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colormepurplex2 · 1 year

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Blood Bride | Here Comes The Bride

↳ vampire!Yoongi x human!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers/Lovers | Accidental Marriage ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,449 ⚠️ Blood (drinking, spilling, mild play), hypersexual advances/blood makes you SUPER horny, teasing, kissing, unprotected sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, creampie. Yoongi has big fangs and an even bigger ego

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“Let me go, you fucking psyc—“ your shrill exclamation turns into a guttural scream as those blood-stained canines sink into your neck so quickly that all you see is a blur of motion before fire races through your veins. You can feel the way the fangs shred your skin and muscle, parting them with ease.

Your arms and legs go rigid, and your toes curl inside your shoes. It feels like molten rock is being poured down your spine. The intensity only lasts a moment before it’s replaced by a mind-numbing cold.

There is an intrinsic moment where everything goes fuzzy, and blackness creeps into the edges of your vision. The cold fades into a haze of mild tepidity as you feel the sucking pull of your life’s blood being drawn from your neck.

The smell of hot metal and ash fills your nostrils with every panicked breath you manage to suck in. Coppery liquid gurgles up your throat, making you cough. You watch as red droplets mist into the air in front of you, splattering and catching in the glossy strands of black hair falling around the man’s face.

He pulls free from your neck. The crimson completely takes over the brown of his eyes. “Gods,” he pants, blood frothing at the corners of his lips to bubble down and drip from his chin. “Willing blood always tastes the sweetest. Your body wanted to fight me, but deep down, I could feel your heady desire.”

“No,” you protest weakly.

A throaty laugh has more blood slicking along his lips. His blood-coated tongue pokes out, licking at the corners of his mouth. “Deny it all you want, my beloved. You and I both know the ways of your soul. It would have been impossible for you to break that damned hundred-year-old curse otherwise. A curse only broken by a willing sacrifice, just a small prick of blood to seal the wedlock union and release me from my stone tomb.”

You sag heavily against the man’s chest, your body finally giving out. “Please,” you whisper around a bloody gurgle.

“Right, right. Apologies, my beloved. It seems I’m a bit rusty with my gentile manners. Here we go,” he states in a lightly cheerful manner as he adjusts his hold on you to bring one of his own wrists to his mouth. The soft sound of his teeth parting his own flesh is reminiscent of sifting sand. Thick, black blood oozes from the open wounds when he pulls away. That hot metal and ash scent intensifies when he presses it against your gasping mouth. The flavor of his blood bursts on your tongue in a bloom of acrid bitterness that chokes your senses.

“No—pffth,” you gag, trying to spit out the offending substance. The more you struggle, the more that seems to make it into your mouth. You flail your arms and kick your legs as best you can but only manage to get your free hand clutched into the silky material of the man’s shirt and a knee pressed firmly against one of his thighs.

An involuntary swallow takes down a mouthful of blood. It settles in the pit of your stomach like lead. “You’re fucking crazy!” you exclaim, finally wrenching your mouth away as you try to twist out of the hold you’re in. “J-ji-min!” Your tongue feels thick, and a new warm sensation begins to set in, deep in your chest.

You continue to struggle, your eyes catching a glimpse of Jimin’s crumpled body now lying against the wall beside the stand lamp. The camera he was filming with is shattered into bits, scattered between where he was standing and where he is now.

“Jimin? Is that the name of the gift you brought me? What a thoughtful wedding present.” A dark chuckle follows. It sends that warm sensation careening south, compounding into a startling throb between your thighs.

“Oh god,” you gasp. Your body involuntarily tries to curl in on itself. The arms holding you let loose, and you crumple, hitting the dirty stone floor hard. “What’s happening to me?” You can’t help the anguished cry that comes with that question as you clutch at your chest and stomach. It feels like you’re being twisted from the inside out. Your heart gives a few more pitiful beats before seizing up in a painful cramp.

The man steps off the marble block, tutting softly. He crouches down beside you, resting an elbow on a bent knee with his chin in his upturned palm, his other hand reaching out to finger a sweaty piece of hair clinging to your forehead. “It’ll be over soon, my beloved. Did you not read the inscription?” he muses with a smirk on his face, nodding toward the front of the marble block. “It’s fairly clear, wouldn’t you agree? Silly me not to think someone might misunderstand, I suppose. You see, once I reached my one-thousandth year, it was imperative for me to take a bride per the rules set forth by the Grand Elder. Well, obviously, that did not pan out, as you may surmise. My sire thought me entirely too selective and prideful. The punishment for my reluctance was that my coven and I were entombed here until a willing offering became my bride themselves.”

As if to punctuate his statement in agreement, the three coffins rattle again. “I don’t…” you try to deny or reason with him, but the pain magnifies, and you can feel your heart squeezing even more, to the point you’re sure it has stopped. Cold fear curdles in your stomach like ice against the fire that’s kindling below it.

“They’re impatient,” he chuckles. “We can not blame them, though, can we? Just a moment, my beloved, I must see to my court. You will be fine. The discomfort has almost passed.”

The stone is rough against the side of your face as you writhe and groan in agony. Your lungs ache, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you feel like you’re slowly suffocating. The blackness curtaining your vision begins to recede, giving you a clear view of the man walking over to the first coffin. The swagger in his step and utter indifference to your plight has your upper lip curling in a silent snarl.

A slight grin curls the corner of the man’s lips as he turns and perches on the coffin lid. It gives another rattle, which makes the man chuckle and pat the top. Those blood-red eyes lock onto yours. With his free hand, the man crooks a finger at you, beckoning you toward him.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain in your chest flares before it subsides to a minor ache. Your breath wheezes out and then stops, your lungs seeking no relief with an inhale. “What have you done to me?!” You shove onto your knees, patting your chest and throat, frantically seeking to feel your heartbeat or pulse. Nothing responds under your probing fingers.

“Now the fun begins,” the man says, his grin kicking up a notch. “In three…two…”

“Oh,” you moan, throwing back your head and squeezing your eyes shut at the intense throb that vibrates between your thighs. You can feel your body squeezing and pulsing with subtle aftershocks that remind you of a fleeting orgasm. You can’t help the trembling plea that warbles from between your lips, “Please.”

The man huffs a soft laugh. “Come, sweetling, help me with my friends. It seems there is something in my way; and then I’ll help you.” Another rattle comes from the coffin he’s seated on. “Yes, yes, my friend, I hear you.”

It feels like an internal switch flips. You only want the man sitting casually a few feet away from you. Your pupils blow wide, making you blink rapidly as saliva pools under your tongue. The taste of him, ash and hot metal, is palpable. You lick your lips and start towards him, headless of the rock debris that bites at your knees and the palms of your hands. Crawling like this should be degrading, but that awakened primal urge is more potent than any desire to retain your self-respect.

Every movement you make has the need burning inside you hiking higher. By the time you’re kneeling in front of him, you’re panting, and a light sheen of sweat coats your neck and forehead. “I need you,” you whine, gripping handfuls of the thick linen material of his pants and pressing your face against his inner thigh. You inhale deeply, savoring the sultry and warm scent of hot metal and ash.

Slender fingers gently thread through your hair, calming at first, but then a fistful is gripped tight, and your head is pulled back. “Be good for me, and I’ll be good for you.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the stinging pain from how tight your hair pulls at your scalp. “O-okay,” you mewl.

The sound of electrical static emits from your back pocket before Taehyung’s voice is muffling through the denim of your jeans, “Everything okay down there? Could have sworn I heard a loud crash and a scream.”

You fumble with shaking fingers to get the walkie out of your pocket. It nearly slips between your fingers, but you manage to cling to it.

“What sorcery is this?” Yoongi sneers at the device. “A warlock in your pocket?”

You shake your head vehemently. “It’s just a walkie-talkie! If I don’t say something, then my other friends will come looking for me.”

“Say what you need. Be mindful that I will have no qualms disemboweling a fiend if I have to.” There is a biting edge to Yoongi’s words and you can see the promise in his eyes. At this moment, though, you’re certain you’d do anything to please him if only so he will give you the relief you so desperately need.

“T-tae, everything is okay,” you pant after clicking the radio button. “I just, um, I fell down, that’s all.”

“Roger that. See you in an hour,” Taehyung responds then the lines go silent.

“Good girl,” Yoongi praises, his sneer morphing into a pleased smile. “Now, see this symbol here, sweetling?” He asks, using the hand in your hair to direct your face toward the top of the coffin. The red symbol stands out in stark relief against the darker wood.

“Yes.” The walkie drops from your limp fingers, clattering to the stone floor, forgotten.

“It’s a nasty little thing—combustion charm triggered by those of my kind. I need you to break it—” he holds up a hand when you try to protest “—it’s easy enough to do, as long as you haven’t fully transitioned. It will only burn a little.” The hand in your hair eases, slipping down to cup your chin. A gentle pressure guides you up until you’re standing, bent over, so you’re at eye level with him. “Do this for me, and I will reward you greatly, my bride.”

Your eyes flutter shut as soft, cold lips press against yours. You can feel the distinct shape of those protruding canines through the thin skin of his lips as they press against yours in a barely-there kiss. Hunger blooms inside, sending you forward in a desperate attempt to deepen the kiss. The man indulges you with a chuckle, letting you press your mouth adamantly against his. His lips taste faintly like cinnamon and spice. You greedily run your tongue over their curved shape.

“More,” you plead, pressing your body along the front of his as best you can with him still seated on the coffin. You grip the front of his silky shirt, trying to bring yourself even closer.

“Soon,” he murmurs against your lips. “First, my favor. Grab a shard of stone.” His strong hands grip your arms and force you back a half-step. “I need you to break the enchantment interring my friends. Just a scratch through the symbol should do the trick. Hurry now, sweetling.”

You turn and crouch down to snag up a chunk of stone debris. As you straighten up, your line of sight sweeps over the crumpled body near the bottom of the stairs. “Jimin,” you whisper, your body automatically stepping forward.

“Uh-ah,” the man behind you tuts softly. “We’ll get to your gift in a moment.”

With your attention focused on Jimin, you become keenly aware of a cloyingly sweet smell wafting from his direction. “What’s that smell?” Saliva pools around your tongue again, reflecting the wetness gathering anew between your thighs. “It smells so good,” you whine. Before you can take another step toward Jimin, a hard hand clamps around your arm and hauls you back.

“I forget how hard it is to control the urge at first,” amusement flavors his words. “Scratch through the symbols, sweetling, so I may give you your reward.”

All you want to do is follow that mouth-watering scent or fall into a manic sexual frenzy with the monster sitting atop the coffin. With a frustrated grunt, you lash out at the coffin lid where the man is seated, intent on doing as he says so you can finally get what you want.

The stone in your hand bites through the wood, scoring a deep gouge through the bottom of the red symbol. A spark of heat engulfs your hand and travels up to your elbow. The rock clatters against the lid as you release it with a pained hiss.

“Ow!”

“A momentary pain, sweetling, but you’ve managed to do it. Hurry, strike through the other two while I open this one.” The man nods toward the other two coffins, scoops up the chunk of stone, and presses it back into your hand. “A small taste,” he muses before cradling the back of your head with a hand and bringing his mouth crashing against yours. A low, feral snarl rumbles from deep in his chest as his tongue forces its way past your lips. Warmth blooms inside your mouth as his tongue sweeps against yours, contrasting wildly with the cooling sensation of his lips. “Now, do it!” he grates out, ripping his mouth from yours and shoving you toward the next coffin.

As you lurch toward the next coffin, driven by how your body responds and aches to return to the stranger behind you, you’re faintly aware of the sound of splintering wood and hushed voices.

Scoring the remaining two coffins leaves you clutching your hand, scowling from the burn ignited by the broken enchantments. You’re kneeling by the last coffin, leaning heavily against the side of it with your hand pressed to your chest. “Everything hurts,” you huff aloud to yourself.

Footsteps crunch through the dirt and debris littering the floor beside you. “You’ve done so well. Once Hoseok is free, you’ll have your reward. Not much longer,” the man says, smiling down at you. He raises a fist and slams it down onto the center of the lid. The wood buckles under the force, dust and wood splinters raining around you.

“I ought to shove a fistful of silver down your throat, Yoongi,” comes a snarky voice from within the crumbling coffin. “Do you know how unbelievably dull it has been to be trapped here with only my thoughts? Absolutely maddening.”

“I’d consider it dull company if I were locked away with you, too,” murmurs a voice coming up behind Yoongi. A tall, dark-haired man comes into your line of sight. His grey shirt and linen trousers are covered in smears of dust and specks of wood splinters that he’s dusting off as much as he can. “At least you had room to move around. These coffins were not exactly made for someone of my stature.”

Yoongi glances back, a fond look on his face for the man walking up. “Namjoon, ever the one to speak of the logistics. I am sorry, my friends,” he bends, reaching into the coffin, and comes up with a spritely and slim man gripping his arm. “If I had not been such a fool, we would not have been in this situation.”

“Yet, we were. Though, I suppose, we are free now thanks to your…uh, whatever she is,” the remaining man comes into view, his arms crossed over his chest. He glares at you. The small streaks of dirt on his apple cheeks does nothing to take away from the breathtaking beauty he possesses.

“Seokjin, let us not allow our previous state to color our current one. We do have manners,” the man Yoongi called Namjoon says, giving Seokjin a pointed look before turning an apologetic one on you. “What a dainty little creature, how delicate. I assume you have started the process?” he continues, gazing toward Yoongi.

Yoongi scoffs, continuing to help the last man out of his coffin. “You wound me, friend. I know it has been a while, but you could at least act like you still have faith in me.”

“The last time we placed our faith in you was when you promised to wed Pylia. Yet, look where that landed us,” Seokjin remarks, deepening his glower.

Hoseok waves his free hand in the air, letting Yoongi guide him over the lip of the coffin with the other. “Do not think to bring up that conniving bitch, Seokjin. You know as well as I that she was no good for Yoongi. I would take a hundred more curses of entombment before seeing him attached to that leech. Good to think she is well and rotting in the ground somewhere by now.”

“Please, gentlemen, if you held your bickering a moment, I would like to finalize the bond with my bride,” Yoongi sighs, turning away from the three men and focusing on you. He crouches down, coming eye-level with where you’re still leaning against the side of the coffin Hoseok was in. “Hi, sweetling. Thank you for helping me free my friends. I do apologize for Seokjin’s poor manners, but Namjoon and Hoseok have at least kept their heads over the years, it seems.” A derisive snort comes from behind Yoongi as Seokjin turns and stalks away.

“What’s this?” Seokjin calls, the irritation in his voice replaced by surprise and awe.

Yoongi glances back, peering around the base stone he was interred upon. “Ah, yes, my wedding gift. Come, sweetling. You have met my friends; now let me meet yours.”

His cold fingers wrapping around your arm elicit a soft moan from low in your chest. “Yes,” you suck in a short breath and desperately grab for any handhold you can get of him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and clutch into the material of his shirt again. Before you can lean in and capture his mouth, he’s chuckling and pulling back to stand. You follow him up, your body moving with a mind of its own; your hips press firmly against his side, and your lips find the soft spot of flesh below his ear.

“So eager,” he smirks. “There is but one last step. I am sure you will enjoy this as much as we will.” He ushers you as best he can, with you still clinging to him and nuzzling at his throat toward the far side of the room back to the staircase leading up.

You’re so focused on how his body moves against yours; the friction and rub of fabric along your skin with each step you take elicit small sighs of pleasure from you. There is a moment when awareness ebbs through the cloudy haze of lust filling your head when your senses register something else, something subtly familiar. A tangy sweetness permeates the air the closer you come to the stairs.

“Mmm,” you moan, mouth-watering as you finally relent and lift your head from Yoongi’s neck. “What is that?” you whisper huskily.

“That, sweetling, would be what you called ‘Jimin’.”

That name lands like a swift kick in the gut. “What? Oh no, Jimin!” You shove away from Yoongi, quickly untangling yourself and dropping to your knees beside the slumped form of your best friend.

“Careful now,” Yoongi chastises. “You are in a heightened state of being. Getting too close without the proper control could trigger a blood frenzy, and then, well, you may hurt the poor fellow even more than he seems to be already.”

The hand you had suspended in the air as you were reaching for Jimin drops immediately to your side. You don’t want to hurt him. “Help him, please.”

Yoongi kneels on one knee beside you, his dark red eyes roving over Jimin as if in assessment. “Only you can help him now, sweetling. I can hear his heartbeat, but it is quite faint. There is not much time. Here,” he says, gently shifting Jimin’s body, so it comes to rest face-up, “be swift.” Jimin shudders slightly, his eyes moving rapidly behind his closed lids. Blood covers half his face and plasters his hair to his forehead.

You suck in a ragged breath that brings that tangy sweet smell into your lungs. An ache throbs in your jaw and echoes between your thighs. “What can I do?”

“Just a bite,” Yoongi whispers, “to start a new adventure for you both.” He delicately lifts Jimin’s arm, twisting it, so his wrist is presented to you. “I know you want it. I can feel the change in your breathing and smell the arousal now beginning to seep from your body.”

A full-body shudder racks through you as you fight the urge to latch onto Jimin’s proffered wrist. Your eyes water and you subconsciously drift closer, stopping when your lips brush against the warm skin along the side of Jimin’s arm.

A soft, tantalizing thrum beckons just below the surface of Jimin’s skin. It’s so faint that you’d missed it before, but now being so close, it’s like a siren’s song mournfully drifting on a warm summer breeze.

“Just bite him already,” someone sighs from behind you, clearly disgruntled. There is a hint of aggression in the voice that has all your receptors firing at once. Your instinct surges to the surface, replacing any hesitation that remains.

Ecstasy spills on your tongue as your teeth sink into the soft flesh held daintily between Yoongi’s slender fingers. The ache in your jaw coalesces into sharp points; you can feel your canines elongating and piercing further into the meat of Jimin’s wrist.

“That’s it, beloved. You’re doing so well. Focus on the way his heartbeat feels against your tongue. The moment it stops, you have to also stop,” Yoongi murmurs encouragingly in your ear. You can feel his body pressed against yours. His free hand slides under the back of your shirt, and surprisingly, it’s not nearly as cold as it was before. It’s actually quite pleasant.

He rubs a slow circle on your lower back, and then his hand slides around until it rests on your lower belly. Yoongi shifts so he’s kneeling behind you, his knees to either side of your body. Soft lips press against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, placing featherlight kisses.

You suck in a mouthful of Jimin’s blood, letting it slide down your throat with a slow swallow. Yoongi slides his fingers down, flirting with the top of your jeans before teasing beneath the fabric in playful flits and caresses. You shudder against him, nearly ravaging Jimin’s wrist.

You’re faintly aware of Namjoon kneeling down on your other side. The other two men are but small presences that register somewhere behind you. It’s easy to feel the moment Jimin’s pulse ceases. “I will take care of it from here,” Namjoon says lightly, holding out his hand in front of you.

“Let go,” Yoongi instructs, his voice laced with authority and husk. You reluctantly pull off Jimin’s wrist, letting it flop into Namjoon’s waiting palm. “Good girl.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a chill ripples down your spine. “Fuck,�� the curse is liquid on your lips, bubbling with the blood now dripping down your chin. It turns into a ragged moan as Yoongi’s fingers dip even further and press against the front of your panties.

“Do we really have to stay here while he fucks her?” comes the same disgruntled voice from before. “I would much rather go find my own warm body to sink into.”

“Hush, Seokjin,” Hoseok admonishes. “I am sure the two heartbeats I can feel upstairs will satisfy you once Yoongi is done here. There is a process to these things, you know that as well as I.”

“Hoseok is right,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly. He gathers Jimin’s limp body in his arms. You watch as he brings one of his wrists to his mouth, and much the way Yoongi did to you, he opens the skin with his fangs—which are shorter than Yoongi’s you note—and presses the oozing wounds to Jimin’s lips.

Jimin’s body convulses, his eyes spring open and swivel until they land on you. They go wide as he takes in the sight of you slouched against Yoongi with his hand shoved down the front of your pants. Jimin tries to speak, flailing in Namjoon’s arms, but from under your lowered lids you see the moment Namjoon’s blood triggers something inside of him.

“Fuck!” Jimin finally jerks his mouth away from Namjoon’s wrist. He writhes, twisting in the other man’s lap. “What have you done to me?!”

“He’s feisty; how cute,” Yoongi murmurs softly. “What a wonderful gift, indeed. Jimin, right? Well, what we have done is allowed you to join my sweetling here in a lifetime of eternal power and glory. You are now a part of my coven.” Pausing in his explanation, Yoongi finally pushes your panties aside and delves his fingers into your wet slit. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” he crows, laughing as you moan loudly and thrust your hips forward to force his fingers deeper. “Mmm, I am sure that by now you are feeling the effects of Namjoon’s blood. A mild side effect of the vampire venom, but a wonderful attribute if I do say so myself.”

“I need you,” you plead, trying to twist around in Yoongi’s arms and seek further pleasure.

“Stop touching her!” Jimin yells, drawing your attention back to him.

“Minnie, chill out. Isn’t this what you wanted? For my vampire fantasy to come true?” you snarl the last part, baring your newly elongated fangs at him.

Jimin groans, the sound is slightly pained. “Oh, holy hell, what’s happening to me?” Namjoon loosens his hold enough that Jimin rights himself and ends up sitting between Namjoon’s knees.

“Shh, you are entirely too pretty to have such a sour look on your face,” Namjoon coos, wrapping his arms around Jimin again. He intentionally places one of his big hands on Jimin’s belly, letting his fingers splay out across the flat expanse. “Just watch as Yoongi takes care of his bride, then I will take care of you, I promise.”

Yoongi slips his hand from inside your pants, much to your disappointment. His nimble fingers had only just begun stroking languidly over your clit, barely scratching the surface of the desire and ache that has been burning inside you since the moment he exploded from his stone prison and sunk his fangs into your neck.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, throwing a frantic look back at him.

He chuckles, poking at the tip of one of his fangs with his tongue. “Why, sweetling, I have not yet begun.” You cry out as Yoongi shoves you forward onto your hands and knees, hiking your hips up in the process. “Beg for it,” he growls, shoving his hips against your ass so you feel the very prominent evidence of his own arousal.

“Please, please. Please!” you beg as requested, thrusting your ass out in invitation.

The seams of your jeans groan and stretch with how quickly Yoongi snatches them down. The button snaps and the zipper pops from the force. Red streaks mar your hips and thighs where the rough denim abrades them.

“Stop that! What are you doing?!” Jimin grunts, straining against the hold Namjoon has on him.

Hoseok comes around and kneels beside Namjoon, working his fingers around one of Jimin’s hands. “It is quite simple. They are blood mates and this is one of the more enjoyable points. We will be lucky if they are not coupling once every hour for the entire next moon cycle.”

“Mmm, we shall see how well my self-restraint holds up,” Yoongi muses, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. You feel like you’re burning up, panting to try and get more oxygen into your lungs even though your body no longer demands it. “You are absolutely dripping, sweetling. This cunt looks utterly divine, I look forward to tasting it. But, first—” the drawstrings holding the front flap of Yoongi’s trousers closed slip free under his slender fingers “—your reward, as promised.”

A shuddering moan bubbles from you as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and firmly kicks his hips forward in one fluid motion. Your mouth gapes open, eyes watering from the intrusion, as your body protests the initial stretch. His hips retreat and surge forward again, setting a relentless pace. Obscene sounds emanate from between your thighs and pour from your mouth.

“Yes!” You rock back into each thrust, surprised and thrilled with the near instant response from your body. Your arousal peaks and you’re left hovering on the precipice of an orgasm. Deep inside, you can feel that all it would take is a command from your body to send you into oblivion.

“Watch close, pretty one,” Namjoon murmurs to Jimin, who is now shamelessly rubbing his ass against Namjoon’s crotch. Hoseok is using his hand holding Jimin’s to caress and massage the front of your friend's jeans, which are straining with Jimin’s very apparent erection. “This is what having a blood mate means.”

Yoongi tilts his head back, opening his mouth wide. His fangs glint in the light from the skewed stand lamp before he whips down and buries them into the side of your neck from behind. His hips continue to pound into you, the angle forcing him even deeper. He wraps an arm around your waist and brings the other around and presses the inside of his wrist against your lips. Your body responds on instinct, lips curling back and your own fangs sinking into his flesh.

The taste of sweet nectar explodes on your tongue at the same time as your body locks up in a fit of the most powerful orgasm you have ever experienced. Your vision flickers, ebbing in and out of clarity. “Fuck,” Yoongi growls into your neck, the vibration sending further shocks down your body. You throb and pulse around him, coaxing his own release.

“They can feed from each other indefinitely,” Hoseok says softly, his voice barely carrying over the residual moans and grunts coming from you and Yoongi. “Mated for the rest of their existences.”

“W-will that happen to m-me?” Jimin whines, mouthing at the side of Namjoon’s throat.

“Maybe one day,” Hoseok nods. He encourages Jimin to open his jeans so he can slip his hand inside. “For now, you have us. You are bonded with our coven, a part of our whole. We will give you everything you need. Though, right now you need—“

Hoseok is cut off by the sound of shuffling footsteps coming down the stairs. “Hey, Jimin, you guys okay down there? It’s been over thirty minutes since we were all supposed to meet upstairs.”

“It seems our new friend will be getting exactly what he needs soon,” Seokjin intones, speaking for the first time in a while. He’s lounging against one of the open coffins, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the bottom of the stairs curiously. “I wonder if either of them will scream.”

