#is she ever just not porcelain perfection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

capslocked · 8 months

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DIPLOMACY

male reader x kim minju

7k words

For those not paying attention - of which there seems to be an increasing number - it’s not that she doesn’t have the pedigree. But just shy of getting into that storied history or into the nitty-gritty of her curriculum vitae, the only thing that really matters is:

"This all seems a little beneath me."

It’s another day of this. Of you, of her, of trying to gather the mien of someone who isn’t utterly disarmed by Minju’s usual, beautiful, challenging self. Which, let’s be honest, is always an uphill battle.

Minju nearly pouts, flipping through a copy of the dossier idly from the other side of the desk in a gesture that reads both bored and dismissive and every little thing it needs to annoy you.

"Look," you offer up, graciously diplomatic all things considered, "it's about finding the right springboard, to something else more… substantial."

"Or to something else, you know, beneath me." Her red lips turn down ever so slightly. She doesn't seem so interested in playing ball on this one. And, for you, amounts to something of a huge problem.

See, Minju doesn't quite understand how the working world really, actually works. That the carrot that's dangled in front of her is your carrot just as much as it is hers - that you stand to lose out just as badly. That it's both of your asses on the line if things fall apart and Minju's shortsighted insistence to only work those certain roles befitting a name like hers puts that all at risk.

"Maybe you can tell me something,” you start, coming across more curt than you possibly intended - but not by much, “how many of your former cohorts have had their career aspirations line up with reality, Miss Kim?"

“I’m picky, not naive,” she sighs, not missing a beat, and you watch her dark hair cascade gently down her shoulder when she reaches a hand back to unfix her loose ponytail from its hair clip.

“You might see how I can get the two confused.”

“Then spare me the lecture,” says Minju.

Though she says nothing else, an unspoken you already get paid too much for that hangs in the air.

The tricky part is that no matter what else Minju does, her contract has some non-negotiable clauses to them that no talent has before, or will likely get afterwards. Things that cannot be broken. Like the requirement of her making x number of media appearances, and she gets to approve all of them.

Or that her agent's take home comes from a fixed fifteen percent of her gross earnings, with further incentives when her roles hit specific milestones. But with her refusing projects like the ones in the dossier before you, it leaves you in the unenviable position of losing out on your guaranteed fixed income or trying to convince your diva talent to do what it is she ought to be doing.

The truth is that there’s quite a long list of things no one has had the guts to say ‘no’ to yet.

And, well, it's rather simple and obvious when you look at her:

Minju is that particular blend of A-lister gorgeous. The special look that’s all kinds of mesmerizing and magnetizing, in full bloom - that makes you feel like you're suffocating in beauty. Like if she said come here, you would go; the type where a single look is all it takes and then - just like that - she's got your number forever.

Because everything about her is tailored - from her clothes to her perfect porcelain features. And they made her that way for a purpose: to sell records. (Which, that's exactly what they did.) You can hardly blame the people in power over there, wanting what's best, in a position where everyone would kill for a taste, or even just a glimmer of possibility.

"I don't suppose the part of the governor’s neglected wife is capturing your imagination.” You push the dossier closer, and she doesn’t so much as look at it. “It’s this year’s big budget political thriller, a shoo-in for awards.”

“You mean the one who ends up in a lot of very steamy shots on the apartment’s rooftop pool. Maybe I’m mistaken, but you can’t really unshow your tits.”

"This isn't about being above, Miss Kim, it's about being well regarded; it’s about proving you’re easy to work with,” you argue. “We could-"

"Find a better use of my time?" she cuts in, closing the dossier shut. There's a long moment in which she's looking you over, her gaze sizing up every little inch.

"Your big break won't happen just because you ask for it." You grimace a bit, hating to tell it like it is, but not really wanting to just coddle her either. "But listen - we work together, one project at a time - we can build up to it."

Minju crosses her arms with a loud hmph. "And what are you going to do if I decide not to accept these projects?"

There’s enough edge in her voice that it gives you pause.

"If," she says again pointedly, a teasing little grin tugging at her lips.

So - actually, another thing: when you start digging into the details, there’s more problems than just what can be seen at the surface. Which perhaps it’s too reductive, but essentially everything between you and the talent sitting on the other side of your desk is not quite so straightforward. It was never about Minju doing the best she could for either of your careers; it was about Minju making sure her needs were taken care of, no matter what.

Months ago, thanks in part to the way Minju filled out this tiny black excuse of a cocktail dress, and as a compromise of sorts, there’s an uncharacteristic mistake you ended up making. Or two or maybe a couple.

Because there’d been the perfect backdrop - an end of year party, beautiful dresses and suits, lots and lots of champagne, the kind of jovial mood that inspired one drink too many - and then you and her, taking off down one of the hallways, towards the exit.

Of course, you ended up exactly where neither of you should have ever been - where the snow was falling gracefully and melting into the pavement, behind a private accessway at the back of the venue, somewhere dark and dingy and dripping with a smell reminiscent of garbage; somewhere your hands had gripped firm fistfuls of Minju’s waist before you shoved her up against the back of the building.

In short:

You remember how she gasped when her palms hit the brickwork, how you figured you may as well give her everything she wants.

(So what, it was one time, you hear yourself explaining, mildly repentant, and to say that it’s complicated the matter is a massive fucking understatement.)

In the interest of full disclosure, you tell her, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

"That maybe," she hums, tongue flicking out over her lips before she purses them thoughtfully. "You should persuade me a little better."

"And let’s suppose, I don’t do any of that," you persist.

"It'd be a shame, wouldn't it, having such a promising future cut short so early? If word got out. From such a respectable agency too, of all places. Couldn't live with yourself," Minju remarks, leaning forward on her elbows until her eyes are level with your own. “Come to think of it, it’s the kind of thing that could totally, like, end your career.”

But as she sits there, arching that perfect brow again, you don't feel so good about the whole thing. You take another look at her - which, your mistakes start there, if nowhere else - at the girl that is somehow not the airheaded starlet she’s supposed to be. No, she’s calculating. A rarity, though you do know the type: here’s a girl who just happened to take her brains for granted in the years she was pampered by the industry - the same one that fattened on her only to later spit her out. And that thought, the look of cold intellect in her eyes and the slight upward curl at the corner of her mouth, has you frozen just a bit stiff.

She takes a key card from her clutch, and throws it onto the desk in front of you.

“Minju,” you caution, and there’s a taste of danger on each syllable of her name - more of a warning for yourself than you can conceive of it ever being for her.

"I'm only suggesting" - she’s watching you nearly fucking choke, amused - "what's best."

And when the lines get muddied between the two of you, that's exactly the issue. What's best. As though this was always Minju's aim. Maybe you've read it wrong, maybe you've gotten too lost in your own delusions, maybe - maybe, it doesn’t matter -

"For work," she adds, at which point her knee bumps yours playfully beneath the desk, leaving the suggestion open, and the implication unmistakable. "Whatever's required."

Here, you should definitely tell Minju no. Say no. Say: you're a professional, and getting involved with her, romantically, officially, personally - whatever - would lead to nothing but disaster. That’d be the responsible thing probably. It’d be generous to say you end up getting even halfway there:

"There's rules against this, you know."

Minju tips her head. “Why ever would there be rules in place against doing your job?”

She thinks that if she feigns being clueless, you'll bite, which -

“Against me folding you over this desk and fucking you until your forget your name.”

"My apologies," she practically coos, knowing that she’s not only made progress, but that she’s wrapping you around her finger. She is a bright girl after all. “You might see how I can get the two confused.”

At that, you figure, the only real move, to be perfectly blunt, is to play Minju at her own game -

To convince her to bend, just a little. To persuade her. So you lean closer, you start to promise, with your face just next to hers:

"You want me to show you how I might handle an uncooperative talent? Would that do it for you, huh?"

And now if that isn’t enough to earn you a whole look, one that’s equally a challenge and a triumph; you watch as she bites the inside of her cheek, not that she can help the smirk creeping across her pretty mouth, a grin full of want and need and all those dangerous, thrilling thoughts that're probably too predictable given your unique sliver of history you’ve already carved out.

She arches that perfect brow of hers once more, toying with the corner of her lip between her teeth.

You navigate around your desk to hand her your pen, with instructions that are perfectly clear: "then for once in your life, be useful, and sign on the fucking dotted line."

And her whole act falls apart just like that.

She’s humming almost pleasantly to herself as you settle in flush behind her, sinking into you just a little when your hand arrives at her waist, another carding through her hair. “Here,” you point out, watching her name materialize in ink on the document - pressing your lips to the nape of her neck each time she finishes penning out an exaggerated curl of a u.

“And here.”

“And here."

She signs again - and again - and that merits a reward; she’s good when she wants to be. Persuasive when she needs to be.

You can hear her murmur your name when your mouth slips just beneath her jaw, when you mark your next path across the bare skin of her shoulder and when she gets started on the last page of the documents, it happens just like this -

The pen drops from her fingers at some point, tumbling onto the desktop with a clack that might as well be a round leaving the chamber of a starting pistol. The office door isn't even locked and you have half a mind to check on the blinds, but the idea of some desperate executive running face first into this scene - where you’re smoothing your hands down the fabric of Minju’s top, down the rise of her jeans, fiddling slowly with the button at her waist - it holds an unfortunate sort of appeal; those blinds, they're mostly closed anyway. And at this hour of the afternoon, well - maybe it’s a little more clear why Minju asked to reschedule this meeting in the first place.

At first, it’s just a few of your fingers dipping under the waistband of her pants, following the curve of her hip, her thigh, then inward, and when you reach down to find her already burning up in anticipation, she inhales sharp, a noise that makes you groan in turn, low, right into the hollow behind her ear. Minju, to her credit, is absolutely willing, so very helpful and - as you pinch the soft, tender skin at her hip, she's saying something but you haven't quite paid it a moment's mind.

Her head turns, eyes looking up at you ever-so-slightly-more-vulnerable than their usual mischief and calculation, and there’s a hint of a demand dancing on her tongue, ready and waiting; she moves her leg upwards just a few inches, settling to rest her knee on top of the tabletop, a calculated little pose, angling her hips so you can sink your hand lower, closer, press your fingers into the lace over her hot cunt even deeper.

Here you figure you're probably ruining the fabric, drenching it in her own slick as you work two, then three fingertips in tight circles. You’ll ruin it, and you’ll ruin more - ruin everything and take what you're owed. As her breath hitches again, in some way that makes your senses come to life: you can feel her skin become taut and tense, gooseflesh rising when your hand untangles from her hair and slides up under her shirt, can hear the steady rush of blood in your ears, her pulse quickening, the heart in her chest beating rapid -

(She can pretend all she wants that this was an attempt at extortion. She can pretend she’s not an easy read; that she doesn’t like being easy for you, when she’s hot and whimpering and aching so wet, creaming on your fingers when you haven’t even gotten her pants off.)

- as if every part of her wasn't made for this, as you lay out your first real proposal:

“Do you remember what I asked you? The first time, right after you signed on, when you were so good for me up against the bricks in the alley?”

Minju chokes out an affirmative when you toy with her pussy where she’s craving the shape of anything, but, boy, are the rough pads of your fingers more than up to the task.

"I remember you almost couldn't answer, you didn't dare want to admit that it's what you needed - isn't that right?"

She moans with a voice thick as honey when a couple more fingers brush up against her wet lips and fuck, she does look breathtakingly good; she's exquisite, she's irresistible - the image of a living wet dream.

"Say it, baby," you croon, her voice beginning to melt a bit at the edges, her own heat burning her resolve up from the bottom up as you tug sharply at a string on her lace.

Minju sighs. Arches into your touch.

Because you’re settling into this torturous pattern, where you draw inwards, closer, so close to the little bundle of nerves, her cunt flexing and rippling hungrily when your fingers flick once or twice around it, only for her to wince just slightly as your fingers trace down towards her entrance to start all over again -

Minju steels herself, drawing in a heavy breath past her teeth. “You asked how rough you could be.”

There's something so painfully wicked, how her voice falters there - but then your own voice is rasping right back in a similar caliber of depravity.

“Hm. That’s pretty close to how I remember it.” After all, you are always taking care of Minju - her concerns, her contracts, her needs. So if she was interested, why the fuck would you hold back on providing exactly what she wants. “But help me out, what did you tell me?”

Another twist - another catch. Another push - another pull. She's going to break so sweetly if you're patient - and, ahh, patience - she's shuddering underneath your touch, squirming against you so nicely that you've already gotten away with a bit too much, this much, these fingers and you and Minju's breathy gasps.

"M-that you could be. That you could-" she stutters, all as you feel her folds start to swell, then quiver, as your thumb drags painfully over her clit again -

And in that moment Minju starts to consider if this were a good idea or not, but her back is already arching against your chest. She's gripping your arm to get you right where she wants you, and the reality of this hits her - a rush of cold clarity through her head just as everything else threatens to spiral into something else, something frantic, something hot and animal and making the muscles at her core begin to clench up.

But you just ease out of her completely, a whine coming out from the back of Minju's throat - her thighs parting further in desperation.

And oh, the disappointment, the sound, it’s incredible - a high pitch - almost a sob -

You slide your other hand in her hair to make sure she's got an earful of your words:

"What was it you said, hm?" you whisper, nipping at the skin on her neck, the side of her jaw - she's shuddering with it when your mouth lingers so close -

“As rough as you fucking want.”

God, the little things that her voice does to you. “Exactly, sweetheart.”

And how's that boundary supposed to hold up and remain uncrossed then, really, if you just give her whatever the fuck she asks for - especially if you have your mouth working it's way around her pulse-point, toying with her as she starts to tense and soften all at once.

In fact, Minju can only stutter out an okay or two as you grind forward, the hard suggestion of your cock nestling up against her rear, just shy of the perfect spot between her legs, and even with still a few layers of clothes between you, the feeling - fuck, the friction, the sight - it’s enough to get you grinning.

Enough to form this near-half-coherent thought: that it’s what's always had you on edge with this girl. She is absolutely every bit your type. Everything about her, right down to the way that she was put together.

All her hard edges and soft curves that should've never really been yours to covet and now, somehow, have become exactly that. Oh, she's the kind of temptation that's better suited for the life of glitz and glamor and the time it requires for indulging in it. You never thought that you would actually ever get here, even as the years have begun to stack up and time starts to grind everything in the back of your head and turn it all over into something like resentment.

If only Minju weren't so good at making you a sucker for those pouty lips and big doe eyes.

Particularly when she's turned around - face to face now - she's the epitome of gorgeous, equal parts aphrodite and adonis; a fucking knockout, her body sculpted and lithe and athletic. Those lines curving out and away like they might tell time, like her thighs could count the minutes and seconds until she's straddling you in your lap with her ankles locked in at the small of your back and you're rutting up into her without reservation, without doubt.

(So what, really, is your goddamned excuse? Your pride? The nature of the beast in you that demands that you must have some degree of control over yourself? The power that your position, here, now, provides? But you can hardly be blamed, even when it's wrong and filthy and so fucking good.)

"You’re stalling." Minju’s leaning back against the desk, tilting her chin up, blinking lazily, and there’s a bit of bite in her voice again.

It takes a minute for it to dawn on you that it must be intentional, trying to get a further rise out of you, the same way your hands have risen up to trace the dips and elevations of her spine, her every vertebra, your fingertips mapping the hollows and rounds of her back. To learn the geography of her shoulders and where, and when, and how to get her breath catching in her lungs, each labored intake of air a little harsher, hastier, hotter than the last.

"You know," you start, spreading your palm across a soft plane of denim, fingers pulling onto the cheek of her ass, dragging her even tighter against you, "I always figured your reputation was a little overdramatized. Most everyone's bound to have a story or two."

She laughs, full of mirth. When the mood strikes, she's the picture of perfection, and she knows it. "Well? Were you disappointed?"

As she coils an arm around your waist to slide your shirt free from the confines of your pants, and as a deft hand slips its way in, you stop asking yourself about right or wrong, good or bad, or about the kisses that land playfully at the corner of your mouth - until you hold her tight and seize her lips, hard, like you mean it - it isn't long before she's fumbling and scrambling with the zipper at your waist.

"That depends," you’re pulling yourself away long enough to say.

"I think I know the answer."

And by the way she shivers a little when you shove up the bottom of her top, the way she's melting into your mouth and demanding more and more and more, Minju does. You think she probably has since the first night that your threads got all tangled up. Especially when she slides off her top - her bra - her jeans - leaving them in a pile that lasts barely a second where it started once you sweep everything off of your desk in one broad, efficient gesture -

There's a thud when a pair of binders and a couple of books hit the floor. Someone exclaiming in recognition, the muffled noise drifting through the office door, and, oh, this would probably be the best moment to remember how painfully thin the walls are; you consider whether to walk over and lock the office door, and when Minju’s fingers run up your sides, you decide you won’t.

Too little too late, you figure.

And before you can take a second to give it the more congruent thought it deserves, Minju opens her mouth: "which, in your professional opinion," a hum and a slur as her nails find their way to your collar, "is well, that the thing I should take," she gets out, unbuttoning you at the cuffs, loosening the last of your shirt, "really," her hands palming over the fabric on either side of the lapels, working their way downwards, "how - how do you think this goes?"

“Oh, Minju.” She’s all but begging you to fuck her and still has the wherewithal to be asking for terms.

Like her fingers aren’t completely down your pants, locking around your hard cock - pumping you with soft, lazy strokes - not too different from how you have her chewing on her lip every time your fingers circle over the entrance to her cunt, tenting the last of her lace all slow and careful.

It’s driving her crazy. She just bites into the edge of her thumb in response.

"Fine. Alright. Let me explain it clearly." You dip a finger into her cunt; the whimper is short-lived when she tightens around you and it hits home, the pressure so delicious that she can barely stutter to keep up.

“A negotiation, of sorts-”

“Yeah, sure, we can call it that.”

The mental picture you have of your length outlined against Minju's tiny fist - as she works it into her hand, steady - it's all almost more than you can possibly bear: the way her long legs stretch out so pretty in front of you, the way her wrist twists with each pass and every bump at the veins of her forearm that is such a damn perfect shade of porcelain white in the dim glow of the desk lamp.

This girl with her pert pink mouth and those lips, the ones that aren't quite touching yours but rather smirking the whole time. (If only you were to make her scream loud enough, because you know she could be so much prettier.)

The thought flits through your brain, unbidden and treacherous -

"Think, fuck - think of this, as a one-way track into your career. Think of me, a guiding hand - if you want to. The key to all this," you continue, spacing the words carefully so you don't falter under the pace Minju is picking up, "is that you're going to need to be compliant. Easy."

"Mm. And in exchange?" she bites, choking down an embarrassing moan.

"Here's the basics." And there, there's no fucking reason for you not to dip the tips of your fingers right on downwards, tap into her soft heat until her hips are arching away from the flat of the desk, searching for more. “Whenever you need me to take care of you, I’m there, however you need it: on my fingers, my tongue, my cock - I’ll make you fucking cum over and over.”

"That sounds," she gasps, losing track of the end of her sentence, rolling herself along the pads of your fingers, taking them deeper into her, "very-very-oh fuck-”

Her grip around your cock releases, arms throwing themselves around your shoulders, holding on tight as she starts to trust you implicitly - to give her exactly what she wants, what she needs - and give herself over to you, to your fingers, circling and circling and circling.

“See, tomorrow,” you start, “there’s an audition,” and when you pull your finger out of her cunt, Minju lets out this sound that’s between a whimper and a whine. Her pretty mouth has dropped open, like she's all out of words, lost somewhere, chasing this. Getting dire.

“It’s this teen soap; they need someone young, someone pretty, do you think you can do that for me?”

She doesn’t answer so much as grab and tug and pull you even closer as the heel of your hand pushes and presses over her clit, just about enough force behind it that, eventually, you begin to feel a certain rigidity through her limbs, how the lines of her face and her faultless features grow more and more focused, fixed and concentrated; her voice reduced to the high-pitched huffs and half-formed syllables of pure and utter desperation.

I can, I can - she’s murmuring - please, yes, I will - putting herself right into your capable hands.

When you feel Minju tightening, flexing around nothing, then seizing and shivering, her pussy throbbing hot and wet and clenching around your finger as it again works deeper inside her, an anguished groan finds its way out from her throat.

