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tojancy · 17 days

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‘ Earned it ’ ft. r.sukuna

haunted by jujutsu sorcerers, you come to Sukuna for help. after begging to work under him, he agrees. what could the King of Curses possibly have in store for you..?

ɞ⁺ contains: heian era!sukuna x curse user! fem!reader, afab!reader, four arms sukuna, degradation, praise, cussing, riding, choking, hair pulling, mean sukuna, mentions of killing, mentions of blood, making out, unprotected sex, creampie, suggestion of overstim

ɞ⁺ w.c: 3.6k

ɞ⁺ note: thank you to my favorite @sttoru for beta reading! this took forever. hope you enjoy!

“Couldn’t you just kill her?”

What?

Standing before you is a man that embodies terror—a tremendous body and another pair of arms to make him even more distinct. The name Ryomen Sukuna is a chilling one, so many stories embellished around it. Hearts tremble with fear of each fable. You have heard of all his atrocities, cruelties sorcerers were subject to. But, as you stand in his presence, you begin to realize that these tales barely scratch the surface of his menace.

Adults employed his name to compel sleep, a whispered threat to coax children into slumber. You were no exception, truly. But you were always fierce, a soul unafraid.

Right. That’s what got you into the mess you’re in right now.

“I’m sorry, my lord. But if that’s your wish, then I shall go ahead and-”

“No-! Wait… please,” you surprise even yourself, words spill forth at their own accord. Your throat grows dry at the way both of them turn to look at you. struggling to maintain composure, you implore, “Please, just one chance. I promise I can make myself useful. I’d do anything. Anything.”

An amused chuckle thunders in Sukuna’s chest. It’s a cruel sound, imposing fear upon your senses. “And.. what exactly makes you think a meek sorcerer like you could be of any use to me?”

He’s almost offended by the notion. Sukuna is in need of no one. Especially not you; a sorcerer that came begging for his help. How ridiculous.

“I-I’m a first grade!” you exclaim, “I can do so many things, I-”

“Shut it.” The nearly-amused expression has been dropped, a somber tone to replace that. Your eyes widen immediately, a telltale sign of the terror you feel. “You are a weak sorcerer. You are nothing. Do you have any argument to make?”

“No, my lord,” your eyes meet the floor in a hard glare, cursing your misfortune.

You came to Uraume with hope, recalling a past acquaintance. You had not anticipated the drastic change in her. Standing against jujutsu sorcerers was no wise choice. You found yourself haunted down with no other choice.

Perhaps finding a protector would help—someone whom all sorcerers fear, compelled by their dread to leave you unharmed. None other than the King of Curses himself. If you devoted yourself to his service, showing unmatched loyalty, maybe then he’d protect you.

If only life is so forgiving.

You believed Uraume could help. You convinced yourself that alignment with Sukuna's subordinate could forge a safer path for protection. For safety. Yet, the last outcome you could have predicted was a suggestion for your execution.

“Good,” is his sole utterance. Uraume stands a few feet away, silent unless addressed.

Even with your eyes cast down, you can feel Sukuna’s eyes surveying you, the weight of four eyes is not an easy one. His gaze is empty, one of menace. You do not appear weak, though relative to him you certainly are. However, he trusts Uraume's judgment, convinced there must be a valid reason for your presence.

“I’ll… think about it,” You hear. Your head lifts abruptly, disbelief mingling with hope at the prospect of succor etched on your face. A sigh escapes you, looking at his hard features. Despite your awareness that Sukuna's motives lack benevolence or goodwill, you grasp at any opportunity presented.

“Thank you,” your knees buckle beneath you. Tears of relief flood your eyes as you continue. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You can flee now,” he replies curtly. You weren’t expecting much more anyway. “Uraume, lead her out.”

The curse user complies, leading you from the chambers of the King of Curses. Reaching the exit, you extend a hand toward Uraume before she returns inside.

“Th-thank you…” You muster.

“I’m not the one you’re to thank,” Her gaze is hard as ice, empty as one’s could be. You were hoping for some warmth, a semblance of assurance in a world so cruel. But who were you kidding; you held no significance to Uraume, who had long forsaken her humanity to serve solely the King of Curses. “Lord Sukuna has the highest authority over your life right now. Don’t screw your chances.”

The door slams in your visage before you can reply. You swallow. Uncertainty begins to bubble into you. What if he changes his mind? What if this was some kind of ruse?

But it wasn’t, and not too long later you find yourself in Sukuna’s chambers. You hear he’s beaten yet another jujutsu sorcerer, this one remarkable. It’s a surprise to no one. You hope you’re not next.

You’re even given a room to yourself, one you barely leave unless for food. The concept of running into Sukuna terrifies you.

A loud knock comes from the sliding door, making you flinch. You hasten to it, crouching before the wooden barrier. Your palms lay flat against the surface as you slide it open with ease. Uraume towers above you, her gaze fixed.

“Lord Sukuna requires your immediate attendance,” she tells you.

“I-I’ll be right there,” your breath falters, looking up at the white-haired woman. Uraume stands still. You realize she’s only waiting for you to gather yourself and accompany her.

You’re quick to oblige, standing up and trying your best to dispel the embarrassing fear displayed over your features. With swift movement, you grab your kosode’s belt and wrap it tightly around your middle. You stand before Uraume, who looks you up and down before simply turning around and walking, expecting you to keep up.

Anxiety plagues you, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what reason Sukuna would summon you. You’re so preoccupied that you don’t realize Uraume's route isn’t the same one you took to his chamber last time.

Sooner than you anticipate, Uraume takes an abrupt halt by a door. You nearly collide face-first with the finely painted wood. Recoiling, your eyes study the door. Patterns adorn the wood, carved carefully by the hands of a professional.

The detail on the door captivates you, it makes you wonder if Sukuna has truly observed it even once in his life. Your appreciation of it is short-lived, as Uraume calls you and pulls you out of thought.

“Pay attention or face expulsion,” she hisses before knocking at the door.

A grunted “You may enter,” resonates from inside. The curse user beside you immediately falls to her knees, and you follow path. Her hands lift to the door, which weighs more than yours, and she opens it with a fluid gesture.

“She has arrived, my lord.”

“Very well,” Sukuna utters. Emboldened, you look up, and the sight you’re met with makes your face heat up. There he sits, expression unyielding and gaze inscrutable, his torso is bare—save for the black marks that adorn his chiseled body. On any other day, you would have stopped to admire the sight, but today your eyes go back to staring at your bent knees. “Come in.”

Uraume knows she’s not the one intended, while you know that you are. With great force, you’re capable of pushing yourself up and walking toward the man sitting on the floor.

The door shuts as soon as you step foot into the room, making you flinch. “W-How can I help you, my Lord?”

Quietly, Sukuna hums in thought. His scrutiny of you, trailing to your feet and then meeting your eyes once more, kindles a patent tension within. There’s a sick, twisted desire within you—a desire for the man who would kill you without second thought.

“You said you can do many things, have you not?” He raises a single eyebrow.

“Indeed, my lord,” You muster. The chamber you stand in is spacious, slowly realizing that you are within his personal quarters—a place few may enter, as you understand it.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?” he says with a sinister smirk. “Do you know how to relieve muscle tension?”

“Certainly, my lord. Do you need any assistance with that?” You speak a little more than necessary. But he doesn’t mind too much. Your vocal cords make a soothing voice anyway.

“I’d like to see what you're capable of,” he states, malice evident in his tone, prompting you to brace for the potential consequences.

He gestures for you to approach the curtained futon, elevated on what appears to be several stacks of wood. It feels peculiar to see him prone on his stomach, but it affords you an unmatched view of his well-defined back—truly a sight to see.

Whether he trusts you or deems you harmless remains uncertain. Common sense suggests the latter, though you prefer to believe the former to spare yourself from embarrassment.

A small bottle sits beside his bed, a bottle of fine oil. With refined movement, you pick it up, spilling a fair amount on your hand before spreading it gently over his back.

You work silently, kneading hardened flesh. His unique anatomy intrigues you, especially navigating around two sets of arms. Your fingers continue to glide between the muscles, working your way into easing any knots.

Once your fingers reach his neck, a low grunt leaves his lips. You’re surprised… But even more so, the feeling lingering deep within you is becoming harder and harder to ignore. Your thighs squeeze against each other in hopes of relieving some of the heat that’s itching at your core.

With every stroke of your skilled fingertips, the tension threaded in his muscles ease, all the while the tension between the two of you grows unbearably palpable.

After a few moments, you grow hot. you pause and slightly loosen the belt of your kosode to cool down. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Sukuna, who peeks upwards subtly. He has no shame, raising his head further and looking you up and down. The loosened kosode exposes cleavage, and Sukunua overtly stares.

He pushes himself up, sitting on the bed. Shadows of his frame dance against the curtains surrounding his bed, the room dimly lit by candles. Posture straight, an expression of attendance on your face, you keep your eyes on him and await what he has to say.

You’re dangerous, Sukuna realizes. You’re not going to make this easy on him. His self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Sit,” He beckons you with a large hand. Albeit hesitant, you oblige and sit on the lifted futon in an awkward position.

There is no denying the way his gaze makes you feel. There’s a sense of vulnerability, and a sense of excitement. You choose to remain silent, waiting patiently for his next move.

Slowly, he leans his head in your way. Your eyes immediately flit away, heat rising into your face.

“Heh,” He smirks widely, leaning away. “You’re quite amusing, you know that?”

You grow embarrassed, displeased by the way he’s talking. You’re about to comment but ultimately choose to stop yourself from saying something that could get you in trouble.

Sukuna leans forward again, this time a little further from you. The hand he places on the bed for balance dips the fabric down. “Look at me when I address you, human.”

It’s humiliating how he talks to you. For some inexplicable reason, it arouses you all the same. You’re quick to oblige. Sukuna can feel his cock harden in his pants at the way you bat your lashes his way. He knew there was something so enticing about you the moment he saw you walking behind Uraume, even more now under the dim lights and in the revealing silk. He wants a piece of you.

Cancel that. He wants all of you.

“You have a pleasing appearance,” He tells you, eyes instinctively falling to your lips. “A fine figure too. Why don’t you put that to good use, hm?”

“What would you suggest, my lord?” You rouse. “I’m at your service.”

Sukunas face draws closer to yours once more. A single hand rises to your face, cradling your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “Interesting… You’re not dumb, are you?”

There’s a clear implication behind his words; take the hint, or don’t. You take a leap of faith, diminishing the space between your faces and pressing your lips firmly against his.

The hand that once held your face now rests on your neck, holding you in place. His tongue swipes against your lower lip, prompting you to give him entrance. He keeps his eyes open, watching over you with amusement you fail to see as your eyes are shut close.