“I hope you two aren’t fucking,” Taehyung’s voice echoes from the stairs, coming closer. “You guys aren’t answering me on the walkie, and I can’t think of many reasons why you wouldn’t be—“

“What the fuck!” Jungkook exclaims as he and Taehyung come around the final bend in the stairs and see what awaits them.

“Don’t hurt them,” you manage to sigh, barely holding onto consciousness as Yoongi pulls out and cradles your limp body against his.

“Oh, sweetling, we will not hurt them…much.” Yoongi offers a toothy smile to Taehyung and Jungkook, who are frozen at the bottom of the steps, gawking at you and Jimin. “Seokjin, welcome our new friends.”

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#yoongi x reader #vampire yoongi #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #bts vampire au #yoongi fanfic #yoongifanfiction #bts imagines #bts yoongi #bangtanwhq

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holsten-from-hasa · 1 year

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Valentine's Day gift for @justtrashperson as part of the @mcyt-valentines event!

A short Welsknight and Helsknight fic.

Through The Mirror

When you look into the mirror, it doesn't usually look back at you. Well, your reflection is there, but can you truly say your reflection looks back at you when it cannot even see? For the vast majority of people, the answer is no. Of course a reflection cannot look at you in the same way you look at it. That's just stupid.

And yet, one young knight would say the opposite.

Where his armour shines a brilliant, polished silver, glittering in the lantern light, the armour his reflection wears is dull and dented, the same grey as the ash in a fireplace. Red eyes filled with anger and hate burn holes into his soul, silent questions held within them.

"Is it worth it?"

"Don't you hate them?"

"Haven't you had enough?"

He struggles to meet his reflection's stare, but still feels it on him as he turns away. It's how its always been, a silent confrontation every time he looks in a mirror. Naturally, he has very few. Only one, to be precise. Tucked away in a corner, a gift from an older relative. Something he can't just throw away no matter how desperately he wants to.

So he just ignores it as best he can, covering it with a sheet as much as possible. Sometimes he still needs it, of course. His reflection still copies his motions, still mimics his appearance as best it can, like a puppet. Though he shudders when he calls it that.

Some days, the sheet falls off the mirror. No matter how well it's held in place, the sheet will fall off the mirror. That is just another fact of life. It just so happens that today is one such day, and it's just one more pebble on a pile of boulders.

He clutches his sword tight in one hand as he marches over to the mirror's corner. It's an empty corner, an arc around it completely devoid of decoration. Like the mirror would spread its curse to anything nearby.

He grabs the edge of the sheet in his free hand, a frustrated, grumbling sigh escaping him. "I wish you'd just leave me alone," he huffs to his reflection, its expression far softer than days before.

A sharp crack rings out in the otherwise silent room, the pristine surface of the mirror now looking like someone threw a rock at it. The cracks in the glass creep outwards, but the knight isn't paying attention, there are two, far more important things on his mind right now.

One: the initial impact is right above his reflection's heart, where his heart is.

Two: his reflection looks like it's laughing.

As the creeping cracks touch the surface of the mirror, the shards of silvery glass explode outwards, barely missing his head as they come to hover in mid air. His reflection, however, hasn't changed.

In fact, it looks even clearer now than ever before.

It steps through the now empty mirror's frame.

"Oh how nice it is to finally meet you," it says, voice dripping with sarcasm, bringing its sword up to point at his throat.

"What- Who- What are you?" He stumbles over his words, taking a step back from the sword point.

"Aw, how could you forget me? I'm your reflection, obviously." It matches his step, a sickening smile spreading across its face.

"Reflections can't threaten me with a sword." He pushes the sword away, readying his own.

"No, I suppose they can't." It lowers its sword, pondering the information. He lunges forward to push it back into the mirror, only to be easily knocked aside. "Oh? You want a fight? Well, it looks like you're already losing."

It chuckles, twirling its blade in its hand but making no attempt to take advantage of his vulnerable state.

"Who are you?" He asks, regaining his balance and stepping back into a more open part of the room.

"The Knight of Hels, much like how you are the Knight of Wels." It looks relaxed, confident. As if it is already sure of the outcome. "And being your reflection, I'm stuck with your awful name choices, so I'm sure you can guess my name, Welsknight."

"What do you want, Helsknight?" He steadies his breathing, waiting for Helsknight to make the first move.

"Isn't it obvious? I came out here with my sword drawn." It raises its sword. "I want your life!" It lunges, its dark steel sword clanging against the bright polished metal of Welsknight's own blade.

He pushes the blade back with a grunt. "You aren't getting it!" He swings forwards, a look a determination on his face. His blade cuts through the air, aiming for Helsknight's side.

It blocks the blade with ease. "You're already struggling. This is a fight you've been losing for a long, long time." As Welsknight stumbles, it knocks him to the ground, holding its sword to his throat.

"What- What are you talking about?" He gulps, staring up at the red eyes that burned into him for years upon years. The same silent questions rear up at the back of his mind.

"You already know the answer, don't you? Those doubts that creep at the corners of your mind." It presses its blade against his neck, a thin line of blood oozing out of the shallow cut. "The despair, hate, and fear clawing at you for all these years. You have so much of it, you know?"

"What.. Are.. You?" He chokes out, the blade slowly sinking deeper into his neck.

"Everything you fear you could be. Everything you've shoved aside, everything you've ignored. I am you, I have always been you. And you... You are terrified of me, aren't you?" It cackles, briefly taking its eyes off him.

He grits his teeth and takes a breath, it's shallow with the sword pressing at his throat. "Yes. Yes I am terrified of you." He meets the smug expression on Helsknight's face with one of cold determination, bringing a knee up and hitting it hard in the chest.

"But you are not me! You will never be me!" He holds a hand to his neck, it's going to be hard to explain the wound later. But for now he's got a fight to win. He tightens his grip on his sword, the two knights watching each other carefully.

"How do you expect to win a battle you've lost hundreds of times before?" It snarls, lunging forwards and jabbing its sword at his stomach. He knocks its blade aside, his own blade slamming into the armour protecting its chest.

"Like this!" He swings again, his blade locking with Helsknight's. The other knight is stronger, physically, his arms are already shaking from the effort. But he grins.

And kicks him back through the mirror.

"This isn't over!" It yells, the shattered, hovering glass swarming and swirling to slot back into place. He ducks under pieces that zoom past his head, diving to find their place in the frame again.

The surface of the mirror shimmers, looking more like a liquid than a solid, and falls still. It looks like it was never cracked or shattered before. He takes a deep breath, stepping up to look into it, expecting to see Helsknight beneath its surface.

Yet, the face that stares back at him is wholly his own. Blue eyes and bright armour, an expression of relief and exhaustion, a bleeding cut on the throat. It's him. For the first time in his life, the eyes he meets in the unmarked glass are undoubtedly his own.

He smiles, unable to stop the surprised, relieved laugh from escaping him. He turns from the mirror, grabbing the sheet he tossed aside when the glass first shattered. He pauses as he goes to place it over the mirror again and then steps back, draping the sheet over one arm.

"There's no need to cover you up anymore, is there?" He chuckles, heading to put the sheet away.

As he turns, his reflection flickers. A pale, dark knight staring out at him for just a moment, before disappearing once more.

#export.txt #echo's writing #welsknight #helsknight #hermitcraft

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reimagining-twilight · 10 months

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🦊 Chapter Four Invitations Part One - Jasper 🦊

My arrival home is met with the expected emotions. Relife, from Esme and Carlisle. Anger from Rosalie and happiness from Alice and by extension Edward.

When Rosalie finally gets the ire out of her system I go for a walk hunting a bit more than I need to just to clear my head.

—

Esme, very impressed that I hadn't slipped, reluctantly agrees to let me return to school tomorrow on the condition that I stay with her in the auditorium. I agree because at least I'll get to see Isabella a little bit.

I'm sure their reactions would've been different if I'd told them I'm in love with Isabella Swan.

—

When we arrive in the morning I can feel the humming before we even enter the building. My violin.

The old instrument waits for me on the small office sofa calling to me, begging me to play it. I pick it up gently and just having it in my hands makes me forget about everything.

I take it, my violin coming to rest in its place, then I draw the bow, playing the first notes before I even reach the practice rooms. The sound is wonderful, dulling and heightening my senses at the same time. It's a wonderful blank feeling, empty of anything but the music.

I play the first notes that come to mind letting the emotions pulse through me. I can't hear or see or even feel anything but the music. I feel better already, the playing cleansing me of all the negative emotions. I feel emotionless and it's absolutely wonderful. I do, however, feel bad for Esme. She will have to leave the room when it becomes too much for her fragile form.

I don't think I'd kill her (not on purpose anyways) but it certainly isn't a pleasant experience. A few measures in, she quietly walks out the back door.

Eventually Esme enters the room again. This time is a gift and it's hard for her to give me this gift, painful even sometimes if I'm having a bad day. Today is going to be an excellent day. I can't stop smiling, for once it feels good to be feeling something.

When I put down my violin I sneak a look at my reflection on the screen of my MP3 player as I plug my headphones in. Charcoal hair and blazing blue eyes still bright from playing. My violin is so burnt now, I'll have to replace it soon, but for now I just replace the fraying strings.

Music blasts into my ears, it takes everything away dulling the near constant pain of emotions. The humans are arriving on campus.

I brush my hair over my face forming a curtain, I can feel the ash from my bow rub off onto my face but I don't wipe it off.

I lay down on the stage just staring at the lights, my head propped up using my coat as a pillow. When my hands have cooled to a reasonable temperature I lean against the podium and restring my instrument going at a steady human pace, pausing only to look at my shoes. My white high tops, my second favourite pair, have Van Gogh-esque moons painted on them. I painted them myself. I'm the only one who picks out their own clothes. Alice chooses everyone else's wardrobe, I know she gets great joy out of it but I won't let her touch mine. I've tried to tell her that it isn't stubbornness and I would do the same to anyone else, but it still upsets her a bit.

When the violin is restrung I sit beside it and take out a piece of black paper from my sketch book. Slowly a swan begins to form in my hand. I suppose I could use my speed to make a thousand swans but I don't. Instead I fold the black paper gently moving slowly and carefully, calming my fingers which still hum from the excitement of playing. When I finish one I start on another. I feel the emotions creeping back in and quickly drown them out again. The air fills suddenly with human scent but after the last month it's easy to ignore.

Then I feel someone's intense relief. I try to drown it out with my music but it keeps creeping through. I don't want to feel anything right now. I'm exhausted. Then the footsteps start. Urgent like she's fighting to slow herself. Then her scent hits me, beautiful made just for me, still tempting but in a new way now. She's confused. I haven't looked at myself but I know from experience that I don't look like myself right now.

I feel her gaze on me but I don't open my eyes. Why now, just a few more minutes and I'd look like myself. Why, cruel universe, oh why? I tune into her emotions, admiration then slight jealousy, curiosity. She leans slightly closer and I shiver, even though I don't want to kill her this is definitely going to take some getting used to.

At last I'm released, she steps back. I take a breath trying to be subtle about it. "Umm, Jasper? Hi."

"Isabella!" I have to smile because I'm genuinely happy to see her, more than. In my excitement I remove my headphones without turning them off. The music spills across the auditorium too loud for human ears, Isabella cringes and takes an unconscious step back, the other orchestra students look at us. "Sorry about the music, I didn't hear you come in."

She shakes her head as if to clear it, "It's okay, the song was good."

Her scent is smothering me. It's amazing but I can't breathe. I clear my throat in hopes of finding my voice again. "It's nice to see you again." I sit up, putting the swan to the side and placing my crumbling instrument in my lap. Ash dusts my slacks. Isabella's eyes dart all over my figure, not resting any place for too long. Finally they land on my hair. It should be at some shade of brown by now.

"You too," she says. She sounds honest enough, but she isn't done. I can feel her confusion and anger.

I give her a warning look and gesture to the humans around us. She nods and follows me to one of the vacant practice rooms.

As soon as I shut the door she huffs and begins again, "Where the hell have you been? You saved me from the van and then you just what? Run off? Why did you even come back today?"

I'm stung at her assumptions, and the fact that they're true. Technically Rose ordered me away but I could've stayed. Another side of me wonders why Isabella is so bothered by my absence. Either way I can't give her answers to the first question or the second without sounding insane.

What would she think if I told her that I was in love with her? I want to laugh, imagining her potential reactions.

I want so badly to play my instrument again. It will help me sort out my knotted thoughts. I tell her what I can, " I was taking a mental health break, doing my school work from home." Isabella's eyes narrow.

She continues just before I walk out the door. "Okay. I get that, but seriously. What the hell? Not even a goodbye!"

Intrigued, I let go of the doorknob. Out of everything, this is what disturbs her? "You wanted a goodbye?"

She blushes, clearly trying to come up with an acceptable response. Interesting. She settles for "What's with the hair?"

I laugh at her effort, shaking my hair over my eyes, feigning innocence, "You don't like it?"

"It's interesting, just really different. A big change." Her face is unreadable and her emotions are equally as mixed. I don't care if she likes my hair, I really don't, not at all.

I gasp, plastering a mask of shock on my face, with legitimate fear she turns to look behind her but there's only the still locked door. Have I actually scared her? She turns back glaring. I ignore her and continue my act placing my hand over my still, silent heart and collapsing onto the piano bench. Slowly I stand up again. "Boys can dye their hair."

She looks panicked again then shakes her head. "Oh, no I didn't mean . . . I wasn't judging I- I just, I like it, it looks great on you. Really, I mean it." A beautiful blush lights up her cheeks.

Her compliment makes me smile. "I just wanted a change. Esme doesn't want it too long. She thinks having your hair in your eyes makes you look unkempt. I have to say that she's right." I let a breathy chuckle escape my lips.

There's a brief silence, I don't mind it. But she has a class to get to, so I start to open the door. The force of her longing surprises me, what does she miss?

"Does it have a name?" She asks

"What."

"Your violin,"

"No, should it?"

"It's just that a lot of musicians name their instruments," she says shyly.

I think about this. I do think of my violins as an extension of my person but they're a weapon. I've never thought about naming any of them. I go through them in about a year if I play once a month and I often play more than that. They're impermanent. I don't bother getting attached. The instrument doesn't matter, just the music.

I promise to think about it anyway.

She turns to retrieve her own instrument from a case in the chairs but I grab her shoulder. "Hey, now, it's my turn."

She spins around to face me, confused. "What?"

"To ask the questions of course."

This doesn't seem to cure her confusion. She looks bored but her emotions contradict this. Excitement, nervousness. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

I start simple. "Well firstly, does your violin have a name?"

"No, but I guess if it did it would be Beatrice, Bea for short."

"Beatrice is a nice name, is there a specific reason?"

"No, I just like the sound. What would you name your violin?"

I laugh quietly. Wasn't I supposed to be the one asking the questions?

"What's so funny, is the name something dirty?" she asks, cringing, slightly confused again.

"No, of course not. You just did it again." she's still confused, "I thought it was my turn to ask questions," I explain.

She just looks at me, expectant.

I give in. "I really don't know, I'll have to ask my mother"

A strange mix of feelings pass through her, so fast I barely catch the tail end of her wondering.

"Or you could help me pick a name."

She just stares at me for a second. "Sure, but I don't really umm, I don't like know you, you know."I shake my head, I really don't know. "It can't just be a random name, it has to fit your personality, it can't just be something random." She's kind of rambling and I can tell she's embarrassed by my request.

I pause looking for the right words. "That's okay, we can get to know each other." her expression changes and I hear her heart rate increase slightly. Am I scaring her? "I really would like to be friends with you Isabella Swan. And I'm sorry I keep randomly disappearing, I know I probably don't seem like very good friend material but I hope you know I can do better." I smile, so does she.

"Sure, but I'll have you know that I'm not really great friend material either." She looks down at her feet. I shake my head, she has no idea does she?

What am I doing here in this strange casual conversation with the girl I'm desperately in love with? None of this makes sense. I want to play my violin so badly. I want to play and play and play until everything disappears, until I can untangle this vicious knot in my head. I want to play without having to be careful. I want to shed these restraints of humanity. I want to be free.

It isn't nearly the first time I've wanted this but it's the first time I've wanted someone else with me. But of course that would be very dangerous.

"Then I guess we can both be awkward together. That sounds great to me."

She nods, taking a breath then "I- umm . . . do you want to go to Seattle? With me. Not like a date or anything like that at all! There's just this book shop that sounds really cool. And we could like, go, as friends." she pauses blushing deeply, "I'm sorry if that sounded weird I don't really have a lot of friends so I don't really know what friends normally do together, yeah, sorry."

"I think that's a great idea. When would we go?"

"Are you free Saturday?"

"Yes. We would leave in the morning?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then."

I sense deep curiosity from her and I find myself wanting to tell her everything but I don't. I can't, and I hate it.

—

We talk easily for the rest of class, the awkwardness forgotten. All too soon she has to leave for her next class.

The rest of the day I can't help thinking about Saturday. Despite how aware I am that she only thinks of me as a friend, the confirmation of that was slightly disappointing. Still I'm relieved she even accepted me as her friend.

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bprdmyers · 1 year

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@everythingheard (ash) continued from x

thus far, no strange occurrences have transpired within the house, though georgie is critical of counting anything out in a place as old and storied as this. its’ for this reason georgie makes her next statement, though her tone remains teasing. “suurre—tell that to the ghosts that attack us for destroying their house.” in truth, while the teenager is of the opinion that her companion can, in fact, at times be a show off, she’s also aware enough of him– since those days they’d sit on the floor and watch movies, her doing whatever she could to get a smile to creep onto his face or.. frankly, any non-guarded reaction out of him—to have an idea of why he pushes forward even when the alternative would likely be easier. it wasn’t entirely different than her own reasoning for choosing to be an agent so young: when so much had been taken out of your control, such as with the development of her own abilities or what happened to him before they’d met, you wanted to be the one that was in control (this would become even more relatable to her a few years later).

“oh, you want something to do? try sitting through an hour of my advanced trig class. i’m sure we could find something to glamour you into me.” small laugh escapes her lips at the mental image before her expression narrows at him. “it’s ‘no terrorizing georgie with bugs’ no one ever said it was the other way round. see ash, this is why we have rule number four, always read the fine prin–.” words emit in a joking tone, as there was no such rule (yet), before cutting off abruptly when she feels his hands come into contact with her shoulders, moving her. “hey! if you do, i’ll end you, ash.” retort emits automatically, though holds no real intent behind it. spiders. why couldn’t it ever be.. butterflies or even bats? she could deal with bats. why had she let him talk her into exploring this place again? oh right, because they were stupid teenagers. as stairs creak, georgie’s eyes close for a moment, a sigh escaping her at the universe’s form of humor—as if it read her thoughts. coming into a building in this shape hadn’t been very smart on their part, powers or not. but then, they were teenagers weren’t they? this was what they were supposed to be doing. “wait up!”

one, two, three stairs behind her and georgie begins to take them two at a time, coughing as a cloud of dust greets her upon reaching the top. “there better be something really freaking cool in here.” she comments, gaze washing over the window in confusion. why had he paused? “oh? gifting me other people’s things, what every girl wants.” georgie’s voice takes on a teasing and slightly sarcastic air, footfalls bringing her closer and hands moving to his shoulders so she can peer over his back, speaking into his ear with her next comment. “and a total serial killer move, well, if we were like– dating it would be. but we’re not, so maybe i’ll let you off the hook with that one.” why did she just—that was weird. had she made it weird? “holy shit—“ she’s thankful for the distraction in his hands, releasing his shoulders as she moves to stand in front of him. “–that’s the first highlander model 80. you can tell because it has a gray body instead of a brown one. you gotta let me see it closer.”

#verse one; main #sv; flashbacks #everythingheard

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simpfiles · 2 years

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Valentine’s Day (smut) |1.5K|

request. Idk about Valentine day prompts but what if I bring Silco some chocolates I know he likes, and his favorite cigars, and a card? 👉👈 - @will-grammer

a/n. it's about time you get a proper fic seeing how you're the only one who requests silco x male readers from me😘

The chem-barons were more effort than they were worth, the constant bickering and shallow disputes kept them all short of achieving anything worthwhile. Monetary gains and fleeting clout seem to be the end of their ambitions and more frequently than not Silco would emerge from his meetings with them seething with a just-bridled rage, his eyes dark, and lines of worry sharp on his face. You took it upon yourself to calm him down waiting by his office for his return, his cigar box in hand and a glass brandy already poured on his desk. His features never fail to soften at the sight of you, aware of what next would come.

Today was different, however. It starts with the cigar, fatter than his normal brand, bearing a logo he’s not familiar with. “Is this from Noxus?”

You shake your head, flicking the lighter in the shelter of your palm. “Demacia.” He leans towards you, the cigar hanging from his lips lighting with a spark, before turning a soft, glowing amber orange at the end. He inhales deeply, before shifting his lips to blow smoke away from your face. It’s smoother than his brand, a hint of sweetness where he’s used to more natural notes.

“How much did they cost you?” Silco sits back on the couch, head resting on the back at an angle to watch you mold yourself in between his arm and chest. He smiles ever so slightly, you fit like a glove.

“You shouldn’t ask the price of a gift.” you chide, looking up at him. The sun setting behind him amplifies in colors from the stained glass, giving him a soft aura, a halo. You want him inside you.

“Gift?” He shifts in his seat, pausing for a moment.

“For Valentine’s day.” you note the way he presses his lips into a tight line, looking off to the side as if to decide if he should admit to forgetting the holiday, again. “I don’t need a gift back.” you quickly add on, not wanting to add more stress to his day “Being with you is more than enough.” you put your hand on his cheek, guiding him down for a kiss to reinforce your point, feeling his jaw shift as he smiles again.

“Wait here.”

He grabs a decorative box of chocolate on his desk, snuffing his cigar in the ash trade as he opens and reads the card that came your gift to him. Silco can only assume by the way you bristle that you’re growing irritated by having your gregarious attempts at romance returned with nothing more than a half lidded survey of its contents, but you have to understand, he’s improvising.

Returning to you, he opens the chocolates, traying the lid underneath and offers them to you. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

You laugh at the gesture, “I bought those for you.”

“Yes, and I’m using them as part of my gift to you.” His tone is playful and eye full of mirth. “Stick out your tongue.”

You act quick, opening your mouth ready for his blessing and gaining a smug chuckle from Silco.

“Good boy.” he places a square chocolate at the base of your tongue, ordering you to hold it while tilting your chin towards him. “Very good.” Silco rewards you with a firm kiss, his tongue intertwining with yours and crooked teeth sinking in just hard enough to crack the candy shared between you two. A sickly sweet sherbet ganache coats both your tongues. You both taste the same; delicious. A string of saliva connects your lips and you lick yours, causing it to break and give Silco an idea.

He takes another piece of chocolate, this one with a flat base and narrow round top. With a bite it splits it into parts, its filling catching him by surprise when it drips out faster than expected. Forced to act quickly, he paints your lips in a sugary gloss and returns his lips for another tasting. His hand creeps down to your crotch as he sucks on your tongue, sticky fingers, making a mess on your trousers against your swelling cock. His tongue is all consuming as you kiss him back, trying to match his force while he leans you further back into the plush couch. At some point you must have lifted your hips because next thing you know your underwear is past your waist and your cock standing in the air.

Your gasping for air by the time his mouth departs from yours. His devilish tongue pointed and licking traces of filling from his slender fingers. You offer your assistance in the task but he smirks, showing teeth. “You shouldn’t ruin a man’s gift.” His tone is prideful, considering himself so clever for throwing a variation of your words back at you. Then he gets to his knees and dips his head between your thighs.

He selections another chocolate, this time brandishing it to your lips. as you lean forward, with the instructions of biting down. Its filling oozes from its center and he brings it over his tongue, stretched out and ready to receive a waterfall of caramel. He lets it pool in the curve of his tongue, mixing with his saliva before smearing it over the shaft of your cock in one long continuous strip from base to tip.

You yelp, your hands flying to bury themselves in his hair, fingers tightening at his scalp. His eyes widen at the tug, his own cock straining against its restraints as he continues, lathing his tongue over your head and between the slit, thoroughly wetting every inch of your tip. His lips stretch into a teasing smile as he kisses your tip, opening just wide enough to take it partially in, his tongue hangs out, flat against the underside of your cock and you cry out a moan as he sucks and releases with a POP!

“S-shit, Silco.” You lick your lips, leaning back, nearly at your limit. It’s almost pathetic how well he knows your body and the duration you can last. Lucky for him, you’re young and can bounce back quickly, but he still wants to drag this gift of his out.

“Sit up and look at me.” It’s not everyday the most powerful man in Zaun gets on his knees for another. You should show some respect. “Don’t divert them for a second.” A strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, but you comply and lean forward as his hand grips your base and your cock fills his mouth.

You watch with bated breath, fingers winding through his hair once more. Nimbly, you dare to think of thrusting your hips. A slight buck it all really. That’s when you hear him gag and it does something to you.

Taking initiative, you tighten your grip on his hair and snap your hips forward, burying yourself as deep until you know he can taste you and you can feel the back of his throat. His hands grip your thighs for support, breathing through his nose as you face fuck him, his technique not as practiced as yours, his teeth scrape against your shaft at times, keeping you from becoming too rough with him. Fluttering his tongue against the base of your cock, Silco tries to swallow instead of choke but his struggles are evident in his spluttering.