And from yours, well -

"Show up," you command, giving her another knuckle, curling it just right - watching as her expression contorts and twists up for all her worth. "Make a good impression. Don't make me fucking beg. Show up, Unreserved. Understood?"

And if her body wasn't making her pleas utterly transparent, she's screaming in agreement. It takes you barely a couple seconds, working up inside her cunt until she's all full-body, fully, blissfully spent. She starts to nod, needy, eyes screwing shut.

“And let’s say, something else pops up. A little racy, a little more gravure, just the right amount scandalous, I need you to keep an open mind.”

When it sinks in what you've said, Minju gives this wail, low and perfect - her cunt throbbing over the pulse at your palm - inches away from cumming and shaking and creaming on your hand. You could ask for anything, you think, and she’d give it to you -

“My PR team,” she gasps out, the consonants of her words fraying at the seams, “it’s up to my PR team.”

“Minju,” you say, priming a loaded question and a half. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, expression readable and open like a book. It starts to set in just about then, how you’re going to fucking ruin this girl.

Your breath runs hot, right against her temple, and you whisper the slightest affirmation, “good girl, I’ll take care of it.”

Because to be fair, you’ve not made it this long in your career without learning how to pull a string - how you might pull up on the sensitive skin straddling Minju’s clit and get her reeling; her pussy flutters in the tight, wet heat, muscles clamping, demanding as you work yourself in deeper and then, when the timing's right, pull out to slide a second finger past the slip of lace she has covering her cunt.

She's this tight, dripping, overwhelming fit - even more than you have yet to discover, to tease and then take, the heel of your wrist landing on her clit in a heavy pattern, circles - circles - circles -

- so you figure: fuck the PR team.

If only they knew how well and thorough you were going to fuck the rules right out of Minju.

That you were going to remind her who's the one in the driver’s seat of her life, of her career, that you would make sure she stays in her lane - the proper lane - that this, you think to yourself, might become a recurring sort of negotiation, the kind she's so shockingly eager to accept.

You'd be doing her a favor, fucking a couple good lines into her head, into her skin, into her cunt.

And soon, before long -

She's gritting her teeth around the shape of your name and giving one last heave against the hard wood of the desk underneath her. It's almost beautiful to watch how Minju crumbles into herself; the way she grinds back onto the digits in her cunt. How you’re dragging her underwear down her thigh, pulling your cock into your fist and twisting her leg around your waist until finally, you press yourself right up against the heat radiating from her cunt.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Minju, don’t worry, I’ll fuck this pussy of yours just right. I'm going to make you shake and cum all over me.”

“Please.” Fuck, she looks at you sincerely - no games, no bullshit - pupils so very blown out with want, with need. You watch her adorable mouth uptick into this faint lazy smile as she tilts her head into your collarbone, lips parting slightly to remind you: “as rough as you fucking want-”

And you sink right in.

It’s all skin-on-skin as Minju practically collapses in your arms; pushing deep past her soaking entrance - your hips slotting together just so, cock engulfed by her tight heat. Minju fucking wails when you drag back from her cunt, slow - so, so agonizingly slow.

You let her recover just a bit, watching her breathing quicken and shallow.

And the word on her lips becomes something reverent, the most indecent prayer, pleading please, please, please let me have it, please fuck me with your cock-

You brace yourself, thrusting back in, and she doesn't wince this time, holding fast to you like you aren’t the one fucking her open and taking her apart.

“God, I - look, this perfect little fucking cunt, look at how you’re stretching around me, Minju,” you’re telling her - promising her really - all of which doesn't count for shit when, once, and then again, and a couple more times after that, your hips meet hers and she starts to break just so slightly around you. “I can’t believe - it’s like you were fucking made for my cock, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well.”

"Now, show me why - why the fuck everyone wants you - wants you to be their-" she's trying, in a fashion all to her credit and her fault. She should probably care more about that raw, unhinged noise you’re making right into the crook of her neck when you bury yourself deeper into her pussy. But in the next moment, with another wild crash of your hips, the tables start to turn.

Slowly at first, and then all at once.

Because the sound you’re ripping from her chest when you start fucking her - truly fucking her - becomes far, far filthier than anything you've ever heard a girl like her make. All of it coaxed out from you working the edge of her pussy open, stretching her, hitting each and every sensitive spot inside her.

Minju tips her head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling and fluorescent lights, brow creasing in the middle, mouth gaping open. You find you might have missed something, when she moves to hold you down, hold you in place with an insistent leg, the back of her heel digging into your ass. As though there were somewhere you might possibly want to go.

It all comes down to something she's murmuring, quietly, harboring this smug lilt like you aren’t fucking her raw and senseless: how maybe the key to unlocking the rest of her potential isn’t all that dissimilar, not as off-brand as you may have been initially worried about. And the notion that both of you might actually be profiting off of this - how it shouldn’t sound as incredible as it does - is doing absolutely fucking nothing to slow the brutal pace you fall into.

"Fuck, just like that," and she's smiling, grinning really, nails biting into your nape - your name and curses and a fuck you or two falling out of her mouth as you pound each short breath right out of her chest.

"The only talent I'm gonna need to show," she manages, dizzy, and with one arm hooking around your waist, she pulls the two of you close, right up against each other. The sound your skin makes, clapping against hers - her cunt tight, pulsing, quivering around you - "is my, my, my-"

Your thumb should have never left her clit, you realize, pressing down on where your cock is disappearing between her legs, pushing up against that bundle of nerves that can get her screaming. That’s how you’ll punctuate your end of the bargain, how you’ll make her cum and cum and cum -

"-talent for being such a-"

There's something ungovernable in you, something fumbling, as you find yourself drawn to her lips like a magnet - claiming them in a kiss that has you both growling with all the intensity you can muster, groaning as her jaw goes slack, surrendering to the fucking. To this hard, solid snap of your hips, a raw fuck forward that pushes Minju against the edge of the tabletop.

It doesn’t matter what she had wanted to say, though it must be evident how easy she can wind you up, and you do your best not to be too gentle. Pushing into her so rough that her breasts, oh-so-delicate, bounce up and down along her chest, nipples tight and rosy, begging to be tasted and played with.

You’re pressing your mouth on hers hard, fucking her harder - fingers digging into the flesh around her thighs and leaving marks and memories, all these reminders you’ll be sure to come back to.

But the fact is that this is your girl in so many ways: needy and a dream in all her curves, and how her waist rocks back, her body fitting so perfectly against yours - you're hooked on all of it. On her - she is temptation made real, in blood and bone and soft, supple skin, so exquisitely touchable, just like the sound that she makes, high and tittering when your thumb starts to work her clit over; each swirl and figure eight sending a jolt through her nerves and straight back into your own spine. It's difficult - hard to focus, you find - when all her exposed skin has these drops of sweat standing in saltwater relief, how it rolls down the plane of her chest and disappears where her waist flares wide.

Minju turns her cheek, mouthing falling open, and asks with a certain helpless pleading, “yes, can you-”

she sighs,

“right there,”

she hiccups,

“please, again,”

she begs,

“again, harder, i’m so close-”

Not before long, the desk is scraping loudly across the carpet, moving right into the next office over, all from where you have your hand trapping her voice back in her throat, palm over where she’s practically sobbing for you to let her cum.

From where you’ve got her locked in tight, lifting her up into your arms, into some perverse, unspoken promise to carry her the rest of the way. To do with her whatever you want.

"I'm going to show you," you're gritting out, "exactly how a professional handles their star, the girl at the center of it all, their top draw - and it's so easy, isn't it? This is - fuck, sweetheart - you're nothing more than a - just a desperate little cockslut who's aching to cum, and it's good - oh so, fucking-"

When that next shiver courses down the length of her perfect form, it's entirely because of you, when her legs are still locked and clamped over you like this, as she sputters and babbles, totally cock-addled and barely managing a coherent thought. “Please, sir, please, fuck-”

And then a keening, sounding low, lost.

“Sir. Please, sir, please just - I just wanna-" Her lips are shaping all these words that never quite materialize - because her cunt is slick, the whole of it hotter and softer than anything else in this goddamn room. Maybe anything else in this whole building. Or in the entire world. It makes her whimper and ache, her voice rising and rising, belting out, need it, need it, please let me cum -

Which -

Minju, oh god, Minju cums, and you are fucked sideways to hell and beyond when her whole body convulses, shakes, every single part of her contracting, contracting - all at once - the way her hands claw desperately onto the blades of your shoulders as the room gets taken up with the scent of her; the sounds she's making are fucked and filthy. She starts to become undone as you double your pace, aiming true - thrusting, pounding, nailing Minju right into the finish.

“Minju, sweetheart, I’m going to cum in you,” you tell her, and it’s not even a question, or a concern. You’re dictating, not negotiating when you say it to her again, when you tell her you’re going to fill her perfect pussy so full with your cum, she'll be hung up on it for weeks.

One long, stretched out moan is all it could ever take; a split second, where everything runs blindingly hot, and you bury yourself as deep into her pussy as you possibly can.

Cumming so much, spilling out deep inside - this heavy flood of cum that pools warmly at the back of her cunt and fills every corner of Minju - she whines and sobs and tells you it's too much, please, all this hot and thick white cum pumping right into her -

As you throb into her, she's having a hard time saying anything beyond your name, actually, because if anyone can, if anyone would, if Minju can trust anyone and anything in this world more, it would be you.

Her chest shudders and shudders, and she kisses you in a vain effort to quiet her own body, to quiet yours. She has all this faith she's pouring right down your throat as you rock the last of your orgasm into her twitching heat, spilling and spilling and spilling, not caring about the wetness leaking onto the carpet. Not bothering to mask the obscene slickness, how everything gets completely fucking sopping between the two of you.

When she's practically drooling over you, eyelids growing heavy and fluttering, Minju sags heavily into the bend of your arms. In that shallow heaving and gasping for air that bathes the both of you - blissed the hell out, a lazy tangle of limbs - and without warning she turns to speak into your neck, her breath cooling, like a whisper of a dream:

“Okay, and already… I guess this isn’t entirely-”

“Completely terrible,” you offer after you swallow the dryness in your mouth.

Minju smiles into your shoulder. “And sir, in the spirit of honesty and transparency, I think I - I think I really did want - this - you - the entire thing…”

You stop her there, right in the middle of that particular train wreck. A drop in your voice, and the message is clear, when your mouth works its way to hers.

(No more of her talking like that.

Besides, she looks even better on your lips like this, and fuck, doesn’t Minju taste like you will have to remember, like a little bit like desperation, but only in the way that it has you both completely hopeless, hanging on to every whimper as your cock slides lazily about her well-fucked pussy, a bit deeper, a bit further.)

Like there is something far beyond professionalism guiding the hand with which you hold her hip and let her ass spill through the gaps of your fingers.

It’s all mixed up, how in this exact moment you figure this is a terrible, terrible idea, the worst kind of agreement, this pact - because no one could look at you, could look at either of you and have any doubts in mind now. But you can see it, how you’ll both wear this little agreement like the most beautiful stain in your histories. Even though it might, conceivably, cost one or both of you dearly at some point in time.

And yet, still.

"Will you - can I - can you..."

She's clinging onto you with all her remaining energy, like she wants to see it through.

But her eyes - the poor thing - her expression is melting into this haze, her face contorted in something like pain and something else entirely: a different kind of satisfied glimmer. It's almost unreadable how that sharp mouth softens at the edges as her cunt gives this small flutter over the head of your cock, as you pump her so full, threatening to overflow.

And in your ear, you catch this little whisper. It says, “please, let me show you,” she's practically purring, “let me, let me - I'm gonna clean you up now, lick my cum right off you.”

It's true. Minju can act and perform and pose and make faces, for a shit ton of people - but she’ll play-act any facade you might ask her to, and she'll do it for you - because, this time around, all you ask her is this:

To be yours.

To be a good girl for you, an obedient little thing, in your private audience, away from the cameras and the lights, away from everyone.

When her knees hit the carpet, she is perfectly between your legs, palms on your hips and fingers splaying out against you.

And when she tries her damnedest like this, no one should bother ever pretending to think differently - least of all, you - and certainly, not while your cock is hardening again in the wet heat of her mouth, under the curl of her tongue, the gentle touches of her fingers -

How can anyone ever bring themselves to tell her that she isn't completely, indisputably the greatest.

(The very, fucking best.

And in every other way: the woman of your dreams. A woman, you realize, you ought to endeavor to keep, in all manners, and forever.

Minju, who could probably do anything, and you, who just might be able to give it to her.)

#minju smut #izone smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #male reader smut #izone minju smut

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heartfullofleeches · 6 days

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Pin [Yandere Doll] and feminine male Darling who dresses up the doll as a stand in for himself.

"What a beautiful dress. I'm sure your girlfriend will love it..."

"I.....I'm sure she will."

"Pin? I brought another dress for you."

Light dimly reflects in the doll's eyes as you remove the lid from the box, rising to your feet as you raise the dress from its container by its straps - fabric draped over your feet as you presented it too them. Pin's legs were longer than yours, but if you wanted to try it on yourself, a few safety pins would probably suffice to trim the dresses skirt without altering it for good.

.....

"I hope you like it... I know you don't really have a choice what I put on you, but hopefully you find the outfits as pretty as I do.... They're almost as pretty as you are.... I.. wish I could be you..."

Pin hates this. They are not pretty. Something pretty wouldn't let you cry yourself to sleep. Something pretty wouldn't let you deny yourself what makes you truly happy.

Something pretty would tell you how you are the most gorgeous soul they've ever come across in this reality.

But they can't. They're scared. Scared that you won't love them anymore once you see what lies behind their porcelain skin. The cluster of eyes behind the two you described as perfection the first time you glanced into their faux irises. As you marveled as theirs that day, Pin found themselves lost in yours....

Had they had the freedom - the doll would give you little everything your heart desired.

But, for now - it cherishes what it has with you.... Happy, yet so so ashamed to be one of few things that brings you true joy anymore.

"Hey, Pin.... Would it be alright with you if I tried on one of your dresses?... Just for a couple seconds?"

The doll's head tilts forward ever so minesculely on its neck - almost as if they were nodding.

#Pin my oc #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere doll #yandere drabble #yandere god #yandere monster

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inf3ct3dd · 7 months

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ellie headcanons pt.2! :))

warnings: mentions of weed/alc , injuries/blood, VERY mild sexual content (boobs and ass 😕)

content: loser!ellie x reader :3

authors note: im back w another BANGER🔥🔥🔥 since ppl loved the last one IM BACK W MORE 😈

pt. 1 ! taglist.! masterlist!!

- CANNOT handle spicy food. my porcelain princess has the spice tolerance of a victorian child she is coughing and crying at the slightest spice 😞😞

- speaking of food…my girl is a CHEF!!! she hates leaving the house and she’s too broke to buy food so she’s just in the kitchen whippin ts!!!! she even has a goofy chef hat that she wears when she cooks. (this is so ellie coded i dont know why)

- loves commentary youtubers . kurtis,danny,nickisnotgreen,jarvis, and chadchad 🔥🔥

- knows so much niche internet drama…she tries to talk abt it and ur like???? literally what are you talking about….which gives her the perfect opportunity to ramble

- so many random injuries CONSTANTLY. she’s constantly covered in cuts and bruises and has no idea where they come from (mostly her awful skateboarding)

- “this ones for you” before she devastatingly fails to do a trick on her skateboard and falls on her face, and her entire lower face is covered in nose-blood

- whenever she gets hurt, she always asks you to “kiss it better” 😞😞 so cute im dying!!!

- follows you around like a puppy all day. goes with you on all your errands, sits by you while you do work. she is ALWAYS THERE

- if u think shes bad when shes sober, she’s literally the clingiest drunk in the world!!!! she will literally be constantly attached to you. even when you go to the bathroom, she’ll literally hold ur hand through the door while u piss cuz u wouldn’t let her in 😞

- she’s even worse when she’s high, cuz shes so BOLD. will literally just randomly motorboat ur tits while ur talking with zero explanation.

- loves sitting on the floor???? literally will just be down there. sometimes when you’re on the couch she’ll sit by your feet and cling onto one of your legs

- NEEDY!!!! oh my godddd so needy. every time ur doing something not involving her she’s trying to get your attention. most of the time shes doing really stupid shit in front of you for no reason. “babe look” is her favorite thing to say

- literally had a huge bruise on her leg cuz she tried to do a cartwheel inside and banged her leg on the kitchen counter

- whenever you lay on your stomach, she loves laying her head on your ass

“it’s my favorite pillow!!”

- sometimes she just randomly squeezes ur boobs when she walks past you. always with some random sound affect too. she’ll just walk by you while you’re cooking and just honk ‘em 😕

- sleeps DIRECTLY ON TOP OF YOU. like literally lays on you like a starfish all night

-sleeptalker!!! its always the most non-coherent things ever, and it’ll last for like 30 minutes.

“no papa john i don’t wanna hit a nae nae 😞”

- cannot be trusted on the road. she is actually a hazard to public safety

- this is such an unpopular opinion but she is DEFINITELY a passenger princess. she likes staring at you too much she can’t drive she’ll crash!!!!

- does NOT exercise. but she’s like. randomly strong. she’ll carry all your groceries in one trip and push ALL your luggage when you go on vacation

- literally turns into a child when you take her to the beach. building sand castles, swimming in the water, and finding rocks and shells and bringing them to you like a dog

- definitely wears those stupid snorkel goggles when she goes swimming cuz she likes doing flips underwater and hates water in her nose

- LOVES CAMPING!!! that girl can be OUTDOORS.

- has binders full of pokemon cards. she goes to this card shop by her house that has pokemon saturdays and plays matches for like…the whole day. she can and WILL trash talk a 7 year old little boy after beating him

- follows so many niche meme pages

- orange chicken enthusiast.

- this is literally canon in the show but she HATES COFFEE. she is a chai latte woman. with oatmilk cuz like…duh….lesbian

- absolutely goated at just dance for NO REASON

- really good at making string friendship bracelets

#loser!ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #tlou x reader #tlou fic #lesbian

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neoplatinum · 22 days

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i choose you - part 3 | minatozaki sana

summary: a darkness in sana's past comes back into light

pairing: heiress!sana x reader

themes: blood, murder, gore, knives, arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex, misamo!

wc: 5.9k

(series masterlist)

you stare at her as she stares at you back. the eyes of a woman who's held her domain for decades, bursting in power through the new age of technology. her eyes are still as sharp as ever, despite her age. it's how she's kept her power for so long.

long brushes of the tea cup lid against the cup, nursing a cup of sencha.

"tell me, how devoted are you to the mintaozaki clan." she continues to swirl the tea in the porcelain cup. her eyes never leaving yours.

you stare at her, but also to take a glance at the elders of the minatozaki clan all staring at you. strong eyes and the crest pinned to their delicate fabrics.

momo and mina are sat on the second row of chairs lining the edges of the room. various council advisors and distant family members sat in the back corners as well.

"i would lay my life on the line for the minatozakis." she stops her swirling. the gentle drop of the lid back onto the cup as she sets it down next to her.

with the flick of her wrist, a man shuffles towards, head bowed as he hands her a folder. the sound of papers being flipped through while you keep your eyes trained on the floor.

all around are eyes peering in, a dare. they stare, daring you to make any sign of weakness, you keep your eyes unwavering as you wait. it's so quiet that an outsider would expect no one in this room. you can even hear the faint sound of wind outside.

"let me rephrase. would you survive for the minatozaki clan." she places the paper down. eyes instantly back on you.

"until my last dying breath. i would utter it for the minatozaki name." you say, staring at her with intensity of a thousand flames. you think of sana, of haruto and hanako. the person you have become since being part of the family.

the matriach leans back into her chair. and you stare, for any sign of emotion. the way her eyes remain neutral and unchanging, hands comfortably laying on her lap. her feet tucked together and that large pendant on her neck.

"understood." another flick of the wrist. a different man walks forward, head bowed just like the last.

his head low as he presents a tanto with both hands. the six inch double edged blade. a long dagger, sheathed in dark brown wooden scabbard.

lined with the proud name of the minatozaki clan in hiragana, etched into the layered metal. she holds it within her palms, unsheathing it and holding it out.

"do you know of the etching tradition?" she says as she feels for the blade, the tip piercing enough of her skin to let out a drip of blood. she wraps it into a cloth as she goes back to staring at you.