Your mouth is warm and inviting, compelling him to savor every bit of the fiber inside. But he’s interrupted by you pulling away for air.

“Fucking brat,” he curses, pulling you back in before you can gasp another much-needed breath. His palm falls from your neck and skims the skin of your shoulder. In contrast to his typical demeanor, Sukuna’s movement is agonizingly slow as he pushes the cloth off your skin. Little by little, until your torso is exposed to the biting chill of the air, shivers cascade along your spine, eliciting goosebumps across your flesh.

Adrenaline rushes through your veins. Your heart throbs as your hands find his neck, the other on his shoulder. Closer. Your tongues dance, and the taste of you is addicting. Closer. His hands run over your bare skin, feeling up your curves. Closer. Nothing seems to be close enough. You need to be one with him.

Once content, Sukuna pulls away. The smirk on his face is enough reminder you’ve got nothing on him. “You’re weak.”

“‘M not,” you retort stubbornly, struggling to regain your breath. “You caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, right,” Sukuna’s hands fall to your hips. You would have never foreseen a scenario where you contest his words. Not without your head cut off before you completely utter your words. But this brazen attitude of yours is exciting to Sukuna, who can feel the pre staining his pants, cock now painfully hard. Just from kissing.

He maneuvers you with ease, leaning comfortably against the wall before placing you over his middle. You gasp once moved, eyes wide in surprise. You give no signs of struggle, though, so Sukuna continues.

Starting with the loosened belt, then the silk kosode. You’re bare under, left exposed to four eyes’ devouring gaze.

“Heh,” is what he says, feeling your wetness against his abdomen. “Is the wanted criminal so needy already? How sweet.”

“I’m quite sure you share the desire, my lord,” you whisper, drawing a chuckle from him. You bend forward until your face hovers tantalizingly close to his ear.“Do you not want a taste of me, my lord? I can show you what no woman has ever done.”

While the title ‘my lord’ has come from many to him, it rolls off your tongue differently. You’re so confident in your skills, and he has a feeling you’re not lying.

“I very much doubt that,” he lies, causing you to pucker your lower lip in disdain. You’re set on proving him wrong, prepared to showcase the extent of your capabilities.

Lifting your weight from his form, you turn around and give him your back. He stares down at you, an amorous grin adorning his face. Delicately, you trace your fingers over the prominent bulge in his pants. There is no mistaking the grunt that escapes him at the contact. The bulge largens. The tension grows. You swallow quietly.

“May I?” You whisper, barely audible.

“By all means,” he responds, his smirk persisting despite the furrow in his brow. Tender fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pale trousers, gradually coaxing them downward.

The sight makes you stop in your tracks; his cock springs to life, a lengthy shaft you’re not so sure you can take. The thought of going back on your words fleets momentarily across your mind, but you refrain. There’s svelteness to the way your fingers graze this tip, tinted with an angry pink. You spread the warm pre-cum over it for lubrication, softly pumping your hands over his shaft.

Surprise intensifies in you when it grows larger, making your insides churn. Your fingers continue their work, eliciting louder sounds from him.

You’re fascinated by it, a beautiful length framed by trimmed pubes. It starts with a color marginally darker than his skin, gradually merging into the angry pink hue that tints his tip. You can’t not stare.

You turn back around, looking at the man sitting before you. The King of Curses with all his mind with a troubled expression, his resolve long worn off.

“You’re taking too long,” He threatens. “Get on it already, woman.”

No less is expected from the King of Curses; he’s straightforward as one could be. A yelp escapes your lips when his hands land a firm grip on your hips, forcefully lifting you up.

You’re placed on his length without any warning, causing a loud cry to break out of you. Tears gather in your eyes at the sudden stretch. You feel him, all of him; thick and long and painful and good.

Drawing a sharp breath, you attempt to adjust to the stretch.

“Can’t take it?” His smirk taunts you. “Pathetic.”

“I-I can,” you steady yourself with two palms against the curves of his abs. “Let me get- ah–!”

Your moan synchronizes with the groan he emits, his hands maintaining a firm grasp on your ass cheeks as he lifts you upwards for friction before abruptly slamming you back down. The way your gummy walls wrap tight around him nearly makes him dizzy. Sukuna is almost sure this pussy was made for him and only him.

“Fuck–” he grunts, head thrown back as you move steadily. His hand grabs your waist for guidance as you huff and puff, trying not to be too loud but it’s so hard when he hits all the right places. Your heart thrums in your chest, body shaking at the euphoria that’s clouding your senses.

There’s rhythm to the sounds of breathing, creating a symphony of pleasure as you roll your hips, pace fastening every second. Sukuna’s hand is light against your hip, a thumb extending to rub your clit in a gentle manner, drawing circles over the soft bud.

“Oh– M’lord– I’m..” words bleed into moans you can no longer contain. Every thrust hits deeper, and every movement makes you squeeze tighter around his cock. Your eyes roll back, and Sukuna swears he could get off to your expression alone.

When a cold grip meets the writ of one of his lower arms, Sukuna’s eyes flee your face in curiosity. His hand is heavier than you expect. You softly raise his palm, desperately leaving it at your neck.

He chuckles. He loves the desperation in your eyes, the way your hips thrust sloppily, the way you claw at his chest for a symbol of control as you try your best to stay true to your words. Warm digits wrap around your neck and squeeze it lightly.

“C’mere,” he breathes, pulling you by your neck. Your lips clash into his with a gasp. God, you’re intoxicating him. Teeth tug at your bottom lip despite your mouth being agape. The moan that escapes you is happily drank down by him.

Humidity clouds the place, shiny sweat dripping down your neck. You’re in too much ecstasy to think anyway.

Sukuna sucks at your bottom lip, his hand moving from your neck to cradle the back of your head then tug at your hair.

You’re magic, the sight of you inebriating him utterly. You’re a trigger, back arched towards him in desperation. All to feel more. How greedy. You’re deadly, bouncing on him like that’s what you were made for, resolve renewing to keep up for as long as you could.

“Fuck- attagirl,” his eyes shut, dopamine rises, and all he can do is feel. “Good- shit– yeah, yeah–”

“‘M close-” your moan is pitched, walls tightening around him. “Ah– I’m– ‘m so close-”

Your entire body shakes, legs trembling and nearly giving out. A harsh slap lands across the skin on your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh before landing another slap against it. You can still feel the heat of his palm even as he moves it to hold your face harshly. “Don’t be fucking weak. H-shit–”

It turns you on, he realizes. To be treated like a ragdoll and pushed around.

“Like that huh?” another spank. “Like being hit? Tch, wh-what a fucking brat”

“Yes–!�� You gasp, movement accelerating over him, drawing half of him out just to enroll him in your warmth again. He can sense your orgasm approaching, walls dangerously tight around him. His tip hits your good spot, and you go at it and at it again, moaning loudly as your nails bruise his chest.

A string of curses escapes his lips, neck stretched as your head inches closer, pressing a kiss to the skin. He groans louder, moving you faster on his dick as your pace wasn’t enough.

“Hah– I– I’m gonna– Sukuna-sama I—”

Your mouth falls open, and breath fast. You see stars, cumming all over him. The fiber of your insides pulses around him, surrounding his cock with your essence.

Nails dig into your flesh, and Sukuna’s body tenses. A desperate whine escapes you when you feel the white ropes spilling inside you. Your movement persists, set on milking every last drop he has to offer.

His chest rises and falls, a palm coming to cover his face while another pair sits on your hips. You attempt to move, trying to pull yourself off his cock. But his hands pull you back down with potent. You’ve grown sensitive, so his action draws a loud whine from you.

“Where to?” He sneers at you. “You’re not done yet, are you? ‘This all you can do?”

It’s an obvious challenge. Despite the fatigue you’re starting to feel, you’re not one to back down from challenges. Least of all ones pronounced by him.

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lovetwist · 1 month

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Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

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As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer.

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

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As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #dune imagine #dune fanfic #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfic #dune x reader #austin butler imagine #feyd smut #austin butler x reader #feyd rautha smut

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lockwie · 2 years

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some of y'all need to learn how to fact check omg

you need to know that some people will weaponise you against people on your own side

some people will straight up lie about stuff just because they don't like someone

the opposite can also be true

and others will repeat that shit without thinking

not everything to you read on Tumblr is true

please fucking fact check and search for context before repeating random stuff you heard someone say

#some of y'all are just repeating whatever #it's exhausting #maybe stop talking about subjects you know nothing about too #like do your research before you forge a random opinion

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radiofreederry · 8 months

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Happy birthday, Leslie Feinberg! (September 1, 1949)

A prominent butch lesbian author and activist, Leslie Feinberg grew up in Buffalo, New York in a working class Jewish family. Ze discovered hir sexuality sometime in hir teens, and ze began frequenting Buffalo's gay bars. Ze became involved in radical politics in hir twenties, joining the Workers World Party and becoming a contributor and later editor of its newspaper. Ze would take part in many radical actions and demonstrations both in Buffalo and after moving to New York City. Hir experiences as a butch lesbian in Buffalo and NYC informed the semi-autobiographical Stone Butch Blues, hir most famous work, which went on to have an extremely influential place in the lesbian community. Ze also wrote Transgender Warriors, an influential work of popular history on the subject of gender, as well as other books and writings related to sex, gender, and revolutionary politics. Feinberg died in 2014, hir final words being a plea to remember hir as a revolutionary communist. Ze was later honored as an inaugural inductee to the National LGBT Wall of Honor.

“Like racism and all forms of prejudice, bigotry against transgendered people is a deadly carcinogen. We are pitted against each other in order to keep us from seeing each other as allies. Genuine bonds of solidarity can be forged between people who respect each other's differences and are willing to fight their enemy together. We are the class that does the work of the world, and can revolutionize it. We can win true liberation.”