“You’re doing so well!” you praise him, noting the tears that prick his eyes. He can feel heat pooling between his own legs and he attempts to reposition himself to rut against the heel of his boot. Your thrusts speed up, breathing grows ragged, and your cock twitches in his mouth. You’re so close. You can feel and so can he. That’s why he flattens his tongue and tries to hollow out his cheeks a big wider readying for–

The big vein on the underside of your cock pulses against Silco’s tongue and you can’t hold it any longer. You finish in his mouth with a quiver that shakes you to the core, leaving you completely undone.

Your hands fall to the side, your cock already softening inside his mouth. Silco waits for you to pull out, wiping a mixture of dool and cum from his lips with his thumb before flexing his jaw. Standing to full height, he admires your form; spent with your head lull back with a stupid grin on your face.

“That was amazing.” you sigh, completely unaware of Silco’s actions. He takes another chocolate, popping it in his mouth without any fanfare. The taste of your cum still lingering on his tongue. It’s an acquired taste that one day he hopes to savor but for now its bitterness is too much for him. “Thank you so much, Silco. Best gift ever.”

Silco laughs a little, carding away stray hairs that fell out of place, “We’ll see about that. Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet.” and he still has a package in his pants ready to be unwrapped.

#silco #silco x male reader #silco x reader #lol #willgrammer #was going to use more parts from your confessions but wanted to kick this out today instead of making you wait any longer #got this done in one setting whut whut #can't see rn lmao #apologies for typos #luv ya

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doiecstasy · 3 years

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She’s Confident

She’s Confident (Diluc x Reader)

Summary: Being an Imunlaukr, you were destined to travel and discover many things all around Teyvat. Even if being the lover of the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, who owns the famous winery and tavern inside the nation of freedom, you didn't stop traveling. Now that you're back from your recent travel, you wanted to taunt your boyfriend and probably show him your hidden bold attitude that is only for him to see.

Warnings: Oral, Teasing, Smut, Breeding, Impreg

Note/s: Minors DNI. I cross-posted this fic on Ao3 so if you also found it in there, don't worry. I need more Diluc fics so I wrote one and decided to share it with y'all Diluc simps. Enjoy!

Artwork: eriimyon in Twitter

The tension between the new honorary knight and the former cavalry captain in a room full of the Knights of Favonius is palpable. Very. Noticeable.

Perhaps they all know the history between the two hence no one ever dares speak up. An Imunlaukr from the clan of the grandmaster Varka and the son of Master Crepus Ragnvindr. Who would dare speak in front of them?

Except, of course, the cunning cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius. Kaeya.

"I think it is better to sit shoulder-to-shoulder rather than facing each other. Isn't it Diluc?"

The redhead hissed, straightened up on his seat, and crossed his arms on his chest, enunciating through his actions that he is not interested in what his brother has said just a moment ago. He simply did not care and continued to stare into your azure orbs. Those blue-like ocean eyes that successfully captured his flaming ones.

Sensing how the other knights exchanged looks as if being able to communicate with just their eyes, you stood up and walked around the room to sit beside the uncrowned king of Mondstadt.

You looked over your shoulder and saw a surprised-looking knight. He seems new and shy. You could quite see that he was amazed. Mesmerized, even. A beauty like you, coming from the Imunlaukr clan with impressive combat skills and was gifted with a cryo vision matching perfectly to your blue eyes, who would not be captivated by your existence?

Glancing to your right, you saw how Diluc stilled and stared blankly in front of him, where you once seated. You smirked and looked at Kaeya, urging him to start the meeting he so-called important to the point where it needs the help of the two respected nobles of Mondstadt.

Kaeya didn't hide his smirk as he started briefing all of the people inside the room about the sightings of suspicious members of the Fatui outside the borders of Mondstadt and how the Liyue Qixing also wants to cooperate with this mission since there are also sights near Stone Gate, Liyue.

You understood how this is an important matter, for the safety of the citizens of Mondstadt is on the line. However, the man beside you once again hissed.

"Knights of Favonius, always so inefficient. Couldn't even handle matters like this alone." He said while staring directly at the cavalry captain in the center of the room.

The other knights averted their eyes on Diluc and looked down on their laps, feeling ashamed and guilty, partly because it is quite true. Something inside you was triggered and you directed your look to the redhead which caused him to look back into you.

"You can always back down, Diluc. You are not in debt to always cooperate in situations like this. After all, you are not part of the Knights of Favonius, aren't you?"

The room was quiet and an amused man was smiling boldly in the center of the room, enjoying the little show in front of him. But before everything reach its climax you stood up and excused yourself for you already know the details of the meeting.

"I'll be off now. If anyone needs something from me, I am just sheathing my claymore" you looked discreetly at Diluc, "at the practice grounds." You turned the knob and left the room with Diluc slightly shaking his head and Kaeya who is ready to irritate his brother more.

---

You saw Diluc leaving the headquarters and surmised that he is heading to Angel's Shares. You shook your head as you still couldn't fathom why the man owns a winery and tends the bar full of booze when he despises alcohol and is deeply in love with grape juice.

Picking up your claymore, you placed it back on the armory together with the other weapons exclusively for nobles like you and made your way to the tavern.

Why?

"Because I want to." You answered yourself while painting a smirk on your face.

While on your way, a hand was placed around your waist making you gasp and hold your tracks in front of little Flora's flower shop. Good thing it was almost dawn and the child is surprisingly not tending her shop at the moment.

"An Imunlaukr following a Ragnvindr, hm?" He tightens his hold on your waist, your chests now inch apart from each other. "Perhaps you need something from an ex-Knights of Favonius captain, honorary knight." He said staring directly into your orbs.

If it wasn't for the fact that you were both out in the open, you would gladly melt under his crimson eyes. But you were completely aware of your surroundings. You could feel the stares of a woman just above flora's shop. Quickly glancing in her direction, you saw the horror in her eyes and the way her hands slowly creep on her mouth as if suppressing silent sobs.

This is interesting.

Being aware that the woman's eyes are still locked in your position, you placed both of your arms around Diluc's neck and gently pulled him down to your height, making him bend slightly.

"Why don't we continue this inside your tavern, Diluc. I hate having an audience for private matters like this." You saw flames in his eyes like you've ignited something inside him. Moreover, you saw how the woman averted her gaze into you. She heard it. Definitely.

Diluc removed his arm on your waist and made his way back to his tavern. You hissed. This man never changes. But you followed him nonetheless.

When you entered the tavern you were surprised that it is empty. Considering the time, it's the hour that the tavern is supposedly packed with customers and bards. As if he has read your thoughts, Diluc answered. "The tavern is closed for today if that's what you're wondering. But I know that you heard it somewhere and to someone that we're closed for today, yet you still made your way here. So I supposed you're not here for the wine." He said while wiping mugs behind the bar.

Walking over to him, you settled on one of the seats in front of him and placed both of your elbows on the bar, plastering a smile on your face.

"I'm here for my welcome back greetings." You said while watching him. "And probably for some, 'I missed you', words as well." You still watched him and saw that he is not bothered by your words, he just continued wiping noticeably clean beer mugs. Placing your hands under your chin to support your face, you said,

"Or a kiss from you, perhaps?"

Sounds of clanking of mugs that fell on the floor were heard inside the tavern and a pair of crimson eyes were darted into your azure ones. He stopped wiping mugs and placed his hands on the edge of the bar to support himself, completely disregarding the scattered mugs on the floor.

His stares are of those like predators' look on their prey. You're sensing he got something up on his sleeves and you're not someone who backs out easily. Breaking the game of staring, you inched a little closer to him, being careful not to fall on your chair. But you saw him leave his position and slowly made his way around the bar. You followed his movements and your back is now facing his previous spot.

Diluc is now in front of you, caging you between the bar and his arms. His face is dangerously close to yours. The edge of the bar is digging behind your back, but you did not care and focused on the piece of art standing in front of you.

"Look who needs something from me, former cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius. You said it yourself, hm?" He said and you felt shivers run down your spine.

You smirked.

"I didn't know that you hold grudges for small things like that, Diluc. I am surprised." You snickered. "After being with you for all these years, it just so happens that I only knew this trait of yours." You placed a hand on his chest.

"Is it because of how I travel? Maybe I'm traveling too much to the point of almost ignoring you."

You saw the protruding veins in his jaw. He is provoked. You internally praised yourself for making him like this.

He removed his hand on the edge of the bar and placed it on your waist while his other hand supports his body against yours. You felt him grip your side a little too tight. Maybe you're doing this a little too much for him. But you didn't care. You also like him this way.

"You changed your hair color." He said while burning his gaze into yours. "Why?"

Your previous hair color was dark brown. Your recent travel required you to change it so you colored it to ash gray. It still made you beautiful. More mesmerizing.

"Do you not like it? I could change it back for you." You said while slowly rubbing your hand on his chest.

He looked at your hand for a second and came back into your eyes. "I love it."

"Now, pick among the three." He said while smirking.

You were confused and he saw it too. "A welcome greeting, an I missed you, or..." He leaned in at your ear,

"a hot kiss from me."

He backed away from your ear and faced you once again, waiting for your answer. His eyes burning with what you could see and very well know.

Lust.

You didn't break the stare as you said your answer. "The latter."

Diluc leaned in and caught your bottom lip between his. Slightly sucking it before giving you a sloppy yet hot kiss. His hand slipped under your tight shirt, gripping and massaging your waist slightly. Your hands are now around his neck as he ravished your lips. He bit your lip and you moaned as his tongue met yours. "I fucking missed you." He said between your kisses.

The sound of wet kisses and muffled moans filled the whole tavern. You already started thinking that he did close the tavern on purpose for your arrival, but you were averted from your thoughts as he pressed his bulging erection on your thighs. You giggled between your kisses and one of your hands slowly made its way to cup his erection.

"Ah, baby," Diluc moaned parting from your lips as you slowly rub his member. Feeling how it begs to be free from his restricting pants. He finds it so hot seeing you rub your hand on his filthy cock. Slipping your hand inside his pants, you grabbed his member and slowly releasing it free from its cage. You felt proud of yourself seeing how you made Diluc all worked up.

You left your seat and situated yourself kneeling in front of his mad erection. All for you.

You pumped it several times before slowly and teasingly licking his tip already filled with pre-cum. "Ah. Baby, stop teasing." He said while running his hand on your hair.

You grabbed his balls as you took his cock in your mouth. Taking him and moaning while his cock slides in and out of your mouth. You pumped the remaining parts of his shaft that didn't fit in your mouth and you could sense that he is close to coming. Diluc was panting as you continuously blow him off, guiding your head with his hand. You intentionally ground your teeth on his cock and you felt him squirmed from pleasure.

"If you keep on doing that I might come right now, baby." He pleads. You continued sucking his cock like a popsicle until he finally came and filled your mouth. "I'm hard again just by seeing you swallow my semen, baby."

You moaned. "Then I might just suck you off again, hm." You said palming his still erect cock.

Diluc pulled you from the floor and positioned you on top of the bar. Parting your legs and settling his body between your thighs. He slowly palmed your clothed clit. "You're wet down here, hm."

He stripped you from your bottom garments and only left bare only for him to see and... taste.

Your head fell back and moans left your mouth as he eats you out like a predator. He licks, kisses, and tongue-fucks your pussy. After ravishing your mound with his mouth, Diluc inserted a finger in your opening and slowly pumps it in your hole while he's busy playing with your clit.

"Ah, Diluc... Add another in there, baby. Please." You grabbed his red hair tightly as he added another finger and this time it wasn't slow.

You heard him grunt and it vibrated to your pussy making you moan louder. His other hand snaked around your back to push your hips even more on his face.

"I fucking missed the taste of this pussy too." He said while adding another finger and continue eating your clit. You were shaking from too much pleasure but you didn't mind.

When his fingers found your g-spot, you couldn't hold it in any longer and came right in front of his face.

A moan escaped your mouth as he licked you off clean. You didn't have time to calm down as he grabbed your waist and carried you to one of the tables inside the tavern.

"I can't wait to fuck you, baby. I need you right now." He said while laying down on the hard surface. You didn't mind the discomfort as long as you're with him.

Diluc pumped his cock slowly as he watches you being impatient and desperately wants to be filled.

"Diluc stop teasing me and put it in me already." You said while massaging your breasts. He caught you off-guard when he suddenly slid it in you. Hard.

He pounded you like he never saw you for a year. When in reality, it was only for 2 weeks. Loud moans escaped from your mouth as he continuously hit your spot.

Diluc hoisted your legs up on his shoulders and fucks you deeper. A growl escaping his mouth. "Fuck, you're so tight and hot, baby. Fucking you still feels like the first time. Ah."

He leaned in and gave you sloppy kisses as he fucks the life out of you. "Want me to breed you, baby?" He said between thrusts and kisses. "Make you a Ragnvindr and mark you so no one could have you except me, hm?"

You couldn't form words from the pleasure he's giving you. You could tell that the table you're lying on will be destroyed moments from now. The idea of bearing a child of Diluc in you made you feel so hot and even more turned on.

You ground on him in sync with his thrusts. "Ah, Diluc. Yes!"

You were almost there but he slides out of you and picked you up from the table. You almost snapped from the lack of his cock in your mound, but when he placed you in front of the wall, hoisted your leg on his arm then quickly penetrated your pussy from behind, another set of loud moans escaped your mouth.

He moaned as he felt your hole clenching his cock between his heavy thrusts. Every time he thrusts it out, your pussy pulls it back in.

His other hand crept under you and rubs your clit fast, overstimulating you. "Come for me, baby. Let me fill you with my semen. I'll fucking put a baby in you."

"Ah, yes! Give it to me, baby." You said as you felt your release coming the same time he came inside you. A grunt left Diluc's mouth as his semen floods into you.

He stilled and moaned as you slowly pumped his cock back in your pussy, helping him cream your mound. "Don't want your release to come to waste." You giggled.

Diluc didn't let go of you as he very well knows you'd fall if he does. He situated you in one of the seats that have a cushion so that you'll be more comfortable after an intense fucking inside his tavern.

He grabbed tissues behind the bar and went directly to your position and slowly cleaned off the excess cum on your thighs. He helped you put back your clothes on and did the same to himself.

After a few moments, he just stared at you like you're the only woman in Teyvat. His woman.

"So, how did the ex-Knights of Favonius satisfy the honorary knight, hm?" He asked, crossing his arms on his firm chest.

You looked up to him and a smirk formed on your lips.

"Well, he did great. Very. Great. Perhaps, the other way to get railed like this again is by officially joining the Knights of Favonius." You said with a smirk on your face.

Diluc raised an eyebrow. "I hate the Knights."

You grabbed his arms and made him wrap them around your waist. You carefully stood up from your seat as your mound is still sore and you put a chaste kiss on his lips.

"But I like it when you're mad at me." You placed another kiss on his lips. "You wanna know why, hm?"

Diluc kissed you back as an answer. His tongue seeking entrance in your mouth.

"Because you fuck me harder when you're mad." You said between his kisses.

He guided your hand on his pants and a gasp left your mouth in his kisses when you felt him hard again. He parted his lips from you and whispered in your ears.

"I can't hate you, love. But I can make you suffer in bed later."

You're anticipating that 'later' in bed at home.

End.

#genshin x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin smut #diluc smut #genshin impact x reader #diluc #genshin diluc x reader #diluc fic #genshin impact smut #diluc fluff #genshin imagines #my first genshin fic #enjoy

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electric--blanket · 3 years

Text

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

#ethan winters x karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x ethan winters #heisenberg x ethan #heisenwinters #wintersberg #winterberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fic #fanfiction #oneshot

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cherri-cherri · 3 years

Text

× Little Flower ×

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Pairings - Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis - No one was allowed to touch you as you were his. Those who dared would suffer a fate worse than death...

Warnings - Possible Grammar Errors, Slight Gore, Swear Words

A/N - This fic here is pretty short but I wanted to write this after having a weird dream with flowers and Sukuna. I honestly have mixed feelings about this one but I hope you all enjoy! - 🍒

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"Speak, girl. Do you know why you stand here on trial here today?" A voice called out to you from above but you simply kept your head hanging down to stare at the stacks of dry wood pressed under your feet. Your body ached due to the countless bruises and cuts littering your skin and the tightness of the ropes cutting into your bound wrists weren't helping at all in the slightest.

"Y/N L/N, do you understand why you stand before us?" The voice repeated again, this time a rough hand grabbing ahold of your hair and gripping it tightly, forcing you to stare up at the man before you.

"Cat has your tongue? Well then, let me remind you that you were caught giving aid to the king of curses. No doubt spreading your legs for him like that harlot you are" his words only mirrored the disgusted look in his cold grey eyes, glaring down at you as his grip on your hair only tightened. Sad to think that you would be used to this knowing your uncle was not a kind or gentle man and yet his words only stung.

"...I did no such thing....He was hurt and I was trying to help, I was–" Letting out a yelp as your cheek burned from the slap your uncle gave you, you felt tears prickling your eyes as he leaned in closer.

"Liar!! Someone saw you with him, saw you hold him! It is obvious that your vile ways allowed him to take over your mind and possess you!" Yelling at the top of his lungs, you heard others around you cheering the man on as some even chimed in. So many hateful words, so many people who you believed to friends and family only for all of them to look at you with such disdain and anger. Tears began to form until your uncle released you and stepped away, "There is only one way to save your soul now before he swallows it whole. The flames will send you to the afterlife and maybe then, you will be saved."

Your heart dropped after hearing that. You were going to die, all because of giving a monster sanctuary, all because you tried to be kind. Men carrying large clay pots came to the stake you were bound to and then began splashing you with oil. Coughing as the liquid was poured ontop of your head, you heard the chanting of the people all around you, screaming and yelling for your death over and over again as your uncle came walking back towards you while holding up a lit torch.

This was the end. Your miserable life ending at such a horrible note, it made you let out a small saddened chuckle as you slowly closed your eyes and waited for the fire to engulf your completely until nothing but ash reminded.

You waited..

And waited..

The ropes wrapped around your wrists were soon sliced off and at the same time, you hear a few thuds collapsing onto gravel not too far away from you. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself staring at your uncle. Your now headless uncle. The blood erupting from his neck like a geyser as the body slumped down to its knees, occasionally twitching as the blood sprayed across your face and ragged dress. The color drained from your face completely as you stared down at the blood on your clothes, horrified until a large tattooed around wrapped itself around your waist. Freezing completely, you looked back forward to see the villagers beginning to flee until those who even took a step back were diced into cubed pieces.

"Any human who moves another muscle will die." A rough voice called out behind you, sending your heart to panic. Turning your head slightly to the side, you saw him.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

His eyes darted down towards you, crimson hues staring into your watery E/C eyes and he simply gave you a toothy grin. "Come on now, Y/N, you shouldn't give such a frightened look to your knight in shining armor. I just saved your life."

"Y-you killed them.. " you muttered, causing Sukuna to roll his eyes as he lifted you in the air before placing you down onto his shoulder to carry you. "And? I don't see what's wrong here. You're alive, they're dead. Now that we've been over that, I think you owe me a reward—"

"I knew it..." a woman said from the crowd, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping her fists. She stared at the two of you with fear in her eyes, more so you than Sukuna. "Y-you were sleeping with him..you dirty whore...letting a monster in this village. Letting a curse spread in this village!" As she screamed out, blood soon enough trickled down her lips as she felt a pain in her chest before a growing numbness. Looking down, the woman saw nothing but a gaping hole in the middle of her chest, blood dribbling down the emptiness to the stomach until she slowly collapsed on her back. Others around her screamed out, some moving from the places they were standing before being sliced in half or trisected into parts. You gasped out, covering your mouth as you felt bile rising up.

"S-she did nothing wrong!" You yelled to Sukuna as he only stared at the remaining people in the crowd with a smirk. "Wrong...As far as I see, everyone here has committed a great sin."

Crimson stained the once grey pathway as people are killed by the curse one after another. A few brave (or foolish) souls attempted to even rush at Sukuna only to make it as far as five steps forward before their insides became their outsides. A woman tried to beg for her life by offering herself as Sukuna's personal slave, even going as far as to give away to lives of her children but once again it proved nothing as she too was killed.

It didn't take long for Sukuna to kill off the rest of the villagers, regardless of their age or even if they were innocent or not. They were all killed and slaughtered brutally without mercy, their blood mixing together as the smell of their corpses began to reek. You stared down at the headless corpse of your uncle, eyes dulled as you thought perhaps it would've been better if the fire had claimed you. Then no one wouldve been killed. No, no that wasn't true.

It would've been better if you never met him. If you simply continued on your way and left him bleeding out for the shamans to find. If you had never opened your heart to the curse..then no one would've died. Then no one would've been killed. Feeling a hand brush your hair gently with his nails and combing a strain behind your ear, you were snapped out of your thoughts. Sukuna pulled you closer towards him with one arm and wrapped each of his arms around your small frame before pressing his lips onto your forehead.

"They didn't have to die..." your voice was practically a whisper at this point, hoarse and dry from the screaming and begging for him to stop. Sukuna merely chuckled as he released you, "Do you feel guilty?"

"What sort of question is that supposed to be? Of course I do...." Saying that you didn't would only be half of the truth. Sure you were angry with how they were so quick to hurt you and kill you but then again, if you knew this was what Sukuna was capable, you would've accepted the punishment. You should've listened, should've stayed away from him that night yet apart of you knew that this perhaps wouldn't have changed much.

"I don't see why when because of you, your people get to live on..."

Those words got your attention as they left you confused. Before you could even question him however, you heard a small weak voice speaking out towards it. "You've doomed us all, girl..."

You could've swore that it was your uncle speaking to you and yet you knew that was impossible seeing as his vocal cords were severed alongside his head. But when your eyes slowly looked over to the severed head, you saw a large flower growing where the blood pooled over. It might have been beautiful if it wasnt for the fact that your uncle's face was on the flower, darkened eyes staring at you. Gasping out, you covered you mouth and took a step back, pressing your back into the warm chest of Sukuna as he pointed over towards the other bodies littered around the execution ground.

A variety of flowers had sprouted forth from the blood soaked ground, each with the faces of the dead villagers as they yelled and screamed out in agony at you. So many cried out your name, children who were unfortunately brought here wailed as their mothers simply screamed out multiple swears at you. Speechless, you froze at the sight as more flowers simply began to grow up around the two of you and were only spreading. Small vines began to creep towards you, only to be sliced away when it got too far, not to you but to Sukuna.

"Regret, anger, hatred, sadness. So much negative energy, so much rage here. I wanted to repay my little flower and what else to gift her with than a garden of her own." He hunching over and reaching for one the screaming flowers, he plucked it forth from the ground as the face on it contorted in pain before it began to beg for mercy. "Flowers for my flower. Though none of this compare to you." Sukuna chuckled, placing the plant onto the back of your ear before combing a strand of your hair.

You felt disgusted as the flower's voice grew more and more faint, it practically whispering in your ear for himself to be spared such a fate. You could do nothing but silently say how sorry you were yet your hushed apologies were drowned out by the voices of your new cursed garden.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk angst #jjk sukuna

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sundaysundaes · 3 years

Text

Make a Wish

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | College AU

Summary: It’s your birthday today and instead of giving you a box of gift, your boyfriend, Lee Donghyuck, decides to grant five of your wishes. You can’t help but feel a smirk creeping up your face. It’s time to get a little… creative.

This can be read as a stand alone but if you want to read it in order, you can start with Before Our Story Began and Jealousy.

You were having a dream. A really nice dream about your boyfriend, Lee Donghyuck, where for once in his twenty-years of living, he promised himself not to whine about anything ever again for the rest of his life. He was situated in difficult positions—got an F for the papers that he’d worked on for days, overcooked his eggs until they tasted like a pile of ashes in his mouth during breakfast, or lost a battle because Jaemin was too distracted with Jeno’s dick rubbing against his ass during the game. And even then, he did not form any complaint or whine with his head thrown back like how he usually would’ve done. It was a pleasant dream, seeing him all mature like that.

But then you woke up to the sound of that boyfriend of yours, screaming—literally screaming—directly to your ear, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL,” as if it wasn’t the middle of the night where he could wake up the whole dorm.

So now, you’re glowering at him with bleary eyes, wiping your drool away with the back of your hand. Haechan shows his phone screen, grinning when he sees you noticing with squinted eyes that it’s 00.00 am and the date written underneath it is your birthday.

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter, sinking your face back into the pillow and pulling the blanket over your head. “I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Haechannie.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Your boyfriend is loud, too loud. You understand that Jaemin is having a sleepover at Jeno’s place so Haechan has the entire room for himself but that does not give him the right to scream right next to your ear like this. Especially when you’re this sleepy with nothing but exhaustion pumping through your veins.

“Noona~” He shakes you by the shoulder, peeling the blanket off your body and succeeding, even when you’ve tried your best to keep it tangled around you. “Come on, it’s your birthday. We have to celebrate!”

“We’ll celebrate when the sun is out. Like normal people.”

“No way, come on! You can sleep some other time!”

“You can be annoying some other time.”

He huffs loudly, puffing out his cheeks. “If you don’t get up, I’ll do things to you.”

You sigh. You know what kind of things he’s referring to and as much as you love it, you’re really drained from the part-time job you did earlier today. It’s true that you haven’t had sex with him for more than a week or so and you kind of miss doing those sort of things with him but you’re just so tired that you ended up crashing face-first on his bed earlier this evening the second you arrived in his room. You hadn’t even kissed him properly yet.

“Okay, fine.” You sit up on his bed with your shirt—or rather, his shirt—all wrinkled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “What do you want us to do? If it’s sex, you have to wait because I’m dead tired right now.”