"no, i do not." you've never even heard of the tradition to begin with. eyeing sana from the corner of your eye but she keeps her eyes focused on her mother.

"present." and then the cacophony of hands folding up their arm sleeves, and the turning of their forearm towards the matriarch, you can barely see it, but it's there. the scarred skin in the symbol of the minatozaki crest, just in the center of everyone's right forearm.

a glance to your right, and you notice it on sana's forearm, it's always been there. even in the curiosity you never asked, always wondering how she had a perfect scarring of her family name. the way it stretches across her arm, like a branding.

like an imprint of being in a cult, you look back at the matriarch.

upon her forearm, the same name is etched deeply, a long stretch of scars lining around it, never touching the name directly. the room all around you, are filled with minatozakis, each and everyone one of them.

"the minatozaki name will be etched into your skin. do not show weakness." the matriarch calls you forth, you rise to your feet, making quick steps to her. kneeling before her as you present your arm, to which she gently rubs over.

the tanto digs into your arm, and you grind your teeth willing the pain away as the tip of the blade drags along the skin. clean and sharp lines that are moving like brush strokes on a painting.

you grip onto your pants for a distraction to shift the pain. the burning and sweating sensation making you tremble a little. you will it away when you feel the blade lift up suddenly.

"breathe." you can hear sana's voice behind you, calming the pain brewing all over your body.

letting out a held breath that's been burning your lungs. a reminder that this pain is temporary, the breathing chills the burning sensation in your head.

the final mark is laid upon your skin, and you can feel yourself feeling faint, holding onto the floor to keep your body upright. you feel the blade lift off your skin, the sound of the blade being cleaned, while you stare at the pool of blood on the marbled floor, dripping and seeping underneath your shoe.

"rise." she speaks. you stand up, letting the blood continue to run down your arm.

the ringing in your ears gets louder and louder. she speaks of tradition, the value of the name across your arm. all eyes continue to stare you down, eyes like steel.

"this blade, has etched every minatozaki in this room, and those that have been laid to rest. this blade, will continue to etch into the minatozaki clan for future generations." you stare at the blade now in your hand, only seconds ago tearing your skin apart and being branded as the family's new pawn.

"to a new generation." she says as she hands it over, the drippings of your blood still across the double beveled edge. you stare at the blade, the weight of it, the memories of each person etched. it's heavier than you expected.

generations of minatozaki's all carved into submission. you begin to feel it, stirring low in your subconscious, you need more.

every night in the dark study, you stare at the name. forever in your skin, and upon your body. a sign that you are now a minatozaki, even years spent becoming a figurehead didn't sear the idea until now.

the scarring has scabbed over and begun to heal, into that perfect shape of the name.

sana's been telling you stories about her late father, the patriarch of the minatozaki clan before he was assassinated by the abe clan. the abe's who wanted his land, his ability to rule over japan.

stories of his strict rulings, his inability to feel remorse, his lack of fear. his dictatorship under his ship, even more fierce than his father.

the golden age of the minatozaki clan.

you often visit the matriarch, learning family secrets that wouldn't be uttered under broad daylight. understanding the inner workings of a regime that's lasted centuries.

more so, you've been trained by the matriarch to take over the next generation for the minatozaki's. receiving training in the philanthropy for public image, but also training on how to take out an enemy without letting a single drop of blood fall.

you can see how the minatozaki's have gotten so far, extremely cautious and calculating, much like other conglomerate group families. as much as you didn't want to be pulled in, here you are. fighting both momo and mina in hand-to-hand combat.

a swift kick of the leg, and you topple over. the pain of the right hook that momo landed earlier still leaving a stinging in your cheek. you turn over, breathing in and out.

"you're still too slow." momo comments, sitting down with mina doing the same.

you continue to stare at the bright light overhead, the feeling of your heart beating thumping in your ears, the sweat dripping down your body.

"i know."

mina gets up, grabbing water bottles and passing one to you. you sit up, drinking it as the two woman stare at you.

"why do you do this?" momo starts, a curious question that's been plaguing her mind lately.

the minatozaki's never asked you to be trained to be the next head of family, but you took it upon yourself to do so. grueling physical training, while learning the arts of the past generations.

mina continues to sip at her water, eyes watching you.

"duty. for sana, for haruto, for hanako." you explain, as much as you didn't want to become a pawn for their family, you care so deeply for the family that you now have, one that you would tear apart the world for.

mina nods, but momo rolls her eyes, "how noble." and with another sip, she gets up again. you begin sparring once more.

rolling your shoulders when you walk into your office, grabbing some soothing oil to rub onto the bruise on your ribs and the smaller bruises along your shoulders.

you stare at the tanto that now lays in a secret compartment under your desk. the etching tradition still leaves you in a heavy daze these days, how much you have changed all for sana's family.

when the devil herself walks in.

"you need to fire that assistant of yours." sana walks in, handbag hanging off her arm. glasses perched on her nose bridge, the exhaustion rolling off her words. she seems aggravated.

"why?" you cock your head to the side.

"she just told me you have a meeting in five, which i mean sure thank you for the information but i seriously don't care." you laugh out, as she crosses her arm. sitting comfortably in the armchair in front of you.

it seems today is one of those days.

"she's just doing her job." you explain. you liked shoko, she did her job well, often reworking your schedule when you needed her to. and she rarely complained about it, you even gave her a raise recently.

"yeah and i'm doing mine." sana gets up, leaving her bag on the floor and crosses over to you, dropping herself onto your lap.

she takes the glasses off your face. letting it slide across the table. you're about to get up to pick it up, when sana pushes more of her weight onto you. keeping you in your seat.

"last time you just waltzed into one of my 1 on 1 client meetings and sat on my lap the whole time." you point at her, showcasing the same exact behavior.

"yeah, like i said, i'm doing my job." sana says, taking off her sunglasses.

"sana...." you say dejectedly.

"i didn't hear you complaining when you bent me over this table and ate me out the rest of the afternoon." and with that she smashes her lips against yours.

you completely forget what you were complaining about earlier.

"what's your favorite color?" sana's voice is quietly coming through the microphone, she called you multiple times, and texting you urgently nearly ten times.

you silenced it, only to get a note from your assistant to pick up her calls.

"hmm, green." you say, watching as the shareholders stare you down, waiting for your approval.

without another second, the sound of the call ending comes through, you glance at your phone screen, seeing the call disappear, and a little confused.

"sorry, please continue." you point at the junior executive, he's been trying to get through this presentation without peeing his pants, and really you would like to get through it enough for him to finally calm down.

fifteen minutes later you get multiple pings on your phone.

"so like i said, we expect the project with akira industries to go well-" the junior executive's voice completely drowns out into white noise when you see what's displayed on your screen.

sana baby: attachment: 3 images

sana baby: you like?

your phone screen is filled with green, all three photos illuminating your face in a green hue.

green lingerie set, green bows tied around her hair, and your dress shirt draped over one. good god, she looks like a vixen.

photos of her laying across the bed, aimed at the mirror, long legs that stretch across the comforter. gorgeous lithe body framed by that light green corset. pouty lips in a selfie, aimed down at her cleavage.

you nearly curse out loud, instead letting a cough come through at the last second to cover it up.

another message comes through. you lift your phone back up to your face.

sana baby: you come home in thirty and you can take it off with your hands, any later and you do it with your teeth.

you're trying to pick out your work outfit for tomorrow, eyes glancing at all the dress shirts that you had hung up in the walk-in closet. you can hear sana faintly humming through the other side of the closet.

"sana..." you pick out one shirt, noticing the pink-ish red color across the collar.

"yes darling?" she says in a light-hearted tone, you see her walk over with her eyes a little playful. her eyes landing on the dress shirt that you have in your hand.

you hold it up to her face.

"why are my dress shirts littered with lipstick marks?" she takes the dress shirt out of your hand, eyeing it with happiness.

"they need to know who you belong to." she says and hands it back to you.

you shake your head at it. putting it back onto the rack.

only to notice another shirt, and another shirt, and another shirt.

"i mean, literally every single shirt is covered in them." you point at the whole rack, now noticing the pink/red littered across the collars. all of them have it. you turn to look at her, eyes wide as she just smiles at her handiwork.

she gives you a peck and just leaves. turning her head to look at you over the shoulder and give one last remark.

"you better not wash them off or you're sleeping on the couch."

"the abe clan cordially invites you to the 2027 annual ball." you stare at the invitation in your hand, red cardstock, beautiful crest in the dead center.

with sana's quiet humming, you barely register that you've arrived at the abe clan's main estate. dark and light reds adorning the walls, intricate wooden carvings of dragons. the dark red crest and lapels on each security guard.

the sedan rolls forwards, until you're stopped by two guards. handing the invitation card to the chauffeur, and letting the guards scan the car.

you watch sana, her eyes floating around, admiring the long trees that line around the garden's pond.

and then the car continues to roll forwards, and all around you are different black marked cars. each with their own crest, women and men donning different formal wear. kimonos, tuxedos, hanboks, qipaos, ao dais, all around.

the door opens, and you step out, rounding the corner to take sana's arms into yours.

"one rule with the abe's, do not ever drink first in front of an abe." she whispers quietly as you both enter down a deep tunnel, much like the minatozaki house.

large stone slabs lined underneath, but you can see it above, the lining of birds across a wired line. much like a telephone line. their dark beady eyes staring down, with jet black feathers that make their body look like voids.

they all move their heads in turn with the walking guests. "trained birds, trained to kill." she comments and continues to pull you forward.

then you enter a big hall, filled with different dignitaries, generals, top executives, council members, even a few celebrity faces.

sana smiles at the sight of the turning heads, everyone's excited to see another conglomerate family at these events. "just smile and nod." she whispers again through a smile.

you do the same, watching the eyes all peer back at you. they don't have the stillness of the minatozakis, there's bloodlust, there's evil, there's an ominous undertone behind those spheres. a predator lying dormant in each and everyone one of them.

with the sound of the doors opening, you hear the awws of the guests, all piling into the abe main hall. much like the grandeur of the minatozaki clan, it's lined with artifacts of war.

great katanas and bows hung along the walls. dark and deep red colored accents, a giant abe crest upon the center. there's beautiful music playing in the background as you scan the room. sana tugs you along.

"how much do you know about the abe's?" sana stares at you as she hands you a small knife. you tuck it into the breast pocket.

"a little." you offer, brushing her hair out of her face, and she gleams at that, giving a little kiss before returning back to her stoic face.

"kaito and kenji, two sons of the abe clan. kaito's set to become the head of the family. there's rumors that kenji might kill him for the seat." she explains, adjusting the knife in her thigh holster.

you nod, her mother has educated you on all the conglomerate groups, especially the abe and watanabe clan. both have been vying for the possible absorption of the minatozaki clan.

you adjust the knife holster for her, as you check your surroundings, just as you expected. nearly the same power in their private military, donning red fabric. you both take off to the other side of the room, eyes darting from face to face trying to remember significant figures, but who are you kidding, they're all people in power.

browsing through plates of delicacies, waiters and waitresses circling with plates of drinks. each more colorful than the last, it seems the abe have distinct taste.

you're leaning to your left when you're suddenly pulled into a conversation, the woman making large and loud gestures at you. most of which you nod and let the words flow through your ears. you never thought you would see her again.

sana's staring, taking turns staring at her and staring at you. her hold on your arm tighter than ever, feeling the blood thump in your arm. she continues to drone on until finally she gets swept into another conversation with someone else.

sana unhooks her arm from you.

"who is that?" sana stares at you, arms folded and that tick in her jaw. you can't help but keep eyeing the long black dress that she has on, with a deep thigh slit along the left side.

you try your best to keep the impure thoughts to yourself, instead offering a kiss to sana's forehead when you stand in front of her.

"hmm, old friend from law school."

sana had been eyeing the woman even as she moved across the room. even more upset when she slid up next to you. talking your head off about something that must have been boring because she could recognize the attention leaving your body.

but she can't help but notice how forward the woman was, unnecessarily putting her hands on you. unnecessarily laughing at whatever you are saying, just a bit too hard. unnecessarily pushing her cleavage up against you.

"our year?" sana says, brushing off a piece of lint from your jacket, also brushing off the feeling of the woman off your jacket.

you stare at her manicured fingers. long slender fingers that wear your ring proudly. you smile at the sight of the large diamond.

"no, a year younger." you say softly, bringing her hand up to kiss it. she flips your hand over to kiss it back. "why do you ask?"

"didn't know you liked younger women..." she comments, back to nitpicking what the woman is wearing tonight.

how dare she try and lay her hands on you? sana's thinking of calling momo and mina to do some 'intervention'.

"i don't, like younger women i mean." you watch sana as she stares down the woman. the way she holds onto the neck of the champagne flute, the way she has that tick in her jaw, the way she can't keep moving her eyes up and down in disdain.

"good." she comments back, it's more so to herself, so you roll your eyes at that.

"i only like you sana." you say the golden words that make her heart melt. she stares at you for a bit.

"mhm keep sweet talking me like that and i’ll let you fuck me in the bathroom." she drapes her arm over your neck pulling you into a hot kiss, tossing a wink to the woman from earlier.

you pull away, her chasing after you, but with all the prying eyes you'd rather enjoy sana in a more private place.

you begin to pull her towards anywhere that isn't open space for people to watch, when you bump into someone on accident.

"oh hello." the man turns around, a tall man toying with a knife in hand. his eyes dancing with amusement. "apologies, hope there's no hard feelings."

"none here." you offer, trying to side-step around him when he places his small knife at your neck. you look down at it, engraving in the base with red ink.

"kenji abe." you whisper to yourself, but he claps in delight, nodding quickly and sheathing his dagger away.

"that is me!" he exclaims, offering his hand. you shake it, his grip awfully loose, too loose.

"nice to meet you mr. abe." you explain, still trying to drag sana away. he stops you with a hand, a little smirk on his face. taking a glance at you and sana.

“nice to meet the minatozaki’s new lapdog.” he smiles, and then takes a look at sana, “hello sana, it’s been a while hasn’t it. kaito misses you.” the curling devilish smile as he hands both of you a drink. and taking one for himself.

“cheers! to a lovely abe ball.” he says as he holds the glass in the air, you take a quick look at sana out of your eye as you both clink his glass, letting it linger away from your lip.

watching the way he smirks, and then drinks his champagne. he smiles at you both before disappearing into the crowd.

“never liked him.” sana shudders as she says it, you just smile at her. letting her lay on your shoulder. “him and kaito. they’re dangerous. and he called you a lapdog, what an excuse of a man.”

you just nod, absorbing the information you’ve just been told. it’s not easy transitioning into this lifestyle, with structures and family systems in place, you feel like you really are out of your depth here.

a question still remains, what did he mean by kaito misses sana? you’re distracted by even more dramatic flairs of the abe ball. fire lighting up around, spotting several of your father’s old business partners, nodding to them.

"have i told you how gorgeous you look tonight?" sana starts, giving you a light kiss under your jaw.

"hmm, no, not tonight." you smirk, leaning into her, garnering another kiss. you smile when she rolls her eyes, kissing her jaw lightly too.

"well you do, and i think you would look even more gorgeous under me." she whispers into your ear, you lean back. it seems tonight’s been getting under her skin, constantly trying to get you away from the ball.

you shake your head ready to tell her no when you hear a mic being tapped.

“hello, welcome to the 247th annual abe ball!” a tall well tailored man is speaking into the mic, upon a lifted podium. his voice loud and commanding as he looks below at all the guests.

all around you are people clapping at him, so you begin to clap, interested in whoever this man might be.

“my name is kaito abe, thank you all for joining us tonight.” he booms into the mic, the sound booming off the walls, everyone clapping at his pauses.

“tonight, we have something special, a very special event.” he says, lifting his hand out to the other side of the podium. white flashing lights suddenly illuminating three bodies.

the sound of gasps and quiet whispers making you curious. you keep your hand on the knife, sana’s picked up on the same thing, her hand pulling the thigh knife.

“i welcome you, the death of the watanabe’s.” and there you can see it, white fluorescent lights shining across three figures. their eyes begging for help while they’re forced to face the bloodlust of kaito abe.

“sana, get behind me.” you push her behind you, her eyes staring at the watanabe’s.

they look roughed up, blood already pouring from their heads and clothes. the patriarch, his wife and the only heir.

“you see, a little weasel from their clan, a vermin even.” kaito begins throwing the tanto he has in his hand, one much like the minatozaki tanto you have in your desk.

he continues to flip it through the air with ease. “tried getting into our clan, how silly right?”

he leans forward, nearly off the edge of the podium as he laughs maniacally. you can see shuffling begin to happen, people are panicking, trying to leave the ball.

only to be pushed back into the center by the abe guards, all of them wielding weapons.

“oh no, you can’t leave darling, the show’s barely begun!” he continues to round the podium, letting out a laugh when the woman starts crying, his tanto hanging loosely in his hand as he points at the woman.

“see, when there's a rat in your home, what do you do?” he continues to pace the podium. “answer me!”

he shouts from above, more people are shuffling nervously and then you hear a distant, “you exterminate them!”

“BINGO! you. exterminate. them.” he laughs a bit, walking briskly towards them, pulling at the hair of the patriarch.

you curse out loud, his swollen eyes and chunks of his hair missing.

“but you can’t just exterminate one rat. no. no. they will just continue to repopulate. exterminate. at. the. source.” and then he jabs the tanto right into the man’s neck.

blood gushing onto his suit like a geyser. he lets out a laugh as the man sputters up blood before falling forward.

then he moves towards his wife, stabbing into her neck as her cries turn into screams. dragging out a laugh from him, meanwhile their son is crying silently, arms defeated as he watches his two parents’ now dead body.

“and remember. no survivors left behind.” he says with finality, as he shoves the tanto deep into the son’s neck, the tanto left inside.

sana’s covered her eyes into your back. you can feel her shaking a bit, you cover her ears as you pull her close, letting her keep her head against your chest.

“sana?” she just continues to shake in your arms, fear enveloping her entire body. memories of her younger self around the abe clan. you’ve never seen her so scared. she clings onto you like a lifeline.

“thank you, thank you! i hope you enjoyed the show!” he takes a deep bow, one in which he keeps his head forward with that smirk on his face. joy from killing, joy from being able to make others submit to him.

and then he walks over, using his foot as leverage as he pulls out the knife, wiping it clean off, and disappearing behind a door in the wall. the sound of shouts and chaos echoing through the hall.

the car ride is silent, sana’s gone quiet, simple nods when you ask her if she’s alright. eyes squeezed tightly and one hand curling around the other. you don’t even know where to begin talking about the events of tonight.

the abe’s are ruthless killers, you remember that even from when sana told you. it just takes a live performance of it to see how they are devoid of remorse.

kaito abe, kaito abe, kaito abe.

you barely knew the watanabe’s, only speaking to their son once, he was quiet. he didn’t seem the type to want to lead their clan, but now he lays dead, at the hands of kaito.

you play with your knife in your hand, thinking about how easily it shoved down the watanabe’s, killing them so quickly. the same blade that’s supposed to show honor and birth of a new member of the clan, used for killing those that harm the family.

the car rolls into the manor, and you take a deep breath, looking at sana. eyes still unfocused and staring at her own hands. you open the door and round the back to open the door to her side.

“darling? we’re home.” you offer your hand, she doesn’t even move. so you tap her shoulder lightly, she jumps at the touch, moving back from it.

“oh, sorry.” she takes your hand, and you pull her out, leading her towards the door. you immediately squatting at the sight of haruto and hanako walking outside.

picking up haruto in your arms, while sana picks up hanako, a warm smile back on her face. holding hanako tightly to her chest. haruto messes with your hair, pointing around and talking about his day. you kiss his forehead and walk inside.

there’s still a weird tension lingering around her, she refuses to look you in the eyes. instead preoccupying herself with putting hanako to bed. so you do the same putting haruto into bed. tucking him in and giving him a kiss while sana waits outside. you kiss hanako on the forehead as well before slipping out.

giving yourself a deep breath when you close the door, you see sana next to you, her eyes back to their unfocused state. there’s something she isn’t telling you, and normally you aren’t one to pry. but after the events of tonight, you need to know.

“sana, are you alright?” you hold her head in your hands, eyes peering into hers, for any sign really. she just nods, taking a deep breath, dragging you down the hallway.