#birthdays #leslie feinberg

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thepunkmuppet · 6 months

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the possible future of the hatchetfield series: hatchetfield halloween party livestream full rundown

again apologies if someone has already done something like this, but I’m procrastinating doing my coursework and just want to talk about hatchetfield I want everyone to be aware of this exciting stuff that was announced in the stream so here you go:

the next starkid musical to be released will not be in the hatchetfield universe.

the guy who didn’t like musicals will soon be ready to license.

nightmare time 3 was originally planned to be released in the same year as nightmare time 2 and will wrap up the overarching nightmare time stories (which seem to be miss holloway and the foster sisters respectively).

if they did a fourth hatchetfield musical, it would be about miss holloway and her backstory. it is already written. I am very very extremely normal about this fact 😃

there is a possibility of a hatchetfield movie, and workin’ boys was sort of a test for this concept. it would be a slasher murder mystery centering around the hatchetfield community players (zoey chambers and the cast of workin’ girls, possibly also with ruth, hidgens, alice and any other theatre-oriented characters but that part’s just my speculation). the transcription of the teaser description can be found below the nmt descriptions.

ok so here are the transcriptions of the nmt3 episode descriptions:

Story #1: Bottle Imps

Bill Woodward has been chosen to test CCRP’s latest and greatest product; Bottle Imps. These reality-bending buddies will bring their owner the one thing they desire most. When his new imp, Lovely, leads him to his soulmate, Bill decides to use his magical companion to play matchmaker. But to help Charlotte find the man of her dreams, Bill will have to bend the Imp’s rules. Rules he’s been warned, must never be broken…

Story #2: Frankenruth

Desperate to see a naked body, Ruth Fleming and Richie Lipschitz volunteer at the morgue of St. Damien’s Hospital. Their terrible plan becomes exponentially more terrible, when they become unwitting subjects in the experiments of the body-snatching madman, Doctor Laszlo, who claims to have conquered death itself. If Hatchetfield thought Ruth was bad before, then they will cower before the unspeakable horror of… Frankenruth!

Story #3: Becky Barnes Climbed a Tree

Becky Barnes is on top of the world! Not in a literal sense, of course. She’s deathly afraid of heights. After years of struggle, Becky’s life is finally everything she dreamed it would be. She’s engaged to her high school sweetheart, Tom Houston, and the two have a surprise baby on the way! But, as the couple prepare for the arrival of baby Marie, a shadow from Becky’s past returns to haunt them.

Story #4: Devil’s Night

Tim Houston has a crush. Unfortunately, it’s on his older, mature and totally cool babysitter, Grace Chasity, who he fears will never see him as anything but a snot-nosed little kid. But when a devilish maniac with murderous designs on Grace attacks Hatchetfield the night before Halloween, Tim must protect his beloved, or join the killer’s growing body count. It’s another slashing adventure on the night HE came home… Devil’s Night.

Story #5: (long special episode) Miss Holloween

It’s Halloween in Hatchetfield once again, and Miss Holloway is celebrating the same way she’s done for decades, staving off the horrors that go bump in the night. But when Duke gives her an invitation to his wedding, the dejected Miss Holloway begins to chafe under the terms of a contract forged many years ago. She strikes a new bargain, but unfortunately her creditors are known for their tricks, not treats. Just as Miss Holloway gives up her powers in exchange for a mortal life, a monstrous new threat rears its ugly head. As All Hallows Eve descends, and all Hell breaks loose, Miss Holloway must save the town or die trying… for real this time.

Story #6: (long special episode / season finale) Orb Weaver

Lex Foster had a life once. A home. A boyfriend. Now there is only the road, and her sister, and the fear of the men who are hunting them. As Hannah Foster watched Lex sink deeper into despair, she is certain of only three things: Webby is gone. She cannot help them. They are alone. Elsewhere, an old soldier awakens from a catatonic state. Returned from some unimaginable Hell with a mission. He knows that somewhere, two magical girls require immediate evac… then maybe some coffee.

very important: if you want nightmare time 3, WATCH NIGHTMARE TIME 2. BUY A TICKET TO THE LIVESTREAM. SHOW THAT THERE IS LOVE AND DEMAND AND IT’S WORTH THEIR TIME AND MONEY I AM BEGGING YOU

hatchetfield movie: Cast Party Massacre

The Hatchetfield Community Players. You will never find a cattier troupe of two-faced thespians. But when the blood begins to flow at their latest show’s cast party, they must consider: is there a secret murderer in their midst? And more importantly, who amongst them is a good enough actor to pull off such a performance? Can they set aside their petty squabbles and tangled romances, or is it curtains for this ensemble? Who will survive… the Cast Party Massacre!

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mikavlcs · 11 months

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Not On My Mind

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: You leave school for a trip, and Wednesday doesn’t miss you. Not even a little bit.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday but she’s like...in denial about it, my writing

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: this is kinda messy, but cute. nothing else to add tbh. hope you guys enjoy<3

Masterlist

Wednesday Addams was not soft.

She simply wasn’t. She never had been, and she never would be, for as long as she drew breath. The word didn’t even exist in her vocabulary.

Because she, Wednesday Addams, was a singularity. Unlike any other lowly mortal, she was not born from a womb, but forged in the hottest, most ferocious flames of hell by Lucifer himself. She was pure menace and dread given a small, but formidable physical form.

A vile miscreant equipped with a smile that could make even the purest of angels scream in terror and a glare that could make the devil shed tears of despair. Judge, jury, and executioner—someone capable of horrors beyond even your worst nightmares.

(Well, not executioner since she was unfortunately not yet a murderer, but she would be someday. It was the only incomplete task on her bucket list.)

So, no, Wednesday Addams was not soft. Nor could she ever be capable of such abominable behavior.

And yet…here she was displaying signs of this weakness. Because of you.

You were going on a family vacation. An event which, to Wednesday, sounded like a particularly gruesome method of torture, but you were positively buzzing with excitement about the trip.

Either way, you were going away with your family for a week. An entire seven days without you constantly at her side, chattering in her ear between classes, and lounging around her room in the evenings.

This, in theory, should have been great news. Lucifer knew how much more writing she could get done without you dragging her out to Jericho after classes or trying to read over her shoulder despite her threats of bodily harm. But it wasn’t great news. In fact, the information brought forth an odd sort of discomfort. A dull ache in her chest she’d never experienced before.

It was disgusting, it was vile, and it would certainly stain her reputation if it ever got out.

She supposed her reputation had already been defiled by the fact that her roommate and self-appointed best friend was the human embodiment of a rainbow, but this? This was a new low.

Her shamefulness was all she could think about while she watched you pack from her place on your bed. Well, “pack” was a generous way to describe it. You were actually just frantically grabbing clothes and other various items from around your room and throwing them into your suitcase and duffel bag, much to the disapproval of the meticulously organized Addams.

You insisted that you had a system, a method to your madness. Wednesday disagreed but didn’t bother voicing it.

From the ground, your voice rose, sounding far too winded for someone doing so little exercise. “Can you hand me that box on the dresser, Wends?”

Wednesday exhaled sharply. She came here to see you off, not help you pack last minute. Still, she obeyed, not without sending you a scathing glare that you promptly ignored.

The box in question was easy to find, already open atop your dresser where you directed her. She took a passing glance inside to survey the contents within—a bunch of mismatched jewelry that sparked vague recognition but no interest.

Just as she was about to close it, something caught her eye. A ring, sitting in the corner of the box. It was a simple, visually unobtrusive black band with silver engravings wound throughout. She recognized it as one of your most frequently worn pieces of jewelry, but it had never captured her attention before now.

She was overcome with the sudden, overwhelming urge to take it. Wednesday very nearly stifled it, but she figured since you were subjecting her to these horrific feelings, she was entitled to a settlement of some kind.

Swiftly, she pocketed the ring and snapped the box shut, venturing back over to you, none the wiser as you messily stuffed clothing into your suitcase. She held the box out to you, eyes narrowing in condemnation at the messy state of your things below.

“Why are you taking the entire box?” Wednesday asked neutrally.

“Because these dorms are not the most secure,” you answered, taking the box from her hand with a smile and placing it on top of your clothes. “And I would hate for something to get stolen while I was gone.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched. “Yes, that would be unfortunate.”

Soon enough, you were finished packing and ready to go. Almost. For some reason, you were struggling to carry both your duffel bag and suitcase at the same time. It was quite humorous, watching you struggle, but she took pity on you knowing you were on a schedule.

“You’re weak,” she grumbled as she snatched the duffel bag from your hand, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped around you to open the door.

You followed closely behind, flashing her a grateful, slightly sheepish grin while closing the door behind you. “Thanks, Wends.”

She said nothing, just kept walking, finding amusement in the sound of you fumbling to catch up. When you found your footing, you took your usual place at her side, shoulders brushing while you easily fell into step with her.

The whole way down, you chattered on and on about what you were excited to do on the trip, but Wednesday wasn’t tuned in. Her attention was on the way her stomach fell further with every step closer to the waiting car outside and the pit she could feel forming for seemingly no reason at all.

She despised it, this ever-growing weakness you unwillingly made her develop.

Walking out, you found the car parked right by the curb outside, Principal Weems already leisurely resting against it while she waited for you to arrive.

The tall woman greeted the two of you with a smile, to which you offered a wave in return while Wednesday just stared. She came to collect your luggage and went to put it in the back of her car, leaving the two of you to say your goodbyes.

You turned to her, rocking back on your heels, clearly unsure of what to say. Wednesday, though she’d never admit it, was in a similar predicament, without the slightest clue of what to do now.

She didn’t know why, but she was tempted to pull you back into the school and drag her back to her dorm. The urge was utterly ridiculous, yet grew more powerful by the second, nagging at her as she watched your agonizingly slow internal debate.

“I guess I’ll see you in a week,” you finally said, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’ll be over in a flash, and I’ll be back to talking your ear off before you know it.”

Wednesday gave you a firm nod in lieu of a verbal response. You sent a sideways glance to the principal’s car, clearly remembering you had a flight to catch.

“Bye, Wends,” you said, then added, “Please don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” she deadpanned, earning a laugh from you.

After another moment of indecision, you pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, feather-light and entirely too quick for her tastes. But she didn’t voice that embarrassing thought, just watched you walk off and enter the vehicle with her arms crossed.

As the car pulled off, you turned and waved to her out the back window, and she lifted her fingers from her forearm slightly in response. The smile you gave her got smaller and smaller with distance.

Wednesday stayed standing there until the car was out of sight, the unidentified pit in her stomach never abating.

—

The week that followed was…weird.

It was the same as any other week at Nevermore, yet entirely different.

She was indeed able to get much more writing done, but it wasn’t as triumphant as Wednesday imagined. The silence in her room was refreshing for all of twenty minutes before the tone of it shifted, and the quiet felt empty. It didn’t impede her workflow—if anything, it increased it—but it just felt wrong.

There were a number of notable happenings throughout the week as well.

Bianca suffered her 47th defeat at the hands of Wednesday during their weekly fencing practice (she was very excited to get to 50), Eugene somehow got six bees stuck in his hair and, in a show of true incompetence, Xavier managed to spill an entire can of paint on himself. Something he would never, ever live down as far as Wednesday was concerned.

In all of those instances, she found herself looking to her right to see if you were smiling or laughing. Until she was met with the empty space you would’ve occupied, and she remembered. You weren’t here. It made a certain hollowness settle in her chest, making her mood drop ever so slightly.