“I wanted to give you your present, actually.” But the way he juts out his bottom lip seems like sex was exactly what he had in mind.

“Okay, so where is it?” You ask, considering you don’t really see him carrying a box of gift with a red bow wrapped around it.

“Well, it’s kinda predictable for me to be giving you like an actual present, so I thought hey, maybe I can grant you a wish. Any kind of wish,” he emphasizes, raising that eyebrow of his in the way he knows you like it. “If you know what I mean.”

You ignore him completely, though the sight of his sexy smirk still leaves you unfocused for a good few seconds. “Only one? On my birthday? Do you even want to do this or are you just making an excuse for not buying me a present?”

“Yah!” He scrunches his nose, playfully jabbing a finger to your stomach. “I don’t see you granting me any wishes on my birthday!”

“You wanted to come inside me and I allowed you to do just that. Twice. Stop being so ungrateful.”

That wipes the playful angry look off his face almost instantly. “You’re right, fine,” he concedes, looking at you with a disinterested look in his eyes. “How many wishes do you want then?”

“I don’t know, like, fifty?”

“The hell? Do I look like Santa to you?”

“If you keep eating those samgyeopsal past midnight, your belly will.”

“Stop body-shaming me, you little—“ He suddenly leaps over, attacking you with tickles to the sides of your stomach until you fall back to the bed with his bare chest hovering over your body. You retaliate by moving your legs around, trying to kick him away but failing every time. You can barely hold back your laughter. He only stops when your face grows scarlet and your chest heaving up and down, slightly out of breath. “I’ll give you three wishes,” he offers, a bit breathless as well. “Only because you look so irresistible right now with those lips of yours.”

“Make it ten, then.” You play with his necklace, twisting it around your finger. Your other hand draws a line on his golden skin, starting from the column of his neck down to his chest. “And I’ll be even more irresistible.”

“Hmm, tempting.” His lips slowly breaking into a sultry smile. “But no. I’ll give you three and that’s final.”

“If you give me five,” you say, hooking a finger around his silver necklace this time so you can bring his face down to yours and whisper in his ear, “I’ll let you cum in my mouth later today.”

His entire face beams up almost like a kid on his first school trip. “You get yourself a deal, sister!”

You smile, caressing his cheek softly with your fingers. His gaze softens, leaning against your touch like how a kitten would. “Well then, here’s my first wish,” you speak softly as if you’re telling a secret. Your lips are just a few inches away from his, and he licks his lower lip in anticipation. “No doing sexual activities whatsoever with me on my birthday.”

That sensual, excited look he has on his face earlier? Gone, being immediately replaced by sheer horror. “What?!” He shrieks when his realization sinks in. “BUT YOU SAID YOU’D LET ME CUM IN YOUR MOUTH LATER TODAY!”

You grin at him, almost cackling out loud. “It’s not fun being on the other side of a prank, is it now, Haechannie?”

“You’re so—” But even the infamous Lee Haechan can be at loss for words. “Not even a kiss?”

“Not even a hug,” you clarify, pushing his body away with both hands so he ends up sitting on his heels, only in his boxer. “I’ll allow you to hold my hands but that’s it.”

“But why?” The way he whines the word ‘why’, loud and long, is just so him. “Hugging is like a totally normal thing to do! People hug all the time! Even kids do! It doesn’t have to be sexual.”

“It becomes sexual when you keep popping out a boner during one.”

“Screw you.”

“Not today, Haechannie. Not today.”

***

Haechan, no matter how bratty he can act from time-to-time, does keep his promise intact. He hasn’t touched you for like eight hours by now, even when you were taking a shower inside his room and ‘accidentally’ leaving the bathroom door open. You heard him groan, “Seriously? You’re doing this to me now? You’re torturing me, Nooonaaaaa~” once during your shower, but he didn’t act on his desire. You’re actually quite surprised. You know just how much this is driving him crazy.

“Let’s get some breakfast,” you say, already looking all dolled up in the red dress he once bought for you. You know how much he likes it, know how much his eyes ogle your body from top-to-toe, staring at the way the fabric hugs your body perfectly, emphasizing your every curve.

He glares at you menacingly. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” You play dumb, though you're sure your grin betrays you. “Come on, I’m starving. I’ll let you hold my hand as we walk, just make sure don't get a hard-on in the meantime.”

“Have I told you I hate you today?”

“And I love you too, Haechannie.”

The cafe near the dormitory you usually visit to get your daily intake of calories is closed for the day. “Why are they closed?” You ask, adjoining your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Maybe the old man has diarrhea or something.” He shrugs, hands buried deep inside the pocket of his black ripped jeans. The way they tightly hug his legs, combined with those holes, is becoming very distracting for you. “I sure as hell, hope so.”

“Will you let it go already? It was an honest mistake.”

“How on earth is putting wasabi in my cream soup an honest mistake? He totally did that on purpose!”

“Yeah, well, knowing how you just straight-up told him he looked like a walrus, I’m not even surprised he spiked your soup.”

“Now that’s an honest mistake, in which I tried to be honest but came out as a mistake.”

“You didn’t have to tell him he looked like a walrus, though.”

“But he did!” He groaned, stomping his feet on the ground. “He totally did! Look me in the eyes and tell me he didn’t look like a walrus, come on, I dare you.”

You roll your eyes. He’s always one for the dramatic. “Should we go somewhere else? How hungry are you right now?”

“For your love?” He smirked, sending you a flirty wink. “Starving.”

You make an exaggerated gesture of you vomiting your insides. “If you’re not that hungry, wanna just go grab some crepes and take a walk in the park?”

“Sure, why not.” His shoulders are relaxed as he yawns unattractively, though it still counts as adorable in your book. “Let’s drop by to that bakery you told me before on the way home. I’m gonna buy you a birthday cake.”

That earns a surprised smile from you. “I didn’t think you’d be this thoughtful.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always thoughtful.”

“Is calling a middle-aged man a walrus a form of your thoughtfulness?”

He snorts, tilting his head to the side with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Since when did you get this sassy?” You’re about to put another retort when he suddenly kisses your cheek.

“Hey!” You abruptly step away from him, palming the side of your face. “What did I tell you about my wish again?”

He grins, eyes turning into a cute pair of crescents. “Honest mistake, babe.”

And you poke him in the abs until he drops to his knees, whining, “Whyyyyyyyy?” into the air.

There’s this park near your campus that has nice scenery—unexpectedly picturesque, even—with a huge fountain in the center of it. The green leaves of the camphor trees sway from the morning breeze, intoxicating you with a scent similar to how the pine trees smell after the rain. Children are running around, playing tags, with their parents sitting next to the fountain, busying themselves with their phones while occasionally mutters, “Be careful, don’t run too much!” from time-to-time because apparently, that’s what parents do these days.

Haechan exhales loudly as he takes a seat on the nearest bench, straightening his legs and patting a spot beside him. “Come here. I want to cuddle.”

“There are people around.”

“Since when cuddling becomes a crime?”

“It makes people uncomfortable.”

“You saying no makes me uncomfortable.”

You sigh. There’s no way of winning an argument with him. “Fine, but I’m not sitting on your lap,” you say, ignoring his pout as you take a seat next to him and hand him his chocolate-banana crepes. “Careful, you’re wearing a white shirt,” you warn, offering him his spoon. “It’ll be hard to take the stain off if—”

“I’m not a child,” he grumbles, taking the food roughly off your hand and grimacing when the chocolate syrup drips down to his shirt, staining the fabric. He blinks in surprise with his mouth wide open, before he looks back at you, only to receive a flat stare in return.

“I literally just told you that a second ago.”

Haechan shrugs. “It’s Jaemin’s shirt anyway, so I don’t care.”

With that, you bring your focus back to the food in your hand—a strawberry crepes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream—and takes a bite, almost moaning in delight when the sugary taste hits your tongue. “Man, why did I ever decide to go on a diet? This tastes so gooooood~”

Your smile and small giggle seem to be contagious because Haechan mirrors you almost in the same way though it has nothing to do with the dessert he’s holding. He observes, silently taking notes of the joyful expressions you display on your face while muttering, “How cute,” under his breath. Both of you take a moment to enjoy your so-called breakfast, sometimes taking a sip of your hot coffee to balance the sweet.

“You know,” Haechan says as he gnaws at his dessert again. “This isn’t really how I expected to go when I said I’d grant your wishes.”

“Yeah?” You decide to humor him, though you already know what he’s thinking. “Did you expect me to wish for something else?”

He nods, licking chocolate syrup off his spoon. “Something about you sitting on my face.”

You choke on a piece of strawberry you just plopped into your mouth, and you can feel it blocking your airways. “What are you—” Tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes, as you begin to cough fervently.

“What are you, a kid?” Haechan pulls your hair away from your face, patting your back. “There, there.”

“Why on earth would I ask about that?!” You shout when you can properly breathe again.

“I don’t know, I just thought that maybe you wanted me to eat you out.” The way he shrugs so nonchalantly as if he’s simply talking about finding a typo in the papers he just submitted leaves you dumbfounded. “I mean, I kept teasing you about it during sex but never really did it since you were always too stubborn to beg.”

“And do you realize now how annoying you are in bed?”

“That’s not my intention, though!” He genuinely seems a bit guilty. “You just look so cute trying to hold back when it’s obvious you want my tongue inside you—”

“We’re in public, Jesus Christ—”

“It’s your pride that we have a problem with. Why can’t you just for once say, with teary eyes, ‘Haechannie, please, fuck me with your tongue’—”

“People can hear—stop it!” You try to clamp your palm around his mouth, but he dodges it perfectly and places a playful kiss on the back of your hand instead. “And are you seriously begging me to beg you for it? I don’t think that’s how it works, Hyuck.”

“It’s because I actually really want to eat you out,” he groans, sighing into the air, “But I also want to see that cute embarrassed look on your face—do you see how big of a problem this is for me?” His whine falls short when he notices the look on your face. “Wait, are you blushing?”

“I’m not!” But you know you are, you’ve never been so ashamed before. How can you not? Your boyfriend is now a) talking about eating you out, loudly, in public, b) there’s this one passerby, a middle-aged woman who dresses in way too many layers for a day as hot as this, looking at you with the most disgusted look you’ve ever seen displayed on a person’s face, and c) Haechan is still talking about it. “Shut up and just get away from me!”

“Noona, your face is so red!” He’s giggling to himself now, his crepes dribbling more chocolate syrup onto his shirt from how much he’s moving. “Did I get you excited? Does this mean you’re gonna—”

“Next wish! I’ve already thought about my next wish!” You quickly avert his attention, desperately pushing his face with one hand so he’ll stop making kissy faces at you. “I want you to perform a song.”

“What, here?”

“Yeah, you don’t have a problem singing in front of people, right?”

“Of course not,” he snorts loudly. “I have an amazing voice. You know, people should really be paying me to hear me sing, actually.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, though deep down in your heart, you kind of admit that he really does have an amazing voice. His vocal is unique and distinct, easily noticeable even if there are a hundred vocalists in the room. And the way he does his adlibs whenever he sings his favorite tunes actually makes the song sounds a thousand times better. There’s no way you’re going to tell that to his face, though. His ego is already big enough without you feeding him compliments.

“Well then, you’re in luck.” You grin mischievously, nodding your head toward a band that’s been playing acoustic songs near the fountain for quite some time. There are three people playing instruments, with one of them being the vocalist and you comment inwardly in your head that Haechan sounds so much better than him—but maybe you’re just biased. The band is promoting their demo album, trying to get people’s attention to recognize their self-composed songs and buy their album if they fit their taste. No crowds are gathering in front of them, and you feel kind of sorry because they actually sound pretty good. “If you follow my wish and do it right, you could probably get some tips along the way.”

“You want me to sing with the band? I don’t think they’ll allow me though.”

“They will. I’ll buy their album in exchange.”

Haechan doesn’t seem eager at the slightest. “Must we waste our money away?”

“What, are you scared?” You taunt, raising one of your eyebrows challengingly because you know how much he hates to lose. And it works as expected, because Haechan is now standing up, throwing the rest of his crepes away to the nearest trash bin, and cracks his knuckles.

“Lee Haechan never runs away from a challenge.” He has this annoying cocky grin displayed on his face. “Tell me what song you want me to sing.”

“Your favorite. Man in The Mirror.”

“Dude, I nailed that song. Is this even a challenge?” He clicks his tongue, cocking his head. “So easy.”

He already has taken a few steps away, heading toward the band, when you stop him dead on his tracks by saying, “I know you nailed it. That’s why we have to keep it interesting so here’s my wish: I want you to sing out of tune.”

Even if you said that he was turning on his heels at the speed of light, it wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration. “NO FUCKING WAY.”

“Ah, but sadly,” you fake a pout, mocking him, “You promised you’d grant my wish.”

“But that’s just stupid! Why would I do something like that? Why would anyone do something like that?” He shakes his head furiously. “And doing this to my favorite singer?! Hell no!”

“Haechannie.”

“No.”

“Haechannie.”

“NO.”

You sigh, walking closer to him and pull him down by the hand to close the gap between your heights and murmur in his ear. “If you do that,” you breathe out, trying your best to sound as sexy as you can, “I might consider buying that customized dildo you want this weekend.”

Haechan has his jaw hanging low on his face, looking at you with his wide eyes shaking in disbelief. “Oh my God,” he whines, placing both hands on your shoulders before rocking you back and forth. “Noonaaaaa~ This is soooo not fair. You can’t do this to me!”

You chuckle at how childish he is. “So, how is it going to be, Lee Donghyuck-sshi?”

He contemplates hard about it—really hard, probably the hardest thinking he ever did in his entire life—nibbling on his lower lip as he does it. After a moment has passed, he finally ends it with his signature pout. “But you promise, right? No pranking me this time?”

“I promise,” you say with a firm nod but you have your fingers crossed behind your back.

“Fine,” he says as if it was the heaviest decision he has ever made. “Then, I’ll sing… off-key—eww!” He sticks out his tongue, clutching his arms around his stomach. “I’m about to throw up my crepes just by thinking about it.”

“Good luck.” You pat his shoulder. “Oh, and make sure you sing the first part like you always do, so people will notice and start listening to how amazing your voice is. And when they’re so into it, as you get to the second chorus, that’s when you start singing off-key.”

Haechan’s eyes are lifeless when they bore into you. “Isn’t it time for you to go back to hell, Satan?”

“Remember, Haechannie,” you press a finger to your lips, winking at him. “Customized. Dildo.”

“I hate you.”

“And I love you too.”

So both of you get into the business. After the band performed an acoustic version of their titled song, you approach them with a smile, offering your hand to the vocalist. You tell them how talented they are, making sure to bedazzle them with compliments and your charming attitudes so things can go as planned. It’s actually not that hard trying to convince them to accompany your boyfriend sing, especially when you say you’re going to buy two of their demo albums.

“What song do you want to sing, dude?” The vocalist, a friendly man most likely in his twenties with a goatee on his face, asks Haechan while offering a fist bump. Your boyfriend grimaces, bumping his fist against him like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever done.

“Something wrong?” The man asks. “You look kinda pale, man.”

“He just ate something bad during breakfast earlier,” you come to answer him instead, rubbing Haechan’s back soothingly. “But he’s fine now. Can you guys play Man in The Mirror?”

“Michael Jackson, right? Sure thing.”

You elbow your boyfriend playfully on the side of his stomach. “Sure thing, he said.”

“I want to die.”

“Aaw, poor baby,” you pucker your lips, having the best time of your life making fun of him. “Now off you go, I’ll be right here.” And you bring your iPhone in the air, camera-ready with a tap of your thumb. Haechan has his eyes on the standing microphone, looking at it like it’s the most horrifying thing he’s ever witnessed in his life.

Haechan just barely takes a step forward before he runs back to your spot again, all jumpy and twitchy. “I can’t—I can’t do this—this is so embarrassing—”

“On three, okay, man?” The vocalist takes a seat on one of the little stools they have placed next to the amplifiers with his Fender guitar placed firmly on his lap. And before Haechan can give him a nod or any sign in return, he begins counting and the entire band plays the song. There’s no way out of this now.

Haechan finally walks toward the mic with his soul most likely leaving his body with every step he takes.

You give him a cheer as loud as you can—not to support him, but so you can gather people’s attention. Haechan shushes you down in panic before he finally takes the mic, constantly throwing ice daggers at you with his eyes. You begin to chant his name—“Lee Donghyuck! Lee Donghyuck!”—and with every shout of it, Haechan dies a little bit more.

Haechan falls two beats behind before he finally sings into the microphone, his voice resonating through the air. He does sound amazing, albeit a little nervous and that’s probably just because he’s doing the dare. He usually sounds confident, his voice sounding strong and clear not caring if the room is empty or filled with people so this anxious version of him really makes you think that maybe you’ve forced him a little bit too far.

He completes the first part of the song rather easily and the entire band behind him nod their heads along to the music, amazement sparkling in their eyes. You can see the vocalist quietly mouths, “Damn, he’s good,” to the member sitting beside him who shortly agrees wholeheartedly. You can’t help but smile at that, looking like a proud mom.

People, one-by-one, begin to gather around you, whispering to one another, asking, “Who is he? What band is this?” or simply praising his vocal and your smile grows wider. It vanishes almost instantly, though, the second you hear some girls chattering behind your back, talking about how attractive Haechan looks—especially in that leather jacket and those dark combat boots he’s wearing. You never pegged yourself to be a jealous, overprotective girlfriend before but with Haechan, perhaps you’re beginning to turn exactly into that.

Haechan, who seems pretty pleased with how he sang the first part, suddenly begins to fidget on his feet. The more he gets closer to the second chorus, the paler he becomes and he has his eyes tightly shut when he’s finally there, singing the first two lines in the right way before forcing himself to sing off-key.

You blurt out laughing but immediately clasp a hand over your mouth. Haechan looks like he’s in pain, and the rest of the band has their eyebrows furrowed in question, looking back and forth at each other, probably asking, what the hell is wrong with this dude, he was doing so good before. The audience begins to look at one another, eyebrows knitting in concern. New visitors stop in their tracks, looking at your boyfriend with judging looks on their faces. Even the parents that were so busy with their phones before begin to lift their heads from the screen, trying to know who is this terrible singer and why is he wailing like this.

Haechan sounds so awful and you can only imagine how much this is killing him from the inside. He barely gets to the end of the second chorus before he turns to face the band, bowing his head and shouting, “I’m so sorry!” before he scrambles on his feet, running toward you.

“Wait, Hyuck, you haven’t finished—” Your protest ends in laughter when Haechan rashly hooks an arm around your shoulder, breaking through the crowd and forcing you to match his steps so you can leave the park for good.

He’s never stepping into this place ever again, you’re sure of it.

***

On the way back to the dorm, you stop by the bakery you’ve been wanting to visit and Haechan buys you a birthday cake as promised but with a permanent pout displayed on his place.

“A cake for your girlfriend?” The cashier lady asks with a friendly smile.

Haechan simply pouts harder, muttering, “Yes, my super annoying girlfriend.” And you pop out from behind his back, raising a hand in the air as you beam at her with a cheeky grin, “Yep, that’s me!”

Haechan walks next to you on the sidewalk as if he just did the longest marathon he ever did in his life—all drained out and slow on his steps. His shoulders are hunched forward, his eyes droopy and every time you take a peek and share a glance at him, he’ll start fuming again—like an angry child, upset for being left alone in his grandma’s house while the whole family went on a trip.

“Okay, knowing how fast you’re walking right now,” you mutter sarcastically, looking at the nonexistent watch you wear around your wrist for dramatic effects, “We’ll be back in our dorm at approximately eighty-four years from now.”

“Whatever. I’m still angry at you.”

“But we just started! I thought you wanted to make me happy.” You try to look as sad as possible, batting your eyelashes at him. “It’s my birthday, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware that making you happy equals giving me emotional distress.” After two seconds passed by in silence, he adds, “And physical pain.”

You smile at the attitude he’s giving, wondering just how cute can this man be by the end of the day. Maybe you should keep torturing him a little.

Just a little bit more.

“Haechannie,” you roll his name off your tongue in a playful manner, wrapping both arms around his right one. “I’m ready for my next wish.”

“Didn’t you listen to any word I just said?”

“See that old lady over there?”

“Yeah, you clearly didn’t.” Haechan follows your gaze with a heavy sigh, not quite pleased with how easily you ignore his complaints, and he sees a grey-haired woman, old enough to be his grandmother, sitting alone on a bench with a book on her hands and her glasses hanging dangerously low on the bridge of her nose. Her cane lays still on her side, and by the look of it, she appears to be waiting for someone.

“Oh come on, leave her alone,” Haechan says, already looking sorry for her even when you haven’t said anything yet. “She’s so old and she looks so frail. I am not going to do your stupid dare at the cost of her life.”

You roll your eyes.“Relax, I won’t ask something that stupid.”

“Oh, because your first wish was just so brilliant, I suppose?”

“I’m serious, I’m not that mean.” Not to her, at least. “I just want you to sit next to her on the bench and act like it’s the worst day of your life.”

“I won’t be calling that acting,” he grumbles. “I am having the worst day of my life.”

“What? I thought we’re having fun!” You try so hard to look sympathetic enough for him but it’s almost an impossible deed to do when you’re seconds away from laughing.

“You’re having fun.” He squints his eyes menacingly. “I’m having a fucking seizure.”

“You’re fine, don’t be too dramatic.” You card your fingers through his hair, pushing back the bangs from his eyes to showcase his temple exactly the way you like it. “Well, I want you to act sad—like, really sad, bawling your eyes out and everything—and when she asks you why, explain that you just found out you’re adopted.” You press something against his palm. “Here.”

Haechan has his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he takes a look at it. “What’s this?”

“A postcard with a picture of your parents. I just bought it at the minimart before when you were in the bakery.”

“But…” He stares in horror. “They’re Americans.”

“Exactly.” You know there’s a shit-eating grin blooming on your face but you cannot wipe it off. “You can walk away after she tries to comfort you or give you some advice or something.”

Haechan keeps scowling at you as if he wanted to eat you alive, but you charm him with your brightest smile until he sighs and tucks the postcard in the back pocket of his jeans. “You know I’ll pay you back for this later, right?”

“Wha—I thought you said you’ll grant me any wishes for free!”

“MAN, IF I COULD JUST TURN BACK TIME—“ He yanks out his hair, making you a bit worried because you love his soft, adorable brown locks and he’s been tugging at them for quite some time today. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it. I no longer have any shame left in my body anyway. Or soul, for that matter.” He turns on his heels, straightening his jacket as if that could give him more courage. “You better not blink your eyes.”

“It’s okay even if I do.” You bring out your phone, waving it in the air. “’Cause I’m recording it. This will go viral on Youtube.”

“I hate you.”

“And I love you too, Haechannie.”

It takes a good ten minutes for Haechan to prepare himself for the stupid dare he’s about to do, even though he previously claimed he had no shame whatsoever. He paces back-and-forth at the sidewalk, stomping his feet once or twice restlessly, and mutters quietly to himself, “Man up. Man up, you idiot. It’s just a stupid dare.” You desperately want to have a miniature size of this Haechan and keeps him inside your pocket so you can watch him being nervously cute all day long with his cheeks puffed in anger.

“Okay, I’m going.” And he finally steps forward, braver this time, and sits down on the other end of the bench, twiddling his fingers in anxiety. You bite your lip to contain your laughter and press record.

Almost fifteen seconds have passed by and there’s no reaction, not even a glance, coming from the old lady. You can see Haechan nibbling persistently on his lip, his feet tapping worriedly on the ground before he finally lets out the loudest, heaviest sigh in the history of mankind. It’s so loud that it makes the old lady jumps on her seat, her hands going to her chest, her book left abandoned on her lap. Haechan also looks surprised knowing that she’s surprised and everything just looks so hilarious that your camera begins to shake from how hard you try not to laugh.

“I-is there something wrong, my dear?” The old lady asks, shifting her body a little on her seat so she can face him properly.

Haechan takes a deep breath and begins his act by burying his face in his hands, faking a sob. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just—” He sniffles loudly, trying to make it obvious to her that he’s in agony. “It’s the worst day of my life.”

And it’s cheesy, how he acts, but she seems to buy it—or maybe she’s just too kind. “May I ask what happened? I’m not sure I can help but…” She lands her shaky hand on his back, caressing him soothingly. “It’s always better to pour your feelings out instead of bottling them inside.”

She sounds so genuinely compassionate, unlike the maniacal laughter that currently tumbles down your lips.

Haechan lifts his head, turning towards her. His eyes begin to droop, making him look like a kicked puppy. “I just found out…” He sniffs for dramatic effects. “That… That I’m adopted!” And he loudly whimpers into his hands again.

The old lady gasps, covering her parted lips with her thin fingers. “Oh my… Did your parents tell you that?”

“No, it’s even worse. I found out on my own when they were talking in their room.” Haechan rummages his back pocket, handing her the postcard. “Here, look. It’s a picture of my parents.”

The lady takes the postcard with a pair of heartbroken eyes but they soon begin to change when she notices that the two people in the picture are straight-up Americans, while Haechan, needless to say at this point, looks like the most common—though far more handsome—Korean boy you can encounter on daily basis.

“I know,” Haechan says, wiping a nonexistent tear out of his eyes and fakes another sob. “Surprising, isn’t it? I mean, we look so much alike, there’s no way I would’ve guessed I was adopted if I didn’t hear them talking about it behind my back.”