“i have something to tell you.” she begins as she sits at her vanity. starting to take off her earrings, you unclasp the necklace that she has on, placing it into a velvet box before tucking it away.

she stares at herself in the mirror, memories of her past self resurfacing.

“kaito abe and i, we used to date. set to marry actually.” you sit next to hit, listening intently as she continues to take out hairpins and set them across her table. “it was what was destined for us, until his father killed my uncle. momo and mina’s father.”

you nod, you didn’t know much about momo and mina but there was an emptiness in their eyes, you always assumed it was because they were trained soldiers.

“seeing them up there on the platform, it felt like i was watching momo and mina being killed at his hands. then i thought, what if he killed you, what if he killed haruto and hanako. i’m so scared.” she bursts into tears, hands shaking to hold yours.

“he won’t be able to, i won’t let him.” you say confidently, kissing her gently.

“so, the minatozakis were here tonight.” kenji stares at kaito, both of them throwing knives at a corkboard, you and sana’s photos pinned to the board.

“yes, sana and her plaything.” kenji turns to a guard, handing him ten new knives. kaito just laughs, doubling over and wiping the tears out of his eyes.

“her plaything? how delightful.” kaito stares at the photo of you, and then down at the photo of haruto and hanako by your side. “and her spawns.”

“yes, two it seems.” kenji nods as he continues to throw straight into the forehead of your photos. the two continue to throw knives in the silence, slicing through the air, as they land on the different photos across the board.

“kenji, let’s topple the minatozakis?” kaito stares at sana’s photo as he aims for her heart, landing dead in the center.

“with pleasure.” his final knife aimed straight at your heart.

a/n: message me if you want a part 4 :^P

#sana #twice #twice sana #sana twice #sana minatozaki #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #sana x you #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice x you #neoplatinum

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yandere-wishes · 11 months

Text

Spider Bite Love

Synopsis: Miguel loves you, this you know. But neither the story nor the hero ever stops long enough to wonder if you love him too.

Warnings: Choking, Biting, Reader is from Miles' universe, Miguel is kinda a perfectionist. Yandere themes.

Author's note: Forgive the Spanish it's mostly found on Google. I took like four months of Spanish back in 7th grade and have retained exactly 0.1% of that knowledge.

💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙

The future is procaine, all marble white and reflective crystal. Flying cars and a horizon that echoes soft tamed pastels. Nueva York can almost be described as beautiful. Almost.

If not for the technicalities and lies and the loss of total freedom.

If not for a fate that's been prewritten. Repeated across centuries and dimensions. So uncontrollable that it practically cultivates inferiority within your heart. An age-old tradition found in every child's tale about dashing heroes and harrowing villains.

If not for the looming uncomfortable, presence known as Miguel O'Hara who refuses to leave you alone.

Your lover.

Your hero.

Your Spider-man

Although he's not your Spider-Man. Not really. And you're not the love of his life. Not really. You're both just Look-alikes, cheap replicas from a corner dimension.

It's difficult to comprehend, pondering it encompasses you with an unruly headache. Galling and overpowering, not unlike your so-called "Lover".

To put it simply or rather to oversimplify. You are not meant to be here. You are from Earth-1610, at least you think you are. It's hard to tell since apparently from what you've gathered there was another (y/n). One who looked just like you, acted just like you, and was essentially you in every microscopic aspect. At least that's what Miguel says, and you've come to learn that he's not awfully good at telling the full truth.

She died or was killed. As is customary with every hero's first crush. Thus leaving Miguel without a lover or a prisoner. Depending on which iteration of the story you fancy.

Then Miles came along disrupting the canon and causing a dimension's wide spider hunt, with Miguel leading the charge. Somewhere along the lines, between chasing down Miles and barking orders at the other Superheroes his secret society was made of. He passes by your window. Caught a rogue glimpse and froze. He'd found you again, after all these years of believing that you were dead. Technically you were dead, his (y/n) was dead. But there was one here, another one, just as radiant and beautiful as his original lover had been. Miguel knew he had to have you. To take you back to his dimension. To complete his Canon.

Your dimension was doomed anyway.

So he wasn't really doing any harm.

You shuffle uncomfortably on the couch, attempting to readjust your position as to better gaze out the window at the porcelain city.

It's almost homogeneous to Miguel himself.

A perfect city with no room for cracks or mistakes.

A perfect hero who flawlessly preserves the multiverse.

They're both perfect you think as you steal your gaze from the skyline. Although sometimes perfect and pristine aren't always reflective of a person's inner workings. Miguel isn't exactly corrupted but he's far from innocent either. You - and the motley amount of fang marks spread across your body- are living proof of that.

His apartment is clean, spotless, all ceramic tiles and snowy furniture.

No room for faults or fallacy. His whole life is meant to be errorless. Just like the delicate spider-verse, he's all so keen on protecting.

The door chimes, a light buzz and a thud. It's hard to remember that this is technically the future. That trivial things such as keys and locks have long since been eradicated.

Miguel steps in, a bouquet of red and yellow roses grasped within his hand. He walks in as the door buzzes closed behind him. There's a docile look in his eyes as he spots you sitting on the couch. A repeated memory you realize and you wonder if his (y/n) use to wait for him to get back from Spider HQ, all patient and passive like a pretty doll awaiting her master.

"Para vos, mi querida" he mumbles, somehow apathetic and bashful all at the same time.

You reach for the flowers a practiced smile bearly tugging at your lips, your fingers curling around the bouquet, then you freeze eyes going wide.

There's blood on his claws again, pristine rudy red that drips to an invisible tempo. You wonder who he's killed this time. A canon divergent Spider-Man or Spider-Women. A villain running amuck across the city.

Or some regular civilian he was supposed to protect. A regular civilian who had some interaction with you on one of the rare times Miguel actually agreed to take you out. You wonder but you don't date ask.

His suit is unscratched -as it always is- His face is bruise-less, so it makes you think that your final hypothesis may just be the accurate one. Miguel's eyes narrow when notices your frozen hand.

"What's wrong," he asks a gruff edge in his voice, a warning.

One your mind begs you to obey.

"Who did you kill?" You ask eyes concentrated on the sharp blue razors that make him look more monster than superhero. Your fingers abandon the bouquet's base and return to your side. You try to force your eyes into a glare despite the unruly beating of your fearful heart.

One look from Miguel snuffs all that resistance out. One dark glare from eyes that can't choose if they wish to be red or blue. Human or hero. Human or monster. And you're back to cowering into the couch cushions.

"It doesn't matter" he all but barks, a supernatural chill encompasses the room. As he throws the bouquet down onto the ceramic floor. His lips pull back in a snarl, showcasing milky white fangs that gleam in the low lights.

"It does matter Miguel!" Your voice is raising, itching to scream to yell. To make him understand a fraction of your hatred

"You're supposed to be a hero, a savior, but all you ever do is act like a villain. You stole me from my home, you killed my universe's Spider-man, you destroyed my dimension! You're nothing more than a villain wearing a hero's mask."

There's a punchline to this, you're almost sure of it. Some storybook explanation as to why you decided to lash out at the most terrifying creature you've ever met. Maybe in the heat of the frigid moment, you forgot that he's no mere spider. He's a tarantula, bloodthirsty and savage, ready to attack when someone goes poking at him with a stick.

Miguel's fingers tighten around your throat, sharp claws digging into soft skin and delicate muscles. Pushing you further into the couch. Miguel's ears ring with the symphony of your gagging as he tightens his grasp. He thinks you're choking, suffocating, asphyxiating.

Good. With any luck, you'll be dead soon.

"Mocosa ingrata"

He's not sure if your death will be significant in any way. You're honestly too trivial to have any impact on things. If you hold a place in the canon of his timeline or yours, he's yet to find it.

Miguel hates oddities, things that disrupt the canon, selfish missteps that destroy entire dimensions. You're not quite an oddity per se, although everything in your timeline is broken. Dangling from a loose threat at the edge of a cliff. All because Miles Morales decided to be selfish and greedy and "change" what's been canon for longer than any "Spider-man" has been alive. Miles is a mistake. that whole universe is a mistake. It's bound to collapse on itself at any moment. So for the life of him, Miguel can't understand why you're so ungrateful. So desperate to reprimand him and belittle him when all he's doing is trying to save everyone.

He's failed once,

He's failed twice,

He refuses to fail for a third time.

It doesn't matter that you're some helpless civilian who was stuck in the wrong universe at the wrong time. All that matters is that you're (y/n), his (y/n). Every other Spiderman has their Gwen or their MJ. A dutiful lover, to return to when the night ends, when the fighting ends. When the ignorant sun finally decides to reawaken and cast the city in a temporary ray of peacefulness. Someone to love and cherish, to take their minds off of the dread and misery that runs amuck across their lives.

Peter Parker has his Mary Jane.

Miles Morales had his Gwen Stacy.

So why can't Miguel O'Hara have his (Y/n) (L/n)?

When Miguel looks back down at you, he notices your dark eyes. How the life is slowly fading from your body. He relents, pulling you forward and slamming you into the couch one last time before retracting his hand. He sits down next to your coughing body.

"I hate you" you manage to blurt out between desperate heaves. Trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible. You don't bother looking at him, you know he's mad. He's always mad when you refuse to act like his (y/n). When you poke holes at the perfect illusion he's created.

There's a brief pause. A second of tranquility. Before Miguel grabs your arm and pulls you onto his lap. His mouth parts. Fangs releasing and hovering above your jugular. His fangs pierce your vain, releasing his poison into your bloodstream. It's not lethal, at least not yet. Miguel prefers to think of it as a sedative for when you start to act up.

It soothes you, calms you into remembering your place. Your head lulls to the side, falling on his shoulder as your groggy eyes look up at him with a stare that he can almost trick himself into believing is loving, or some variant of the same emotion.

You're his, he knows that. You have to be. It's all he can tell himself as to stay sane. You'll understand someday. Realize you love him too.

After all every hero needs a lover.

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sepherinaspoppies · 2 months

Text

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

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a-spes · 3 months

Text

| PRETTY FACES, DARK SOULS - Chapter one (4,382 words).

| Summary - you rob the wrong person and she makes sure that you pay your debts, willingly or not.

| Tags & warnings - Minors DNI, Dark CEO!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, just fluff for the moment, slight angst (if you squint), mentions of sex.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| part one. part two.

Your eyes meet their reflection in the mirror, looking for the slightest detail that isn’t right but, if you were seeking for imperfections, you are unable to find any.

Everything was perfect, and even you were struggling to recognize your face, you would have probably fallen into your own trap and that thought satisfies you. It took you several hours locked up in that dingy room to achieve this result, but you have no regrets as you are eventually able to look at your disguise.

No one would have guessed that you were the one hiding behind that mask that changed every feature of your face.

No one knows you enough to be able to notice the smallest details in your attitude that were giving hints about your true identity. You were sure that no one would notice the way you are moving your head when being disturbed by something or your hand constantly running in the skin of your hands. There are a lot of small habits you tried to suppress, but it was in vain, every of your persona inevitably ended up having a part of you in them.

Despite the dust covering the mirror, you can admire every feature of who you are going to be tonight: Lydia Golvorezova. She looks like an angel and it’s not only because her hair is so blonde that it looks white or because of her porcelain skin and innocent eyes that makes her look like a doll, but mainly because she is stunning. There is something unreal in her beauty that gives the impression that she couldn’t possibly be human.

This name was never yours, but it fits perfectly the person you could see in the mirror right now. It was perfect to embody the innocence and naivety you were reading in her eyes, it was perfect to give the feeling of power and fragility at the same time.

The way you have done your makeup only adds to the effect. In appearance, it is something really simple, but the truth is that it took you hours to get that result as you wanted to look as perfect and young as possible.

It is not that you are old, only being an adult for a few years now, but you figured out that the younger you look, the easier things are. Most of the people you are going to meet tonight have a preference for girls that haven't been broken by life yet, for the ones that haven't harsh features accompanied by a cold gaze: they like what is easy to manipulate.

They are desperate to feel powerful and it’s becoming pitiful, even ridiculous.

When you entered the toilets of the gas station, hours ago, nobody paid attention to you because you were blending in perfectly with your surroundings. It is that you are not as interesting as Lydia Golvorezova, nor as rich. No one ever notices the young girl with stained clothes, they even avoid her gaze at all cost, scared she would ask for money — if only they knew that she is the same person than the one they can’t take their eyes off now.

If you’ve arrived discreetly, you can’t say the same thing when you leave the room. You could feel the gaze of the few customers that were here on your back, but the worst is probably the cashier’s one. You have to clear your throat as a reminder that you are waiting so that her gaze would stop wandering for a little too long where it shouldn’t be, even for a brief moment.

While she is scanning your articles with obvious embarrassment, you can’t help but smile. You love the way she avoids your gaze, the way her cheeks are flushed and how her voice is only a whisper when she tells you how much you owe. The poor thing probably fears that you would snap at her for such an offense, but honestly you were just enjoying the situation.

You love it when they fall that easily in the trap you set for them.

Tonight, to match your makeup, you decided to wear a black dress that you bought just for the event. Your back is bare and it reveals enough of your chest to catch the attention without being vulgar: it’s right at the frontier between what’s elegant and what’s indecent, and that’s why it’s the perfect choice.

You wish you could keep it, but even the money you’re stealing isn’t enough for you to afford such things: you need it to buy things that are essential to your life, and no matter how pretty you're in that dress, you could survive without it.

Again, the story between the luxurious dress you choose and you is going to be nothing more than a one night thing. It will be returned tomorrow, as soon as the store opens — you didn’t even take the price tag off. But you’re hopeful that, one day, you will be able to purchase that kind of clothes for real, that you will be one of those people that shop without looking at the prices before they pay.

It always takes you so much time to prepare yourself because everything needs to be perfect. When your life is at stake, paying attention to every detail is the key, you can’t take the risk to be recognized, no one should be able to see behind the mask you decide to wear.

So, when you get the confirmation that you’ve made the right choices, it is always a deep relief. You tried to gather as much information as you can on tonight's event and the people that are supposed to come, but in the end there is always a lot left to chance. You can spend as much time as you want preparing yourself for what’s coming, it’s impossible to predict everything.

You are not from the same world as them, you’re just pretending to be, and it doesn’t matter how many times you did it with success, you'll always be an outsider. There are so many rules that you don’t know that something as insignificant as a word or a look could be enough to give your identity away.

Hopefully, for the moment everything seems to go fine, the dress you choose was perfect for this evening, at the frontier between elegant and indecent, and no one seems to notice the intruder.

A driver left you in front of the expensive hotel that hosts the event, and you barely had time to unbuckle your belt that a butler was already opening the door for you, helping you to get out of the car. You have to fight the urge to refuse the hand he is holding out to you, and take it with a smile on your face instead. You constantly need to remind yourself about where your place is tonight: at the top of the pyramid, among the ones that do nothing by themselves.

For someone like you, someone that has been on their own for most of their life, it’s weird to be assisted to this extent, and you hate it as much as the first time. This man complies to every of your demands because he fears you, and not because he wants to, let alone because he's paid for it — his salary probably not being enough for the evening he’s going to have.

If only he knew your reality is closer to his than it’s from theirs, you thought as he walked you toward the entrance, but you can't share it with him. You have to play along, to pretend that you’re Lydia Golvorezova perfectly if you don’t want to ruin your plans, even if it includes being rude with a man for whom you have compassion.

Tonight, the butler didn’t get anything from you except a ridiculous penny that you gave him as if he should be grateful for it, as if this action was a symbol of infinite kindness — which he is going to do, thanking you a lot of time for that. The whole time, not a word has been exchanged, you would rather keep your voice for the ones that are worth the effort.

Just like the man that caught your eyes the moment you entered the luxurious hall, Clint Barton. You read an article about him a few days ago, he works as a bodyguard for heads of major companies, despite what one might think, his position makes him an influential and wealthy man, everything you are looking for tonight, so you didn’t hesitate much before making your way toward him.

“Excuse me?” you asked, clearing your throat to get his attention, and you felt the glance of every man he was previously talking with on you, the sudden attention made you feel uncomfortable. “May I?” you added, accompanying your words by a small gesture of the hand toward the glasses of champagne he was standing in front of, feigning being so interested by those.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, immediately stepping aside so you could access the table. “I am sorry for that, miss .. ?” he added and you can’t help but grin at his attempt to learn your name - it was almost too easy.

You barely exchanged a few words, nothing out of the ordinary, but he was already crushing himself to fulfill your desires, already eager for more, and the way he is gazing at you leaves no doubts on the thoughts in his mind, something too indecent for a place like that one.

“Golvorezova, and you?” you replied, the false name slipping easily out of your mouth as you slip nimbly between him and the men he was previously talking to.

It is hard to not smile, to pretend that you didn't notice the way they are glancing at you, with anger and frustration, because you’ve just ruined their only chance to talk to him, too bad that you don’t care. Tonight, Barton is yours.

You don’t care more about the glasses of champagne than you do about these guys, it was just a way to get what you want. You’ve been fond of alcohol, you’ve seen how it changes people’s minds, taking control of their thoughts and bodies, and you would rather continue to use it to your advantage than becoming a victim of it. Even a sip of alcohol could be dangerous, and you would be stupid to drink while working, so you’re just pretending to enjoy the champagne.

“Barton,” he replied briefly, holding his hand out to you for you to shake - which you did with a faint smile on your lips.

“So, do you already know what you're going to bid on?” you asked, trying to pursue the conversation.

You both glance around for a few seconds, not a word is exchanged, just a shrug that underlines his boredom. Despite this party being marked as a charity event, most of the guests are here for other reasons: make an appearance, meet future associates, talk about business, show the world how rich and powerful they are, … there are many reasons for their presence, but none of them is disinterested. His answer is proof that he doesn't care about what’s for sale, maybe he doesn’t even know for whom the benefits are. He will drop an outrageous amount of money, just to pretend he did something good to help those people when he is the cause of their pain, people like you getting their lives destroyed by people like him.

Tonight isn’t about charity, it's about power and influence. That’s why you’re always tense when attending those events, the stakes are bigger than they are for a private party, and so are the risks. Tonight, the whole world has its eyes on what’s happening in that hotel. If you make a mistake, everyone will know, because no one escapes the spotlight tonight, and you're no exception to the rule.

“But, I think I’ve just found the most precious prize,” he said as his gaze came back to you, his smirk letting no doubt about the true meaning behind his words. Maybe if he was a bit more observant he would've noticed how your grip tightens on your glass.

You can’t help but smile, a sign he is going to misinterpret for sure, because behind it, it’s your disgust that’s hidden. He is probably something like twice your age, at least, and doesn’t seem to be interested in anything other than your body.

But the money is worth every sacrifice.

You are about to give him the reply he probably waits to hear, but you are cut before you can even say one word. It is a feminine voice whose tone makes your blood run cold, and even though her words aren’t addressed to you, you feel like you’re the one that did something wrong.

“Does Laura know about your plans?” she asked, and from the way he glanced at her, you guess that she doesn’t.

You felt the woman’s hand on your shoulder before you could see her face. It is only when he left that she took his place, allowing you to meet her gaze. She is stunning, and contrary on you, she wasn’t just playing to be pretty, she truly was.

“Men…,” she sighed as she looked at him walking away, but the truth is that he doesn’t really leave, you can still feel his gaze on you, even from the other side of the room. “I hope he didn't bother you? He can be a bit… inconsiderate sometimes, especially with the pretty girls,” she added, and you realize she is looking you up and down, her glance wandering a bit longer at the same places than the man’s one earlier.

She is not better than him, you thought, maybe a few years younger than he is, but that’s all, they’re from the same world, you have to remind yourself when you realize you too were observing her for a bit too long.

On the outside, you’re still smiling, letting nothing appear on what’s disturbing your mind, but somehow having the feeling that she knows, and you only shake your head, letting her know that everything is fine.

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you …,” she added once she understood you wouldn't say anything, not letting you a chance to find an excuse to slip through her fingers.

Despite appearances, and how friendly the conversation seems to be, the atmosphere is tense between the two of you, it’s like a game has started ; which one is gonna find the other’s secret first? And she never loses a game.

If she interrupted your conversation with Barton, it wasn’t to help you, but him. She doesn't care about his wife, Clint can cheat on her if he wants, it's none of her business as long as his problem doesn’t impact his work, and you look exactly like that kind of problem.