It was pathetic, honestly. It made her want to self-lobotomize herself to attempt to determine just how much damage you’d done, to see if it was reverible.

Still, she mentally cataloged the events to recount for you upon your arrival. Only so she wouldn’t have to deal with your whining about her not telling you anything once you inevitably heard it from Enid.

Throughout each day, your ring accompanied Wednesday everywhere she went. Slipping it on right before leaving her dorm and taking it off just before bed quickly became her new routine.

She had never fully understood the obsession that people had with rings as the only hand jewelry she ever enjoyed wearing was brass knuckles, but she was beginning to get it now. The light weight on her hand was somewhat soothing, especially in moments when your absence was particularly potent.

She hoped that no one would notice it. Most wouldn’t have even known it belonged to you, but your shared group of friends (acquaintances on Wednesday’s end) would likely recognize it since you wore it so frequently.

Knowing this, Wednesday did her best to take it off in group settings, slipping it into her blazer pocket to put back on after, but it was harder to remember during classes. This oversight ended up being her undoing.

It wound up taking three days for someone to notice the ring. And, of course, that someone was Enid.

They were in Botany, listening to Miss Thornhill drone on about some rare carnivorous plant. Enid was in the seat next to her to “fill in the void” you left behind in your absence with her peppy, prismatic presence.

Entirely unnecessary, but so were most things Enid did. Wednesday had long since learned not to question her anymore.

Wednesday, having already known everything there was to know about the plant, had finished taking her notes five minutes after class started, but Enid wasn’t even trying to take notes. She was instead doing seemingly everything in her power to irritate Wednesday. Incessantly doodling, clicking her pen, constantly fidgeting and shifting, drumming her fingers against the desk.

It was positively maddening. And not in a good way.

In an effort not to snap at her, Wednesday occupied herself with your ring. Tracing the engravings and twisting it around her finger. It was soothing. Enid, nosy as she was, glanced over at the movement and paused her pen clicking.

“Hey…” she started, and Wednesday immediately knew she would hate where this was going. Enid leaned over, making Wednesday lean back in turn. Her eyes narrowed then widened moments later with a soft gasp. “That ring, isn’t that—"

“None of your business? Absolutely,” she gritted out, sending her a scathing glare. “Now, perhaps you should actually pay attention. Maybe then you’ll have a chance of finally getting something higher than a 70 on the next test.”

Her roommate looked like she wanted to say more but eventually conceded with a disgustingly wide smile and a mumble that sounded awfully like that’s so cute of you, roomie.

Wednesday swore that if it were anybody else, she would’ve finally completed her bucket list that day.

—

After what seemed like an eternity and many more tests to Wednesday’s patience (almost exclusively from Enid), seven days passed and the time for you to return to Nevermore arrived.

It had actually been longer than seven days—170 hours and 17 minutes, to be exact—but who was counting? Certainly not Wednesday.

The principal’s car pulled in just as the sun began to set, and Wednesday was there, standing off to the side of the school’s entrance. Not because she was waiting for you, she simply had matters to attend to in the courtyard around that time.

You stepped out the car moments later and your eyes found hers instantly, expression brightening. Bags in hand, you ran over to her but stopped just short of her, excitement fading into uncertainty.

Wednesday stared at you, then, with an audible sigh, stepped forward. Your smile returned, increasing tenfold as you dropped your bags and wrapped your arms around her, careful not to squeeze her too hard. If you questioned the way she barely leaned into your embrace and turned her face just slightly into your neck, she would say it was entirely in your head.

“Did you miss me?” you asked once you pulled back, hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

“Not for a second,” she answered. “I was able to get twice as much writing done without your constant prattling and distractions.”

“Uh-huh.” The sly smile on your face told her that you definitely weren’t buying it, but you plowed on before she could confront you. “Y’know, you could have texted me if you had a phone,” you persuaded, fixing her with a look she’d become intimately familiar with since you’d started dating. “I could always get you one.”

Wednesday blinked, shot you a dubious look. “You’re broke.”

Your shoulders fell dramatically, but your tone remained light. “Damn, Wends, you didn’t have to say it like that.”

She didn’t dignify you with another response. Knowing you would need time to unpack before dinner, she slung one of your bags over your shoulder and took off in the direction of your dorm, leaving you to catch up.

It wasn’t long before you were by her side, matching her pace easily. And, of course, you had more to say.

“Do you wanna hear about my trip?”

“No,” she said. A beat. Then, “But you may tell me while you unpack. I know you like to run your mouth while completing tasks anyway. I have things to tell you as well.”

“Really? Thanks, Wends,” you grinned brightly. Wednesday shot you a glare, and if you noticed that it was softer than usual, you didn’t comment.

Unable to keep your mouth shut, you started ranting about the traffic you hit on the way back to the airport, or something related to that. Wednesday wasn’t quite listening. She was instead taking in the unfocused drawl of your voice in her ear, the strides perfectly matching hers, the light brush of your shoulder against hers—just appreciating the familiar presence at her side once more.

It had only been a week, yet it felt like a lifetime since she had last experienced this.

Without thinking, her hand drifted to fiddle with your ring, and your eyes caught the movement. You stopped suddenly, prompting Wednesday to come to a halt as well with a questioning look.

Gently, you grabbed her hand and brought it closer to your face to inspect the band around her finger.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” you asked, brows knitting together. “I’ve been wondering where it went, I swore I packed it...”

Wednesday snatched her hand away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about but grab my hand like that again and yours will be swiftly removed.”

“But—” you started to protest but stopped abruptly. She watched, curious, as your expression smoothed over into something even she couldn’t quite read. You nodded, smiled. “Yeah, I must be confused, sorry.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes but accepted the apology with a nod.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. It was odd. Wednesday stole a few glances to see if you were upset, but you seem to be. If anything, the opposite.

Still, the silence stretched on even when you both arrived at your destination, and you were pulling the door to your dorm open for her. She strode inside, trying to find a way to broach the subject without sounding too concerned.

But there was no need.

Just after the door closed, you put a hand on her shoulder and leaned over into her space. She gave you a startled glare but didn’t move away, ignoring the way her ears burned at the sight of your soft smile and the equally soft whisper that followed.

“I missed you too, Wednesday.”

—

everyone @ wednesday while reading this:

anyways happy pride to my fellow loser gays 🥳🏳️‍🌈

#wednesday 'i'm not like other girls' addams is canon btw #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagine #jenna ortega #she's a loser<3

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dr3c0mix · 11 months

Note

Zombie Horde x AMAB transfem/gn reader who is working to find a cure for the zombie epidemic?

Like I was imagining reader works in a lab that is then overrun, and reader attempts to flee the horde or secretly continue their experiments when they aren’t looking.

Eventually maybe reader gets used to it and decides to take advantage of the “willing” and (usually) non-violent test subjects.

Love ur work btw <3

i havent given you guys your dose of zombie bitches lately so here ya go <3 this can be also be read as gn maybe

Zombie Horde x MtF!Reader Who's Looking for a Cure

CW: i will make you sob at the end istg, a bit of ewuh body stuff

💀 You've been trying to find a cure ever since the first wave of the epidemic, but the virus spread so quickly that you had to halt your research and flee the city, getting in your car after loading all your equipment and supplies in the trunk and driving off.

💀 Now, after just a few months, you were living in a symbiotic relationship with the very things you swore to destroy. At that point, you've forgotten all about the cure, thinking that there was no more hope on this earth for rehabilitation.

💀 But while lying down in your zombie husband pile at night, the idea sparked in your brain yet again, making you sit up, Ribs' head falling from your shoulder, waking him up.

💀 "S-sorry! So sorry Hun! Uhm..I gotta get something!" You pat Ribs' head before stumbling out of your bed, careful not to trip over the others. Bo blinks a bit before getting up and following you.

💀 You hear a low purr behind you as you were putting on your jacket and backpack and see Bo with a pleading, sleepy face. please come back..it's cold... you could imagine him saying. You chuckle and give him a kiss on the nose. "I'll be back, I promise!" and you run off outside to the parking lot.

💀 You retrieve your supplies from your old car, it's dusty and a bit dirty but the papers you've written were still readable.

💀 You carry the box of stuff back with you, Screw and Soda waiting for you and cocking their heads at the sight of their little mate carrying a box full of tubes and paper.

💀 The horde curiously watches you search through the papers, sometimes writing things down. You mumble soft words they didn't understand whilst looking over two or more papers.

💀 Eventually, you circle a string of letters and numbers and you hold your head in your hands with wide eyes, Screw crawls up to you cooing and you turn to him with the biggest smile on your face.

💀 "I think I got it.."

💀 He cocks his head with a chirp.

💀 "I have the cure..."

💀 You would've never considered it, but with your new discovery of visible consciousness in infected subjects, brain recovery and even bodily recovery can be possible, you just had to find a solution that can increase the body's constructive systems.

💀 You would forge for materials far beyond where you usually searched and would meet up with other survivors to exchange goods in order to conduct your research.

💀 Of course, your husbands were willing to help you, once you told them about your plan, they were so happy! Flesh like yours? Count us in! Ribs especially wants to help; he very much wants his torso back...

💀 The first tests weren't very fruitful but gave interesting results, one experiment with Bo included an injection to his arm, which made his heart beat for a few seconds before slowing and stopping like it was before.

💀 You would also see signs of growth, both Screw and Soda's wounds would appear to be healing themselves.

💀 After a few months of experimentation, you were starting to give up, the boys' wounds and lost body parts being unable to grow back.

💀 It was alright for you though, you never really expected to find the cure so easily, and you weren't sure if it could even work on other zombies.

💀 At least the boys looked a bit better than before though, their hair could grow like a human's and their limps were gone, their joints rejuvenated and no longer rigid, allowing them to move like a normal human and not a living corpse.

💀 You thought that was all that you got from your experiments when..

💀 "(Y-Y/N)?"

💀 That...voice? It sounds familiar somehow...

💀 "Babygirl? Can you hear me?" the voice says again, it was gruff with a bit of a southern accent.

💀 "That's not her name!" Another voice, more higher pitched that the first.

💀 "It's a nickname Ribs!" One quietly says.

💀 Your neck almost snaps at the speed you turned back.

💀 "Uhm..hey there babes.." Bo says awkwardly.

💀 Looks like their vocal chords grew back too...

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 5 months

Text

Winter Fireflies

Summary: Despite knowing Natasha for years and dating her for a while now, you're still unaware of when her birthday is. So when Yelena lets it slip, you decide to give her a small surprise.