The old lady is still pretty much dumbstruck with how bizarrely stupid everything is, but she’s too kind to call him out on it. She hands the postcard back to him, looking much less sorry this time, and takes a moment of silence. Haechan cries against his palms again, and you wonder if he’s only faking it or being real about it this time because the entire situation is just painfully awkward.

“You see, my dear,” she begins, voice gentle and reassuring but the sincerity isn’t really the same as before. “Sometimes it really can feel like the world is ending, and I know that this must be hard for you,” she stops to knit her eyebrows, “no matter how obvious this should’ve appeared to you. But maybe it’s not about having a picture-perfect family, but about finding beautiful moments.”

“You’re right,” Haechan hurriedly agrees, his eyes twinkling in delight knowing that this excruciating dare is about to end. “I’m happy with them being my family, even if they’re not, you know, really my parents.”

She smiles but it kind of looks like a grimace, and she says her next words with a gentle pat on his back. “But shouldn’t you have noticed about it sooner, though, dear? You look nothing like them.”

And Haechan winces, not sure how to react. “I could be, uhh…” He licks his lips nervously. “Quite dumb, sometimes.”

“Yes,” she nods, still patting his back. “You certainly can.”

A tall man, at least ten years older than Haechan, approaches their spot with a paper bag in his arms. “Mom, are you ready to—” he stops to take a look at your boyfriend, trying to understand the situation of why is his mother sitting way too close to a guy dressed flirtatiously in a leather jacket and boots with her hand caressing his back. “What are you guys doing?”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m adopted,” Haechan says, handing him the same stupid picture. “She’s just consoling me about it.”

He takes a look and sends him his biggest judging look. “Dude, what are you, stupid?”

***

Haechan is still fuming all the way back to his dorm and no matter how much you apologize about it, he still doesn’t want to talk to you. He throws himself on his bed with his shoes still on the second he enters his room. You’re still smiling quietly to yourself, can barely handle all the cuteness he’s emitting.

“Haechannie,” you gently call, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Are you still upset?”

No answer.

“Look, I said, I’m sorry. Talk to me, please?”

Haechan has his face pressed flat against his comforter and you secretly wonder whether he can even breathe in that position. A few seconds passed by in silence before Haechan finally mumbles, “Did it make you happy?”

“What, you doing my stupid dares?” You can already feel another laughter bubbling up your throat but you have to contain it. You can’t hurt him more than this. “Yes and I know I’ve been mean to you and I’m sorry for that, but you were so cute.” You run a hand along his spine before you carefully caress his hair as a mother would do to a child. “Please don’t be mad.”

He eventually sits up, crossing his legs on the bed, sniffling a little bit while still avoiding eye contact. “Well, I guess, as long as you’re happy.”

“Are you crying?”

“No,” he states, practically puffing out his cheeks by now. “I’m just so embarrassed with all of this. Why are you being so mean to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come here.” You motion him to come closer, and you know it’s breaking the rules of your first wish but you don’t care. This giant teddy bear desperately needs a hug.

Haechan immediately sighs when you stand with your knees pressed on the bed, wrapping both arms around his head. He sinks his face to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I hate you,” with his breath fanning your skin.

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

“Yeah, because you’re mean.”

“But I love you even more today,” you softly reply, pulling away a little so you can trace your fingers along the smoothness of his cheek. “You’re so adorable, Hyuck, do you know that?”

“Is singing out of tune and harassing old lady your kink or something?”

“That’s not it.” You pinch the bridge of his nose, making him yelp a little. “It’s just the way you forced yourself to do these things—these things you hate the most—for me and asking me whether they made me happy or not, while still being all grumpy about it. You’re just so cute and I love you for that.”

The sun is setting outside his window, illuminating his face with such a warm, beautiful glow that somehow makes him appear a bit more melancholic and angelic at the same time. He finally drags his eyes back on yours, with his bottom lip still jutting out slightly. He says the next four words so quietly under his breath that you can barely hear them. “What?”

“I said, I love you too,” he repeats in a rush, before he sinks his face in the slope of your neck again, whining all the way. “Don’t make me say it like this, it’s weird.”

And you notice that this is actually the first time he truly confesses his love for you. He’s joked about it a lot, toying with your feelings at least ten times within a day, casually throwing the word love as if it meant nothing more than mere decoration for his flirtatious lines. But now that he’s saying it in all the seriousness he can muster, he can barely look you in the eyes, can barely say it without whispering, and it’s cute how the usually confident Lee Haechan, crumbles into nothing but a shy little boy facing his feelings for the first time.

“Ah seriously,” he murmurs against your hair. “What are you doing to me? I’m not usually like this.”

You can’t help but tease him. “Yes, you’re usually more satanic.”

“Yah—”

And you stop him with a soft kiss to his lips. You can feel him taking a sharp breath, his arms stiffening as they circle your waist. You’re about to kiss him again when you feel him tensing against your body. Noticing how he looks a bit baffled, you carefully tug yourself away. “What is it?”

“I thought you said we couldn’t kiss today,” he tells in such a small voice.

“I said no sexual activities,” you retort with a sly smirk, making a poor excuse because you really miss kissing him. “This isn’t sexual,” you say, pressing your lips against his again but stop before he can return it. “This is romantic.”

He’s so distracted with your lips that he can barely take his eyes off them even when he talks. “You’re teasing me again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” You can’t help but grin but it does not stay long when Haechan suddenly hooks his arm around your hip and pulls you closer until you’re forced to climb into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist for balance.

“Haechan—” Your protest is swallowed by his kiss, his lips chasing after yours almost frantically. You can tell how much he misses you from the way his lips move against yours, or from the way he moans softly at the back of his throat as he settles his hand on the side of your face. His other hand holds you tighter by the waist, his fingers fisting the fabric of your dress. He angles your head to the side, kissing you with parted lips and swiping his tongue along your lower one so you’ll gain him entrance.

“Noona,” he whispers between quick breaths, sounding almost needy. “Noona, I need—”

“Okay, stop.” You place your arms on his shoulders, expanding the space between you. You can’t believe you almost got carried away. “Now this is getting sexual. Let’s head over to my next wish.”

“Wait—but I’m—” He stares at you bewilderedly, not believing the fact that you just casually drag your body away from his lap, smoothen down your hair as if nothing just happened. “Are you serious? You’re playing with me again? When I’m like this?”

“Sorry.” You peck him on the cheek, hiding your grin. “So, for my next wish—”

“Yah! Listen to what I’m saying—”

“I want you to—”

“Noonaaaaaaaa~”

“—sing me a lullaby.” His whining stops abruptly at your words and you quickly explain further before he does it again, “I’m sleepy so I’m gonna take a nap. Your job is to sing me a lullaby until I fall asleep. Easy, right?”

“You really just do whatever you want, don’t you?”

“Only for today. You, on the other hand, do that every day.”

��Fair enough. Do I get to choose the song?”

“Sure.” Knocking your high heels off your feet, you lie down on his bed with a thump, contentedly basking in his scent because his pillows, the duvet underneath you, the soft sheet below your fingertips—everything smells pleasantly like him. Haechan takes off his shoes and his leather jacket—which almost earns a loud protest from you because he looks so good with that jacket on—throwing them somewhere near the bed without care and he lies down by your side, facing you.

You turn your body to face him as well. “Hey, handsome.” You smile sheepishly at him.

He seems a bit caught off guard by it, but smiles back. “Hi.”

“Can we cuddle?”

He laughs softly at that. “Come here.” He gathers your entire figure easily in his arms and you sink your nose to his chest, humming in pleasure. “Stop being so cute, you’re torturing me.” You only giggle in response.

Haechan begins to sing, slowly at first as if he suddenly feels pressured with the way the room is so deep in silence, leaving no excuse for him to make in case he fails. You notice that, so you sneak both of your arms around his waist, snuggling even closer. “Don’t be nervous, it’s only me.”

“I’m not. Why would I be?” He masks his slightly shaky voice with a chuckle. “It’s just that your hair keeps getting into my mouth whenever I try to sing.”

“Of course.” And you keep your lips tightly shut, giving him the time he needs.

Haechan takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Had a perfect picture in my head, with you in the most beautiful dress,” he sings, beautiful notes flowing down from his lips, making you feel like everything around you becomes a blur and there’s only him with his velvety voice and his soft, warm breathing. “I look happy as ever, how did I let you go again.”

He gains confidence with more seconds passing by and you can feel his arms growing slack around your waist, no longer as tense. “Now I'm standing alone in the rain, like the kinda movie that we used to hate. Wish I could take back the time, but I know this time it's real.”

You’re not sure whether it’s because of the lyrics or the way he sings, but as beautiful as his honeyed voice sounds, you can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness growing inside you. It’s as if he’s not singing the song, he’s living through it. And you wonder maybe he’s had his heart broken by someone before—or maybe he’s just so good at putting emotions to his song, you’re still not sure yet.

“Hate that I'm singing this song. Hate that I have to be strong.” Haechan absentmindedly runs his fingers up and down your spine, before he tangles them around the strands of your hair, gently stroking them. “Hate that you're gone. I hate all my flaws. Hate that you love someone else. Hate everything. Just hate everything right now.”

It’s so genuine and soft the way he serenades you, baring his soul and you’re not even looking at his eyes as he sings it. By the end of it, you can’t help but ask him a question. “Will you be singing that song if you ever break up with me?”

He curls up closer, burying the tip of his nose in your hair. “No,” he says but continues before your disappointment can sink in, “If we ever break up, I won’t be doing anything besides getting you back. I don’t like to lose, you know how I am. And I definitely don’t want to lose something—or rather, someone—this important to me.”

“Stop flirting with me,” you chime in, pulling away a little so you can take a look at his face. “You already have me wrapped around your fingers.”

But Haechan doesn’t smile or act cocky about it. He just takes his time analyzing your face, taking in your features as he trails his fingers down from your hair, to your cheek, and finally stopping at the curve of your lips. “I was so worried before though when you met your ex behind my back. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just…” He loses his words when you begin to kiss his fingertips, his eyes becoming unfocused. “I don’t know, I just got anxious about it. I’ve never had someone like you before so…”

It really just sinks in that he wasn’t merely angry because you were seeing your ex-boyfriend again, he was just afraid. He was terrified of losing you but didn’t know how to react properly. He keeps on telling that you belong to him, that he owns you and everything but he doesn’t intend to dominate you. It’s just a way for him to convince himself that you’re still with him, and not in someone else’s arms.

You can feel your lips curving up into a smile. He’s just a clueless boy, probably still as inexperienced as you are when it comes to love.

You’re sinking more into his arms, sighing as he rakes his fingers down your spine. When silence starts to hang in the air, tension growing thick, Haechan spares you a glance. “Noona?”

You’re not sure what it is inside you that drives you wild but when you’re awake from your reverie, your lips are on his again, melting against his heat, and desperately asking him to deepen the kiss.

The way he inadvertently moans against your lips indicates that your kiss catches him off guard but he soon finds back his pace. He crawls on top of you, pressing your body closer, chest meeting chest, and murmurs your name with his silvery voice against your ear, successfully sending goosebumps to every inch of your body.

“Forget my first wish.” You can barely recognize your own voice from how husky it has become. He has his lips tracing your jawline, about to map his way down but you keep him still, not wanting to erase the warmth of his lips on yours just yet. “It’s a stupid wish anyway. I don’t know why I even asked that.”

Haechan forms a space between you, just to take another look at your face. His eyes are hooded, gleaming with desire. “Well then,” he rubs his thumb along your lower lip, while his tongue traces his own. “Can I kiss you more?”

“Yes.” It sounds more like a plead than affirmation, strongly painted with urgency. “Come here.”

Haechan’s lips are warmer than how they usually felt but you can’t be certain. It’s been a while since you last shared an intimate moment with him and you just now realized that it really isn’t just him who desperately seeks attention. You crave his touch way more than he does for yours.

But maybe that’s not true after all, because Haechan has his eyebrows furrowed as he kisses you passionately, his lips keep searching for yours whenever you try to pull away to catch a breath. The way he sinks his fingers along your hips, how determined he is in keeping you close to the point you can start counting on his eyelashes—everything that he does screams his emotions vividly. How much he longs for you. How much he misses the taste of your breath on his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, your fingers pressed against his jaw. “Please…”

Haechan blinks, a bit startled and perhaps a tad confused as well, considering you stopped him from going too far earlier. But he doesn’t complain and takes every chance he can get, if it means he can be closer to you. It’s so soft, the way he kisses you now, as if he’s having his first kiss, not sure if he’s doing it right but you don’t mind. It’s rare, being kissed by him like this, and somehow it makes your skin tingle as if merely just a touch of his lips is sending electricity to your entire body.

“I love you,” you whisper as you share his breath. “I really do love you, Hyuck.”

The way he halts his action for a good two seconds, probably letting your words sink into his head, makes your own heart skip a beat or two. And you’re worried if you say too much, or if you’ve become too needy and it annoys him, but when you sneak a glance at him, you notice how his cheeks are tainted with red before he leans closer, roughly murmuring, “Just kiss me again,” against your lips.

But the way he’s holding your body makes you feel way more loved than the words he said earlier. And he’s taking his time, just gently moves his lips against yours, his tongue slipping in only slightly to steal a taste. But you sigh against his mouth either way because it’s not only his kiss that weakens you, it’s his entire presence—the way his warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress, the way he’s holding back a moan when you unconsciously tug his locks a little bit too hard, or the way he just naturally smells so sweet, almost honey-like, numbing your other senses at once.

“Noona,” he breathes heavily, tilting his head to the side so you’ll have better access to running your lips against the skin of his neck. “I want… I need…” he trails off, too busy looking at the way you’re slipping your fingers underneath his shirt, tracing his hot feverish skin with your cold digits. “I really need you now.”

“Then keep touching me,” you mumble against his jaw, searching for his lips again. “I want to feel you too. Come closer.” But even if your words speak a sense of urgency, your fingers still feel as light as a feather on his skin and he seems to notice that, because he’s keeping up the same pace, not suddenly rushing to tear your clothes apart like how he usually does.

He chants your name over and over again, almost like a prayer, his desire running thick in his veins. As he moves down, his fingers find their way to the zipper of your dress, pulling it down slowly, and he takes his time to kiss every inch of your body that’s revealed to him one by one.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to do this to you,” he confesses, his nose skimming along the skin of your shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” You arch your back, desperately needing to close the space between you. “I’ve missed you too.”

And you’re half-expecting him to put on a smirk and asks, “Yeah? How much, exactly?” But this time, he doesn’t. His lips are busy marking your skin, sucking gently at the spot that makes you curl your toes. He brings his eyes back to yours again when your lips moan out his name.

“Don’t do that,” he says, looking like he’s gradually losing control of himself. “You know how that drives me crazy.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I love it, but—” He suddenly presses his lips hard against yours, as if there’s another person inside him that’s been screaming at him to latch his lips with yours before he wastes more second talking nonsense. And you try to reciprocate the movement of his lips with the same speed but he doesn’t give you much room to improvise. He knows what he’s doing, all you need to do is just relax and blend into the kiss. He already makes everything so easy for you. The problem is, he makes you feel like something is pressing against your chest and your stomach is doing crazy flips over and over again.

He finally stops again when you gasp his name.

“Ah, no, seriously.” It’s like he’s fighting a battle within himself, pulling away from you and shaking his head. “I want to take it slow today, Noona, but you moaning my name like that is not making it easy for me so please, just don’t—” He exhales, pressing his temple against yours with his eyes closed. “Don’t torture me like that.”

It’s cute how he tries to hold back, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I’m fine with the way you usually hold me, though.” It’s tempting, and he’s pretty much dazed with the sultry smirk you have on your face, but he shakes his head again, snapping him back from his own thoughts.

“No, it’s your birthday,” he says, eyes switching back and forth from your eyes to your lips as he tries to enunciate his reason. “I want to make it special.”

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously. “So you’re saying that all the sex we did before today wasn’t special to you?”

He gapes. “No, that’s not—”

“Just kidding.” You giggle, pecking his cheek. “Okay, then, do your thing.” You sit up straight so you can undress properly and his eyes are instantly glued to your chest when your bra slips down your shoulders. You don’t really intend to make it sexy, but the way his eyes grow wide when you say “I’m all yours,” and lies down on his bed again in nothing but your laced underwear seems to indicate that that’s exactly how you look in his mind.

He mutters an almost inaudible fuck under his breath before he snaps himself out of his reverie again. He stands with his knees pressed on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head before he hovers back on top of you, peppering wet kisses from your ear to your neck before he ends it with his tongue trailing down the valley of your breasts.

He stops to reach for his drawer, searching for a condom while you struggle to unfasten his belt and unbutton his jeans. You’re finished a few seconds sooner and already have your back pressed against the sheet again when he crawls on top of you with a packet of condom between his teeth.

“No, wait.” You catch him by his arm as he’s about to tear the package with his teeth. “I’m on the pill today too so you can do it without.”

“Well, fuck,” he exhales, latching his lips back to yours again. “Why are you being so nice to me today?”

“You literally just complained about me being mean to you a few minutes ago.”

“Well, now that I get to come inside you again, I’m taking all my words back.” He gives playful kisses on your nose and cheeks before he licks around your face like how a cute little puppy would.

“Stop it, you’re gross!” But your airy laughter soon begins to vanish, only to be replaced with a sense of uncertainty. You begin to feel nervous when he hooks his fingers around the edge of your underwear and pulling it down your legs, baring yourself completely for his eyes. He’s seen you naked countless times and you never really felt this nervous before so it must be because—

“You seem to be thinking about something,” he interrupts, parting your legs so he can slide in between them. “Something wrong?”

“Umm—I—“ It’s not the way you stutter that betrays you; it’s the prominent blush that stains your cheeks. But you have to do this. You have to say this. Not just for your sake, but his too. “Haechannie..?”

“Yeah, Noona?”

“For my next wish…” You wet your lip anxiously, swallowing your breath, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. “C-can you eat me out, please…?”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so startled by your action—or by anything, really—to the point that he has to remind himself to blink. “What?”

You groan, hastily grabbing a pillow nearby and use it to cover your face. “Don’t make me say it again, you idiot!” You expect him to laugh, or worse, mock you about it but instead, he snatches the pillow away, throwing it to the side, and wraps his fingers around your wrists, holding you in place.

“Noona, please,” he pleads, his cheeks turning scarlet, mirroring yours. “Please say it again. I want to see you when you say it.”

It’s actually borderline hilarious the way he’s so serious about it, and perhaps it’s really his biggest turn on—one that he hasn’t seen coming from you after all this time—so you decide to swallow your pride and indulge him further.

You repeat your words and watch as his eyes widened again for a split second before they turn gentle, looking so happy that you finally get to answer his wish. “About damn time,” he whispers against your lips, his husky voice reverberating nicely to your ears as he tastes every bit of your mouth with his tongue. He wastes no more time, heading south while placing more wet kisses down your body.

His lips are hovering above your heat, and you can really feel his breath down there. You have your eyes closed in anticipation but Haechan suddenly says, “You know what, let’s do it this way.”

He leaves you hanging and you’re about to be swallowed by shame but he suddenly lies down on the bed, his head almost touching the headboard, and motions you to come closer. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says and you almost choke on your saliva. “Come here, Noona. Please.”

And it stresses you out so much because you’ve never done this before—never even thought about it even—and you figured you just had to lay there and let him do whatever he wants with you. Crawling over to sit on his face is clearly not what you had in mind.

“Come on,” he lightly sneers when he sees how nervous you are. “I won’t bite.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling a little bit lightheaded from how embarrassed you are, but when he offers a hand, you take it and follow his lead.

You have your legs on each side of his head and he’s holding you by your hips, guiding you to lower yourself down to him. “Stop being so tense,” he chuckles and you flinch because he’s so dangerously close. “It’s not like I’ve never seen you up-close before.”

“It’s different—” You gasp when he swipes his tongue against your folds, just once, before he asks, “Different how?”

You’re too occupied with sorting out your feelings and all these sensations that coming into your head at once. “I don’t know, it’s weird—” You almost whine when you feel him moving his tongue again.

“Your thighs are shaking, Noona,” he chuckles, and you clench your teeth, trying to be less conscious of how his hot breath hitting your sensitive spot.

“Please, s-stop talking.”

“I’m trying to make this casual,” he says, his voice sounding less clear as it hits your skin. “If I stop talking, you’re gonna start thinking about things again.”

“I’m not—Haechannie—” You bring your fingers to cover your mouth to stop you from moaning too loud. He’s giving tentative licks around your clit, moving agonizingly slow and you fumble with your hands, not knowing where to place them. Everything feels both terrifyingly good and painfully awkward and you’re trapped between wanting to continue and stop at the same time.

“Here,” Haechan offers, taking one of your hands and guides it down until it finds home in his hair. “Or you can lay your hands against the headboard. But I prefer you do it this way so I’ll know if you’re feeling,” he stops to licks a stripe up your folds, making you shiver, “good, or,” this time, he stops to suck hard on your clit, startling you with the amount of pleasure jolting through your veins that your body begins to tremble. “Extremely good,” he finishes, moving to the side so he can place a kiss on your thigh, letting you feel his teasing smile on your skin.

Your breathing tatters as he continues with his ministrations, now adding one of his fingers inside you to increase the pleasure. Your head hangs low, and you’re not able to tear your eyes away from his face. Seeing him between your thighs, with his eyes closed as if he’s enjoying every second of it, is just the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

“You seem to be much more relaxed now,” Haechan leans back to show you his godforsaken smirk, “Good girl. Are you starting to regret the fact we didn’t do this sooner?”

And you want to be upset about it—about how he’s still teasing you even during this moment—but the way his breath keeps fanning against your sensitive skin makes you weak. “Please just…” You’re about to sob because it’s too damn embarrassing to be put in this situation. “Stop teasing me, Hyuck…”

Haechan blinks at your expression, his gaze immediately softens. “I’m sorry,” he says, kissing you gently on the inner part of your thigh again. “You’re just so damn cute, I can’t help but tease. Forgive me?”

And you just answer with a small nod because that’s all you can offer before his lips are pressed against your entrance again, tongue slipping inside to know how you really taste.

“Wait—” You begin to panic from how good and weird it feels. “L-let’s stop for a sec—It’s too much—” The shame, the sensation, the pleasure—they’re all hitting you hard at once and you’re too nervous to function properly.

Haechan sneaks a glance at your face, taking in the way it contorts into several emotions at once. “Baby,” he calls out softly, which sends shivers down to your core. “Don’t be nervous, it’s only me.”

You notice how he’s imitating your words from earlier and that gives you the chance to think about something else. “But… What about you..?” You ask, making eye contact with him and gulping when he raises his eyebrow in question. “I mean, I can’t please you like this.”

“Oh…” He leans his head down to the bed, giving you the space you want but not exactly what you need. “Then… Wanna do it at the same time?”

You nibble at your bottom lip, slowly nodding your head and his eyes gleam excitedly in response.

“Ah, you’re the best, seriously,” he exhales, dreamily looking at you. “All right then, turn around.”

***

It’s two hours before midnight when another idea pops up in your head. “Haechannie,” you call him out, as you click off your phone and turn to him. Hearing him humming in response, you continue. “Call Jaemin and the rest of your cute little boyband.”

By the tone of your voice, he knows he’s going to go through hell again. He groans out loud, head dangling around the edge of his bed. “Why is this day not over yet, I swear to God—”

“Just call them, I’ve got something in mind.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to make-out with them or something.”

“Why, are you interested?”

He grimaces, sticking out his tongue. “I’d rather die.”

“Glad that’s not what I’m asking then.” You climb up to join him on the bed, sitting next to his body with your knee almost touching the side of his head. He shifts around, placing his head on your lap, and stares at you with tired eyes.

“Please don’t be too mean to me this time,” he begs and you snort, can’t believe that the mischievous Lee Donghyuck actually begs you to spare his life.

You card your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, relaxing at your touch. It doesn’t last long though, his blissfulness, because on the next second, you say, “I want you to play that online game you always play with them but be terribly bad at it.”

“WHAT—“ He blurts out, sitting upright in such a rush that he almost knocks your heads together. “WHY—HOW COULD YOU—”

“Okay, breathe.”

“But this is too much!” He whines, his eyes widening in horror. “I have a status to uphold! You can’t do this to me!”

“Look, if it matters that much to you, I’ll give you permission to explain the situation to them.” You squeeze his hand, smiling understandingly at him. “You can tell them that you’re doing this because you’re granting my birthday wish.”

That manages to calm him down a little. “So I can let them know before the game? Oh, thank God—”

“No, a month after the game.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO EVIL—”

“Just do it already!” You shout out with a teasing grin strapped to your face. “You owe me at least that much after I let you come in my mouth.”

He gapes, eyes widening in shock. “That was for this?! I feel so tricked!”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about that before but—” You shake your head, waving the rest of your sentence away. “Come on, Haechannie, please, please, please~” You rub your hands together, batting your eyelashes again.

He grumbles, pushing you away. “Stop doing that aegyo on me, I’m not doing it!”

I’ll grant you five wishes for your birthday!” You can’t believe you’re saying this and you know you’re going to regret it later in the future but there’s still time and you hope he’s gonna forget about it when the time arrives. Hopefully.

Haechanlooks extremely tempted at that. “Any kind of wishes?”

You wince but nod eventually. “As long as it’s nothing sexual.”

“Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that.” His smirk is back and he’s doing it so cockily that it sends shivers down your spine. Well, you can work over that problem later. “Fine, let’s go. Give me the phone.”