If there is something she cares about, it’s the raptors that get a little too close to her associates, especially the ones that would easily give off information about her business, and Clint may be good at his job, but he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

She doesn't trust you, and one glance was enough for her to get to that statement. If it wasn’t for Clint, she wouldn’t even have talked to you, but she knows how naive he can be sometimes - and maybe this conversation will help her to point out the thing that bothers her about you, something she hasn’t figured out yet.

“It’s probably because it’s my first in the United States,” you replied, your voice dripping with false sympathy.

You don’t like the woman either, but at least you are hiding your thoughts, something she doesn’t even try to do. You are smiling at her, the expression on your face being so innocent that she questions her instincts, you don’t even seem to catch the threats behind her actions or the true meaning of her words — how someone that oblivious ended up attending such an event? Something she wouldn’t have thought if she was able to see the rage hidden behind your smile, the frustration, the hatred that is slowly growing, because every second spent with her reduces your chances of success.

She sent Barton away, but most importantly, she doesn’t seem to believe everything you say as he would have, and the way she hummed after your last answer gave you a feeling of danger, something is telling you to give up the mission, but you don’t.

“I don’t think I know you either,” you replied, the words slipping from your mouth almost on their own. The conversation probably could have ended up here, if only you hadn't been so curious, if you didn’t genuinely want to learn more about the woman.

“Romanoff,” she eventually said, she seems about to add something else but hesitate for a few seconds before talking, deciding to keep the rough comment she was about to make for herself, “but you can call me Natasha, if you want,” she added, her tone softening to the surprise of you both.

The last words fell from her lips on their own, and they felt like the right thing to say. Maybe it is the way you’re looking at her, with those innocent eyes and smile, that led her to let her guard down so easily. She is trying to find an explanation, but the only satisfying one that comes to her mind is that you are an angel, sent to charm her with that pretty face.

An angel, that’s the word, the only one that’s strong enough to describe what she is seeing right now. From the way the dress follows your curves to the soft features of your face, everything is perfect in her eyes, and even if she tried to, she can’t find a single defect, any more than she is able to keep her suspicions.

She even feels guilty for the way she talked to you previously, her words had been so harsh when you seem to genuinely just want to talk with Barton, not even knowing her name, something unbelievable for someone from her world, someone used to always be a target for everyone, never a friend to anyone.

But you are not from the same world as her, or Barton, she can tell just by looking into your eyes, and that’s the whole problem, because she has no idea how to evolve around someone of your kind, someone that doesn’t even know her name. Her reality is rough, a place where pity and kindness doesn’t exist, where everything is just about who’s the most powerful, it is a world without limits, without morals, and you are the complete opposite.

You are looking like you are made of glass, and when she looks into your eyes, the only thing she sees is the innocence one can only find in the gaze of children. She can tell that you haven’t been broken by life yet, which is a miracle on this planet, and a part of her wants to protect you. She knows it is a selfish wish, because she wants to lock you in a golden cage, somewhere you would be safe and get everything you need, except your freedom. She would hate to see an angel being corrupted, not when they are so rare.

“You can call me Lydia then,” you replied, surprised but satisfied by the turn the events took, maybe you still have a chance to complete the mission. You have no idea what changed her mind, and you don’t question it, but you notice that you somehow now have the woman wrapped around your little finger, and you barely did a thing.

“Lydia,” she repeated after you, as if she needed to say it to believe it, to be sure that you existed, and that you are not some sort of dream, “let me show you around then,” she added, coming back to reality, “the city has a lot of secrets, and I am sure you would appreciate at least some of them.”

Even if it sounds like a question, it is not. She is almost begging you to follow her, as if you would be the one doing a favor to her, when in reality it is the opposite. When you nod, a genuine smile appears on her face, she seems relieved, as if she feared that you could say no. You barely have time to say a word that her hand was already on your lower back, applying a light pressure to guide you outside.

Despite what you said earlier, you know exactly who Natasha Romanoff is, it would have been impossible to ignore her identity when her face is everywhere on the news and streets. However, apart from her name, you don’t know a lot about the woman. She is quite mysterious, always refusing interviews, never answering personal questions, and nothing can be found online, she is a ghost.

All you know are the rumors that depict her as someone that gets everything she wants, and it’s no coincidence that she is now at the head of one of the richest companies on earth. She built her fortune from scratch, and some people say that if she was able to earn that much money so quickly, it’s because part of her business is illegal. However, there is no proof of that, and it’s probably just an idea her opponents are fueling in the hope that it will tarnish her reputation, and impact her business at the same time.

Perhaps you would have acted more prudently if you had those rumors in mind when talking to the woman, but those were forgotten the moment her hand found its way on your back, the way her thumb is brushing circles on your skin being so soft that you let your guard down. For once, maybe you’re going to enjoy the evening, and maybe you will come home feeling something that isn’t self-disgust.

Maybe she is a mean CEO, that would explain the rumors, but maybe life left her no choice, maybe she is a bit like you, a woman that tries her best to survive in this world. When you observe her face under the moonlight, it’s all you can think about.

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧

It is later that day, in the secret of her hotel room, that everything happened. Just as usual, you convinced your victim to make the night last a bit longer, and she brought you to that luxurious room where she is staying. It has been only the two of you, and you actually enjoyed the feeling of her hands on your skin. The praises she whispered in your ears when you were begging her, desperate for the release she denied you, is all you can think about as you are leaving the building the next morning.

The thought of the dirty things she did and told to you are enough to make you blush again, and you are surprised to realize that you’re already missing her presence. You chase those thoughts away, far from your mind, by telling yourself that it was just a play, something that needed to be done, and she will probably be quick to forget about your existence.

She probably used you as much as you did anyway, you noticed the way she looked at you as if you were a porcelain doll, something to possess, something to break. It was a one night thing for the both of you, and it’s probably better that way.

However, this morning, when you woke up, you were reluctant. You wanted to stay in bed, in the warmth of the bed forever, you almost left without stealing anything, feeling guilty to do that to the woman — it was easier when you were hating your victim. You would’ve probably left without taking anything if you didn’t need the money so badly, and you’re sure she won’t miss a few dollars.

By the time she notices you are gone, you are already far away. She was getting out of the bathroom, asking you what you would like for breakfast, and the silence that met her question made her realize that the room was empty, you left.

She was standing in the middle of the room, wrapped in a towel, and her eyes were scanning the room with desperation. The only proof that last night was real are the memories of you beneath her, and a piece of paper on the bedside table. She immediately reached for it, but the paper didn’t say much, and the few words you wrote left a feeling of disappointment in her chest: “Sorry, I have to go, but thanks, the night was cool.”

She doesn’t know what she was hoping for, but for sure she was hoping for more than that, maybe your number, or a promise to come back. It made her feel so silly, and she crumpled the paper before throwing it away, erasing the only evidence of your visit in her room.

Natasha would have liked to share one last moment with you, she thought about getting breakfast at that fancy restaurant across the street. She is thinking about how you would have enjoyed watching the sun rise over the city, as she is sitting here alone. She wished she had a chance to say goodbye to you, because maybe then she would’ve been able to get your number, or anything that would have allowed you to stay in touch, or maybe you didn’t want to. Perhaps you learned about the rumors, and that’s why you left so quickly this morning.

She has been here for maybe one hour when a waitress brings her the note. She was lost in her thoughts the whole time, and barely ate the expensive breakfast she ordered, but she couldn’t care less, money is not a problem when you are one of the richests people on that planet. But to her surprise, when she looks into her wallet, she finds it empty — you only left a few coins.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| part one. part two.

| Tag list : no one atm, but if you're interested, let me know!

#a spes writing #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff fanfiction #dark natasha romanoff #reader insert #female reader #mcu au #mcu women #mcu fanfiction #pretty faces dark souls

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yerrmar · 14 days

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

Part one of the dancing queen series

Luke Castellan x Daughter of Circe Reader

Content: Swearing, nothing bad.

THE BEACH IS always your favourite place to go when you feel like getting away from everything. Away from all the chaos of Aeae, it was getting more overwhelming the closer it came to your 18th birthday. The Nymphs wouldn’t stop cooing over how much you’ve grown, “You’ve blossomed into such a beautiful lady.”, they’d poke and prod at you till your whole body felt like it was in flames due to embarrassment.

You’ve never actually been out at sea, but you love how comforting it feels. It was strange how you felt comforted in the grasp of the unknown.

You’ve never been anywhere but your mother’s little island and you didn’t care. Everything you ever needed was here on the island, it was here with your mother. Besides, without you, there’s no telling how quickly your mother would fall apart without you. She never knew how much she needed you till she had you. She never knew a man could bring something so pure into the world.

She never knew love till you came into her life.

And you love her more than breathing itself, Circe isn’t a goddess to you at all, she’s your mother and you will never leave her side.

She turned the island upside down making this last month of your “childish youth” as she claimed. Her flower is growing up too quickly for her liking, she just wanted you to stay hers forever. The island buzzed with excitement for the day of the party. Everyone was talking about it, the nymph's joyful giggles always echoed through the trees during their gossip sessions with them. They’d told you even some of the gods and goddesses from Olympus would be making an appearance.

You don’t like to brag, but you were adored by many. The whole island loves you like you were a goddess yourself, they worship and praise you along with your mother. Even some of the gods and goddesses enjoyed your company. You’re as radiating as the sun, and you’re as tender porcelain. Everything about you is perfectly pure as if you’d never sinned.

The sun covered your whole body as you soaked it up like a sponge with water. Your hair was submerged in the sea behind you moving in perfect sync with the rippling of the waves. A book of poetry rested on your face, you gave up on reading it when you felt your eyes get heavier by the minute. You definitely shouldn’t be falling asleep in the sun, just because it graced you with kisses doesn’t mean that you’re immune from heat stroke.

You wished you could live in this moment forever, where the world was silent for once. No chaos.

Till the sound of a loud crash echoed in the distance. Your head shot up quickly turning to the rocky mountains. You squinted your eyes as you saw what looked like planks of wood floating in the distance.

Oh, my gods! Does that belong to a boat?

A squeal of excitement escaped from your lips as you ran over you’re the supposed boat wreck had happened. You shouldn’t be this delighted to see a wreck but you loved meeting and greeting new people on the island, except for men. You didn’t share the same hatred as your mother, but you definitely didn’t like going through the exhausting process of turning them in or turning them into guinea pigs yourself.

Carefully, you climbed up one of the large rocks and peaked over, watching the three strangers swim up to land.

“Percy, you idiot!” Annabeth cursed the blonde curly-haired boy, he just had to have a go at steering the boat and he of course broke it! So now they were stuck on an island with no way of getting home after their very long quest.

“Hey! Don’t blame me, the wheel was faulty.” Percy huffed crossing his arms, looking over to Luke, who had just about enough of this stupid quest. He’d spent too long with Percy and Annabeth, with their bickering like an old married couple he just wanted to get back to camp and have the sleep he desperately needed.

“It wasn’t faulty when Luke was steering!” Annabeth snapped back bawling her fists, “Now we have no way of going home!”

Luke sighed and rubbed his face, please don’t let that be true. He couldn’t endure another minute of the two of them, now he was stuck with them till they found a way to get home. “Let’s not think like that right now, okay?” He turned to his sister in hopes that she’d calm down, the young girl hesitated before nodding.

The dark-haired boy looked around at their surroundings trying to find anything that would tell him where they were. But he couldn’t see anything but dark mountains and the golden sand. If he wasn’t so annoyed at their situation he’d comment on how beautiful it looked. “We need to look around for boats we can steal, or better yet if anyone can help us.”

You watched as the three strangers talked among each other, biting you lip at their comedic bickering. Two boys and one girl. Perfect. You wanted to smash your head against the rock you hid behind. As if you needed more chaos. Now you had two strange boys that just showed up, your poor mother.

She’s going to be extremely overwhelmed if you bring them to her, but you really weren’t in the mood for turning boys into guinea pigs especially if it meant leaving that young girl on her own. It was a tough decision to make:

Disobey your mother, but it would stop her from shattering due to stress

Turn them into guinea pigs and create more disturbance on the island, but you’d be making your mother proud.

Fuck it.

You swallowed down any hesitation you had. You ignored every doubt that tried to convince you to give in and do the right thing.

“Heard you needed help?” You moved from your hiding place and walked over to the trio. The sun had found you again, praising you with its beams of light.

The young girl drew her sword, even though she sensed no danger coming from you, it was better to be safe than sorry. She seemed young, like she couldn’t be older than fourteen, yet she seemed too mature to be so young.

“I assure you, there’s no need for that.” You smile softly at her, you stayed still though just in case she decided she wanted to start swinging her blade towards you, “I want to help you. But for me to do that I need you to trust me.”

A siren. Was Luke’s first initial thought as he watched you sway over to them, especially after hearing your voice that was laced with honey. The way you spoke, the way you moved had Luke enchanted.

“Who are you and where are we?” The sandy-haired boy demanded from beside the younger girl waving his sword at you threateningly, after seeing no movement coming from the older boy.

A light giggle left your pink lips at the boy’s ferocity, you told them your name-moving hair that had fallen in front of your face due to the strong breeze on this part of the island. “You’re on the island of Aeaea.”

Luke cursed running his hand through his hand again, their situation was getting worse and worse. Your eyes fixated on him for a while. You had seen boys before all of them were good-looking in different ways, but the boy in front of you was like a beauty you’d never seen before. And you’d like to keep him looking that way, rather than turning him into a furry little creature.

“The island of Aeaea.” The young boy butchered the name of your island, making you cringe, “As in Circe's island? The man-hating goddess?”

“Yep.” You nodded still smiling, “Welcome!”

The boy threw his arms up and scoffed. “That’s just perfect, we are going to be turned into pigs! By some crazy goddess!”

“Watch your mouth, that’s my mother you’re talking about.” Your smile had dropped into a scowl, and the trio's mouths dropped at your sentence. “Besides my mother doesn’t turn men into pigs anymore, she turns them into guinea pigs.”

Circe has a daughter? A demigod daughter!

“You’re lucky you crashed her this month. It’s my birthday soon and I’m in a very good mood, so I won’t be turning you in or turning you into a guinea pig myself.” You grinned, “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you?” The older boy finally spoke up, his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He reminded her of an angel. They’d always been described to be so beautiful that the world shook when they arrived on Earth. And Luke had just shaken yours.

And to Luke, you look like religion. Like every dark thought he’d ever had.

How could a stranger make someone feel this way? The feeling was strong, too strong. You wanted to shut everything thought about the unknown boy in front of you into a closet and lock it inside the darkness.

“So, help us then.” The blonde boy sassed, his hand was now on his hip and his foot tapped against the sand.

“First, what are your names?” You played with the light pink pearl that dangled on your chest, it was hung on a gold chain around your neck. Gold just complimented your skin so perfectly, you hated the way silver washed you out.

“Why should we tell you?” The older boy placed his hand over the young boy's mouth. Just because you said you’d help doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy, he knew better than to fall for a pretty face.

“Why would you have any reason not to trust me?” You frown. It was clear that the three had endured a lot due to how on edge they were, and from what you could see they had a lot of scars. “I have no weapons on me. And I have no reason to hurt you, I don’t even know you.”

The three looked at each other before huddling up to talk between themselves. You sigh and cross your arms in frustration, you could be basking in the sun right now or picking flowers from your garden, but no you’re here out of the goodness in your heart.

“She looks trustworthy,” Percy whispered looking behind him and watching as she kicked pebbles out of boredom. “She doesn’t look like a murderer to me.”

“And how’s that worked out for us so far? Trusting people just because they don’t look like killers?” Luke scoffed, remembering how they had constantly been fooled by wolves in sheep’s clothing.

“Luke’s right, but we don’t have any better options.” Annabeth sighed, the boys nodded in agreement not daring to disagree with her, she’s the wisest after all.

You watch as they nod to each other before turning back over to you. They were dragging out this silence and you didn’t like waiting. You played with the pearl, rolling it between your fingers. “So?”

“I’m Luke, this is Annabeth and Percy.” The pretty boy now had a name and you watched as he pointed over to the other two. He then returned his eyes to look at you, mainly fixating on the pearl that lay on your chest, “So pearl, how are you going to help us?”

A grin crawled onto your face as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “Follow me.”

Your mother wanted this birthday to be different, you were hitting a big age and she wanted the memory to stay with you forever. But this was far from what she had in mind.

Things can never stay the same, but you didn’t know how quickly they could change.

#luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #imagine #luke castellan x reader #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x circe reader

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hydrngea · 1 year

Note

Rafe x reader

They grew up together and as kids Rafe got reader a necklace and she still wears it to this day but Rafe doesn’t notice until she’s all dressed up for midsummer

(This is really random but I thought it was cute lol)

Ur writing is amazing btw! 🫶🏻

perfect pick

a/n : thanks sm!!! i appreciate the compliment :)) i didn’t completely answer the prompt but i might do a part 2 in a couple of days :))

notes : rafe cameron x reader, au to some extent featuring rafes mom before she disappeared.

masterlist | PART TWO

————

rafe could care less about your tenth birthday. in fact, the only reason he even knew it was coming up was because it was all you and sarah could ever talk about lately; what the theme would be, what kind of cake would be the best to eat, who should and should not be invited.

rafe cameron does not care about your birthday- which is why when his mom forced him to come along with her to pick out a present for you, all he wanted to do was jump out of the car and run away.

“but she’s not even my friend.” he whined as they entered the mall, keeping the door open for his mom to go in with wheezies stroller.

“no buts. she’s family, rafe.”

he groans, his steps heavy against the large and perfectly square porcelain tiles of tiffany’s.

“just because she’s your best friends daughter doesn’t mean i have to get her a present.”

his mom shushes him as they approach the jewelry counter, placing a hand on his shoulder before smiling at the associate.

the associate is too enthusiastic to be genuine at this time of day. rafe rolls his eyes at her sickly sweet tone while she asks what they’re looking for. he feels a nudge at his side and his face twitches with annoyance.

“a necklace.” he says under his breath, planning on choosing the first one the associate suggests.

she leads them to the left side of the store, hand gesturing to an array of really expensive necklaces for them to choose from.

“i’ll be right where you found me if you need any help with specifics.” she smiles before abandoning them.

rafe turns to look at his mom, who holds wheezie on her hip. “so?” he shrugs.

“hm?”

he shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, “what one do you want?”

his mother laughs, adjusting wheezie on her hip and grabbing her hand, stopping her from dirtying the display with her chubby fingers. “i don’t want any of these. which one does y/n want?”

the question makes him think for a second. he doesn’t know what you would like. he flips through his memories for some sort of indication, but really he should just point to a random piece and call it a day.

red. he thinks, he remembers you saying your favorite color is red- on multiple occasions.

it was red like ladybugs 4 years ago. then red like pretty roses. red like red pandas a couple years before. red like taylor swifts iconic lipstick now.

he shakes his head, then points to a silver chain with a little red charm in it. “that.” he shrugs and then turns on his heel, before his mom can question if its the best choice.

…

he fidgets with the black ribbon wrapped neatly on top of the gift box theyd put the necklace in, eyes tracing over the bolder lettering over and over again as they walked back to the parking lot. he avoids making eye contact with his mom, like for some reason it’d trigger her to go on another rant about how he should act gentlemanly when he gives her the present or at least act like he cares.

they make it to the car without any conversation, save for some half-coherent blabber here and there from wheezie. he slips into the passenger seat while his mom buckles in wheeze into her carseat, the box still in his hands.

halfway through the car ride, the silence between them is broken. “i know you don’t like to talk about your feelings rafe, but you don’t do a great job at hiding your facial expressions.”

“mom,” he groans, leaning the back of his head deep into the leather seat of her escalade.

“i can tell you have a soft spot for her.” she continues, pressing on the brakes as they approach a red light.

“i don’t.” rafe grumbles, fingernail digging into the box and leaving a mark.

“deny all you want, but i saw the way you looked thinking about her. it’ll catch up to you one day.”

he finally brings his gaze to her, his blue eyes meeting her mirroring irises with a glint of curiosity over what her words mean. he makes to open his mouth, to ask what she means by the look. to ask what’s going to catch up to him. but then reminds himself it doesn’t matter and stops himself.

he doesn’t have anything to catch up to him, because he doesn’t have any sort of feelings for y/n.

there’s no way he feels something towards you- could he?

he shakes his head, putting the box to his side and out of his lap and flickering his eyes to his window. why is he letting his mom get into his head?

he doesn’t care about you. doesn’t care about hee stupid birthday, or even care much about the stupid present he chose for you.