Authors note: Happy Birthday Natasha! 💖

Authors note 2.0: sorry this is out so late, I got distracted today lmao. Smutty birthday drabble coming later!

Word count: Marvel Masterlist Nat Masterlist

When you walk into the kitchen, you're bummed by the abscence of Natasha. You’ve been trying to track her down since you’d woken up alone in your bed, and had already looked in practicaly every other corner and crevice of the place. Thankfully the kitchen had at least been nice enough to give up Yelena, and you were sure would know her sisters whereabouts.

“Do you know where Nat is?” you ask, strolling over to the fridge for a much needed bottle of water

She shrugs, “She spends a lot of time alone on her birthdays”

You choke on the sip of water you’d just taken, “What did you just say?!”

“Oh shit” she exclaims, eyes going wide. She knew her older sister liked to keep a lot of things close to her chest, but even she hadn’t seen this coming, “She really didn’t tell you?”

“No.” you admit, turning your head away from the blonde

The two of you have been together for little over a year now, and you’ve been friends for nearly five, so the fact that you still had no idea when her birthday was left you feeling more than a bit embarrassed. Because even though nobody else knew either due to Nat having Fury wipe the more personal info from all her files, you thought that the bond the two of you had that helped forge your relationship would have changed matters for you.

Didn’t she trust you enough by now to let you in? Its not like she hadn’t opened up to you about other things. You knew about most of her experiences in the Red Room, including her massive guilt and her nightmares. You knew about the Ohio mission and her sisterly bond with Yelena. You knew about Dreykov and his abuse. So why was her birthday such an elusive subject?

Yelenas brows furrow as she registers the multitude of different emotions etched upon her features and though this is her sisters fault for not being open with you, she feels guilty for letting the meaning of the date slip

“I am sorry, Y/n. I thought you knew”

You just nod and let the fridge door slam harder than intended, “Not your fault”

You have half a mind to just turn and head to your room for the day and ignore anyone that came knocking. If your girlfriend wanted space and privacy so badly, then you’d give it to her….but the bigger part of you knew you couldn’t do that to her. Natasha isn’t doing this out of spite or to intentionally hurt you, she just gets a little lost sometimes.

��“Where does she go?”

“I’m honestly not sure” she answers, afraid she's only dampening your modd “But I know she's always back around dinner”

You glance at the clock and see that you have about three hours, “Wanna help me with something?”

She notices the hint of excitement in your eyes and finds herself intrigued, “I would love to.”

When Natasha had returned to the compound she had expected to find you in the kitchen helping Wanda make dinner, but when she didn’t find you there she imagined that you must still be up in your room. To her confusion however, you aren’t there either, and she feels a twinge of guilt knaw at her chest. She should have told you by now what today was and why it was so hard for her, she knew you’d be understanding. And regardless, should have at the very least have left you a note so you didn’t have to wonder why you’d woken up alone.

“Sestra(sister)”

She spins around in your doorway, “Lena, have you seen Y/n?”

“Funny, I was asked a very similar question from her this morning”

The redhead shuts her eyes, “You must think I’m a terrible girlfriend”

“No” she admits with a shake of her head, “But I do think you are very lucky to have the one that you do.”

Nats brows furrow, “I agree, but why do I feel that has a hidden meaning?”

The younger woman shrugs, “I wouldn’t know, but she's in your room”

Nat nods, and though she's still suspicious she heads off to her room instead. Once there she opens the door and is met with quite the surprise. Right above the doorframe a few streamers are hung, in the corner by her widow is a bundle of different colored balloons, and in the middle of her bed sits you with a couple of boxes.

“Kotenok(kitten), what is this?” she asks, despite the obvious answer. Afterall, she hadn’t told you so why would you celebrate her even if you did find out todays signifigance

“Its your birthday” you reply with a smile, “I know its been a while since you celebrated, so I hope this is okay. I didn’t want to go too overboard on decorations and presents, even though you definitely deserve to be spoiled”

Taken aback by your gesture, she finds herself beginning to get choked up, “I- yeah, yeah. Its more than fine”

“You sure?” you ask, feeling a bit nervous that you may have overstepped

“I’m sure.” she responds, walking twords you, “I’m sorry I never told you, I just…I never had this. In the Red Room, special occasions didn’t exist. And in Ohio, everything about them was fake. There wasn’t any real gifts, care or love and I…I didn’t want that again. I didn’t want a giant fake display of affection meant for show. I wanted something truly meant for me, something real”

You gently cup her face and wipe away the tears that she hadn’t even realized had been forming and slipping down her cheeks, “Well, I can assure you that this is all very real, baby. And all for you”

She gives you a soft smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah” you assure her, gently kissing her lips, “Now come see what I got you”

Despite her current age, youd think she was a kid again with the dizziness she feels as you lead her over to the bed. You pull over the larger all white box first, and she immediately knows its the kind of box that bakeries have. Her eyes are practically shining with excitement as she looks back at you and you gesture for her to open it.

Inside she finds a white circular cake thats decorated with running gold icing and intricatly made icing flowers. In the middle is a small plaque wishing her a happy birthday, and in all honesty, if this was all she ever got from now on then she’d be happy.

“I hope you like sprinkles, I had them put them between cake layers for you.” you ramble, as you were honestly a bit nervous on how shed react to everything

“I love sprinkles” she says, looking back at you, “And I love the cake. Thank you detka(baby)”

You practically beam at her, “You're welcome. Now, open this”

The next item you hand her is also in a box, only this time its black and definetly isn’t from the bakery. If she had to guess, its some form of jewerly. She takes it from you and opens it to reveal elegant golden bands, one for each wrist.

“I’ve been working on these for a while now, Tony helped design them of course” you explain, “They can do everything your widows bites can. That way, you never have to go undercover, or even to one of Tonys galas, without them again.”

She honestly hadn’t expected you to have remembered the brief conversation she’d had with you about how, despite practically being a weapon herself and always having a hidden gun or blade on her during undercover ops, she just feels like she’d feel more secure with her most trusted tool.

“They don’t even look like weapons.”

You chuckle, “Well, that was kinda the point, so I’m glad to hear that”

She smiles at you and sets the box down to grab your hand, “Thank you, Y/n. This really has been the best birthday”

“Don’t thank me yet, we still have one more thing” you tell her, glancing back over at her window to ensure it was dark enough outside

“Another gift? Detka(baby), you shouldn’t have”

You squeeze her hand, “Actually, this ones from Yelena”

Amused and curious, she follows as you lead her over to the widow and she lets out a soft gasp as she catshes sight of whats just beyond the compound in the woodline. Just on the edge, in a few of the pines, lay stings of light that glow a faint yellow, that flicker on and off in turn.

“Forrest stars”

Its merely a whisper, but you hear it along with the wonder in her voice. You imagine she must be reliving on of the few good childhood memories she has and you can’t help but wrap one of your arms around her and pull her closer

“Happy birthday, baby”

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @mmmmokdok @nataliasknife @natashasilverfox @when-wolves-howl @danveration @naomi-m3ndez @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @readings-stuff @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @xchaiix @iaminluvwithnat @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories @imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastormm @zoomdeathknight @rayeofmoonlight @aeroae @sashawalker2

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x reader #marvel #fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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mphountitled · 5 months

Text

Campus Culture | L.DH

Pairings: Himbo!Haechan x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Haechan turns into a completely loveable but mindless replica of himself when inebriated and only Drunk Haechan might be able to seduce his uptight roomate... it only counts as a drunken mistake if it happens once, right?

Sfw Warnings: Roomates AU, Fwb to Lovers, Forbbidden Relationship, Confessions, Fluff, Alcohol consumption, Angst, CollegeAU, Himbo!Haechan

Nsfw Warnings: Smut (+18, Minors DNI) Fwb to lovers Roomate!Haechan, Perv! Haechan, Dub/CON, Grinding, Choking, Premature Ejaculation, Handjob, Needy!Haechan, Rough sex, Oral Fixation, Nipple play, Unprotected Sex (don't be dumb), Cervix Fucking, Breeding Kink, Cum Play.

A/n: This is more of an enemies to lovers if you squint. If you feel triggered by very slight depictions of bullying, please be wary. I also had no idea where I was going with this. It all just kinda spewed out. ANYWAY, I love Himbos

Usually, you're better equipped for an evening with Haechan's juvenile friends coming over and doing whatever it is that boy's seem to do once they're inebriated in each other's company.

"The bear emerges from hibernation,"

Haechan's voice is like that of a nature documentary narrator, and his head is in his hands as he leans over the armrest with a smile on his face.

“Rested, and in search of something to sink her teeth into.” You remain stoic faced as you breeze past the group of boys on your way to the kitchen adjacent to the living room.

With only a shallow counter to separate the two spaces, you're still roused by the sight of Haechan in your periphery, legs spread and head thrown back as he watches you with a dopey smile.

Jeno, Jaemin, Renjun and Jisung murmur their greetings dismissively, still vividly engrossed in their game while Chenle types away at the screen of his phone, his mind all together trapped in cyberspace. You breathe out airly as a vague sort of peace befalls you. This has become your norm.

They are so incredibly loud, Haechan's friend's are, that their cacophony bled through every thin wall in your shared apartment. So loud, in fact, that you were made privy to every degenerate, delinquent, and downright disgusting little detail that swam about in their conversation.

Whenever they were over, there was a vibrancy permeating throughout the apartment, which was either attributed to Haechan's need to speak at a higher octave than the rest of the group or Chenle’s obnoxious, though admittedly contagious laughter.

Not everything was daisies and sunshine, however.

You were made subject to Haechan's incessant teasing and petulance that only seemed to double in the presence of his friends. You ignored him, viewing his behavior as a package of a roommate system (more accurately: needing his money to keep yourself and your academic pursuits afloat.)

Even more harrowing is the fact that Haechan is completely accommodating, dare you say, even hospitable (when he's sober). It was very difficult to hate him. No matter how badly you wished to let your vexation infect the inner crevices of your mind... he always made sure to let you know in advance.

He'd knock softly on the door (a by-product of a covenant you both had forged upon deciding to live together. Knocking is something akin to treading carefully through a graveyard. Sacred) letting his usually loud voice simmer to a whisper because he almost always caught you studying at your tiny, disastrous desk and he'd say, "Hey, just a heads up, they're coming over tonight,"

You did not need clarification on the ambiguity of who 'they' were but your heart would plummet all the same.

His warning would allow you, not only to stuff your headphones around your neck, for easier access whenever the noise became too oppressive, but it also allowed you to grab the snacks and food necessary before locking yourself in your room.

Not attributed to any social anxiety, but Haechan's friends had proven to be... difficult to bear in their own ways. There was Chenle, Renjun, and Mark, who held a sort of distinguished naughtiness that you fancied way more than Jeno, Jaemin, Jisung, and Haechan's borderline flirting.