Haechan calls Jaemin an asswipe the first second he gets connected but by the sound of his voice coming from the other line, he’s not even bothered in the slightest. “Get off Jeno’s dick for once and log back into your account. Bring Jisung with you. I’ll be online in ten minutes and if I don’t see you there, I’ll text your mom the real reason why you didn’t show up on Christmas Day.” And he shuts off his phone with a click, throwing it randomly on his bed.

“Do boys normally make phone calls like that?” you ask, judging him.

He only shrugs, “Cooler ones do.”

“What happened during Christmas Day?”

“Jaemin got his ass drunk, went out with Jeno, and ended up having a threesome with a stripper.” He yawns, throwing himself back on the bed again. “I’m just glad they didn’t take Jisung with them. He’s been through a lot, that poor kid.” And when he sees you raising an eyebrow in question, he just waves you off. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

There’s a lot of shouting in the background when the game started, most of it coming from the other line of Haechan’s headphones that’s strapped to his ears. You lean close to him so you can hear Jeno shouting at him, “Yah! What the fuck, Lee Donghyuck?! I thought you said you were going left!”

“I am going left.”

“THAT’S NOT LEFT, YOU IDIOT!”

And you feel sorry for your boyfriend for degrading himself on purpose like this. “As you can see,” he says, wincing as his ears begin to ring from all the shouting. He mutes his headphone as he focuses back on you with his fingers angrily tapping on his keyboards. “This causes me physical pain. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am happy.” You peck him on his cheek. “You’re the best. I love you.”

Haechan snorts, looking away and tapping his headphone again to unmute his microphone. “Hey assholes, I just died again. Sorry about that.” More screaming and angry rantings can be heard from the other line and you savor the moment as long as you can. It’s not every day you can see your cocky boyfriend being bullied by his underlings.

It’s too fun watching him play with his face contorting like he’s in deep agony that you begin to lose track of time. You just realize how late it is when Haechan suddenly quits the game, puts his PC back to the sleeping mode, and turns his chair around to face you. You suddenly feel nervous as you sit on the edge of his bed, with him staring at you with a sinful smile creeping up his face, crossing his legs.

“Ten, nine, eight,” he says, tapping his fingers and you flinch in realization. “You better start running, Noona.” He walks over, chucking off his shirt on his way to you whilst continuing his countdown. His silver necklace glints under the fluorescent light of his room and he bends down, trapping you between his arms. “Because I’ll be in charge in three… two…”

You gulp, your heart thrumming loudly against your ribcages as you feel his lips hovering dangerously above yours.

“One.”

***

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astradrifting · 3 years

Text

A Dream of Spring, and variations thereof

The phrase ‘a dream [for] spring’ only occurs once in the text of ASOIAF, in the chapter where Jon and the wildlings arrive in Queenscrown. Jon remembers Ned and Benjen discussing a plan to resettle the Gift with new lords.

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. “It is a dream for spring, though,” Lord Eddard had said. “Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on.”

(Jon V, ASOS)

Given that Jon remembers it quite well, this conversation likely happened in the long summer just before the start of AGOT, meaning that the spring Ned was speaking of is actually the one that will come at the end of the series.

It might just be a quirk of how asearchoficeandfire’s search engine works, but searching the phrases “a dream of/for spring” comes up with only two other results within the main books. The first one is from Ned’s POV:

The memory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. It was the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal.

(AGOT, Eddard XV)

The second one is from Jaime’s POV:

The castleton outside the walls had been burned to ash and blackened stone, and many men and horses had recently encamped beside the lakeshore, where Lord Whent had staged his great tourney in the year of the false spring. A bitter smile touched Jaime's lips as they crossed that torn ground. Someone had dug a privy trench in the very spot where he'd once knelt before the king to say his vows. I never dreamed how quick the sweet would turn to sour.

(ASOS, Jaime IV)

It’s interesting that throughout the whole series, a connection between dream imagery and spring only ever comes up in association with the Tourney of Harrenhal, set during the year of the false spring. It was a period of time that could be considered ‘a dream of spring’ too, in a much more negative sense. Though everyone thought winter had broken, the warm weather only lasted a couple of months before the cold winds came again. At the same time, the relative peace of the realm was shattering after the tourney. It was possibly intended to be the start of change, as Rhaegar might have planned to use it to gather a council deposing Aerys, but whatever was intended never went through and Rhaegar just caused brand new problems. It was a dream of spring in that the spring wasn’t real, it was fleeting and followed quickly by winter, and a war that ravaged the Seven Kingdoms.

The Ned and Jaime passages both carry on this theme. Jaime states it explicitly, that the sweet turned sour quickly, while Ned goes on to describe the dreamlike, idyllic atmosphere of the tourney, up until the moment it all went wrong:

He could see the deep green of the grass, and smell the pollen on the wind. Warm days and cool nights and the sweet taste of wine. He remembered Brandon's laughter, and Robert's berserk valor in the melee, the way he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right.

[...]

Robert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circled the field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion's crown. Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.

(AGOT, Eddard XV)

The only time spring and dream imagery is linked together positively is in the Jon passage above, which talks about a plan for renewal and stability in an area that has faced a lot of turmoil, but one that must be put off until after the coming winter. That it contains nearly word for word the title of the last book is pretty strong foreshadowing that this plan will become relevant, hopefully that Jon will be able to carry out his father-uncles’ dream to resettle the Gift.

The Tourney of Harrenhal was arguably the beginning of Jon’s story; where his parents first encountered each other, the catalyst for the whole political situation at the beginning of the series.

It’d be poetic if Jon’s story was bookended by a false hope of spring at the start, and the true dreams of spring at the end. The situation after Harrenhal is already being set up in reverse for the end of the series. The harshest winter in years has just arrived. War has already ravaged the Seven Kingdoms, and there are only more wars yet to come. But by the end, even if it’s still winter there will be hope for a real spring - Jon’s attempt to depose an unsuitable monarch is going to go much better than Rhaegar’s, and he’ll get a chance to enact Ned’s plans for the Gift with the wildlings.

Incidentally, the last search result for “a dream of spring” is from The Mystery Knight. Dunk is talking to Daemon II, a Blackfyre prince who has hidden himself as a man with dark hair called John the Fiddler. They have a discussion about John/Daemon’s dreams, during which Dunk recalls a memory of another tourney held in the spring:

"I dreamed it. This pale white castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams." Dunk was remembering another tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with another princeling. I dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg's brother Daeron said to him.

The tourney Dunk is referring to is, of course, our beloved Ashford Tourney :)

#astra rambles #jonsa #forgive the pretentious title pls it just fit so well #half speculation half 'my wildest dreams and hopes'#meta #jon snow

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fairytsuk1 · 3 years

Text

i was all over her (a)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: yandere!tomura shigaraki x reader

genre: angst

words: 2.5k

summary: you never learn.

prompt: visitor

warnings: noncon mentions/intentions, stalking, pervertedness, this is a yandere fic

The rain was quickly soaking through his cotton shirt, chilling Tomura to the bone with a grumble threatening to work it’s way up his throat. He hadn’t brought an umbrella in protest of Kurogiri’s suggestion, he was sure it wouldn’t rain as he walked his normal path. But, he was wrong, it was fucking downpouring and his chuck-taylors were hardly holding up.

Your frog umbrella flashed in and out of the streetlights, the rhythmic step of rain boots clicking and splashing in the puddles that littered the sidewalk. Brown, muddy water rushed in the crook of the street so fast he was briefly reminded of the times he and his family used to look at fish in the nearby rivers. That was a long time ago, no need to make room for old broken memories that would soon cease to exist as he aged further in life.

What he wanted, was you. Your cute little feet stuffed into rainboots far too big for you, they were a gift from your father. That man was too flippant of your desires and needs that he didn’t even know his own child’s shoe size, a sorry excuse for a man if he were to be honest. The umbrella was a gift from your sister, adamant on you having something to keep you sheltered in this shitty ass neighborhood. You didn’t deserve to live here, he could imagine you in a perfectly manicured house with polished nails and frilly sundresses. The sun would sparkle on your skin and you’d smell flowery with a twinge of cinnamon, leaving men desperate and eager to flip up your skirt with the intent to breed you. You’d look so good, he mused. Cum filling your cunt as you squealed underneath him, pleading for more from your dearest, Tomura.

“Mmph!”

Your shoe caught onto a crack in the sidewalk, nearly sending you face first into the mess that was the gravelly street. He imagined you’d make such lovely whimpers and moans as he rammed his cock into you, greedily taking you from behind...or maybe the front? He’d like to cum inside you to mark you and maybe, if he was really desperate, your mouth.

He was working himself up, your apartment was near and the excitement was practically eating him alive with the thought that he’d be able to have you if he was just patient. It would be far too easy for you to get away and cause a scene if he grabbed you by the hair and tugged you into his arms, though, would anyone come for you? Your sister was right, this rough place that you called home was no home at all, they didn’t care about your wellbeing. They didn’t even care about basic necessities, like moving the trash bins so it would be easier for you to keep clean. They were selfish and it made him sick to think of them hurting you, taking you, and doing whatever these fucking creeps could think of. They didn’t care about you like he did.

“Hey! You live in this apartment?”

Shigaraki ducks into a nearby alleyway, back crashing against the wall as he shakes water out of his face like a wet dog. Soft pants fall from his chapped lips as water dribbles down his ears and neck. There’s a tightness in his pants and his heart is racing, a usual occurrence when he followed you home.

“Hm? Oh...yes, I do! It’s nice to meet you!” You tell him your name, why would you even think that would be a good idea? “Is there something wrong? I’m new to the area!”

The man chuckles and your stalkers red eyes peer out from behind the wall, noting your neighbors large frame practically swallowing you up. He almost couldn’t see you considering this man was huddling you into the corner and looking down at you like a piece of meat.

“You’re new? No shit, I’ve never seen a pretty thing like you before.”

You can’t even help yourself, cheeks lifting as you pull your keys out of your pocket. Must be the neglect from your parents, you’ll let just anyone in between your legs huh?

No.

He can’t think like that, you’re different. You wouldn’t, you can hardly touch yourself correctly. He’d form you into the perfect girl, perfect housewife who made him meals and let him bend you over any countertop.

“Ah, well thank you sir.”

You’ve got manners too, he likes that. He wants to hear his name-not Shigaraki-but Tomura as it rolls off your tongue, it’d be syrupy and sweet just like you.

Clunky boots step into your apartment and a creaky door is locked closed, bet that makes you feel safe huh? Like no one’s gonna hurt you? Well, under his eye they won’t. But the only thing it won’t stop is Shigaraki; climbing the white rickety stairs to follow and a copy of your key to match.

Waiting takes a long time, but it’s worth it to keep this little habit up. The water drips from his hair to his chin and neck, leaving a trail that would no doubt make him smell as disgusting as he felt. His hand reaches up to insert the key before the bulbous man from before is grunting out words that he couldn’t care to listen to. Though, the dude is utterly unrelenting and questions him, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What?”

“Are you...who the fuck are you? I thought she was single.”

Shigaraki scans him, unimpressed with the way he’d come to confront him when the two of them had the same goal in mind.

“It’s none of your business.”

The man reaches for his wrist, looking small in the meat of his palm as Shigaraki lets him play hero for the time being.

“I’m calling a hero! I have a cousin who works with Endeavor, you know! Stay here!”

“Let go of me.”

The grip is starting to hurt but the man keeps squeezing, even adding a bit more strength when the wiry man expresses resistance. Doesn’t matter, he’ll just get rid of him while he can. Can’t go around harassing women if you’re just a pile of dust, right?

Isn’t that what you do, Tomura? Stalk and harass future fucktoys? Or rather...as you like to call them, potential housewives?

Sometimes, he might blanch when those thoughts resurface, bothering him and making him feel ashamed of who he is. How could someone like him, a successor to fucking All for One feel shame? That frustration or perhaps disturbance due to the intrusive thoughts lets his anger unleash, cracking like whips in the form of crumbling the man to dust. His wife beater, something he was sure he was (though he doubted anyone would want to marry this fuck), crumbled on top of the ashes and grew soaked under the downpour.

“I told you to let go of me. Now look at you.”

What once used to be a living, breathing person, is now kicked to the drain below. Fingers itching the delicate skin near his jaw, he enters the apartment. He feels hungry, but not for food. He just wants to eat you right up. Yeah, that sounds right. Take you all for himself.

You’d discarded the boots in the alcove near your door, the frogs smiling with pink cheeks as Shigaraki’s childish shoes squash them in his path of destruction. You lie drowsily in bed, pink fluffy pajamas comforting your soft skin and a duvet pulled up to your nose. You’d normally be asleep if it weren’t for the constant nagging in your gut. It felt as though something had gone horribly wrong. The anxiety causes you to lay still in your bed as if something was watching your every breath.

It was eerily similar to the way you’d cower from your closet at night with the idea planted in your head that monsters were coming to eat you. This was only different in the way that you didn’t know what monster was coming. Not only that, you had no idea what he would do to you.

You’d call yourself crazy during times like these, but you’d been right when the door to your bedroom opens.

“I know you’re awake. You always sleep on your back, not your side.”

It’s quiet and still. There’s tension thickening in the air like gravy on the stove and you briefly wonder if this was another bout of sleep paralysis. You thought you’d been in this position before, someone or something watching you. It had never felt like this, you’d never felt so terrified in your life.

“Not up for talking, huh? A bit ungrateful considering I helped rid your little ‘home’ of that greasy pig next door.”

The footsteps grow closer and against all instincts to play dead or even just move away, you sit up and face the man. His red eyes stare down at you, face bony and cracked...he looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Most people you knew were delicate and kind; they looked like regular people. Shigaraki though...you thought that Shigaraki might eat you alive and tear you apart limb by limp. A whimper exits your mouth as you sit paralyzed whilst he simply gets closer and closer.

His eyes trace the neckline of your sleeping shirt, a scoop neck that showed the smattering of beauty marks adorning your skin. You were so beautiful, he grinned and planted his bottom at the edge of your bed. You shook, the water logged clothes easily soaking through to you and making your heart sink deeper in your chest. You held a confused look, like a deer in headlights or maybe a puppy with twitching ears.

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing? Aren’t I the one who broke in?”

Cry for me. You’d look so good and I’d commit it to memory, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re such a pushover, how’d you let this happen? Hm?”

The tears build at your lash line until finally falling in fat droplets down your cheeks. Your hands turn to fists like a child as you rub your eyes, no defenses in place other than to cry like a submissive brat. Your breaths were uneven as you attempted to wipe away tears until a quick hand caught your wrist, pinky lifted.

“Look at me, when you cry. Gets me off,” he giggles before leaning so close your lips could almost touch, “did you know that? Everytime you sobbed in your pillow, I had a hard time choosing whether or not I should cuddle you or jerk off.”

A broken wail escapes you as your body finally makes the move to get away, your feet kick in the tangled sheets and you attempt to wrangle your wrist away from him, thrashing and beating on his chest desperately. He almost felt a bit sad, sure, he was a bit mean with the teasing. But...you had to have known that someday someone was going to come for you like this, right?

It’s easy to intercept your punches, holding both wrists at your head as he leaned over you. His hair framed the two of you, leaving you completely caged in this man. His lithe body scooched up yours, hips resting at yours for a moment.

“I’m gonna make you mine, well, more like you already are mine. Tomura Shigaraki's little wife. Okay? So you’re gonna come with me to the base without complaints, yeah?”

A brave scream tore through your mouth as you arched your back, trying for a second escape attempt. His left hand detached from your arm to grab your throat, cries quickly dying out as you thrashed wildly.

“If my pinky touches this vein right here, you’ll turn into a pile of dirt. If that happens, I’ll move onto someone else. So come on; do you really want to be the cause of someone’s future suffering? Give up, daddy taught you better than to fight.”

“How…?”

He laughed heartily, your throat clenching under his grip before he loosened to let you get a whoosh of air.

“Seriously? It’s so obvious you’re a daddy’s girl, take the stupid little gifts, listen to his every command, and wait for the day he decides to acknowledge you. It’s practically...practically predictable! You’re predictable and sad.”

His words feel like venom as you cry, the lack of oxygen making fuzzy black spots dot your vision. He might kill you in this moment, your lungs squeezed and he finally let go. You sputtered, body confused with it’s sudden freedom as you looked up at him with glassy eyes and snot dripping down past your lips to your chin.

“You look tired, I’ll take you home okay?”

You’re dazed, you almost don’t recognize the way he peels back the covers and grazes his hands up your thighs, exposing every inch of skin as if you were a present meant to be savoured.

“I’m a virgin! Please don’t…”

A look flashes in his eyes as he peers at you from his lashes.

“Perfect, just makes you even sweeter.”

You hadn’t thought you could cry more, but every word that came out of his predatory lips made a new wave of heartache resurface, was this really who you were? A weak girl who could let herself be lifted into the arms of a man she didn’t know, fingers digging into the plump flesh of her bottom as she weakly clung on?

A memory flashes in your mind as you let yourself be taken care of...well no, be kidnapped from your bedroom. It was the one with the high school boys, the way they’d flipped up your skirt and prodded at your weakest, most sensitive places. You’d cried for them to stop, told your father what the sickening boys had done to you. They’d practically defiled you, maybe would have gone so far to take you in that empty classroom had you not kicked one of them square in the shin.

Your father’s words ring in your ears.

“Well, you must have done something for that to happen. Don’t wear such short skirts next time.”

A hand comes to caress the top of your head. Tomura’s, he had you right where he wanted you. Vulnerable and weak to his advances, you were tired too. This was just going to make things easier.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, you shivered in his arms and prayed to God for forgiveness as you buried yourself closer to him, the warmth comforting and soothing for your soul. Your bare feet swung limply as he kept you pressed to his front, walking on a seemingly practiced path. He was all over you.

If he could apologize, Tomura didn’t think he would. He had to be all over you. Consume your soul like the evillest of demons.

“Cheer up, maybe if you’d been a bit more vigilant, this would have never happened.”

Your bottom lip trembled, maybe love was not destined for you. After all, you must have been asking for this.

“And by the way...you know I love you right?”

You’d heard it a million times before.

#bnha #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #tomura imagine #tomura x y/n #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 3 years

Text

Male Selkie: Jaemos

Anon ask: Could you write a love/lemon story about a lonely 17 year old who goes to the ocean to shed seven tears into the sea in hopes to summon a male selkie? And perhaps you could have the selkie be named Jaemos or Robert. As for looks the selkie should have a fair complexion, sparkly hazel eyes, and gorgeous curly brown hair. Tysm. ;)

I would feel uncomfortable writing a lemon since the reader would be under 18, but I will probs write another part to this soon.

Warnings: some language

Male monster x GN Reader

Seven Tears to Shed

It seemed easy enough, but it appeared ridiculous. But in the end, what more could you lose?

The water waded through you, swaying and parting as you got deeper into the lake of sapphire. Hopping into your small boat and sailing out, you appreciated the weather being so calm – thank God – with few to no ripples that swayed the boat you sat on the further you got out. You didn’t want to be dealing with nausea if the boat was swaying from bad weather, so that was something to be thankful for.

Would this work though? You held your scepticism, unveiling the crude crumpled note from your jeans pocket, the scribbles of jotted notes you had taken that you had copied so plainly. Seven tears to shed to gain another. The fable was spread from fisherman wives than to book and to social media; some holding the theories that it worked compared to some who thought of it as nothing more than a hoax.

But you liked to think of yourself as someone who expected so much but only got so far for disappointment, knowing full well that this would not go so well.

You looked to the jotted down instructions, each numbered with your own notes added to help your thoughts. Now, the easier part was done, the hardest was getting into the mood to cry. Easier said than done. You snorted, looking over the calm water, seeing the glum figure you couldn’t recognise staring back up at you.

Number one: Someone you once loved.

You snorted unflattering in the cold air to yourself, “This is ridiculous.”

But the ridiculousness of it all would help. Someone you once loved, simple: your crush of Jeremy Miller in the 7th grade. Popular, smart, blond hair and blue-eyed, he was the golden child, not a jock like all the other boys your age, Jeremy was well known for his love for acting. You had only shared a conversation with him maybe once, and that had been by accident, but you and your naïve mind looked way into his simple word of kindness for someone like you. But that crush died and crumbled like ash to the ground when you found out that your secret crush on him had been spread thanks to your cheerleader Eloise got hold of your diary, choosing to tell everyone and him. He turned out to be just as much as a dickhead as she had been, and for the rest of the year, you chose to hide along the school walls, the standing joke everyone looked for.

That first tear had come easier than you had expected: the anger helped especially. It ran down your cheek and slipped into the water with little force to break the surface, disappearing. So long, fucker. You anger dissipated before moving on.

Number two: Someone you lost.

This was more sentimental to you, and upon seeing the way how your handwriting became illegible, shaky to the end of the line, it told you it would be rather difficult. You clasped the side of the boat with an unsettling exhale, the one person that only came to mind was your grandmother you had lost a few years ago. Old age had taken her but it had taken her away so beautifully, bringing her to join the nature you were surrounded by now. You could feel her no matter where you went, a twirl of the breeze in your hair, a canary’s singing when your window was open, you knew she was always there.

The second tear was followed with a cry that resounded in your chest, too close to your heart, and took some time to finally calm. The water rippled with its decent to guide your tear gently, engulfing it smoothly. You wiped the back of your red wet face with the back of your sleeve, telling yourself to resume before you got too caught in the moment.

Number three and four were similar, both requiring you to of lost something but for you to gain it once again. In the end, it didn’t matter whether that thing was personal to you, you had to say goodbye to it. You had lost the happiness you once felt as a child, but to the benefit of it all, you resided to your privacy by drawing. It wasn’t much, but it helped keep bad thoughts away on some days, allowing you to do what you loved best.

Number five was someone you missed the most in your life, and although the memories stung like the previous tears, the face that stuck was your best friend at the time, Jade. And although the good times could be seen, it didn’t hide the stuck up and two-sided personality she wielded, using you for her own gain. In the end, the friendship ended with much more ease than sorrow. But seven years’ worth of torment could get anyone relieved for it to be over, and so those tears were in her farewell.

Number six and seven had arrived with little to no faith you held in how it would end. Proving that maybe after all that crying, it would be pointless. You sighed heavily, reading over the last two, drawling the right thoughts.

Number six: Yourself

Though there were many things you loathed of yourself, you didn’t want others to feel sympathetic to your story, nor other the fact that you were indeed lonely. Your story was long and convoluted, but you wished someone was good and decent enough to read it from the beginning. This farewell for your own loneliness was the one you wished to see gone the quickest.

All these tears: one for anger, two for loss, two for relief, one in farewell whilst the last was for a new beginning. It could be anything you wanted, wished or craved for – but better beginnings sounded all too promising.

Number seven: A final wish

“I wish… I just wish for someone patient to listen, not to question, but let me feel something.” You said aloud, finally ripping at the paper as you scattered it to the wind, allowing that final droplet to run down your cheek.

You weren’t expecting instant miracles and in those seconds of having said your wants and crying away the past, you listened to the rush of water surging closer to your boat, and at that moment when you opened them, you were surprised with a little visitor.

The fur of the seal was plump and grey, silvery in contrast to the murky waters as it twirled and moved closer to your boat, its wide black eyes staring up into yours as it made eye contact with you as it continued to travel, passing by you and coming up behind the boat, where you believed it would disappear on with its journey.

You snorted to yourself, “I’m losing it. I can’t believe I was talking to a seal.”

“Correct, but I suppose that’s what people like to believe.” A sudden voice was so clear as rain, smooth and whimsical startled you so that you almost rocked off the side of your boat, coming from behind you. “These waters have never been so calm, heh, though… it’s not every day someone comes to shed their seven tears.”

This couldn’t be true… you were in the middle of a lake, yet you were certain you could hear a clear voice almost next to you. “Who’s there?” Your confusion and worry were evident in your tone, where the voice - clearly male - replied, “You could call me what you want, but I would like to call myself your listener.”

“That’s bullshit—you must’ve followed me… there’s no way you could’ve magically appeared… unless,” then it hit you. The grey seal, following along the side of your boat when you cried your final tear, moving behind the boat. No-

You turned to peer over the edge of your boat with some hesitancy, believing all you would see would be a small adorable seal, when in fact you were totally wrong. The first thing that came into your sight was the blinding porcelain white skin that seemed almost blinding in the deep waters. They were drenched, with only their mop of wet curly brown hair on show, and wide hazel eyes that seemed to almost sparkle in the water’s surface. This man was too beautiful to be anything but your saviour. No, maybe a swimmer coming through or just a weird dude who was creeping on a 17-year-old-

“You seem lost, dear,” the handsome male stretched up until more of his bare torso was out from the water. “Penny for your thoughts?”

This person could’ve been a madman, preying on young people like you, and you were out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to defend yourself with. That’s what you should’ve been thinking, but your mind only came to think of one thing at that moment.

“You’re a seal?”

“A selkie, your people usually call me, though it’s not every day I’m called that.” The male laughed, supporting himself so casually by propping his lithe arms against your boat. “Any other questions?”

You shook your head in disbelief, trying to gauge at what you were really believing. Was your head that mad that you were imagining a completely different creature to you? “Were you listening to me? Listening to me cry?”

“As creepy as it seems, to shed seven tears grants you the final everlasting wish you so dream for,” the selkie replied. “You wished for someone – a friend – perhaps, and well… here I am.”

“So, you listen to everyone crying and you grant wishes? Do you grant the same wishes to everyone?”

“Not quite,” he laughed. “Everyone has different wishes, and so did you, but I just so happen to give the perfect gift of all.”