—————-

your tenth birthday party is excatly how you wanted it to be. it’s perfectly decorated, with red streamers hung all over the downstairs of your house and taylor swift themed snacks and games. you were having the time of your life, drunk off shirley temples in fancy alcholol flutes.

you notice a stain on your birthday sash and you pout. quickly excusing yourself to drop off the sash in your room, you rush out of your back patio and into the house, making your way towards the stairs when you bump into someone’s solid chest.

here’s one thing to note; regardless of what everyone says, you do not like rafe cameron. “oh, rafe.” you say, taking a small step back-you can feel your cheeks burn under his gaze.

okay fine, the previous statement was a lie. but not completely, it was only a small crush. tiny. as big as the sprinkles on your birthday cake.

“here.” he shoves a small gift bag into your hands and then hastily walks away before you can ask what it is.

the interaction leaves you somewhat disoriented but also flustered, skin pink and pulse fast.

on your past birthdays, you always get one present from sarah and one from her parents. and that’s what you think it is, a present from sarah’s family.

you bring the bag up with you into you room and pull the sash off your body, throwing it into a random corner of your room.

you know it’s bad etiquette to open presents before it’s time, but for some reason you’re too drawn to the gift bag to wait. you peak your head out your bedroom door and find that the coast is clear, and open the bag, pulling out a small teal box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. you shake it close to your ear, guessing it’s some sort of jewelry and grin to yourself when you realize you’re right

you open the box and find the most perfect necklace ever. it’s silver, with a small red heart attached to its chain with your initial engraved onto it.

you’ll have to thank mrs and mr cameron for the gift. it might be even better than the one sarah got you.

you hear your mom call for you from the bottom of the stairs and you quickly shove the box into the top drawer of your dresser, leaving the bag on top of your bed before hurrying back downstairs to rejoin the party.

——-

you’re confused when mrs cameron hands you another gift bag when it’s time to open presents.

“another one?” you ask with your brow furrowed, though you aren’t complaining.

“from me, ward and wheeze.” she hands it to you with a warm smile and a quick wink.

that’s when it clicks that the present wasn’t from who you thought it.

you slip away from the party and rush back up to your room, grabbing the original bag and digging inside for a card or an indication form who it could be from.

there’s a note stuck to the bottom of the bag, made of ripped loose leaf and written with a dull pencil.

“happy birthday” it says, with no signature. but you don’t need one to know who it’s from.

suddenly, your heart starts hammering and your face starts to swell with a smile.

you can’t believe it- rafes the one who got you the necklace, and somehow he managed to make it perfect.

—-

authors note part 2 : i want to say this is extremely UNEDITED so i apologize for any errors and incoherences etc ! there’s a 90% chance i’m gonna take this down and repost this with edits lol.

taglist : @mrsstarkey1 @maybankslover @of-many-fandomss @dearreader03 @penny4yourthoughts @willowpains

PART 2

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moraxsthrone · 1 year

Text

♡ ⋆｡˚ — WHEN HE PUTS IT IN

ft. diluc, itto, kaeya, thoma, zhongli (separately, x f!reader)

be warned: nsfw. mdni.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — DILUC

oh my gods, is there a more attentive, conscientious lover than diluc ragnvindr? the redheaded vintner has been kissing, licking, and sucking nearly every inch of your body in his candlelit bedchamber for almost an hour. your fingers are tangled in his soft hair as you pant into his mouth when he rises to kiss you. your legs are still shaking from the orgasm he sucked from your clit mere moments ago when the underside of his big, veiny cock drags slowly between your slippery folds. “f-fuck me, luc,” you breathe as he holds your face in his rough, loving hands. finally, his leaking tip catches on your opening; the pressure and delicious drag of his girth against your tight walls as he spreads you open takes your breath away. “fuuuck, you always feel so incredible when i take you, my love,” diluc groans against your neck as you suck him in deeper and deeper.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — ITTO

honestly has almost no self-control. the moment he dips his monstrous cockhead inside your cute pink pussy, he’s bullying his fat length inside you with a growl, one thrust after another. but he’s not a mean or selfish lover, no. he just gets a little…excited…sometimes. so all you need to do is gently remind him, between sobs, to go slow. and he will, apologetically. your oni will tower over you, strong hands planted firmly on either side of you, holding himself up to keep most of his weight off you. he’s going much slower now, almost too slow as he carefully nudges his heavy cock against the resistance put up by your tiny, wet pussy. keeps asking “are you okay?” “does it feel good?” “am i hurting you?” “are you sure?” when the broad head of his beast-cock eventually kisses your cervix, there’s still two inches of him to go. but he handles you like a porcelain doll until you dig your heels into his firm ass and demand that he start fucking you already.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — KAEYA

his cock bounces when he swipes his thumb over his slit to collect a drop of his pre before pushing it to your lips. “tell me, how do i taste, lover?” you moan, eyes sliding closed as you suck his salty flavor from his thumb. “so, so good, kaeya. i could drink you like wine, baby.” he smiles, pleased as punch with your answer. “perhaps that can be arranged,” he purrs, sultry as ever. “i’ll have plenty more where that came from…” he pauses to slap your clit with his cock a few times…"after i ruin this beautiful pussy of yours.” watches you with fascination, those gorgeous heterochromatic eyes of ice and gold watching every flutter of your eyelids, every quiver of your lip, every crease of your brow as he fills you up with his perfect dick. your hole stretching around his thick tip as he pushes it through with a soft pop. you fill his mouth with whimpers and coos as he fills your sweltering cunt with his throbbing cock.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — THOMA

has been dry humping you for what feels like hours, the rough material of his pants soaked with your need as he grinds his hard bulge against your clit. you’re keening and squirming under him, nearly in tears. “what’s the matter, pretty baby? is something wrong?” thoma asks, his tone so sweet and innocent that you almost believe he doesn’t know until you see his crooked smirk and the teasing glint in his kind, green eyes. “t-thoma please…need to feel you…please!” ever the pleaser, he raises to his knees. you watch, licking your lips as he unfastens his pants and pushes them down to mid-thigh. his pretty cock - long and pale with an angry red tip - springs out and slaps his taut, naked belly with a wet smack. “how can i say no to my baby when she asks so politely?” he guides his erection to your opening, pre drooling from his slit as he gives it a couple of strokes just before pressing inside you. you’ve been so keyed up for so long that the second his cockhead rubs against your sweet spot, you cum on the spot, mewling and pawing at his chest. but thoma doesn’t stop there; he just keeps on easing his length through your slick, clenching walls as you whimper and whine his name. you squeeze your thighs around his narrow hips as they begin to rock, mercifully rewarding you by spreading your sopping wet walls around his girth again and again and again.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — ZHONGLI

presses his blunt tip against your opening then settles down on top of you, sinking inside one exquisite inch at a time. wants to be close to you and look into your eyes as his cock invades your helpless little cunt. the intensity of his golden gaze is too much; between his beauty and the way he’s easing his godly cock deep inside, you have to look away, too overwhelmed to maintain eye contact. but he quickly corrects you as his thumb caresses your flushed cheek. “darling love, open your eyes. look at me when i’m entering you,” he says, a low growl rumbling in his chest and your slick oozing out around his wide base when his balls finally press all the way against you.

m.list

♡ ⋆｡˚ — could you feel them? hear them? see them? ;) if so, please consider reblogging. i love the love you all have been showing me. tysm, baby loves. <3

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romanoffsbish · 10 months

Text

A Vintage Taste

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Warnings: Red Room Trauma.

Word Count: 5,048

Natasha was a collector, a curator of the finest things the world had to offer. She obtained rare artifacts meant for museums, paintings made by the historical elites, and a very long list of other various means of artistic expression.

If she wanted it, it became hers, even if that meant breaking laws from time to time to secure it. Money is power, so she ruled.

——

One of the things she collected, what actually inspired her to start her life of curating, was a porcelain doll with the prettiest of features. It was given to her by her neighbor friend, Sara, as a way to say goodbye before she moved.

Natasha loved that doll more than life itself, which wasn't hard to believe with the life she'd been dealt. It broke her heart when she woke up in the army vehicle to find it was gone.

Dreykov grinned devilishly at the little girl, he held the delicate antique in his hands, she sobbed openly knowing of her cruel, twisted fate. Tears cascaded down pale cheeks as the man ripped the doll in two, tearing away her far off dream of a full life, taking away her will to fight for that dream; but it didn't die.

It was a long time before she obtained that freedom, and it's been an even longer time since she escaped to chase a new one.

A dream that lead her right to you.

She remembers the first time she walked down the streets of New York with Clint, he'd taken a strong liking to her. A paternalistic need to show her love, and to show her how life could be; the inspiration for his willingness to walk down the streets of a bustling Manhattan.

He was blabbering on about all he'd planned for the day, just to find he'd lost her attention to a little hole in the wall thrift shop. He had jogged back to her, ready to scold her for not stopping him, but he paused at her expression.

Natasha was transfixed on a doll, he'd seen her reflection surrounding it, slightly muffling its features, but he saw the redheads clearly. There was a spark of vulnerability in her eyes that he knew ran deep, it was the first time he'd ever seen her walls fall like this. It was sweet.

Clint shook his shoulders of his trepidation for the sake of the redhead. Superstition had him in a chokehold but he didn't have it in his heart to break hers so he bought the 'creepy' hunk of porcelain for her anyways. Then he silently vowed to take a bath in salt to placate karma.

Years later he told Nat about that feeling, and his noble act of bravery. She then watched in amusement as the Avenger jumped at the sight of five dolls clustered in a corner. Laughing in his face mockingly as she felt truly offended.

His words of misfortune proved untrue, only a year after she found that doll did she find you.

Her precious Y/N, you were the picture of perfection in her eyes that only sparkled for you. Your gorgeous features showed of an equally as tormented upbringing, but your heart radiated with a joy that was unfazed.

You kept your heart, and made her reminisce.

You were undeniably warm, she was shivering. So she gravitated to you without fear, her eyes hopeful, and you took her in without question.

Now Natasha sits in her reading cove, watching the rain pelt against the slanted windows of the roof. Nervously she tapped her short, red nails against the cracked spine of her favorite book as she anxiously awaited for you to return.

You'd only had to drop the kids off with Yelena, which she knows is a half hour trip with your fifteen minutes of silly gossiping at the door.

"Kate Bishop" this and "Natalia" that, she knew the drill, and she wholeheartedly adored it.

But it'd been over an hour now, and you weren't answering any of her texts or calls. Never did she let her defenses fall, retirement for her didn't come with the dream of peace. It came with risks, and to lose her edge over the enemies could be catastrophic for many.

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief, if not for the sudden, and adored sound of gravel crunching beneath tires she'd have called for backup.

"Where were you?" Natasha shrieked as she graciously made her way down the slippery cobblestone steps with an umbrella meant to shield you from the storm. You waited in the drivers seat, a knowing glint in your eyes as she reached for your hand to safely guide you out.

She'd always been so cautious with you, her fragile doll from the very first day you met.

Natasha was enamored by you, and you were just as curious about her. The attraction was instant, and the relationship moved fast.

You shook your head with a silly smile as you looked down to her bare feet, eyes curious as they moved up over her delectable, creamy thighs exposed to the world, and finally over the swell of her breasts to thin camisole straps.

Natasha smirked, then winked. "I'm Russian."

You cackled, head thrown back, the jolt was more than enough to make Natasha's hand move to your back to stabilize you. Effectively pulling you closer, lips hovering over yours as she whispered: "Where were you doll?"

You swallowed thickly, arms wrapping around her neck so you could kiss her swiftly. A failed means of distraction, her question only being hotly repeated into your mouth. You'd wanted to surprise her, but the chance was fading.

"I had to get Lena some groceries," you start, "She agreed to have the kids all week if I only got her enough food to satiate Milo's appetite."

"And her own I'm sure," Natasha teased.

You giggled, "Yeah, when I found fifteen boxes of mac and cheese on her list I realized that."

Natasha rolled her eyes but kept her smile fond. Her little sister was so childish it was adorable, but say that word to the blonde and suddenly it becomes an apparent falsehood.

"Then I had to get another epi-pen for the car for Eli as I gave the actual one to Yelena."

Natasha hummed, her agreement clear in your thoughtful decision. "You're so precious."

Your nosed scrunched and Natasha swooned. You'd always get even more adorable when she spoke so sweetly to you, cherishing you into a state of awkward appreciation. Love abounding in a way that almost felt suffocating, but you managed to settle into the warmth every time.

Her love was a safety net you hardly ever left.

Your lover saw the look in your eyes had hazed over some, she knew you had clear intentions for how tonight's going to go without your four year old son, and two year old daughter here.

"I also got us a few groceries as well," you say suddenly, popping the lust cloud swarming around your heads. Natasha nodded, and then wasted no time passing over the umbrella, and ushering you into the house, saying that she'd grab the groceries from the back seat for you.

You hesitated, but relented. She pecked your lips softly. "Hold onto the railing sweetheart."

"I will mommy," you appeased, purposeful in your chosen phrase as you ascended into the cottage. Lingerie you managed to hide burning the skin beneath your thick grey overcoat.

Natasha was hot on your heels, she tossed your bags of food onto the hardwood table without much consideration to if you'd gotten eggs. Her greedy hands pushed you into the marble counter, but before she could fully pounce your hands pressed to her chest. "You're dripping on my floors Natalia, take a shower, and relax."

You were playin dumb now, Natasha loved it, feigning shock at her movements as if you didn't egg her on with the use of your words.

Natasha acquiesced, leaving you to reheat the borscht you'd prepared the night before, knowing that it's best served reheated. Giving it ample time to steep in a fridge overnight.

While she took an expectantly fast shower you unloaded your groceries, and began to make a half dozen chocolate covered strawberries for a dessert, you then slipped them into the freezer.

You grabbed wine glasses, preparing your wife a glass of white, before topping off your own.

Then you pulled the bread from the oven, the outside was crunchy, and the rest soft. You plated two each on your finest China bowls, smeared them with butter, then lifted them moments later to layer the borscht beneath.

Natasha made it down just in time to see your bare ass before you were taking your seat. She looked you over with disdain for your apron.

You looked her over with your breath caught in your throat. It appears you were no longer the only one teasing, she'd joined, and played well.

The redhead had settled on slipping into a grey, ribbed tank that fit tightly to her body. Her bulky muscles were flexed as she curved her arms beneath her breasts, shifting your attention to them without a stutter in gaze.

Natasha smirked as she took her seat across from you. "Dinner looks great doll, thank you for always taking such good care of me."

"Mhm." You smiled. "I love taking care of you."

Natasha dug into her food, dipping the bread into the stew, making sure to get some of the dolloped sour cream to ensure a well rounded bite. The redhead moaned genuinely as the flavors melded over her tongue harmoniously.

You chuckled, "Do you like it Natty?"

"It's amazing sweetheart, so, so delicious."

"Thank you mommy," you softly giggled, more to yourself as the redhead took a sip of wine.

It wasn't long before she yearned for you in a way that was undeniable. Yearning for you was a constant for her, but this time was different. Natasha could feel the thrum of her heart in her ears, she shook her head and cleared her throat as she felt the sensation trickling down. Landing in her cunt where she felt a pulse.

She eyed the wine in her hand suspiciously now, taking note of the granules you'd failed to dissolve. It was a purposeful choice she's sure.

Natasha saw you grinning over your own glass, you let the tainted beverage slosh against the sides, swirling the cup with confidence as you focused back in on your nearly empty bowl.

Natasha slurped her last bit down, a low groan following the lewd noise and you felt your body tense. The stimulant was working rapidly.

You collected the empty bowls, walking away with a tantalizing sway of your hips. Natasha adjusted her posture, legs manspreading as she focused on your every move. The hem of her boxers digging into her skin as her high tech strap began to harden, bulging the fabric out.

Natasha cursed the forced adrenaline running through her veins. She intended to take her time with you, but now she's not so sure she won't bend you over the counter right now.

You pulled something from the freezer, and returned with a bright smile as you plated the strawberries in front of her. They shined with the help of the condensation on the chocolate. Natasha smiled at the plate, it was sweet, and above all else appreciative—a silent thank you.

You rewarded her manners with a gasp, "Oh my Natty, I'm still wearing my apron..." She shook her head as you turned your back to her, she understood the request, but before untying it she made sure to lavish your backside with open mouth kisses and occasional love bites.

When you turned back around you looked momentarily dazed, then you were back to smiling with a glint of mischief as you lifted the apron over your head and finally let it fall.

Natasha's eyes widened as you became fully exposed to her. There were straps adorning your skin, but fortunately nothing inherently crucial was shielded from her wandering gaze.

In the sweetest way possible you'd dressed up for her. Bridging the line between heartfelt and downright depraved. With your breasts and glistening cunt free of imprisoning fabric she was ready to pounce. She originally thought being able to see your bare backside minus the thong was a real treat. This was her nirvana.

But then she stuttered as she appreciated the way black strand's holding the lingerie over your shoulders and backside change into red when she looks to your abdomen. The emblem of her retired superhero persona covers your skin, with white lace to replicate an intricate web interlaced between the hourglass lines.

Natasha beckoned you over with a slow curl of her finger, you breathed in deep before obliging her as you tried to come down after imagining her doing that inside you instead.

You straddled her lap, legs stretched to their limits as she didn't close hers even an inch. Natasha lifted a strawberry to your lips, you obediently parted them so she could push the strawberry passed them. Nat softly tutted when you naturally tried to bite into the delicacy, "Patience doll, let mommy soften it some..."

Natasha played with you, pushing it passed your lips, only to pull it out before you could manage to taste the chocolate that was melting. Fucking your mouth with a coated strawberry wasn't exactly on her sex bucket list, but when inspiration strikes, she's one to run with it.

"Take a bite baby," she finally whispered, and you bit into the strawberry, the desired crunch of the chocolate ruined by your warm lips, but you didn't mind much when the richness of the melted chocolate bloomed more noticeably.

Natasha used her thumb to catch the juice that ran down your chin, she slid the digit into her mouth with a content hum. Then she wanted more and reached out for you, hand behind your neck guiding you to lean your body into hers so she could capture your lips with hers.

Her tongue slowly slid over yours, hot and heavy breaths being exchanged as she sought to taste the dessert that laid upon your tongue. Natasha moaned as the sweet, tart flavors were able to mix so flawlessly with your own taste.

There was just always something so delicious about you, the redhead could spend hours alone just kissing you until you were out of it.

Normally she'd kiss you until your lips were swollen, and tears were flowing down your cheeks at the desperation you felt for more.

But this isn't one of those times since every single touch from you burned her, with that pleasurable ache residing in her lower belly only growing more prominent as she kissed you sloppily, she knew it was a wrap on taking it slow. It hurt, but she knew that her usual love for devouring your lips would have to be set aside, the kissing becoming shorter.

Especially when you caused Natasha to lose sight of the bigger picture, your pleasure. She groaned huskily into your mouth as your hips instinctually ground down into hers, smearing your wetness all over her cotton boxers.

The moment her strap hardened fully against her boxers you groaned, then began running your slit over it without wavering in the power of your thrusts. This idea that you'd turned her on so much that she already activated the nerve trackers in the strap to make it work made you particularly feral. The overwhelming smell of you as you smeared your arousal all over her boxers left her in the same desperate state.

"Slow down doll," she purred against your neck, her buff arms wrapped around you to keep you from still rutting into her aimlessly. "Mommy needs to eat you out sweetheart, it feels like I might die if I can't taste you soon."

Natasha didn't give you much time to respond, she simply lifted you up onto the dining room table and buried her face between your legs with a sigh of unbridled contentment. Taking what was hers, and holding no remorse. Not that she needed to with the way you were singing her praises. A cocky smirk raising her wetted cheeks as her tongue flicked over your clit and she heard as you forgot how to breathe.

"Fuck, mommy, I'm so close," you cried out as she swirled her tongue within your greatest depths. Natasha drove her tongue even deeper and your back arched off the table, your thighs trembled and you finally drenched her cheeks.

Natasha's eyes found yours within an instant, she slowly lifted her head to reveal an almost predatory smile, her lower face glistened under the soft yellow lights of your dining room, and you found yourself struck by her raw beauty.