It had proven very difficult not to be included in their antics, especially given the very annoying fact that their energy was so freaking infectious.

As you proceed to turn on the kettle, Haechan speaks up once again. “Since you're already there… a coke, please, Madame.” He knew that you knew that he did not actually want a coke. He just wanted to see you vexed.

“Your legs are in perfect working condition, last I checked," your face remained stoic as you said, “Get your own coke.”

Jaemin immediately cackles to Haechan's right, prompting a light snicker from Chenle and the rest. Haechan sends a worried gaze towards them before bringing his eyes back to yours. Now he's on a mission to piss you off even more.

“C’mon...” he whines in an over indulgent American accent. “Be a doll and hand me a coke-I mean a beer." He stretches his neck from side to side, now deep into his theatrics, "I'm a man-”

The knife clanks on the counter as you scoff, “Since when?" You ask, "And what is with this ‘I'm a man’ stuff?”

Haechan only swats animetedly at the air, “It's cus I'm a man, Jagi. You don't get it cus you're not a ma-”

“Yeah,” you say, turning to prepare your noodles, “I don't wanna know actually.”

There's a sudden influx of celebratory hollering from Jaemin and Jeno, while Renjun and Jisung groan in defeat, signaling the end of their game.

Jaemin turns to you as he says “You seriously don't remember?”

You let the silence speak for you.

“He’s been like this ever since the asexual comment.”

The laughter escapes your throat as you shift your eyes to a now moody and grumbling Haechan. His arms are crossed as he avoids eye contact.

“Seriously?! That's why you've been on such a toxic gym bro kick?”

The flamboyant accent is still present as Haechan says, “Hey man, if you're not gonna get me a coke, just say that, I've got places to be people to see-”

The snort leaves your lips before you can stop it, “You've got a psych textbook to see and you're not even seeing that.”

“Stop with the celibacy jokes before he becomes worse!” begs Renjun.

Your mouth is open in false accusation, with the hints of a smile present, “It's quite literally not my fault Haechan's a virgin.”

“I'm not a virgin!” Haechan whines, letting his previously infuriating accent dissolve into his perfectly infuriating normal voice. “I have sex, all the time, tell her Jaemin. Tell her I have sex.” Your eye shifts easily to Jaemin, who only shakes his head.

“Ah, I told my therapist I'm trying to be more honest in my day to day,"

Now your laughter bubbles up to the ceiling, and you're throwing your head back, eyes shut.

“You all make me wanna kill myself.” Says Haechan, pushing himself up from the couch. The sight of him approaching sobers you ineffably from your laughter. He's not particularly tall, but there's a quality about him that asserts itself as height. A silent substitute.

“I’m being falsely accused of being a virgin, I have to get my own cokes?! What is this life of mine?!" A snicker escaped the confines of your lips as you empty your noodles into your bowl. Your albeit small little laugh was a sound so pretty, Haechan could not help but perk his ears up at the sound.

He inched his way slowly into the kitchen as you took one giant unladylike bite from your noodles. Unbeknownst to you, Haechan shares a glance with Chenle over in the living room. One that prompts Chenle into stabbing Renjun in the ribs with his elbow. They were all watching as you tried to shuffle past Haechan.

Haechan, who wouldn't let you pass until heard him say,

"Not a virgin." The words were veneered in a quiet whisper and in those few seconds, you were convinced the globe had stopped spinning on its imaginary axis. You became hyperaware of yourself, the noodles still very much inside your mouth and the soup dribbling out the corners. You clumsily wipe at your lip as you gaze up at him, smiling away like the Cheshire Cat.

While your heart proceeded its cataclysmic aself destruction, Chenle released the first snort. A snort that prompted an entire wave of laughter from his gaggle of friends. They were all laughing now. Haechan's face melted into a spout of his own laughter until he was doubled over.

"Mm," your nostiled flared , "I'll be in my room," You had disappeared in a hurry, hellbent on returning to your room. Hellbent on calming your runaway heart.

While you were nursing wave after wave of embarrassment, Haechan's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Don't even try," Jaemin snickered, noticing that look in Haechan's eye as he stared after you. "She's locked up tighter than a prison. You'll only get your wittle heart broken."

Your eyes were practically glued on the endless enriching notes written by Achebe, Lamming, and various other authors you revered religiously. Your studying had been going swimmingly until the arrival of a drunk, slightly dazed Haechan, indicated by the heaviness of his bloodshot eyes and the slight sway in his form by the door. Haechan was a very different person when he was drunk. He got sloppy, as if he was at constant war with reality.

The following Friday had arrived with the small promise that you were to stay in your room for the foreseeable evening. You had chosen to occupy yourself from Haechan's 'get together' by sitting at your desk, like most of your nights: Completely absorbed in perfecting your English Lit notes on Post colonialism.

You both pause, in a vague liminal space until he breaks the silence with a breathy slight slur, “Well, this isn't the bathroom,”

He lived here. He should know where the bathroom is, inebriated or not.

Your eyes narrow. You can't help but snap in a manner that makes you forget all your civility.

“Evidently,” you say with an unimpressed drawl.

There is a tone in your voice that was specifically crafted to have him cringing away from you, like most men on campus tended to do. You were too much of a straight arrow for them, too narrow-minded with not enough complexities and not enough strings that needed detangling. Most men saw that you could smell the bullshit from a mile away, and you were very much aware of what they referred to you as…

Instead of shrinking away like you initially expected, a small, almost thrilled smile curls at the ends of his purt, heart-shaped lips. He only steps closer into your space.

Uptight.

“Don't you need the bathroom-”

“No, don't do that,” You're scowling at him but still, the bear refuses to retreat.

Your messy desk where you remain seated in a chair seems to catch his attention until soon, he's leaning back against the desk in front of you.

“You don't want me here?” He asked, genuinely confused as if everyone was just dying to be in his presence, “I'm not sure what you're busy with over here, but I could help,” He says, swiping a large hand over at the piles of notes scattered on the desk.

“I shouldn't have to tell you not to invade my personal space, Haechan. If this is some stupid dare-"

“I'm going to fucking kill you when you're sober-”

“Only strangers can invade each other's space, Jagiya," he whispers, snortingbas if you were the one acting silly here. “We're not strangers. I'm your dumb virgin roomate, right?"

Your eyes widen imperceptibly as you push yourself up from your chair.

“I'm not even that drunk.” He deadpans. It's as if this boy is unable to mask whatever emotion that seems to pass through him at that very moment.

“Are all these notes yours?” He asks, picking up one of your discarded notes. You strive to grab at the flimsy pieces of notepad paper in his hands, but he swipes it swiftly out of reach every time.

“I just wanted to check on you.” He beams as he pushes himself further along your desk.

“Haechan, you're messing up my system-”

“You must be really smart,” he whispers, and you immediately chastise yourself for letting his words erupt a sudden electrical storm through your once steady heartbeat. “Your handwriting is so pretty too… woah,” he admires before you see his eyes quickly peek about from the paper, “I really like smart girls,”

You find your voice, hidden somewhere in the depths of being flustered. He interrupts you, all the same, “It's okay to say you're smart… I think that's really, like, hot-”

It's impossible to account for the events that followed in a somewhat episodic format because nothing like it had ever happened to you before.

One moment, Haechan is gazing down at you like he wants to eat you and the next, his hand is wrapped around your throat, pulling you up from your chair until your lips are crashing onto his… You had not perceived just how touched starved you were, until you found your inhibitions melting, and you were kissing him back just as fiercely. He was impatient and sloppy, pushing his tongue in too quickly while his hand marked up every inch of your body. “Pretty,” he mumbled in between wet kisses, “You so pretty… y'just feel so pretty.” Once Haechan's lust was involved, the rest of his brain, it seemed, shut down like the finishing hours of a toy factory. He was switching your positions, pushing you onto the desk as he trailed kisses down your neck.

“Your friends,” you murmured before throwing your head back, offering him better access, “We can't.”

“We can,” he nodded, while pushing himself in between your legs, “We can because I want to,” He punctuated his sentence by thrusting his sweatpants-clad hips right against your core. He seemed to have quickly caught a liking to this form of intimacy because soon, Haechan is breaking apart fromcthe kiss to gaze down at his hips pushing against your core.

His breath is peppered with a soft and dazed, “Woah…”

He nodded very slowly, “I like this very much.” Haechan said with grave finality, which evidently was the calm before the storm. You locked your hand around your mouth as Haechan sank his fingers into the sides of your hips, grinding his bulge against your core like there was nothing else that mattered. He brought your hips to meet each of his stuttering but hard thrusts and your head fell back in the stuttering… constant… impact.

“See?” He says, “See how good it feels?” he mumbles incoherently, now in a violent pursuit of his own orgasm. “F-Fuck,” he whimpered, feeling his cock twitching in his sweats. A feeling that usually let him know the end was near. He quickly clamped his hands on the underside of your ass before lifting you slightly off the desk, just enough to move impossibly closer between your legs.

He hugged you, wanting to feel your soft tits pushing up against him as he was grinding you both to a quick orgasm.

“You're close aren't you?” His voice cracks when he says, “Please be close, because I'm so fucking close-”

But all you're able to do is fight to keep your eyes open as you watch the slightly cracked open door. “H-Haechan-”

“Look at me, Cupcake,” he practically whined before forcefully bringing your eyes back to him with a flick of your chin.

The eye contact sent him down a rampage of lust and his hips stuttered as his mouth hung open,“F-Fuck, just like that- you're so good-” he lifted his baggy shirt, to watch himself thrust one more time before his rhythm crumbled and his hips stuttered as he came in his sweats.

You did not have the energy to tell him you didn't cum, only sprouting a brand new vexation as he swayed his way in search of the bathroom.

That had been your first and last devious encounter, before you avoided him like the plague. It had not taken much, because Haechan was vastly more sensible when he was sober. Emerging from his room like a bear out of his den and rubbing his messy head of black hair as he grumbled, “Did I do something weird last night? Or stupid?” He groans, “I have this feeling that I did something extra stupid and weird last night.” Although your heart plummeted minutely, you saw this as a lifeline and you took it.

“You were drunk, Haechan, so you probably most certainly did.”

You allowed yourself to live in the peace of sober Haechan until things once again only got dangerous on Friday nights, when his enablers would all congregate in the living room, tossing back cans of beer.

Your quick trip to the bathroom had ended with Haechan looming in the doorway, once again. With a near constant pout he exclaimed, “I missed you!”