You titled your head, eyebrows raised incredulously, “Yourself?”

“My power does not lie between what I allow and grant, but… I thought I would allow myself to help with your certain request.”

There was an awkward pause that waved itself in the air between the two of you. “So, you’re like my friend or something?”

“I’m a protector, whatever you wished for, so a listener,” there was a loud thud that resonated within the boat, and when you looked, he had thrown something thick like a grey blanket in, sopping wet. “That there is yours to keep.”

“What—your skin?”

“You don’t know many things about selkies, do you, dear?” He laughed, pointing to the pelt. “When a human catches a selkie and keeps its pelt, the selkie cannot transform or return to the water. So, forever more until you get bored of me, I am forever bound to you.”

You snorted out in disbelief, “No, you can’t be serious.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot lie, I tell the truth as we speak.” This man-

“No, listen, I’m 17. What are my parents going to say when I return with some naked stranger who I found in a lake? They’ll think I’m insane, more so than already!” I can’t be this guy’s carer, I can barely even look after myself.

“Hey,” the selkie’s voice was calm yet cheerful when he brought you out of your freak-out. “We’ll get through this together. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind me looking after you.” If only you knew my parents. You dreaded, before finally coming up with an idea.

“I cannot keep your pelt.”

The pale male’s face had dropped suddenly at the drastic sombreness of your words, his eyes turned downcast. “Oh, right.” He went to let go of the boat’s side but you were quicker to grab his hand, making him turn back to you with surprise. “No, what I mean is, for the safety of both of us, you can stay here. Where you’re at home, and I can come to visit, since if you are to be my listener, we need to make sure you’re comfortable too, right?”

He wanted to reply to you, his mouth opening and shutting but finally, he said, “I guess. But, you must promise. If we are to be friends, we must trust each other. I am certain on my word, are you?”

You still couldn’t believe everything that today had thrown at you, let alone you were wanting to agree, but you were too curious for your own good. “Yeah, sure. I promise.”

He beamed a white smile back at you again, your chest rising and falling as something warm replaced what was usually so empty, fading again before you could realise. It was… nice.

“What’s your name then, Mr seal?”

The selkie was halfway through putting back on the seal pelt, melding seamlessly with his human body as if he was zipping up a costume without needing a zipper. It looked comical to you, but it was still amazing to witness.

“Jaemos, or Robert, though that was thanks to some little girl deciding to call me that one time,” he laughed to himself, his teeth just as white as his skin. His bright eyes looked back into yours once more. “Whatever is easier to remember.”

“Jaemos it is then since it was the first option.” You smiled softly, grabbing at the ores to begin your way back to the shore before you looked back on him. “Hey, if it’s not too much trouble, could you lend me a flipper to push me back to shore?”

“You would never be too much trouble, dear,” he replied, lifting himself onto the side you were on so suddenly, almost like he was throwing himself in the boat, before affectionately twisting a piece of your hair behind your ear, laughing when he saw your beet-red cheeks warm. “That’s something troubled people would say.”

#male selkie #male monster x reader #gn reader #selkie boyfriend #male monster x gn reader #merman x human reader #exophilia #monster exophilia #modern au #selkie exophilia #anon ask #monster requests #selkie #my writing

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ahatintimepieces · 3 years

Text

Creeping Vines

A gift fic for the lovely @smieska-draws‘ sick au! Luka seeks out the help of Mari, the florist, as a mysterious illness plaguing him grows worse and worse.

Word Count: 1983. CW: illness

His fingers grasped the clasp of his cloak, pulling the hood tighter around his chestnut curls as he tried to block out the breeze. It was actually warm out, maybe? The brick wall that he ran his quaking fingers across to keep steady felt toasty as it bathed in sunlight, but he couldn’t stop shivering. He stumbled on the cobblestone for what felt like the millionth time. He caught himself, dropping against the wall and taking a moment to reorient himself.

Was it a good idea to leave the manor without his beloved when he could barely walk? No. Probably not. But while Vanessa would have been glad to investigate in his stead, she had been gone when he woke up and he had been too anxious to wait. Besides, she had already been doing so much for him. She practically made caring for him during his illness her one job. He wanted to try and at least manage a short visit with someone he thought could help on his own.

But he wasn’t sure he was going to make it at this rate.

His breathing was labored as he glanced around. Kids and villagers ambled by. They didn’t look his way long enough to recognize him. With his ragged, old cloak and dull brown trousers and a crooked shirt that had been easy to throw on before leaving the manor, he looked more like a disheveled wanderer than their prince. Which was good! He didn’t particularly want to be recognized in such a state.

“Ah—ah!” His nose scrunched up as a sharp gasp heralded an impending sneeze and he quickly ducked into his elbow. “Ah—choo!” The force of the sneeze nearly caused his legs to buckle beneath him as the pressure in his head swelled. He gripped the wall and moaned quietly as he tried to straighten.

A strand of purple snot pulled away with his nose. Wincing, he rubbed his nose with his sleeve and wiped the strand onto the brown cloth. As he sniffled, he eyed the violet goop that held spots of black ash. His heart sunk in his chest.

He was getting so much worse.

Tightening his grip around the clasp, he pushed himself forward. Soon, he came to a familiar alleyway and turned the corner, unsure if he wanted to cry from relief or distress as the carts full of vibrant flowers came into view. Marigold, the florist and his dear friend, had her back to him as she trimmed thorns from roses.

“M-Mari,” he wheezed as he came to the shop. His voice was strained and using it caused him to cough. The cough magnified, sending tremors through his chest and he slid against the wall. Everything shook and he held onto the brick, causing his knuckles to pale.

“Luka!” Her voice sounded so far away.

It wasn’t until several moments after his coughing flittered out that the world stopped shifting beneath his feet long enough for him to open his eyes again. Marigold stood in front of him, her features creased in horror as she held out her arms, ready to catch him if he fell.

“Luka, you look awful,” Mari scanned him. “What on earth are you doing here? You should be in bed!”

“I-I need help.” He had to fight to articulate each word. A familiar, uncomfortable heat bloomed across his forehead and he swallowed thickly. Walking all the way from the manor might have been too great a strain on his body, but Mari was the only one he could think might have the answers he needed.

“Okay,” she said softly, “Let’s get you a chair and you can tell me what’s going on.”

He felt a warm hand gingerly pry his death-grip from the brick wall and he stumbled as she led him over to the counter with a stool. He lowered onto the stool and as soon as the weight was off of his legs, he slumped over the counter, still clutching the clasp with his right hand as he tried to pull the cloak tighter around his endlessly shivering body.

“You’re burning up,” Mari muttered as something soft pressed against his forehead.

He closed his tired eyes. His muscles ached and he knew he was trembling uncontrollably, but he couldn’t stop no matter how tightly he curled in on himself. The pressure on his head pulled away and he blinked, watching in a daze as Mari stepped away.

He heard the distant sound of water splashing, but he didn’t register where it came from. Even after Mari turned around with a wet rag and small cup of water, he vaguely tried to remember if there was a stream nearby (there was not).

“Why didn’t you head straight to the doctor?” Mari asked as she pushed the cup into his hand and held the damp rag against his forehead. “Scratch that, I thought Vanessa has been having the doctor visit the manor.”

“She has,” Luka breathed out, leaning into the rag. Despite how he felt ready to collapse, he smiled at the thought of his princess. He wished that she was beside him, using her ice magic to help abate his fever. But his brows furrowed as he thought about all the doctor visits and check-ups. “The doctor just thinks it’s a nasty flu, but I—” his voice cracked, and he paused as he sniffed. After swallowing and feeling the gunk caught in his throat slide down, he winced. “But I think it’s something else.”

“Drink some water,” Mari encouraged.

He remembered the cup in his hand and lifted the cool drink to his lips. Oh! The water was sweet and refreshing and felt so soothing on his throat. The tea Vanessa had been giving him to keep his fluids up was wonderful, of course, but the fresh water did help him to perk up a bit, especially after he downed the whole cup in just a few seconds.

“Why do you think it’s something else?” Mari asked as she took the cup back.

His right hand around the clasp clenched painfully, but this was why he came in the first place. He slowly pulled his hand away from the clasp and held out his palm for Mari to examine. She gasped.

Blossoming across his palm, was the outline of a dark purple flower with ragged lines shooting out of the petals like lightning bolts. The outline was flush against his skin, as if it were no more than a tattoo, but it pulsed and shifted on his palm. Mari cupped his trembling hand, helping him to still while she watched the flower petals flutter.

“It was there when I woke up earlier.” Luka couldn’t help the whine that laced his voice. “And the center hadn’t been filled in when I last checked. It’s spreading.”

“It’s some kind of magic?” Mari quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward.

“It has to be,” Luka said helplessly.

A magical illness. He had no idea how he caught it, or what it meant, but he just knew he was getting worse and worse. Each new morning felt like his energy had been further zapped from him and dark purple bags seemed to permanently line his eyes. Underneath the hood, his hair was knotted and disheveled, matted with salty sweat from his constant oscillating between feeling feverishly warm or unbearably cold.

Part of him did feel a little vindicated after the doctor repeatedly dismissed the severity of his symptoms, but even knowing there was something else wrong with him, he still didn’t know what and that was what scared him most.

“Please tell me you know what this is,” he begged. “What flower is it? Do you recognize the shape?”

“Uh,” Mari grimaced, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m not sure, hold on.”

She stepped away and his hand dropped onto the counter. It stung a bit, but hardly mattered compared to the rest of his aching. He watched as Mari’s vibrant red braid bopped against her back with her movement.

“I’ll copy the image and start looking through my books,” she explained, returning with paper and a pen. He nodded, holding out his hand so that she could record the flower.

Purple slowly stretched across the bottom of the petals, staining them with splotchy pigment, and Luka’s fingers twitched while his fever spiked.

He groaned, slowly lowering his head onto his outstretched arm as his cheeks flushed. The world tilted. His ears began to ring like a dissonant bell was stuck clanging in his head. He hissed, nuzzling into his arm and biting his tongue. A metallic taste pooled in his mouth. He didn’t think he bit that hard. Was he truly losing his mind or were his teeth feeling sharper? The ringing grew worse. His heart pounded as he felt himself falling through nothing. A sharp pain registered in his head, but he couldn’t place what happened as his breathing became frantic.

“Luka!” Mari’s voice was muffled, like she was calling to him from dry land while he was submerged in viscous water. His eyes shot opened. The vibrant sunlight shone as Mari crouched over him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked around in a daze.

When did he end up on the ground?

Fear spiked in his chest and he hurried to push himself up. The sudden movement caused his head to throb, and he lifted the hand with the flower to it but paused when he saw not only that the bottom parts of the petals had grown a deep violet, but the jagged vines shooting from the flower had crawled to the back of his hand, pulsing with sharp looking thorns that traced his veins. He took his other hand and brushed his fingers across the stained skin. He met Mari’s startled gaze with distress twisting his features.

“I need help,” his voice broke. “Please.”

“I’ll take you to the doctor,” Mari said, looping his arm around her shoulder. “And then he can call the Queen so she can take you home.”

“It hurts so much,” Luka mumbled weakly as she pulled him to his feet.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Mari promised, carrying his weight as she guided him on the short walk to the doctor. “I’ll keep researching and meet you at the manor, okay? Or the Queen can come to me. You really shouldn’t be walking around.”

He could only nod, holding back the whimpers that were lodged in his throat. Before he knew it, he was laying on a cot at the doctor’s clinic, shivering as he gripped his cloak and as the doctor took his vitals and noted the strange markings that continued shifting on his hand like shadows. By the time Vanessa burst in, demanding to know why he left the manor without asking her first, Mari had left the waiting room, presumably to research what ailment he was suffering.

He returned to the manor with Vanessa, clinging to her side and breathing sighs of relief as she ran cold fingers through his damp bangs. He mumbled apologies and thank-yous all the way back to bed, where he asked her to stay with him until he fell asleep.

She continued to stroke his hair and encourage him to drink warm tea that was supposed to help soothe his symptoms.

“Thank you,” he croaked, nuzzling against her chest as she held him.

“There, there,” Vanessa cooed, brushing his bangs from his eyes. Her soft features smiled down at him. “Don’t worry, my prince. I’ll give you all that you need. You don’t need anything else.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he pressed deeper into her embrace.

“You’re too good to me,” he muttered as his eyelids began to feel too heavy to keep open. His breathing steadied as sleep overcame him. She grinned.

“I know.”

#a hat in time #smieska-draws #ahit prince #ahit florist #ahit vanessa #sick au #my writing #gift fic #I LOVE THIS AU SO MUCH OH MY GOSH!!!!!#got another upload on the way kdjnlkjfvn #MAKE SURE YOU CHECK OUT SMIESKA'S WORK SHE'S INCREDIBLE!!!!!

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

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( gif from the lovely @starwarsfilms. )

--- LOVE SICK. ;

summary: khairyn sar is an important holiday within nabirian religion -- it celebrates love and fertility. obi-wan gets a gift for you from the lower-level markets, aided by a helpful women who urges him to buy a certain plant... pairing: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader, established in this fic & this fic as well. word count: 8k warnings: this is porn with a dash of sex pollen trope / nsfw, 18+ a/n: i am literally not even sorry. here’s a late valentine’s day piece for you all, my lovely lil valentines. pls don’t repost!

It’s a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it is.

Padmé’s usual senatorial garb is exchanged for one of deep reds and a grandiose headpiece that mirrors the visage of Khairtai, the goddess of Fertility and Love. Beside her, Dormé, Sabé, Ellé and yourself bear a smudging of crimson down the center of your foreheads. It’s from the crushed millaflower -- ground into a fine, deep red powder and blessed by the resident royal Pontifex.

Your outfits mirror Padmé’s, hair pinned back tightly into a tight, neat braids with a golden pin halo-ing your heads. It’s of religious significance; each comb bearing two bounding ash-rabbits. Symbols of fertility.

The Royal house of Naboo, namely the Amidala’s, are one of many devout to the Brotherhood of Cognizance -- a polytheistic, monastic, allegorical based religion. Padmé herself was a larger worshipper of Shiraya, the goddess of the moon; Obi-Wan, on more than one account, found himself rather enraptured with the large statue on the outside patio of her Senatorial apartment upon visits with his friend.

In the evening sunset, the goddess’ moon shaped harp frames the horizon quite perfectly. Obi-Wan always wondered if it was some sort of metaphor -- perhaps that Padmé was right where she needed to be, away from the throne and serving her people worlds away.

She’d moved to Coruscant following the ending of her second term of Queen, promptly slipping into her elected position as Senatorial representative. With her, she’d brought Dormé, Ellé, Sabé, and you -- along with a small squad of royal guards. Though, Obi-Wan believed she hardly needed them. Padmé’s handmaidens were more than capable.

You were more than capable.

Obi-Wan, from the upper deck of the Senate’s session, can hardly tear his eyes away from you -- you look rather stoic beside the ex-Queen. You’d joked a few days ago to him that you needed to mind you expressions when some of the other Senators spoke. Obi-Wan bites back a chuckle when F’aralo Pxo from Ithor finally stops babbling and your awfully sour look fades.

Crossing his arms, the young Jedi Knight watches as the session is dismissed by Sheev Palpatine and the large, cavernous room begins to dissipate of senators and delegates.

Obi-Wan Kenobi catches you and the others on the sixteenth floor, about to enter Padmé’s apartment.

“Merry Khairyn Sar.”

He strides close, like a glimmering star flashing across the sunset. Handsome and bright-eyed -- you wonder if your heart will ever cease it’s crescendo of excitement when you see him. Your stomach flips and you can’t help but stare at the appearance of one certain Jedi Knight.

The gaggle of women turn on their heels, their faces lighting up at the appearance of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your face, by far, is the brightest.

“I only have a minute, but I thought I might come say hello.”

The two of you bite your tongues, amused little smirks threatening to bloom on your faces. It’s childish, but it’s lovely.

Padmé laughs happily at the sight of you both, moving to gesture for Obi-Wan to come in -- once inside the apartment, the Jedi is quick to loop his arms around your waist and haul you high; the reunion is short and sweet and brings smiles to the faces of your closest confidants as the move to spread throughout the apartment. Your earrings sway as you grapple with his shoulders, sliding down him when he places you back on the plush carpet carefully.

The others have known since... gods, what? Years ago?

Before Anakin had even reached puberty and before Obi-Wan had started growing this beard out. You recall in this moment the first time you’d seen him since his diplomatic mission to Naboo, when you’d fallen in love with the kind-hearted Padawan, and how the others had been so keen on seeing the romance play out on the tarmac.

They had, after all, read the correspondences the Jedi had sent in the time apart from one another.

It’s been four years since -- and yet, the sickly sweet tempo of love is still enough to make your knees weak. Seeing him, though often enough now that you’re permanent residency is on Coruscant, is still enough to bring a needy whine to your heartstrings.

“Don’t you have a Padawan to be minding?” you grin, kissing him quickly as he smiles. The prick of stubble tickles.

“The younglings have a trip to the Archives today,” Obi-Wan explains, bowing slightly to chase your words with a kiss to your cheekbone, “But I do have a council meeting within the hour..”

You swat at his chest gently. “What have I said? Anakin is not a youngling. He’s fifteen --”

“Acts like it,” Padmé supplies, pointing at Obi-Wan who mirrors her amused-yet-trying-not-to-seem-it look, “I’ve heard the stories.”

“I’ll have greys because of him soon, I swear it.”

Another kidding swat. This time, the ruddy haired man catches it and laughs warmly. He holds your hand closely, kissing your knuckles. Your face grows hot as sheepishness creeps up your collar due to the semi-public display of affection.

“I have a gift for you,” he says quietly, eyes softening, “For Khairyn Sar.”

You should have known Obi would have figured out about the holiday.

He was a romantic -- charismatic about love and flirtatiously sweet.

Of course a holiday celebrating love would be right up his alley. You hold your tongue -- you wonder if Obi-Wan truly understands the meaning of Khairyn Sar, or if to him, this is a just a small patronage holiday dedicated to romance.

Khairyn Sar is an important holiday within Cognizance. Weddings and performative engagement ceremonies are large parts of the holiday, as well as... well, plainly put: conceptions.

Nearly every devout Nabirian’s dream would be to conceive a child on Khairyn Sar. Those born within nine months of the day are said to be gifts from Khairtai herself, after all. Those with the blessed with being a Khairtai’é frequently found success within relationships, love, and careers. Fertility meant more than simply sex.

Padmé is a Khairtai’é. She truly did have the making of a Queen.

Ellé speaks up from the couch, balancing her vibroblade on her fingertip effortlessly and watching you both. “...Obi-Wan, you do you have a brother?"

“Maybe a cousin?” asks Sabé, melodic and sweet, “A single cousin?”

“A sister, even,” Dormé croons, dropping her chin into her hand -- her voice goes a bit mopey, “I wish someone would bring me a gift for Khairyn Sar.”

It is akin to announcing your love to the world, after all.

Obi-Wan offers one of his trade-mark smiles. The dimples beneath the blonde shadow of his beard are charming and Padmé can’t help but grin as he watches you blink up at him with a moonstruck look that says it all:

You love him.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologizes, hand gracing the small of your back, “Though, if I find any formidable suitors of the Royal Handmaidens of Naboo, I’ll make sure I let you all know.”

“You better,” Dormé swats at his shoulder as she passes by, hanging her cloak and grinning when the Jedi leans to swats her back.

In the last few weeks, he’s become a fast friend -- they’re all within the same age, and Obi-Wan had fallen easily into a brotherly cadence when it came to the girls; you trusted them all, and so, he did as well. Happily. He’d known them all briefly from the time him and Qui-Gon had on Naboo during the negotiations with the Trade Federation... Dormé, Sabé and Ellé had all been on the Nubian by your side when you’d first met the charming Padawan.

“I’ve got to go,” he breathes, leaning to kiss the crown of your head, “Will I see you later?”

You nod, enjoying the warm pass of his fingers on your cheek.

“Of course,” you promise, “Dinner?”

"Dex’s?”

You groan happily, bending a bit in the knees as you nod vigorously at the thought of fries and a shake. Not the most glamorous meal, but a favorite of you both and a safe haven from the Senate and Council.

“Yes, please.”

Obi-Wan grins, tosses a wink, and sneaks out the door with a wave.

As soon as the door shuts, Dormé is quickly to speak.

“You better marry that man.”

“Someday,” a mindful smile, “For now --”

“For now,” Ellé points, “Please give that man a night worth remembering.”

“Ellé!”

You scold your sister-in-duty with a sheepish look of modesty on your face, swatting at her as you fall beside her on the couch. The others laugh.

If only you had any idea what was in store for both you and Obi-Wan.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You meet him outside of Dex’s as the sun begins to set, happily falling into both his arms and the smell of fried food wafting from inside. It’s not often that you’re able to make the trek to the lower levels with him, and seeing the friendly Besalisk owner, Dexter Jettster, was a perk -- the four-armed man had always been kind to you. Fatherly, almost.

He’s tenfold that with Obi-Wan.

Dex happily supplies a hot plate of fries and two bantha burgers you and Obi’s way, free-of-charge. Dex mentions something about owing Obi-Wan for dealing with “those damn kids last week”. You raise a brow, taking a big bite of your burger, and Obi-Wan waves his hand.

“Street kids,” a shrug, “Pick-pocketing.”

“They stole the damn credit drawer!”

“Mm,” you mumble shaking your head at his uncanny ability to downplay every situation, “Always the humble hero, huh?”

He nudges you with his boot as he laughs, dropping his gaze into his meal. You have a way of making him feel sheepish. It’s been years, but your words of flirtation still strike him in his composure. His cheeks are rosy when he looks up, wiping sauce from the corner of his beginning-beard.

“You love it.”

“I do,” you waggle a fry in his face, spurring a breathless laugh from the Jedi, “Very much. So much, that I’m spending Khairyn Sar with you, in a diner, eating terrible food -- no offense, Dex... Says a lot, y’know.”

“None taken,” the cook calls out from behind the counter, “Merry Khairyn Sar, kid. Yer lucky, Obi-Wan! Those Naboo girls usually spend tha’ holiday with th’ man they’re set t’ marry --”

“Hear that,” you call, raising a finger and pinning Obi in his spot with an amused look as you both play-off your well-kept secret, “You’re lucky.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan clears his throat nudging your boot as you nudge it right back, “Aren’t I, Dex?”

“Sure are,” the Besalisk chortles, “If y’ weren’t a Jedi I’d say hurry up ‘n’ marry ‘er already!

Oh, if only he knew.

“Thanks, Dex,” you say sweetly, throwing an appreciative look the cook’s way, “And thanks for keeping this one in line.”

A big, guffaw of laughter meets your words and Dex hits the counter. “He’s trouble!”

“He is,” you shake your head, “He has everyone fooled. Everyone thinks he’s a flawless Jedi Knight, but he’s trouble. I’ve been saying it for years...”

Obi’s eyes crinkle with fondness. You mirror it.

“I love you,” he mouthes when Dex’s back is turned.

“I love you, too,” you mouth back.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You like Obi-Wan’s quarters.

They’re very him.

Warm, quiet and neat.

The room could be considered a bit small, but with a reasonable sized refresher and a large bed, you find no reason to complain. There are a few trinkets lining the shelves above his bed -- tokens of missions and trainings.

Among them is a pebble from the beaches of the Lake Country; one he’d taken before leaving Naboo after the negotiations. You and him had spent hours on that beach, swimming and rolling in the sand, before things changed. Before Qui-Gon’s death and his rise to Knighthood.

He doesn’t have many belongings, but so is the way of the Code.

His bedroom is a familiar space, now. You’ve spent many nights in this room, tucked beside him in the vanilla colored sheets. You wish it was every night. But, you both knew you needed to keep suspicions low. You were just thankful that Obi-Wan’s direct neighbor, Aayla Secura, was wise enough not to ask questions.

The lights to his room are warm and low, illuminated strips of light coming from beneath the shelving -- the large bay windows that reach from floor to ceiling frame the colorful air-lanes illuminating the night sky of Coruscant’s Senate District. Like stars weaving a path, traffic moves slow across the horizon.

Obi locks the door behind him before his hands find your waist and he drops a kiss to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth through the layers of your cloak and dress, smiling as he fiddles with your hips and noses your ear.

“Do you want to see the gift?”

You nod, chewing your lip and turning to catch him in a quick kiss. The Jedi leans in, putty in your hands. Obi-Wan makes an appreciative sound when you hold his jaw, pulling him over you as you bend back a bit.

“Alright,” he says, a little breathless, before pecking another kiss, “Stay here.”

You do as your told, laughing as he takes two steps forward only to retreat back for another smile-laden kiss. He disappears into the walk-in closet; as he does, you strip your cloak from your shoulders and toss it on the bed.

Obi-Wan returns, sans his own robe, clutching something behind his back.

You quirk a brow, noting the incredibly excited look plastered on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

“Obi-Wan,” you warn playfully as you do as your told, “If it bites --”

“It doesn’t bite.”

“I swear,” you outstretch your hands, palms up, eyes closed tight, “It it bites...”

He’s laughing. “It won’t bite!”

Suddenly, there’s a cool, heavy weight in your hands. It’s glass, you realize quickly, and as Obi-Wan smiles, you peel your eyes open and quickly sigh in awe.

“Obi...” the bouquet is large, with three or four different flowering bursts of color nestled inside a large vase, “It’s beautiful.”

You’re quick to move across the room, placing the bouquet down on his desk as he hovers, watching you tut over the flowers -- all of them Naboo natives, you realize with a slack jaw. Your whirl around, handing finding his chest. He smiles, dimples kissing his face.