No one could ever compare, not to you at least, she was a step above the rest in your eyes.

"What's on your mind doll?" Natasha was now hovering above you with a playful smirk, she could see you lost in something deeper than the haze, it nearly worried her until you smiled. It was goofy, and kind, a reminder of just why she loved you so deeply. "You're so beautiful."

Her heart burst with adoration, every day she found herself falling more in love with you, something she once thought to be impossible.

She never expected her life to be like this. From the mornings spent wrapped up in each other, the soft kisses you two would exchange just before the giggling commenced as the toddler’s came bounding into your bed for snuggles. To the nights like these, where your bare bodies entangled with one another’s more intimately. This life with you was like a dream come true.

Natasha leant down to kiss you, it was softer than the moment initially called for, but it was what you, her sweetest girl, truly deserved. “Thank you baby,” she whispered, smiling against your lips. “But I’m nowhere near as beautiful as the sounds you’re going to make.”

The glint in her eyes read of danger, her lips quirked up as realization washed over you just in time for her finger's to slip inside. "Fuck." Your fingers dug into the muscles around her shoulder blades as the pleasure overtook you, your head hitting the table as your back arched.

Natasha roughly nipped at the stretched skin of your throat as she steadily thrusted into your cunt, your slick was so abundant that it was pooling and leaving behind a polish for the table that was already being rubbed in by your backside that jiggled with every harsh thrust.

Once you came around her fingers with a throat scratching, incoherent scream Natasha pulled out of you against your bodies natural pull to keep her locked in place. You whined, but she pressed her lips to yours, and caught your moan as her strap easily slid inside you.

"I'm going to fuck you to sleep doll," Natasha spoke in a whisper, her teasing breath rushing over the heated skin of your neck enacting a scattering of goosebumps to rise on your body.

You felt impossibly warm, body buzzing with a need, the warmth only intensified as she licked from your throat to your earlobe, seductively whispering: "Then I'm going to continue to fuck you until you cum back to life."

To emphasize the truth in her words she rocked her hips back, then sharply thrusted back inside your dripping heat where she belonged. The anatomically ambiguous tip of her strap hit your cervix, inspiring a delicious mix of pain and pleasure to course throughout your body. You rewarded her with a moan.

Your continued flurry of sounds as she railed you were more symphonic than any of Beethoven's compositions. In moments like these, thick with infatuation and driven almost exclusively by lust, Natasha had found herself concocting devious plans. Like the one where she plans to one day open a museum for you.

One where the walls shook as your glorious sounds reverberated off of them, a continuous loop of your labored breath intermixed with whorish moans and squelching noises from her fucking your pussy so well it was singing.

There'd be photos scattered on the walls, in many forms such as: polaroids, like the one of you with your eyes crossed as she fucked her strap down your throat, or the ones of your tits. The visual possibilities would be endless.

There would also be film strips from sex tapes. They'd be raunchy stills, in sepia, scattered on a wall that surrounds a boxed off area with a single oak door meant for walking through.

Natasha would guide you in with a corrupted hand on your lower back. There'd be an old timey projector, and you'd watch with your mouth agape as videos you'd never seen before broadcast just how filthy you two can get.

Then she'd recreate those scenes with you as they played in real time, never letting your eyes stray away from the screen. Just so she could see your face when it turns into a livestream of the both of you. She imagined you'd clench around her fingers as you saw the screen, she can picture the look of surprise that would soon fade to embarrassment before bliss.

The idea arouses her to no end, especially because she knows you'd melt at the gesture. Natasha was nothing short of romantic, she made it her mission to never stop wooing you.

This would be a personal project of course, never opened to the public because Natasha doesn't much believe in the sharing is caring mantra. No, she believes instead that since she fought through thick and thin just to have you that you would be hers alone. It was only fair. You felt the same about her, whenever anyone ever came close to her in your younger years you'd send them home shitting themselves.

Possession in relationships could be rather daunting, most times it became overbearing. But with each other, it's a peaceful process, it's the only way the two of you know how to exist. More to the point, was that this was wanted.

Natasha stayed true to her promise, she always did. It was after you'd cum for her three times, with this brutal pace being set, and she'd had you teetering on another edge of unforgiving bliss that it began to become a reality.

Her first, and likely only orgasm was intense as she felt herself clench around her end. Sharp teeth sinking into the skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder as it tore through her. Thus activating the finale you’d anticipated.

On your end you felt as the strap externally warmed, and twitched as if this was a real sequence. Then her warm, genuine semen filled the stretched space between the walls of your quivering cunt, in toe curling abundance, it even came sloshing out onto your thighs.

A silent scream echoed through the vibrations against her lips on your neck, no sound left you, but she knew. The way your body trembled beneath hers was fascinating, but it was when you completely slumped against the table that she felt her movements become feral.

“Fuck, I love it when you do this,” she grunted, her hips continued to fuck the strap into you, her arms holding up your limp legs, causing her to reach your furthest depths, and ensure her cum made it deep into your barren womb.

Natasha admired your raw beauty, your face calm, but occasionally twitching from pleasure. All too suddenly she added that extra bit of pressure to your neglected clit, and in seconds your upper body rose off the table with a shriek as you were overcome by pleasure, what’d put you to sleep had also been like an alarm clock.

“Mommy, please, no more,” you cried, as your hands tried to push her away, but it was never of any use when you did that. You knew what to say to make her stop, but you never did, because you both knew you loved this feeling.

All you ever did while weakly protesting her lust was create red lines on her chiseled biceps that she’d look to fondly the following morning as the hot water from your shared shower makes it sting. “It’s okay, let mommy make sure her seed is gonna stick doll, just a couple more seconds and then it’ll be over, I promise.”

A couple of seconds turned into a minute though, as she lazily kept up the rocking of her hips. The sloshing sound of your cunt slowly became drowned out by your whines from the overstimulation. Natasha knew you couldn’t handle another intense round, so she stilled, not wanting to work herself back up either.

The drugs had officially worn off, her urge to devour you was now back to her average, which was still high, but there’s always tomorrow. For now you needed rest. “See doll,” she purred, tongue tracing over the bruising mark she’d just left behind on your neck. “We’re all done.”

Natasha pulled out of you, slipping the plug she’d already had with her inside of you, her lips peppered your face with kisses as she too worked to calm you down. Natasha hated to see you in pain, but she wanted to ensure the third and final addition to her family took.

This was it, the last of her scientifically engineered seed, what gave her the chance at motherhood that was once torn from her, and she didn’t want to have to ask Tony, the smug man, or Bruce, the jealous ass to make more. Fortunately, with her super soldier serum in the mix the cum was potent, it’s never failed.

When you whined again, she shushed you, “It’ll be okay love, we just have to be secure.” You nodded tiredly, eyes fluttering open again as your body had regulated some. You smiled up at the redhead in a dopy, lovesick fashion. “You're always so good to me," you sighed dreamily as you met her lips for a perfect kiss.

Natasha smiled genuinely. "You're my most prized possession, you deserve cherishing."

"You're mine too," you sheepishly admitted, and the woman's eyes shone with tears that you quickly kissed as they slipped down her cheek. "My entire life is you and the kids."

At the mention of your kids, your unending love personified, Natasha grinned widely. Her hands caressed the skin of your stomach. "I hope it works." She kissed your tummy then she smiled up at you shyly. "For good luck."

"Yeah?" She shrugged then swiftly moved back up to kiss your lips with uncontainable passion. "Mhm." Her arms wrapped around your body, and she stood up with you with far too much ease. "Now let's go get you cleaned up love."

Her strength was truly mesmerizing, even after all this time with her you were still amazed that she could carry you. Especially when she still stayed so gentle after the rough sex. Natasha could break you with ease, fortunately, she never would. You were like a fragile doll, but you’re one that would never be made to break.

The redhead cleaned you both up as quickly as she could before slipping off to make a snack for the two of you to share. She settled on some carrots with ranch, and a PB & J to split, she even threw on a few chips for your happiness. After scarfing down the food, she made sure you had an entire bottle of water before she settled you onto the mattress with care.

Natasha laid behind you on her side, her arm wrapped around your waist protectively. She had you pulled into her, back pressed to her front without much space between your bodies. Every time, without fail, after a passionate night together you'd find yourself like this. The both of you cherished these sweet moments.

"I love you," Natasha whispered as she kissed your bare shoulder, breaking the peaceful silence that had settled over your bodies.

You momentarily turned to face her, kissing her lips tenderly. "I love you too Natty."

The redhead kept you there a moment longer, lips lingering over the marks already forming on your throat until she returned to your lips.

"Get some sleep doll," she softly commanded, then she retook her rightful place behind you.

The both of you were physically exhausted, but your minds were racing with the excitement of what just took place. Hope for life reignited in ways that left you restless and wide awake.

So you watched the rain run down the window, multiple lines in a race of sorts it seemed, you'd silently placed bets on the winner. "I think the one on the right is gonna win," you yawned, Natasha chuckled, "The what is gonna what?"

"It's too late," you yawned again, "I was wrong because they met in the middle and merged."

Natasha snorted, "Go to sleep now doll, you're clearly losing it." She pulled you in closer as you grumbled a hey in protest. Then you rolled over so you could lay with your face in her neck and place a few gentle kisses to her collarbone.

"Goodnight Natty." Natasha stayed up for another hour after you, simply relishing in the way your body felt so close to hers. How perfect you were under the soft casting from the moon, the subtle rise and fall of your chest a reminder that you're alive, and this love was indeed real.

Her tired eyes flitted around the room until she found the tattered doll she once adored. The one she repaired in secrecy, and that looked just like you, her wildest dream come true.

Reminiscent eyes fell back to you with ease. “Moya krasivaya kukla.” She’d smiled softly before pecking your parted lips. Your nose scrunched adorably, but fortunately you had remained fast asleep in her arms, the corner of her eyes crinkled in response. “I love you so.”

(My beautiful doll)

Natasha was once a collector, but it seemed that after she found you the thrill was gone. Expectedly so, there was no longer a need for it; she'd curated her standalone masterpiece.

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eddie-van-munson · 2 years

Text

Peanut Butter Cookies (Eddie Munson x Reader)

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Requested by @cupcake-de-abacaxi

Summary: The reader gets jealous when she meets a friend of Eddie's: a gorgeous, smart metalhead that's infuriatingly perfect for him. Little do you know, he's not interested in this 'friend' in the very least.

Warnings: Cursing, Drug use (Weed), Jealousy, Saucy Kisses, Implied Sex, Slight Angst (Happy Ending), Fluff.

(I will get a "Read More" cut on this ASAP. Requests are OPEN.)

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Her name was Juliet. How the hell were you supposed to compete with that? Fucking Juliet.

That was the most romantic, gothic, wicked ass name you'd ever heard.

She had thick black curls and glossy lips, painted dark and curved like a doll's. She wore a dense chain around her perfect porcelain neck and tall, studded boots.

You couldn't have found someone more suited to Eddie if you had drawn her yourself, but there she was. Draped across his living room couch.

"Who's this, Eds?" She cooed, as you wandered into the trailer. Your stomach churned. Eds. Only you and Wayne were allowed to call him that.

"Huh?" He glanced over from the kitchen where he was rolling a joint. "Oh! This is Y/N. She's mine. You'll love her."

She waved at you, smiling. You waved back shyly, slightly comforted by the phrase "she's mine" even though you knew what he meant was "she's with me".

"I'm Juliet." She sounded friendly enough. "Brownie?"

She held out a tray brownies, which were definitely edibles, and patted the couch beside her. You politely declined, but sat down, fidgeting with your hair.

"Oh god, Eds." She giggled, blushing as she covered her face with her brownie-free hand. "Do you remember the last time we made treats?"

Eddie grinned, smoke pluming from his lips when he laughed. It seemed he'd gotten the joint lit. "Jesus, I'd forgotten about that. We both ate one and thought they didn't work-"

"So we both had two more!"

"Holy shit. I thought the damn ceiling was talking to me."

Juliet laughed, wiping a tear from her large, shockingly blue eyes. "I thought Wayne was going to kill us!"

Jealousy boiled in your stomach. Wayne. She knew Wayne now too, apparently. And she and "Eds" had made "treats" together before.

Juliet sighed, polishing off her brownie. "Oh shit! I have something for you, Eds! I'd completely forgot! Let me grab it!"

Eddie chuckled as he sat beside you, "God, I've missed her." He sighed. "I haven't seen her in years. She said this time she might stay."

"S-Stay? In Hawkins?" Your heart stopped for a minute.

"Yeah! Isn't that amazing!"

You nodded, trying to save face for him. He was grinning ear to ear, and your heart hurt the more you admired him.

Juliet was back to quickly for your liking, holding a paper shopping bag. "For you..."

"Wait!? You bought me something?" Eddie's eyes went big.

"Just open it, silly!"

He gracelessly pulled the item from the bag. A brand new cassette. "Holy shit, is this?"

She grinned, nodding.

"Master of Puppets? This came out like, two days ago! How the hell did you?? Jules!!" He jumped up off the couch, pulling her into a hug as she giggled. "God, you're the best!"

Again your stomach churned, but this time from the feeling of being left out. You'd never been a metal head. Sure, there were a few songs you knew...a few you'd liked. And you loved hearing Eddie ramble about his favorite songs and bands, but it just wasn't your style.

Just the same, you had known Metallica was coming out with a new album. He'd mentioned it offhandedly about a week ago. You'd been saving up to try and get it for him for his birthday.

"Oh man, I've been dying to hear this. You have no idea."

Juliet grinned, "Pop it in!"

He headed for his player, but paused. "Nah. You know what? Let's save it. It's not really Y/N's thing."

Your heart sank with guilt.

"Oh man, really?" Juliet didn't sound judgemental, just surprised, but it still made your jaw clench a little. "I started dabbling in Black Sabbath a few years ago. I've never gone back."

Eddie laughed, "She knows fucking everything about this shit, Y/N. Any band, any song, any album, and she could give you the whole deal."

You gave a weak smile, nodding.

"Christ, it's so good to talk to someone who listens to actual music Eds. All my friends back home just listen to the fucking Beatles. You know, all the slow, sweet shit."

You loved the Beatles.

Eddie shot you an apologetic look, his eyes trailing to the little tin you'd brought with you. "What did you bring, N/N?"

"Is it speed?" Juliet gasped happily.

"Oh no...it's...um...Peanut Butter cookies."

Your mom loved Eddie. He was over at your house often, and everytime he was, he went on and on about her cooking.

This is good shit, Mrs. L/N.

They don't make 'em like you anymore, Mrs. L/N.

Damn, Mrs. L/N! You keep this up and you'll have me looking like the Philsbury dough boy!

He buttered her up like a slice of fucking toast. Hence, now everytime you went over to Eddie's, your mom sent the whole damn kitchen with you. Eddie didn't mind at all. Actually, you knew for a fact that was what kept him coasting when Wayne worked late. But for some reason, this time, you were mortified. Thank god you'd managed to talk her down to just the cookies.

"Oh!" Juliet said, her voice sweet, but still a little uncomfortable.

"M-My mom sent them for Eddie."

She frowned a little, "Peanut Butter Cookies? Eds, I thought you had a peanut allergy?"

Eddie's cheeks went a little pink. He scratched his neck, "Oh, well...it's just a minor one, really. It's not a big deal."

"What?" You'd known Eddie for years now. Literal, actual years. Never once had he ever mentioned a peanut allergy. "You never told me."

"It just...never came up." He shrugged.

Why were you angry at him? Why did you want to yell?

"Eddie, mom has sent over granola, before. Granola with peanuts."

His eyes were wide, "And Wayne loved it! It was great!"

"That's not the point!" You said a little too loudly, tears welling in your eyes. You stood from the couch, throwing your bag over your shoulder.

"Where are you going?" His voice was so soft. He sounded hurt.

"Nowhere. I'm sorry I'm just...tired or something."

He frowned, "Don't leave."

Your heart sank as you dug the tin from your bag, setting it on the counter. "It's alright, Eds. I'm alright. I'll catch up with you later ok? I promise."

You turned to Juliet, who was looking a bit bewildered where she was sitting on the couch.

"It was nice meeting you."

And with that, you shut the door behind you.

***********

You were in tears by the time you got home, mad at yourself for making such a stupid scene over his stupid peanut allergy, of all things. Juliet probably thought you'd lost it.

You put on a Beatles tape, completely out of spite, and crawled into bed with your clothes still on. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks.

How dare she. How dare she swoop in and be beautiful and perfect for him. And know every little detail about him on top of that. How dare she like metal and wear edgy clothes when you didn't. How dare she be endearing enough for him to give her a nickname. How dare she.

You'd cried until what little makeup you had on had stained your pillow case, and then you cried some more, because that was your softest one.

You flipped your pillow to the dry side, chest aching with sadness, and promptly fell asleep.

***********

You woke up to the feeling of the bed dipping. A warm, familiar smell enveloped you as you felt your covers being tucked in around your body. A fingertip grazed over your forehead, brushing baby hairs back from your face.

A soft voice sang along to your tape.

Making each day of the year... Changing my life with a wave of her hand... Nobody can deny that there's something there.

His hand cradled your face, grazing back and forth over your cheek lovingly.

Running my hands through her hair... Both of us thinking how good it can be... Someone is speaking, but she doesn't know he's there.

Your eyes fluttered, and you knew you had to be dreaming as a pair of big brown eyes came into focus.

"Hey, baby."

His thumb swiped at the trace of mascara left beneath your eyes and your nose scrunched, making him smile.

"H-...How do you know it?" You slurred, still half asleep.

"Know what, sweetheart?"

"The song." You whined, pitifully.

He gave a soft chuckle, "Because I like this song."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No you-"

"Jesus, how are you this stubborn when you're half asleep?"

You made a face, which immediately melted away when he continued petting your hair lovingly.

"I like this song..." He held your gaze, stubbornly. "Because it reminds me of you ."

You stared back at him, brow softening.

He smiled, "What can I say? I guess sometimes I'm into the slow, sweet shit."

Tears welled in your eyes, and you immediately covered them so he couldn't see. Your voice trembled ridiculously with tears. "Why didn't you tell me you had a peanut allergy?"

"Aw baby..." He chuckled sweetly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."

You gave a pitiful laugh through your tears, letting him move your hand away to see your red, puffy, makeup stained eyes.

"God, look at you." He giggles softly, brushing his thumb beneath your ringed eyes again. "You're a raccoon." You rolled your eyes and he laughed, admiring you for a moment. "Do you forgive me?"

You nod, pulling him down into a hug. "Do you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, princess."

You frown a little, pulling back to see his face. "Yes there is. I got angry and jealous."

He hums sweetly, "Well in that case, you're forgiven." You comb through his curls, tenderly. "I wouldn't worry about Juliet either, ok? You've got nothing to be jealous about."

"No Eds, I..." You took a deep breath, mustering your courage. "I want you guys to be together."

He quirked his brow, laying back on your bed and propping an arm behind his head. "Yeah? Why's that?"

You rest your chin on his chest, "Because you're perfect for each other. She likes the same music and she dresses like you and she knows so much about metal..."

He rubs a hand up and down the small of your back looking amused. "I don't think things are gonna work out between me and Juliet, babe."

You frown, "W-Why not?"

He smiles, "Well, I know I'm pretty backwards sweetheart, but as far as I know, it tends to be frowned upon to have a good 'round in the sheets' with your cousin."

You froze, a shit eating grin on Eddie's face.

"Cousin?"

He nods slowly, "That's right. Juliet Munson."

You were still processing, "Juliet Mun-..."

"Wayne's daughter. She lived with her mom. Came back down to visit now that she's over eighteen."

Juliet Munson. Eddie's...cousin. Christ.

You buried your head in his chest and he burst into bright, clear laughter.

"Eddieeee."

He brought a hand to his face, gathering tears from his eyes as he tried to steady out his giggles.

You gave him an embarrassed look, "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Never in a million years, Princess."

You were holding back laughter now too. You sat up, giving him a playful shove. " Well, I don't think it's funny, Eddie Munson. You-"

"Oh, Com'ere you."

He grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you down into a messy, needy kiss. You straddled him, letting his hands slide up over your neck to cradle your face. He sat up on his elbows, chasing your lips when you moved. His breath was heavy and hot as he hummed against you, "You...didn't have any...of those cookies did you?"