“You see me everyday,” you grumbled before making your way to the sink to wash your hands. There was a bubbling in your stomach, that you would only dissect later. Whether it was excitement or frustration at seeing him this way.

“Still missed you-”

“I think you missed my body,” you said, before drying your hands, “Not me.”

“Both. I missed both,” he says, before beaming the sunniest, brightest smile you had ever seen on a face. You had to look away as you stepped towards him, for your sanity.

“Please move, Hyuck-”

“I wanna play,” he says, “We had so much fun the last time,”

“You fucking seduced me the last time and I fell for it like an idiot." You sighed deeply, "I studied myself to exhaustion. Im such a fucking idiot.”

He looks deep into your eyes as he very seriously says, “Don't say that-”

“What do you like about me? I mean what could you actually like and appreciate about me-” For all of 5 seconds the boy is trapped in a worrying daze. As the seconds tick on, your blood pressure rises and you're pushing roughly at his chest, which once again proves to be futile. “Fucking move, Haechan. I'm not doing this with you.”

His whines soar higher, “But why?! I didn't even really get to see your boobs, please let me see your boobs?” you stop his hand on its way to cup your breasts in mid air. He slumps

“You make me wanna kill myself.” He grumbles before stomping away to rejoin his friends. As Haechan sat down he breathed out heavily before whining, kicking and punching at the air. His friends, seeing nothing new with his tantrum, did not entertain it as they played their games.

Haechan just couldn't understand. He wanted you and, based on everything that transpired, you wanted him. So why not just let it happen?

You were making things too complicated and complicated is not something he enjoyed very much.

Haechan did not grasp onto much but you make it exceptionally clear that you did not want the interaction to be made public knowledge, and he, surprisingly obeyed your wishes. Your only enemy, it seems, were these hangouts Haechan scheduled with his friends. You liked to avoid unnecessary juvenile squabbling when necessary. You had to study instead, until you built the proper revenue to buy an apartment of your own, free from Haechan's provocation.

But you had fallen asleep.

The dusk bleeding into darkness until you were peeling your face off of your Classical lit textbook and nursing a grumbling stomach...

Your ears perked and your stomach sank as you heard boyish laughter bleed in through the cracks of the doorway. They had already arrived and you had zero rations to combat this venomous hunger.

It was guaranteed to be a short and curt journey past the small apartment living room, into the kitchen. A journey whereby you would pray you evade the group of boys invading your shared living room. Or at least one boy in particular...

Had Haechan been a non factor, your anxieties would have been perfectly nullified, but tin the wake of a troublesome post-study hunger, you had no other choice but to venture out into the living room.

You had hope your trip would be a curt one, entertaining not a single, word, jab, or comment as you were on your way to fly to the kitchen. Your feet stopped you before you could make it. Arrested in stark realisation that there is no noise at all. You round the short corner to find Haechan seated patiently on his couch with his hoodie up, tapping away at a mobile game while humming angelically. You immediately noted that he was sober and that set your mild frustrations at ease.

“Oh, hey,” you murmured, before swaying over to the adjoining Kitchen, separated only by a shallow counter. As you stare down at your yoghurt, you miss the way in which Haechan's face snaps up at tye sound of your voice. His feet fly off the coffee table and he rights himself infinitesimally.

“You guys aren't hanging out today?”

“There's a party somewhere on campus,” he switches his phone off and stuffs it into the pocket of his goodies as he shrugs, “Didn't feel like going.”

You walk back into the living room, and Haechan watches as you nod silently before planting yourself on the couch next to him. He's very perceptive and plants a couch cushion behind your back in the process. You realise then that you much preferred him this way.

“I'm having a hard time guaging the fact that you didn't wanna get drunk,” although a short chuckle escapes your lips, Haechan is not laughing. “I don't always think about getting drunk, you know.” The smile disappears from your face automatically as you bring a spoon of yoghurt to your lips.

“Of course… sorry-”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Haechan watches your tongue lightly poke out and nip at the yoghurt before lazily bringing his eyes back to you. “If anything, I should be sorry.” An immediate wave of discomfort washed over you when the words left his mouth. So he was aware.

“Drunk Haechan sucks,” he says, “You don't have to make excuses for him.” You're caught in a wave of silence, your yoghourt forgotten on your lap. He wants to pull back but he has your attention now and it's fueling him with all the confidence he needs before he's scooting closer on the couch, until your thigh is directly against his.

“Earlier in the week you asked me what I like about you-”

“Haechan, you don't have to-”

The discomfort bled into embarrassment now and you fought to get up but he placed his hand on yours.

“I don't remember what I said,'' his lips pout lightly as his eyebrows furrow, “I don't know if I said anything at all. I just… want you to know that I wasn't quiet because nothing came to mind. I was speechless because it was like trying to list the stars. Tiring and fucking endless.” He breathed out, before looking away abashedly, “You're a good cook,” he says, “you always make us something to eat for Friday nights. You're so driven, in a way that is equal parts obsessive but also really fucking hot.” Your mouth parts slightly and Haechan's eyes once again lazily drops down to watch them. His voice is airy and loght as he says, “Fuck, and you're so pretty and smart.” He's speaking purely from a place of lust and admiration, which only has you melting further. You much preferred this Haechan.

“You make me feel safe because I know you always have the answers…” You let his words hang stagnant in the air for a while, letting yourself marinate in the pleasure of it, while his own thumb rubs circles around the back of your hand.

“I mean…” The Insecurities were steadily sinking in because by the laws of campus culture, you both were not supposed to be together. Your names were met with different responses and different emotions attached to them. You'd hate his popularity to diminish because of you. Instead of spewing out these words, you only whispered, “Are you sure? I mean, think of what people-”

In a series of swift movements, Haechan's hand cradling your own had gripped down tighter before dragging your hand until it was flush against his bulge. He releases a heavy breath as his eyes fall momentarily shut. Gritting his teeth together as he throws his head back in momentary euphoria as if he had been waiting to do this.

He brushes your hand up and down as he says, “Don't you dare ask me if I'm sure.” He says, unable to stop himself rutting against your hand. A wave of confidence soon falls until you're taking control and crawling your hand up to the waistband of his sweats. He whines in anticipation as you stuff your hand inside until you are cupping his underwear-clad bulge in your open palm. Haechan's eyes are heavy when he swings his head lazily to you, watching you watch his hips lift to graze himself against your hand.

“I need you,” he whispers, before raising a hand, immediately cupping your breasts, “I need you so fucking bad.” He can feel the presume wet the tight constraints of his boxers and he locks his jaw tighter. “I wanna fuck you, Cupcake,” your stomach warms at the reiterating of the nickname he had given you when he was drunk and equally ravenous, “Please let me,” He juts his hips up with every whine that escapes his throat, “Please-”

“I need you too-” before the words even leave your mouth he's lunging at you in a wild kiss. “Fuck, your lips are so soft,” he mumbles before forcing his his thumb into your mouth and watching with heavy eyelids as he lowers you onto the couch. Your jaw goes limp as Haechan, seemingly entranced with swiping his thumb along your wet tongue.

“So warm,” he murmurs as he hovers above you. Haechan lowers himself between your open legs, “Your mouth I'd so fucking pretty, so fucking warm-”

He sounded exactly like he sounded when he was drunk. Sloppy, incoherent and not making much sense. But you could not discount the pool of wetness that glistened your underwear as Haechan continued to play with your tongue.

“Fuck-” He whispers, watching the saliva coat his finger as he unconsciously thrusts his bulge once again into your core. He seems too realise that he hadn't, in fact, pulled his cock out and he curses lightly before hurriedly moving to do just that.

“Your boobs-” He whispers as he pulls his aching cock out, “Please let me see-”

Before the words even leave his mouth you're pulling your shorts and top off swiftly. Haechan immediately doubles over, thrusting into the air once before he's fisting the base of his cock, as if he was on the cusp of cumming.

“F-Fuck, I think I need to fuck you now-” He said, already sinking deep into you. Your moans fight valiantly to drown out his perpetual whines before he buries his face in between your neck and shoulders. He's breathing heavily as he begins to fuck steadily up into you, releasing little melodic ‘hah, hah, hah's as he peels back to look down at you with heavy pussy-drunk eyes.

“Fuck it feels so good, Haechan,” he thrusts harder at that before lowering his lips to your nipple and sucking without ever breaking eye contact. The stimulation from your nipple and the head of his cock bumping into your cervix has your mind spinning with euphoria. You haven't even cum yet but this feels like you're trapped in that same state of pleasure.

“Fuck, baby you're so tight around my cock,’ his breath blows down against your wet nipple and you buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. “If you carry on like this you're gonna make me spill inside you,” you throw your head back, mouth parting even wider as a chorus of moans leave your throat after his sentence.

“F-Fuck you want that? You want me to cum inside you?”

You cannot speak, completely fargone at this point but your cunt still clenching around him is all the answer he needs before he's ramming into you with urgency. “Fuck, you,make me feel so good Cupcake-” He's once again pressing his fingers into your mouth, as of needing to feel the warm wetness just to get off.

He's looking down at you as of you hung the moon, “F-Fuck I'm cumming-” He fights to keep his eyes open and watch you whine around his fingers as your own orgasm crashes in violent succession. You're both fighting to press your hips together, he's fighting to stay inside as an endless string of cum flights to push him out. You're both breathing heavily, both staring into each other's eyes as Haechan pulls his middle and index finger out of your mouth. You're absolutely speechless as he cleans his fingers with his own mouth, all without breaking eye contact.

“I… can't believe I came like that-” You say, eyes caught in a daze.

“Shit- I was supposed to rub your clit, wasn't I?” He's already slipping out of you and craning open your legs.

“N-No, Haechan I came, I promise I came. Fuck-” He's rubbing small circles against your puffy clit, using his cum as lube. “You have no idea how badly I needed you cumminh around my cock like that,” he says before spraying a gentle kiss against your knee. He's playing with your cunt, not to bring you to orgasm, you realise, but unconsciously. “We're boyfriend and girlfriend now, right?”

You snicker lightly before nodding with finality. Thus, as the beginning of a new but interesting dynamic, in which you drove Haechan to study more while he, in the same breath, got you to open up more. He dropped your inhibitions and coaxed you out of your comfort zone…

#haechan x reader #haechan smut #haechan #haechan fluff #haechan fanfic #lee haechan x reader #lee haechan smut #lee haechan fanfic #lee haechan imagines #haechan imagines #nct dream x reader #nct u x reader #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream x you #lee dong hyuck x reader #lee donghyuck #lee dong hyuk smut

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aerynwrites · 6 months

Text

Emeralds

Dammon x GN!Reader

A/N: yet another fictional character has invaded my brain lmao. So here’s a little fluffy piece I wrote for Dammon by I love him and wish I could romance him.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Love confessions, fluff, so much fluff, kissing, drinking (neither of them are drunk tho), required love.