“You didn’t have to --”

“Oh, hush,” he chides, hand sweeping a circle along your lower back as you bend and admire the plants with gentle hands, “I wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“I only wish...” a soft sigh as he leans forward and pokes at the stem of a deep purple plant that’s clasped shut tightly, “This one refused to bloom, it seems.”

In hindsight, you should have known better.

You should have known what was going to happen when you reached out and touched the plant the same time as him. You should have known a puff of pink pollen would come flying out, right into your face. You should have known the smell would make you gag and Obi-Wan do the same.

You should have known.

You stagger back, grabbing his arm.

“Oh gods --”

“Open a window.”

“What the hell was that thing, Obi?!”

You should have known.

“Open a window!”

“It’s moving,” you screech, carrying the vase in outreached arms as your make a disgusted face and quite literally run to Obi-Wan who is throwing open the small window of his refresher, “Ohmygod, does it bite?!”

“I don’t care to find out!”

“It smells,” you choke, “It smells --”

“Give it to me --”

“What’re you -- Obi!”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained Jedi Knight and well-regarded rising leader within the Council’s tanks, promptly takes the bouquet from your hands and lobs it out the thirtieth story window of his quarters’ refresher in the Jedi Council building, vase and all, all while maintaining eye contact.

He quickly slams the window shut and drops his hands to his waist with a panicked look on his face. He looks pained, like he can hardly believe he just did that.

There’s a beat of silence as your mouth falls open, then you cry:

“...What was that thing?!”

“I don’t know!” he throws his hands as his agitation peaks, “The woman at the market said it was for Khairyn Sar -- she kept, gods, she kept saying it over and over --”

Oh.

“... Obi.”

“... What do you mean ‘Obi’?” Obi-Wan’s voice nearly splinters, panic striking hard and fast across the Jedi’s face at the slow realization in your tone, “Don’t say -- don’t say ‘Obi’ like that -- You know it worries me, when you say --”

“Did she say Khairyn Sar,” you annunciate the syllables slowly, moving from the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the bed as you dot the sounds with your finger in the air, “Or, did she say Khaitai Rysar?”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“... Is there a difference...?” he pushes a hand through his hair as you drop your head back and groan; quickly he breathes out a sheepish mutter, “From the look on your face, there’s clearly a difference --”

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant -- named after the two god’s who... they... it’s... Oh my gods --” you drop your face into your hands, not bothering to tip-toe around the subject any longer, “You bought a sex plant, Obi-Wan!”

He blinks. His mouth moves but no words come out. His brows climbs his face. He tilts his head. The look is owlish and mildly terrified.

A pause.

“... Excuse me?”

His voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant from Naboo,” you squeak out, flopping backwards onto the bed and groaning, “It’s a gift typically given to newly weds. It’s got a pollen that acts as an powerful hypnotic aphrodisiac --”

"Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“-- When we touched it, it must have blossomed,” you barely manage, rubbing your face and sighing, “The spores are extremely potent. Any contact with them is...”

Obi-Wan’s face falls and when you pull your hands from your face, you see him staring at the spattering of pink pollen across your nose and cheeks. You shoot up straight before pulling away your hands and gawking, realizing you need to wash your hands right now because you’re covered in the pollen --

Quickly, you dash into the refresher as your curse when you see your now pinkish reflection and make work on scrubbing your face and hands.

Obi-Wan had lucked out -- well, to a degree. The pollen had only caught him partially; cast off from when you’d staggered back and grabbed onto him.

“Oh, this is horrible,” you mumble, washing your face with ice cold water and staring at him in the mirror, “Horrible, but hilarious -- stop looking like you’ve murdered me --”

“I feel horrible!” he cries, face pulled into an apologetic look, “Gods, I’m sorry --”

“Maybe we can... just... sleep it off?” you offer, wiping your face with a towel he offers, “Right? I mean, I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating us sleeping together anyways --”

Obi’s fiddling with the facial hair along his jaw, nodding as you speak. “Well, yes. Considering the holiday -- I’d planned for it.”

“I mean -- I feel fine,” you wave your hands, “Do you feel fine?”

“Yes,” he nods, sea-green eyes watching your expression, “I -- I feel fine.”

You’re both panicking.

“Okay,” a little squeak, “So... let’s just... try -- try to sleep it off. For now.”

“And if we can’t?”

You hesitate. Both of you swallow.

“Let us cross that bridge when we get there,” Obi-Wan offers, sounding a bit pained, not even wanting to think about the answer to his own question.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

Neither of you can sleep.

It’s been about an hour since the entire debacle began.

You’re both laying awake, staring at the ceiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Not that you can blame one another -- you both tend to shoot as straight as an arrow when it came to... stimulants. You really had no need for death-sticks or spice, and Obi-Wan was the same. Having come to terms with the fact you both will be out of control in a matter of hours is a bit terrifying, especially considering the delicate balance of things.

Hiding your relationship wasn’t easy.

In reality, it brought with it a wide array of challenges, including the whole fact that you and Obi-Wan, more often than not, needed to be quiet and quick about sex.

Your encounters were always sweet; always gentle and loving and brought on by moments of happiness or longing. Seeing him for the first time in a while always brewed up arousal in your gut -- you couldn’t help it. It came with the territory of love. Just seeing Obi-Wan smile somedays was enough to snap that coil and wind it tightly in your gut.

After all, he is so damn handsome.

Even now, looking mildly horrified and extra concerned, he looks handsome -- his profile illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows.

The Jedi exhales, rubbing his face, and turns to eye you in the dark light of the room.

You’re already staring -- in the dark, he can make out the trace of a smile on your lips. It’s endearing, and it puts him at ease to know this big mistake hasn’t caused you to hate him

Yet.

“Do you feel any different...?”

You shake your head, pulling your lips into a grimace.

“Maybe I was wrong?” you mumble, “But I’ve heard others tell stories about the smell. Like... rotting meat. There was a guard once, when I was in the Naboo Royal Academy, who was out for an entire week on account of the plant. He’d just been married and...”

Obi-Wan swallows. “I can’t believe --”

“Ah!” you tut, raising a finger, “Stop -- if we’re both about to be off our minds on some aphrodisiac love pollen, it’d just like to remind you that this could be a lot worse.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

You roll over, prop your chin up in your hand, and quirk a playful brow. “You know I’m good at riding things out --”

Both of Obi’s brows rise at your words, his face warping into something of curious contemplation -- he props his head up, mirroring your position in bed. “Has the pollen already gotten you in its grips, then?”

You laugh, ducking your head and snorting a little. “I’m just saying! Trying to stay positive.”

“You’re a wretched minx and you know,” he mumbles, leaning in to steal a kiss, “That I quite enjoy when you do ride things out. Ever the optimist.”

“So, worst case scenario...”

“We lock ourselves in this room for a week?”

“Or we just... get it out of our systems. Ride it out.”

Obi-Wan hums, flopping back down to the pillows. “Right. Ride it out.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

That bridge Obi-Wan had talked about crossing?

Well, it arrives a little past midnight.

And along with it, a roaring river runs below.

You wake up feeling like your body is two hundred degrees and climbing. At first, you’d just figured you’d had one too many covers on you -- Obi-Wan did have a bad habit of being a small space heater -- and so you’d opted to crawl on-top of the covers. But, even that’s not enough.

In your half-asleep haze, you’d nearly forgotten about the earlier events of the night. But, it’s when the sudden urge to strip flashes to the forefront of your mind, you remember exactly what had happened with that damn Khairtai Rysar plant.

You’re peeling off the spare tunic Obi had lended you in a flash, skin glistening with a feverish sweat -- you give in to the urge and nearly sigh when your skin hits the cool air.

Your eyes drift as you sway a bit, room spinning slightly from the quick movement.

The moon casts a cool glow over the man snoring softly beside you, his own shirt having been discarded a few minutes ago. His arm is over his eyes, his entire body above the sheets.

His trousers hang low on his hips and you watch him breathe out a sigh.

He’s dreaming.

The dip of his waist is where your eyes glue themselves, for some reason, and your lapse in reality draws to a conclusion between your legs. The ache there is... horrible. Suddenly, you realize you’re uncomfortable, and you shift in bed. Your mind feels like it’s six steps behind your body.

You lay back down, rolling over to bury your face into the pillow, and groan.

This is bad. This is really bad.

And from the timing of it, it was only going to get worse.

It wasn’t as if you and Obi-Wan hadn’t had sex before -- you had, plenty of times in plenty of places you maybe shouldn’t have, but this was different. This was... This was the sort of thing you’d both heard horror stories about. Hours and hours of feverish impulse, little to no control... Wonderful if you’re trying to conceive a child on the eve of Khairyn Sar, like the market saleswoman probably thought when she sold Obi the plant.

You sigh, a small smile worming it’s way on your face despite the circumstances.

You just want to skip to the part where you can both laugh about this.

You try and keep yourself present -- but it’s getting harder with the sensitivity to every slight breath coming from the body beside you. Your mind wanders as you try to count yourself to sleep; your mind has better ideas, readily delving into fantasies that feel like half-truths, and the ache between your legs worsens.

You’re mid-dream of Obi lapping between at your core when he moves, brushes your arm, and you jump awake.

“Sorry.”

You can only manage to grit out a muffled moan.

The Jedi rolls, ignoring the evident hardness that’s now painful in his trousers, and eyes you carefully -- you’ve stripped, the only thing on your body are the thin, red satin bottoms on your lower half. Sweat is glimmering along your back, and Obi-Wan feels a twang of guilt build in his chest.

He rolls, props himself up, and touches your spine. It was supposed to be a calming gesture, one rooted in apology, but...

It’s a mistake.

Your body reacts immediately, a gasp wringing itself from your throat as your fingers tighten in the sheets -- you grit your teeth, raise your head and nearly plead:

“Please,” a whisper before it all rushes out, “That... feels good.”

You can’t find the words to explain that his touch is like pour ice water over a burn. It feels wonderful. You squirm against the mattress as Obi tries to catch his breath. His lungs stutter and he ghosts his fingers along your spine once more -- this time, it sends a pang of arousal straight to his gut.

“I... I think,” his voice is hoarse and his throat is tight, “I think --”

You just chew your lip and nod, nose brushing the pillow as you remain face down. You feel it too.

It’s all he can manage. His brain is a foggy mess of fantasy and arousal. You’re the focal point of it all; the force around you is louder now, mingling between him and his sensitivities. His fingertips brush the dip of your spine and you inhale sharply, nerves alight at the contact. He can feel the sensation along his own spine -- it’s like a punch square in the gut.

Then, on the hazy impulse of some rose colored pollen, Obi bends, slowly, and kisses the blade of your shoulder.

You whimper, gasping slightly when his hand spreads flat across the back of your ribs and sweeps along your skin, bringing with it a electric sensation that throbs your sex with painful, empty want.

“Obi...”

“This is...,” he breathes, lips ghosting your shoulder, “Not good.”

“It hurts.”

He couldn’t agree more. His brain feels like it’s on fire. When he closes his eyes he only sees you, spread out beneath him and saying his name over and over and over -- fucking hell. His voice is low. “What do we do?”

You pull yourself up in bed, hair wild and eyes set in dark circles. You look dazed and far-away, but your attention is rooted on him.

You reach out and touch his chest, busying your touch with the thatch of reddish hair there. Your fingertips buzz and your body cools immediately -- Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his hand finding yours as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Ride it out?”

Obi’s eyes are as large as dinner plates at the recommendation -- the usual green over-taken by his dilated pupils; his touches are hungry. He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as you shift closer.

“Ride it out.”

It’s a downward spiral from there.

You both surge forward, meeting for a kiss that’s like being plunged into an icy lake -- it soothes a bit of the fever, waves of relief coming in the form of wandering hands and messy love-bites. You roll yourself on-top of him, pushing your arms up beside his head and gasping when the Jedi grabs your jaw and pulls you right back down for a kiss that steals the very air from your lungs.

... This is different.

You whimper, collapsing to his chest -- and Obi shudders at the brush of your clothed hips against his own. He feels like he’s drowning in you, happily, and his whole body is alight from your touch. His brain is six steps behind his body and the room spins around him as he pushes himself up and you follow suit, sitting up in his lap.

Instantly, calloused hands snake around your waist and you have to bite your lip so tight you draw blood to keep yourself quiet when Obi-Wan’s mouth latches onto to the curve of your breast and bites a tender little mark there. Your hands shake, tightening into the tufts of hair at the base of his neck as he makes an appreciative sound at the reaction and blinks up at you from underneath thick lashes.

Gods above this is heaven.

Everything feels so... hot. Tight and needy and wet and just the mere pass of his hands along your waist has your squirming in his lap as his tongue draws up and around the swell of your right breast. In a flash, he’s taken the perk nipple there into his mouth and your body quakes.

In response, you fist his hair. Tight.

And he moans. Right against your skin, gasp worming itself from his throat as you get the message and tug again -- this time exposing his throat and allowing yourself to dive below his stubble and little sloppy little kiss there to his delight.

His whole world is swimming with pleasure and he can feel his own arousal throbbing eagerly in his trousers as your nails run along his scalp and drift to his beard, giving the hair there a gentle tug.

His heart stutters, mouth dropping open as you laugh greedily into his neck.

“You like that?”

A breathless nod; he’s stuck on the way you speak -- half-way in the room and half-way in his mind. Obi-Wan feels like his whole heart is going to give out; he can’t focus, to stuck on your body and the way the force is running directly between you both like a pool of water. Each touch casts a ripple and...

Fucking hell.

He flips you both, pressing you into the mattress with enough force to rush the air out of your lungs and make the bed creak; you can’t help but muffle a surprised laugh, shoving your hand over your mouth lazily as Obi-Wan noses your jaw and litters exploring kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes into your skin, stubble raising goosebumps along the hot burn of your fever. You shiver, fingers greedily looping into his hair as he bites a daring little mark into your décolletage, “You’re so beautiful --”

He sounds like he’s underwater. Your hearing is going in and out, eyes half-open to watch the sight of him drifting lower and lower and lower and...

Obi’s fingers brush the band of your bottoms and you gasp loud enough that his eyes shoot open and he moves to slap a hand over your mouth.

The motion is rough enough to spur you on, lending you to arch your back and laugh headily into the skin of his palm. You feel intoxicated -- like you’re tipping over the edge of a blissful high and every touch is enough to make your legs shake.

“I’ll be quiet,” you murmur, plucking at his fingers and watching his eyes grow darker -- you sit up, gripping his palm, before darting your tongue out to draw around his index finger. Instantly, the Jedi turns to putty, and he drops his head as he curses. You laugh, taking his whole finger in your mouth, before he pulls away and sweeps his hands under your bottom.

“Up.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

Your lower abdomen burns with arousal as you do so, lifting your hips and allowing Obi-Wan to snag the band of your underwear and drag them down your hips. You can feel the wetness brush your thigh as he tosses them over his shoulder. Your legs shake a bit, hands winding into the sheets as Obi-Wan hangs himself off the bed and presses your legs apart with warm hands.

There’s no precursor, no build-up.

Not that you need any.

He just lays his tongue flat to your soaking clit and groans, like it’s the first meal he’s had in days. The vibration is heavenly. Your whole body goes hot-white at the sensation, need to feel full peaking in that moment; your arms collapse and you fall back to the sheets gasping as the Jedi between your legs traces the swollen, pink folds of your sex with his tongue. It feels like you’re not even in your body -- like you’re floating somewhere above the moon and swimming with the stars.

You taste like honey. Sweet. So damn sweet. And he can’t get enough of it.

The sensation of his mouth on your center isn’t the only thing winding the spring in your gut higher and higher. It’s... hands. Everywhere. Touching you where his hands aren’t -- across your waist and pinning your thighs down to the mattress as you squirm, in your hair and running across your breasts as you quiver. It’s like you’re the center of three people’s attention, and you realize with a wanton moan that it’s the damn force.

“Obi...”

He raises his heavy-lidded eyes only for a moment, arms wound around your legs as he holds the apart. A lock of his hair has fallen into his face and you can feel his stubble grace the inside of your thigh as he smiles.

“Sonofabitch,” it rushes out when a non-visible hand ghosts your jaw, trailing down your throat eagerly, “Is that -- is... Obi --”

“It’s me,” he mumbles, pulling away for a moment -- you can see your wetness along his chin as he sways a bit, his grip tightening on the flesh of your thighs, “I’m here.”

And all over.

You move to dig your fingers into his hair, only to watch one of his hands gesture slowly through the air and -- suddenly, both of your hands are above your head and you’re arching against the mattress.

“I’m busy.”

It’s all Obi offers in explanation for the action, jaw falling open as his tongue presses deep past your entrance; once, twice, and again. He rightly fucks you with his tongue, and you suddenly snap.

Your whole body quakes with an orgasm that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. He coaxes you through it, tongue sweeping up your clit as you shake and moan and cry his name over and over.

“What a good girl.”

The reaction is wonderful -- but, it begins an even further downward spiral for you into the land of need.

Suddenly, the fever flares in the glow of the come-down. It’s worse. Hot and terrible and the ache between your legs isn’t stopping.

You mumble, bleary and quiet, trying to keep your voice level. “I n-need more.”

He does as he’s told, watching as your chest heaves and you continue to squirm despite the light hold on your wrists. In his mind, he traces the curve of your waist and you jump -- it makes him chuckle. It gives him enough time to let go of your thigh and slip his middle finger over your clit, down your folds, and past your entrance.

Gods, he loves you.

His name spills over your lips so sweetly, Obi has to catch his own breath.

It’s when he crooks a second finger deeply into you that he gets a real reaction -- this one stirring the haze in his mind and making his thoughts spin. You writhe and gasp and buck your hips down onto your hand, all while begging for more.

And who is he to deny you that?

Suddenly, the pressure for your wrists is gone.

You sit right up, hair a mess and lips pulled into a terrifying snarl -- you grab the back of his head as he shifts up the bed, slamming your lips onto his and clawing at his back; the Jedi can’t help the desperate whine that worms out of him.

Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he hears himself promise to get Aayla an apology card.

“Lay down.”

Your voice is low, and Obi’s brows raise slowly -- he looks fucked out of his mind, but it’s just the pheromones and the force making it hard to think. He obeys the demand wordlessly, rubbing at his face as his head lolls back against the pillows --

Then, your hand ghosts along the imprint in his trousers and he sees stars.

If this is what you’d been feeling... Gods, he’s two beats from coming himself. It doesn’t get any easier -- maintaining some semblance of pacing and composure -- when you tug the hem of his trousers down and away.

Obi bites his knuckles so hard it draws blood.

Everything feels so... overwhelming.

It’s only elevated when your hands brush the warm flesh of his cock, eyes hooded with lust weighted lashes. Your bottom lip only brushes the underside of the head and Obi-Wan has to grab something to ground himself.

His arm bows above his head, securing itself to the pillow. You watch his bicep flex with a greedy gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breathe, tongue darting out to slip flat along the very base of his shaft, “I love you -- so much.”

He can’t speak. Not at all. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out -- only a desperate sound of approval muffled against his knuckles when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and giggle. The sound has his hips twitching at the vibration. You notice, and happily slip your mouth farther along his manhood.

Obi-Wan just swallows, inhales sharply, and muffles a needy moan behind both of his palms.

Your nails run down his sides, causing the muscles there to jump -- years of training has given him more of a physique than he lets on, and you find yourself watching him hungrily as you bob up and down his member. It’s sinful and in no way pretty, but Obi’s two beats from death’s doorstep when you pull away and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Gods --”

You crawl up his side, kissing him hotly as he leans to meet you halfway.

“I -- I need to feel you,” your whisper, voice shattering, “Please.”

He sits up, moving quickly to drag your towards the edge of the bed -- you follow, watching as his cock brushes his stomach when he sits up; it’s all you can think about. Right now, the hollow ache between your legs is driving you mad.

Obi watches as you throw your leg over his hip; he can see the glistening of wetness running down your thighs there -- and the fact the room smells like flowers hits him suddenly. The pollen, he realizes. Which is better than it smelling like sex, which in a few hours, it most definitely will.

You hover above him, backlit by the moon and the sight of Coruscant’s night, and kiss him like it’s all you need in this world. Everything is mingling together, painting an overwhelming collection of synapses just trying to rid the pollen from your system. Every touch, every kiss, every breath... all of it is enough to have you needing more.

“Go ahead,” he breathes, watching as you nose his cheek and sigh, melting into his arm, “I’ve got you --”

You sink down on him and...

That’s it.

There’s no better feeling in the world.

Nothing like riding it out.

It’s all him and it’s wonderful and loving and thick and fits the need just perfectly. His fingers dig little half-moons into the skin of your sides as he gasps, mouth falling open as yours does above him. You don’t need time to adjust; you instantly pull yourself upwards and pack down the slick heat of his cock again. The fever washes away with every thrust, your need escalating to sheer bliss by the time Obi-Wan has finally begun to get his bears.

His grapples with you, words stringing together praise and adoration through messy kisses and delighted moans.

“Just like that,” he whispers, snapping his hips up into yours as you scramble to hold onto him, “Gods, you’re so perfect --”

You tighten a hold into his hair and pull, spurring his words to fall off into pleasure and for the sound to be smothered by a bruising kiss. He’s tipping into the territory of carnal, now, hands scaling your back to lift you up and guide you back down with enough force to make you see stars.

“S-shit --” you hiss, throwing your arms around his neck, “Again.”

So he does. Again and again and again and you’re shaking. Your legs are burning, pace stuttering into a disjoined slow -- and it prompts Obi-Wan to take the lead. You nearly shriek when he lifts you off his member fully and tosses you to the bed, forgetting their previous position in favor of one where he can fuck you right into the mattress.

Calloused fingers slip between your legs as you grin, legs spread wide and back to the sheets.

Above you, the Jedi’s smiling. “Let me do the work.”

A shaky nod; he climbs over you, bracing himself up on his elbow beside your head. His cock slips into you easily -- the sound you both make is akin to bliss. Again, the fever begins to receded. Now, his hands are in your hair and your legs are hiked around his hips. You can feel your muscles shaking with each filling of your core.

“I love you,” it’s muttered against your lips, bodies jostling with each impact of pleasure, “I love you so much --”

Your arms are tight around his neck when he bends, lifts your hips, and drives home.

It’s world-ending -- before you can even vocalize it, you’re screaming his name and coming so hard you swear you hear something in your chest snap. You shake, tightening harshly around his cock and working his own sudden orgasm out of him in a blink; suddenly, the whole bed moves an inch with a sudden push and the room rocks on impact.

BOOM.

He’s grasping at you, catching you as you writhe against the sheets and send him spilling a mess everywhere. Inside you, across your thighs, along your stomach. He can’t help but muffle the mantra of your name into the skin of your shoulder as he heaves and shakes and tries to grab your hips for stability with one hand.

There’s a moment, then two.

Then, Obi-Wan collapses next to you on the sheets.

His eyes are wide, chest rising up and down quickly as he swallows and turns to look at you beside him. You’re no better, arms spread out and jaw slack -- there’s a smile on your face, one that blooms into a laugh when you raise your head and stare down at the mess between your legs.

You drop your head back and Obi-Wan exhales slowly.

His voice shakes.

“... I feel better.”

“Yeah,” you muster with a tired laugh, “Me too.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

The next morning is... interesting.

His room is a mess. You both wake to find nothing is where it was before. All the trinkets adorning his shelves have flown across the room and even the bed as moved an entire foot from its usual location.

There’s a crack in the wall where the headboard meets the dura-plaster.

You both wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a land-speeder, full throttle.

Obi-Wan sits straight up and you nearly scream when you see the state of his neck and back. He’s covered in dark purple bites, and running down his back are welts from your scratches. You’re in no better shape -- you face plant into the carpet upon first attempts to stand.

You both stand in the refresher, slack jawed and just as dazed as you’d been when you’d finally won-out the pollen last night, sometimes around two in the morning.

You just know that the girls are going to have a lot to say about this.

Obi-Wan spares you a single mortified look -- and you both burst into laughter.

Gut-wrenching, tear bringing laughter that sends you both out of the refresher and bracing against the objects in his room. He’s smothering a terrible snort when you try to speak.

“I can’t... I can’t believe --”

“Merry Khairyn Sar?”

You shriek, swatting at the Jedi’s arm as he descends into another bought of laughter. You can’t worm the smile off your face. At this point, you don’t want to.

“I need breakfast,” you point, gathering up your gown and robe from the day previous, “Before I can handle the trademarked Kenobi snark.”

“Dex’s?”

“I’d love to see you try and explain those hickey’s on your jugular to him,” you prod at his neck, earning you a delighted kiss on your way to change in the bathroom, “So yes.”

“Oh, trust me,” he waggles his finger, “I’ve got everyone fooled, you know --”

Obi-Wan eats his words when, after cleaning up, dressing, and straightening his quarters, you both step into the hallway only to come face to face with certain an exhausted looking Twi’lek.

Aayla Secura most definitely heard everything.

The apologetic look she offers is enough of a give-away as you cover your mouth and Obi-Wan guides you away before you can even utter an apology.

“Morning, Master Secura!”

Once you’re in the elevator, the laughter begins anew.

Obi-Wan will find a way to make it up to Aayla.

After all, it was a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it was.

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi lemon #obi-wan imagine #star wars imagine #nothing like. a little porn.#nightfall & daybreak

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blushnote · 4 years

Text

rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe.

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy. “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren’t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

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