiss.

It was sensual and slow, something they’ve perfected over the years as if they know exactly what the other person wanted. Nate pulled away from her lips, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you a lot,” he said as his hand on her cheek moved to the base of her neck. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. Her cheeks heated up as she smiled.

“Me too,” she mumbled as he leaned towards her, kissing her.

She shook her head as her phone began to vibrate beside her, she lifted her phone up to see Nate was calling her. She took a deep breath as she put the phone to her ear. “Hi,” she mumbled.

“Come to Denver,” Nate said simply. His voice groggy as if he hasn’t spoken much yet. Pulling her head back against the pillow, she scrunched her features together.

“What?”

“I know you and Daniel broke up, I don’t know why you won’t tell me about it. But all I know is that I’ve been trying to see you because my dream has just happened and I want my best friend to be with me. The other half of this conversation can’t happen over the phone, so please come to Denver. Don’t make me wait till I bring the Cup home, please,” he let out as if he’s rehearsed it.

She was stunned. Her eyes blinked slowly as she swallowed hard. “How’d you know about Daniel?” she asked, ignoring the rest for now.

“Y/N, our mother’s still live next to each other and they talk a lot. Come to Denver, I’ll book your flight. I just really need to see you,”

“Okay,” she let out faster than how her mind could process anything.

“How fast can you get to the airport? I want to give you enough time to pack and get ready,”

~~~

She was walking through the airport in Denver trying to find Nate. It took about thirty minutes for her to find him sitting near the passenger pick up doors. He lifted his head, as if he could sense she was close to him.

She stopped as she saw him stand slowly from his seat, shoving his phone into his pocket. He was glowing. It’s been over a year since she last saw him in person but her entire skin began tingly when she saw him as every moment between them played in her mind like a flipbook.

Every kiss. Every intimate moment. Every conversation. Hockey games she wore his jersey to. Her graduation from university he flew from Denver to see. Their very first kiss at nine years old, their fake wedding.

She walked towards him and he began walking towards her. Once they met, she let go of her suitcase and her carry-on bag and jumped into his arms as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he squeezed her tightly against his chest. He took a sharp breath, breathing in her floral perfume. Her hand rested on the base of his neck, running her fingers through the small pieces of his hair.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muttered into her ear before she slowly pulled away from him, his hands remaining on her hips.

“I just spent way too many hours on two airplanes, don’t lie to me,” she muttered as she met his eyes. They were brighter as well as his smile. He was happier than he’s ever been.

“Still beautiful,” he mumbled as he pulled her against his chest again.

~~~

It had been a few hours since she got to Nate’s apartment. She had showered and got rid of the airport smell from her body and they were now sitting on his couch watching an action movie he had picked out. They were quiet but there was a looming tension between them.

“What happened with Daniel?” Nate asked, keeping his gaze on the screen, trying to avoid looking towards her. She dropped her gaze to her lap, the conversation they’ve been avoiding.

“The day after you guys won the cup, my mom had posted something on Facebook,” she said as she let out a huff of air.

“I saw, it was nice,” he mumbled, Y/N fought off a smile.

“He felt blindsided because he didn’t know that we knew each other. Or knew each other that well and you had called a few times before I woke up and he saw my contact photo for you,” she paused again.

“He claimed I was cheating on him with you and he thought when I visited you in Denver that I cheated on him with you. He then threw my engagement ring out of the window and stormed out. Stayed with my mom that night so he could get his stuff out of my apartment,”

“What the fuck? He threw your ring out of the window? That’s a dickhead move,” he said while shaking his head.

“I mean, not telling him about us was a dickhead move too, Nate,”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell him,” Nate muttered, shifting his gaze to her. She tilted her head to the side as her lips fell into a pout as her eyes lowered to his lips before she met his gaze again.

“What did you mean when you said ‘he has you and I don’t’?” she asked him. His eyes widened as he pressed his lips together.

“You remembered that?” he asked. She nodded. “I’ve always thought one day we’d end up together, married with like four kids or something. I always thought one day I could convince you to move to Denver with me. Or after I retired we’d start a life together. But you started dating Daniel. I realized I waited too long. And I was going to go back to Halifax during those first months of COVID. But you were with Daniel, I couldn’t be around you and him. So I stayed in Denver.”

“And then he proposed and I lost my chance. I lost my chance because I wasn’t going to make a move on you when you were with him. So, I thought that if we stayed apart, I stopped visiting home, these feelings would just go away. It’s worse, Y/N.” he muttered as he scooted closer to her, forcing their faces to be near inches apart.

“I think sappy romantic stuff is bullshit. But Y/N, you’re my soulmate. I’m in love with you, have been in love with you long before I even knew what love meant,” he rested his hand on her cheek, “At fucking nine years old, I knew who I wanted to marry and seventeen years later I still know who I want to marry. It’s always been you.”

She delicately rested her hand on his chest as she smiled, “I can’t believe you did that math so fast,” she teased. He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Shut up,” he muttered before he pressed his lips against hers urgently. She returned the kiss quickly as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him as her hands were holding his cheeks.

“I was scared,” she muttered as she pulled away, “I was scared that you’d become this famous athlete and forget about me. So I pulled away,” she mumbled before pecking his lips. “I’m in love with you too.”

He smiled as he kissed her again. “Best fucking year,” he let out.

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon imagines #nhl imagines #nhl #nhl x reader #nhl fic #hockey #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #cale makar #cale makar imagines

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