You tugged his curls in retaliation, making him give the most delicious whine. "No, asshole."

He chuckled as you gave him another tug, his head falling back so you could kiss down his throat. He cursed, grinding his hips.

"So the whole 'feeling like I can't breathe' thing and the lightheaded-ness...fuck...that's normal?"

"Yeah." You rasp, nipping at his collarbone. "I feel it too."

Eddie chuckled, pulling off his shirt, and you pulled back to admire him, tracing your fingertips over his tattoos.

He moaned, pressing up against your touch. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You chuckled softly, "Well as long as it doesn't involve me making you break out in hives..." You rocked your hips lightly, and his hands gripped your thighs. "I'm down to find out."

***********

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie imagine #eddie imagines #eddie x reader #eddie x you #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munsen x reader #eddie munsen imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munsen

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hotxcheeto · 7 months

Note

I'm dyinnnngggggg to see a ellie x plus size f reader fic where ellie just can't get enough of them. Like just insane amounts of verbal worship and body adoration.

happy kinktober horny fuckers

Sweat caramelized your skin as it pressed against hers. Fire meeting fire each time she thrusted against you while her fingers dug into the soft, fluffy skin that rounded your hips and made two perfect places to grab and bruise. All for her. Every inch. Carved perfectly.

Ellie's grunts and sweet whispers were muttered right beside your ear as her clit kissed yours over and over, proclaiming it's love for yours. Both of your bodies leaking cum and coating each others thighs all the while the girl kissed your neck and tear covered cheeks.

You wondered if you were even on Earth anymore.

"So pretty..." Her hand caressed your face and ran along your forehead, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Fuck... how can you not love this?" Green irises trailed down, looking over your body making you feel hotter than you already were. Suddenly so shy under her stare.

"My pretty girl." She huffed, looking you over while humping herself against you. The entire bed rocking with her as she moved and her palms cupping your body like it was a fragile piece of porcelain. Something she could snap in half with too much force, but she wasn't fucking you with any more sweetness then that.

"Ellie- Ellie slow down-" She shook her head, pressing her forehead to your own. "But you feel so good princess, c'mon, you wanna be good for me right?" You whined, grabbing at her and leaving little red lines along her pale skin that would last for days.

"Y-yeah-"

"That's my girl. Fuck you feel so good baby... look how good you make feel."

Ellie, for only a few seconds, lifted her hips to show the wetness between your hot silhouettes. A little gasp escaping your lips at the sight.

"Fuck Y/n, see what you do to me?" She ran her thumb against your clit, slowly moving down to tease your hole while listening to you cry out.

"And my dumb little baby thinks she isn't pretty..."

God you were so stupid to ever think anything ever.

a/n: i felt brain dead writing this so sorry if this is bad

#tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie willaims #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #tlou fic #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n

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tarjapearce · 8 months

Text

Mi Dulce Cereza (Pt. 4)

Ranchero AU! Miguel x f! Reader

WARNINGS: clasism, Telenovela level Drama, fluff.

Summary: Against all odds, a new life starts ahead with Miguel.

Intro:

Ever since Miguel had came into your life, it felt like a new perspective of how to truly live was revealed to you. He was a simple yet hardworking man. He was everything you weren't. An opposite really.

He had his temper, he knew hardwork possibly from a young age, he knew patience, he knew how to enjoy the little things and appreciate them. He enjoyed his life, his work. Enjoyed you.

Contrary to him, you were sometimes spoiled, Luis your horse was the proof, you were treated like a porcelain doll and not allowed to do hard work, possibly getting too comfortable in the fact that you'd always have what you currently did, you were a socialité, an expensive doll according to some rejected marriage prospects, that if you wished you could get a whole stable full of horses within days.

And of course, the Pastor's daughter. You were immaculate, pure and a perfect soon to be wife. You didn't know hardships, the only outstanding thing that made you "different" was your good aim at shooting. Your ex fiancé, a man from another wealthy family, was the one that taught you that out of boredom. He was the only most exciting thing that had happened in your life so far.

Till Miguel came.

He had swooped off your feet, showed and taught you so many things you were good at, but none really had taken their time to teach you. Not that he minded you being a spoiled princess, like some workers called you behind your back. You liked animals, being around them, but your ever perfect mother was always prying you from that. From anything that involved looking imperfect really.

Ah your mother.

The natural enemy of everything Miguel rendered. Perfectionist, shallow, clasist, oh but never racist. Like if that feature alone saved her from the rest of her twisted virtues. She took her role as a socialité seriously, more than you ever did. Parties were the only sort of meaningful thing you had, you could have fun, be yourself for a bit and forget about being the Pastor's daughter and setting the example within your circle, as usual.

Not that you minded, God and church had always played a huge part of your life ever since you had conscience. But in reality, you never really meddled too much in it, it was just for the sake of pretense.

Pretension, that's what your life really was about.

Friends weren't really friends, just acquaintances that you stumbled upon often, playing their part in the game of conceit. Just approaching you when they needed something, like everyone really. Your father was always busy, more married to church than your own mother. You didn't know if your mother resented it, neither cared.

All you could think was how this tall, tanned, strong, mulish, resolute, terse of a man was gentle, loving, unabashedly in love and oh so hot and bothered for you. You still couldn't quite believe that he was in love. At first you thought it was a game, something to just get his spite out from the constant implicit belittling your mom and sometimes your dad partook in.

But the way he held you, the way he looked at you, kissed you, touched you, made love to you, had proved you wrong. He knew what he wanted out of life.

"Solo imagínate, Cerecita. Tú, yo, una gran finca, muchos animales e hijos." (Just Imagine, Cerecita. You, me, a large estate, lots of animals and kids.)

He used to dream about it during pillow talk. You'd lie on his chest while he talked about his dreams, and the very thought would make you giggle and kick your feet.

Miguel was a certified farm manager. After all, you parents estate produced pure breed horses, foods like cheeses, milk and seeds.

You knew how to manage the food area since, your mother though it suited you more, instead of having back breaking and skin burnt jobs like the men. But once you entered the mid twenties, your 'work' turned strictly executive. Helping your parents with the office automation of the whole management.

So far a good job, but you knew it was only a deceit to make you look more suitable for those that showed the littlest of interest in you. Sometimes you felt your parents were offering your hand in marriage to anyone with enough money on their pockets.

Although their steadfast resolution to get you a good husband never died, you didn't want any strangers and play date with them. You wanted Miguel.

He had treated you like a normal person, not like a China doll, not someone fragile. He taught you things that you didn't even know you could do. You were good at gardening, feeding the animals, small little tasks that people around you had denied or thought you too dumb to do.

He had expanded your prospect of just being a trophy wife. You were always learning from him, but soon, harvest season and renovations around the farm started and you saw him led You also had your own share of work.

Work that somehow had made your stress levels to rise so high that your period had been delayed. You still wished that you could repeat the last session you had in his room in the barn weeks ago. The mere though of his display of prowess in bed had made you clench.

No other man could compare him really. You sometimes daydreamed about having more time alone with him, talking about your fears and hopes, everything that made you both who you were.

But a hurling wave of nauseas shot through your system as you rushed to your bathroom, emptiying your stomach's content down the toilet. And still no sign of your period.

---

You thought that avoiding certain foods would actually make the sickness that sat heavily on your stomach to go away, but it had only turned worse. You'd have these spasms of nausea through the day. And your suspicions only grew one day that one of your friends had gotten an apple pie nearby you. The smell so pungent to your senses that made you retch a little while after.

"Migraines for the strongest smells are the worst" one of them commented, trying to not pry too much on the obvious. It wasn't the time to prey on gossip.

------

You had woken up nauseous and queasy, for the third time in a row, at this point your mother was concerned. Had something made you sick? Food poisoning?

Of course the kitchen staff would hear a mouthful of her concern. She was stricter regarding the way your foods were made. Unavoidable realization hit harder than your mother swatting your head when you ogled at Miguel a second too longer.

Swallowing hard after retching in the bathroom again, the moment you smelled your morning soup, filled your eyes with tears.

How could you not notice? How could've you be so stupid? Sure stress had made you sometimes cause an anomaly in your cycle, and you though it was the case, but seeing the two positive parallel lines on the pregnancy test, only made your eyes turn glossier and wet.

You were pregnant.

Almost two months and counting. You barely had the chance of seeing Miguel anymore. Oh, Miguel. What would he think of it? Would he be mad? Sure you were his girl, but nothing else had been spoken further. Would he still want you?

God, you were so scared. You knew how your parents thought of him, and for all you knew, they still thought you were pure, immaculate, a good example to every lady in the little town.

They'll find out.

Of course they would. Sooner or later they'd find out. Probably kick him out and you'd be forced to marry a guy that looked like him to make pass the child as his. Right?

No. Your parents wouldn't be that bad. Nah, knowing how your father had done so many shotgun weddings because of sinful pregnancies told you that everything was possible. They were none to be underestimated. The thought scared you shitless, so you washed your mouth, bathed, got dressed and went to him.

The more you approached the antsier you got. He was talking to another helper, the talks of a new mare being brought spreaded through fast in the estate. However upon noticing you, he cut the conversation short and came to you. Like a magnet.

His smile faltered when your whole frame came into view, solemn look, and red nose by the constant sniffling.

"Hey, hey. Come here. ¿Qué le pasa a mi chula?" (What's wrong, gorgeous?)

You whimpered and buried your face in his chest. He held you tightly.

"It's fine, yeah? Wanna talk about it?"

You clung to him.

"You mom got you on another date?" He rolled his eyes and you shook your head with a shaky sob.

"Your dad tried to sell Luis again?" Another shake of your head.

"Then what is it? You gotta tell me, princesa."

He cupped your face gently and wiped your tears.

"I..." You hiccuped, "I think I'm pregnant."

You could feel him tense and he made you look at him directly. A glint in his eyes shining brighter than when he was popping your cherry.

"¿Voy a ser papá?" (Am I gonna be a dad?)

He questioned with a excited yet strained voice. You just stared at him and he kissed you, deeply.

"¡Me vas a hacer papá!" (You're making me a dad!)

His hands shook you softly. He could stop marveling at the fact that finally one of his dreams were coming true. But you seemed off, shut off to his joy.

"Why... Why are you crying? You don't... want it?

" No, no. It's not that, Miguel. I'm... scared. I'm so scared" You sniffed and he kissed your forehead.

"Dad will kill you."

He chuckled and nodded

"Might as well chase me down with a gun." His hand was placed on your lower belly.

"He might kick you out and..." You hiccuped and he just held you with a smile.

" Ps, que me eche. And if... things get bad, you'll come with me. Okay?" He squeezed you tightly and grunted happily, "Dios te vas a ver preciosa con esa panza toda grandota y redonda. Te voy a cuidar, vas a ser mi reina. Ya vas a ver."

(He can do that.) (God, you'll look gorgeous with that big and round belly. Imma take care of you, you'll be my queen. You'll see.)

He just kept rambling things you couldn't understand, but seeing him overjoyed made your aching heart to relax.

"I'll talk to him. I... Le voy a pedir tu mano." (Imma ask him your hand in marriage)

"W-What? are you sure of it?"

"You thought I was kidding when I told you that I wanted you for myself?"

His eyes softened

"I might not have much, or give you this kind of life you're so used to, yet, but... You have me. I want this with you." The steadfastness in his words made your heart leap and flutter.

"What if he says no?"

"You're coming with me anyways. Can't leave my future wife here knowing what they are capable of."

"God help us. Mom will be...-"

"Don't worry your pretty head over it."

"I do worry. She's... you know how she is. And what he thinks of you."

"Eso es lo de menos." (That's the least of my concerns)

"How far are you?"

"Seven weeks."

He cradled you. Arms full of love and devotion.

"They're coming back tomorrow"

"I know. Pack whatever you think is worth packing, and try to rest."

He slept with a smile on his face that night.

-----

"Papa?" You knocked and he called you in. Miguel awaited outside the office. To your surprise your mother was with him, discussing something. Mid day sun hid behind heavy dark clouds.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I... eh. Wanna talk to you both."

"Oh?"

"You alright, Mija?"

You nodded and sighed.

"You know how... you are always talking about me getting married, serving in church and the like, right?"

"Of course dear. We wouldn't want it other way."

Your mother gasped as excitement crossed her features

"You... You want to get married?! Oh dear.! I thought I ever hear that from you! I was growing concerned, really. Thought that... farm boy had done something to you."

"Mom-"

"I know he is wicked!"

"Let her speak. Don't take inspiration from her." your dad grumbled and the nausea crept up to you. Maybe it wasn't a good idea, but you were already here and see this through.

"What kind of man you both envision for me?"

"A hardworking one, that fears God, that treats you like we have, spoils you, that he knows your worth."

Ironically they had described most of Miguel's traits.

"Someone who knows that you aren't cheap. That isn't afraid of investing on you like you deserve"

Someone wealthy, of course that's what your mom would say.

"What about someone different?" Your hands fiddled nervously as your eye casted down.

"Different how, sweetie? You deserve better. Not different."

"Maybe I do want different, Papa"

Your name was chided as he looked at you with sternness.

"Different how?"

Sighing you stood and motioned for Miguel to approach. Your parents face fell instantly as he crossed the door.

"W-What is this?" You mother mumbled with a gasp as you sat with Miguel across your parents, entwining your fingers together.

"You're always saying that... You want a hard working man for me, right?"

"Yes, but not him." your dad nearly hissed through gritted teeth, "Do you know how many others are waiting for you to just look their way?"

Miguel chuckled and removed his hat.

"Too bad for them" You grumbled.

"Sir, suegrito, with all due respect your daughter-" (Father in law)

"Jesus Christ... How can you be so condescending?! Know your place!" Your mother shrieked.

Miguel's eye twitched slowly but remained shut.

"You think you can give her what we have? What could possibly a man such as yourself could provide her?"

"More than all those pretty boys that parade around but are useless for working, that's for sure."

"We'll too bad, cause she's already settled for another date!"

"I don't want another of your dates, mom."

"What did you just say to me, little brat?!"

"That I don't want dates! They're boring, they always talk about money and they're so shallow! I have enough of that kind of people"

Your mother prayed as your father rubbed his face in frustration.

"Like... You're always saying how you want the best for me, how you want a hardworking man for me. Miguel is that. He just... he is so smart and has given me a chance to try things I have never done before! I am good at things you said I wasn't! He... he loves me."

His grip on your hand tightened for a bit, reassuringly despite your mother's mocking cackling.

" He loves you?! Cariño... He's only been here for six months and you think this... man, loves you? Don't be ridiculous. He just wants your money. You think I don't know people like him?!"

Your eyes were slowly drooping and blurring with angry tears.

"Evidently not, cause if you gave him a chance to-"

"Never. You are not staying with him. Look at you, sweetie. You are pretty, you are young! Rich! You can have anyone you want"

"If that's so, won't you let me have him then?"

"This is just another of your whims. You're dragging him to this." You dad gestured to Miguel.

"It's not! I'm old enough to make my own choices-"

"And what could you possibly know about life?"

"Certainly more than you actually think. And I would've known more if all this time you wouldn't have treated me like I was fragile and stupid! I wanna be more than just... a stupid trophy wife"

"What would be the difference with him?"

"That he actually teaches me how to work, dad. I know I am pretty, but that won't take me far. Beauty fades, but... knowledge in life is something you earn, that you shape. And Miguel has helped me realize that. That's why I love him."

"You don't love none-"

"Don't project on me, mom."

Her dolled up eyes widened in disbelief at your words.

"You brat!"

"Look at you. Is this what he has taught you as well? To disrespect your mother?"

"Oh please! Don't talk about respect when even you at times give him a bad time unnecessarily. Look at what he has done so far! Look at Agustín! None wanted to be near him and you even wanted to sacrifice him cause you couldn't handle him!"

"This conversation is getting tiring."

Your stomach bubbled.

"I will marry him. With or without your blessing."

"No. You won't cause you will marry a decent man! Not this... This..."

"Say it" Miguel growled as his arms crossed. He'd do things his way anyways. He was just being civil and respectful enough about the whole thing.

"A Nobody" His fist clenched.

"Stop." You stood in between them, "Stop." your tone warning.

"Or what? Just imagine the scandal!! You are shaming us! What would the people say?!"

"Shame us? Are you serious right now? You deserve to be shamed! You profess about God and his love at your church and how much we gotta love eachother yet you treat people like shit. You specially mom."

A slap. Hard, burning in your face.

Shock plastered in your crying face, Miguel stood and prowled your way, your mother recoiled at him approaching.

"See? You can't teach me about love cause you love none!" Miguel held you in his arms as you tried to get to your mom.

"Take all the money from me if you want, but I refuse to marry someone for the money like you did. I refuse to be like you and this loveless marriage you have!"

Now it was his turn to try and stop your mother getting at you. Your dad shot in the air, startling everyone in the room. The rushed steps of people outside scattered around. Even the staff could hear everything that was happening.

"Don't touch me!" She pried herself away from him.

All the emotions made your head spin, Miguel pushed gently your mother away to hold your careening form before you could actually collapse.

"Cerecita!" You held onto him, then held your mouth. You guided him to your dad's office bathroom to just spill the contents of your upset stomach.

"Dios mío..." The annoying voice that always belittled him broke, realizing what was going on right away.

"No... No no. You... You couldn't. Why?!"

Your mother shrieked in horror. So many emotions were going through your father's face. Disappointment and a silent rage. The latter aimed at Miguel.

"¡Ya cállese, señora!" (Just shut up already) Miguel roared and your mother stood frozen in the spot. Too angry and stunned to actually do something.

Miguel helped to clean up after yourself, then you stood, facing your parents. You had expected them opposing, but not this bad. Not like this.

"Are you okay?" His eyes softened as he cupped your cheeks with concern. You just nodded, still feeling weak.

"I'll marry him. And that's not up to discussion. And I will do it, with or without your blessing. Understood?"

"Since you are making your own decisions now, I'll have to ask you to pack your things and leave tomorrow morning with your... man. You want to get married? So be it. You see... When you are going to venture in these sort of things, a house on your own its the first thing you must have.-"

"Don't worry about that, Patrón." Miguel's voice laced with venom, "It might not be like this pompous state, but at least it's mine. And none shall ever disrespect her or me again."

"You're fired."

Miguel smirked

"I expect my complete payment in my account then. Wouldn't like to return for a check."

You were taken to your room by some of the staff. As they prepared you something to eat. Your mother, Rosaura, was long gone from the scene.

"Too bad you're too stuck up to actually see that I did try and make the right thing with your daughter. I might not be what you wanted for her, but... I am what she wants and that's more than enough for me, sir." Miguel's voice only matched the steely glare your father made his way.

"Don't expect to see your grandchild."

"Don't worry. That wretched child is none of my concern"

"No le escupa al cielo, suegrito." (Don't spit to the sky)

His tone a warning as he tipped his hat and left.

-------

Morning came and some people of the staff were helping you pack things, Pastor William refused to wed you. Rosaura had barely showed up, just gave you a quick despising glare.

"You're really leaving miss?"

"Yeah. I can't stay here."

"Wouldn't that be harmful for the baby?"

You shook your head.

"It'll hurt more if I stay."

"We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you guys too. Thanks for... teaching me so much."

Your dad was a silent spectator, Miguel helped to put your things in his old truck. There was a genuine smile on your face everytime you looked at your future husband. William could've married you, but of course he was petty. For once your words had marked him.

It wasn't easy for Miguel either, Agustín seemed restless that day.

"I'll come for my horse later." You spoke as you gave the last suitcase at Miguel. William just gave you a dismissing nod.

Words were stuck in his mouth. He had never seen you this determined towards something. A sudden change he truly wasn't used to. Changes didn't sit well at all to him.

You didn't look back, instead just got in the car with Miguel and left. Leaving everything you knew behind. the thrill of a new adventure buzzing through your body. Miguel took your hand and kissed it with a puppy love eyes.

"Let's get married, Cerecita."

----

Taglist:

@thebettybook @allysunny @v4leoftears @brooklynscherry-z @lovingarcardeprincess @pinkiemme @bigbassbug @ceoofmiguel @loonalockley @nine-of-cherries @saph-cyare @mintqueenjo @arrozleche

Sorry if I forgot someone 😅

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguel Ranchero #t writes✨#telenovela fic #Spotify

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