Part 2

The party is in full swing, the tieflings having brought the wine and the music and so much more to your camp this evening.

You watch from the sidelines as your companions enjoy the evening in different ways. Shadowheart and Astarion have been keeping to themselves despite your encouragement to participate. Karlach and Wyll are dancing and laughing by the fire, and even Gale is letting loose for once - showing off some small magic tricks to a group of tieflings.

You’d talked to Halsin and Zevlor, both of them thanking you before wandering off to talk to other or take part in the festivities themselves. Leaving you to your own devices.

Which…isn’t much at the moment.

While you enjoy watching the others, you can’t help but search the small crowds for a particular blacksmith.

You’d met Dammon when you arrived at the grove, and you’re slightly ashamed to admit that you developed a crush on the man from the moment you laid eyes on him.

He’s handsome and kind to boot, going out of his way to help Karlach when so many other things were going on for him and his people. He even promised to help again in the future if he was able.

How could you not pine after him?

Your feelings had led you to spend more time than necessary at the grove, claiming to need so trade supplies or talk to someone or another just to see or talk with Dammon while you were there. Your companions got so tired of it you had to start slipping away on your own, not that you minded.

Dammon always seems happy to see you, talking to you about anything and everything. Just a few days ago he mentioned he was working on something special for you, insisting it was a surprise when you pressed him for more details.

You’d hoped to see him here at camp with the rest of the refugees, but as the night wears on, your hope dwindles.

Perhaps he had so much work preparing for their departure to step away from his forge. It’s a reason you’d understand, but the pang of disappointment doesn’t hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up looking, when you finally spot a flash of a familiar green scarf among the milling bodies.

Dammon makes his way through the camp, nodding in greeting to those he passes before he finally looks to you, eyes shining as his lips tilt upwards.

He offers you a small wave as he makes his way towards you and you return the gesture, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks as he approaches.

“Hi,” you offer simply, now lost for words that he’s standing before you.

Dammon smiles, “Hello,” he says, turning to face the party in front of you both. “I was worried I wasn’t going to make it in time.”

“I have to admit,” you begin, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “I was looking for you,” you tell him, “I was disappointed when I didn’t see you.”

Dammon turns to look at you again, brows raised in slight surprise. “You were looking for me?”

Your eyes fall to the ground, embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Yes I…” you trail off for a moment before turning to look at him again, changing the subject instead. “What kept you so late at the forge?”

Dammon studies you for a moment, as if judging your demeanor before his eyes leave yours as his hand falls to the small pack at his side.

“I was finishing up your gift,” he tells you, patting the bag. “Couldn’t let myself leave without giving it to you.”

At the mention of you both parting ways soon, you feel yourself deflate slightly. But before you can let disappointment take over what’s supposed to be a night of celebration, you jab a thumb over towards the far end of camp.

“How about a toast to go along with the surprise?” You ask, silently hoping your proposition doesn’t come off as odd. “I have some wine back at my tent, admittedly a little better than what’s been provided…”

Dammon laughs at that, lips pulled back into a grin. “I will have to admit my brothers and sisters are not known for their wine making…” he gestures towards you. “Lead the way.”

Your tent is on the edge of camp, further away from the others and thus away from the center of the celebration. You can still hear the music and raucous laughter, but it’s slightly muted by the distance.

You retrieve the wine and two cups from inside your tent before taking a seat on one of the pillows laying near the entrance, inviting Dammon to do the same.

“Sit,” you gesture to a pillow near your own, “I’m sure you’ve been on your feet all day, if I know anything about you.”

Dammon huffs out a chuckle as he nods, setting his bag on the ground beside him before he takes a seat next to you. “Then you know me well,” he affirms, “The work never stops it seems.”

You try to ignore how close he is as you pour two glasses of rich red wine and hand one to him before taking a sip of your own. “Hm…Yet here you are. Can a gift be so important to take you from your work?”

You watch as Dammon flushes, his cheeks turning just a few shades darker as he stares into his wine glass.

“This one is,” He says simply, before looking up to you. “It’s for you.”

His words are so simple, so plain, yet you can hear the sincerity in them. For a moment you’re worried you’re hearing what you want to hear, seeing what you want to see. But Dammon interrupts your thoughts as he sets his glass down carefully to reach into his bag.

He produces a small long object wrapped in cloth and tied shut. Dammon starts to speak as he unties the string.

“I don’t know if it’s your preferred weapon,” he says, pulling at the edges of the cloth. “But the idea came to me and I couldn’t stop until it was completed.”

He fully unwraps the item to reveal a beautifully ornamented dagger. It’s handle is wrapped in fine dark leather, the blade sparkling dangerously in the moonlight.

The parts of the pommel visible outside the leather are inlaid with small green stones. You reach out to touch them, but pause glancing up at the blacksmith in question.

He smiles, nodding. “Please, it’s yours after all.”

You take the dagger from his open hands, surprised to find that it fits perfectly in your hand. The grip isn’t too large or too small. It isn’t too long or short. It fits your hand down to the very last detail. The leather is soft in your palm, well worn but sturdy. You test the blade in your hand flipping it in the air before catching it easily once more. It’s perfectly balanced as well.

Your eyes fall back to the precious green stones in the handle running your fingers over them to find them smooth beneath your calloused digits.

“Emeralds,” Damon says softly. “I chose them mainly because they added to the blade's appearance but I remember my grandmother once told me they represent strength, balance and…” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s not important. I hope it’s to your liking.”

You gaze at him, your mind searching for any knowledge you may have of gemstones, when a memory snaps into place. A passage from a book your mother read to you in a jewelry shop.

“Look little love,” she said, finger tracing over lines of text in a thick book by the checkout counter. “It tells you of all the gems' meanings.”

She read off a few - sapphires for leadership and royalty, bloodstone for revitalization, jade for success and-

“Oh…look at Emerald!” She said happily. “‘Known as the stone of successful and abundant love, Emeralds open the heart to receive love in all aspects of life. They are thought to encourage you to give and receive love..” your mother awes, “That’s sweet.”

The memory leaves as quickly as it came, and you glance immediately up at Dammon, taking note of the hopeful look he gives you. As if you could ever be disappointed in anything he gave you.

You swallow around the swell of emotion in your throat, once again trying to shove down the bubble of hope in your chest as you nod. Looking down to the blade in your hand, thumbing the emeralds once more.

“It’s perfect, Dammon. It’s beautiful, I-“ you shake your head looking up to him again. “I can’t let you just give this to me. This probably cost a fortune in materials-“

Dammon holds a hand up to cut you off, giving his head a firm shake. “It’s a gift. For everything you’ve done for me - for us.”

It’s only now you fully notice how close your are to one another. Dammon’s leg brushes your own, his shoulder bumping yours. And each time he looks over at you, the faint sweetness of the wine on his breath brushes your cheek.

Once again your eyes fall down to the dagger, fingers trailing over the emeralds as you finally reveal your own knowledge on the gems.

“I remember a time when I was much younger,” you tell him, noticing he listens to you with rapt attention. “My mother took me shopping with her in the city and we went to this jewelry shop. We weren’t really looking to buy but she loved to look at all the jewels and gemstones.” You smile at the memory. “This particular jeweler had a book on display that listed all the names of the gems and what they mean and my mother read out about a dozen before landing on Emerald…” you trail off, catching the almost imperceptible hitch of breath in Dammon.

“It said Emerald was also the stone of ‘successful and abundant love’,” you say, finally finding the courage to look back at Dammon, finding his eyes already on you.

Your voice is a mere whisper now. “She said something about it opening the heart to give and receive love…” your words die on your tongue. “Was this truly only a gift of thanks?” You finally ask, hope burning so bright in your chest you have no chance of stamping it out now.

Dammon’s bright blue eyes only leave yours to flick down to your lips, and the moment he captures your gaze again his lips are on yours.

The kiss is a sweet, chaste thing, and you can sense his hesitance as he goes to pull away much too quickly. You manage to stop him as your free hand comes to rest on his shoulder pulling him closer as you return the kiss, telling him without words that you want this too.

Your heart soars when he responds in kind, turning so he’s facing you fully as his hands settle on your hips. You set the dagger down carefully in order to wrap your arms around his neck, afraid this might all be a dream if you don’t hold him close.

He only pulls away when you both need to take a breath and even then you don’t go far.

Dammon rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering open after a moment.

“Should I be ashamed to admit I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you?”

A small laugh escapes your lips and you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. “No…because I feel the same way.”

He practically beams at your words, eyes lighting up as a grin splits his lips.

“Does that mean I can kiss you again?”

You chuckle again. “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

Dammon responds eagerly, capturing your lips once more as his arms wind sound at your waist. He raises up on his knees as he does so, pulling you to do the same and removing any space between your bodies as he kisses you with abandon.

You smile into the kiss when you feel his tail curl to wrap around your waist, as if he can’t get close enough.

Maybe you can’t either…because from this moment on you never want to be away from him.

You are the first to pull away this time, stroking the apple of his cheek gently as you press one last kiss to the corner of his lips.

You move to sit back on your knees, noticing how Dammon watches you in quiet curiosity as you reach for the delicate silver chain around your neck.

Your knowledge of gems isn’t the only thing you’d gotten in that jewelry shop all those years ago.

You pull the necklace from where it hides beneath your shirt, revealing a simple silver pendant with a glittering emerald in the center of it. You lift the chain over your head and hold it out towards Dammon.

He looks perplexed for a moment, before shaking his head. “You don’t have to give me something in return,” he says gently. “The dagger was a gift.”

You smile and nod to the necklace still in your hands. “And so is this. Here-“ you say leaning towards him more, “let me.”

Dammon finally acquiesces, eyes slipping closed as he ducks his head towards you.

You reach up and slip the necklace over his head, mindful of his horns, and watch as the pendant settles just below his green scarf. Your lips turn upwards as you run your fingers over the smooth stone.

“It even matches your scarf,” you say playfully, warmth filling your chest as Dammon reaches up to examine the necklace.

You pick up the dagger he gave you, admiring it again as you speak. “Now we both have something of each other. No matter where we end up.”

Dammon looks up at you then, eyes glittering with an emotion you can’t quite place, before he reaches out to take your hands in his own.

“I'm sure we’ll see each other again,” he says, resolve clear in his words.

And despite not knowing exactly where your journey will take you…

You have a feeling that he’s right.

#Dammon x reader #bg3 dammon x reaer #Bg3 dammon #bg3 x reader #dammon

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