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tripleyeeet · 8 months

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BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response.

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.”

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest.

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face.

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response.

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes.

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context.

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.”

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles.

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in.

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over.

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone.

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you.

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief.

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food.

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase.

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are.

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink.

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.”

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?”

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.”

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.”

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line.

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack.

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open.

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.”

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies.

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.”

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now.

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly.

“You fear me, don’t you?”

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills.

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.”

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear.

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire.

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you.

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in.

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross.

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold.

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open.

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull.

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood.

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare.

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.”

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?”

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close.

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code.

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over.

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought.

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fan fic #bg3 fan fic #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #summer writes

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kana-de · 6 months

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★ summary: wanderer x fem!reader. wanderer becomes a whining mess while you're making love.

☆ cw: nsfw. sex with feelings. you two are making love instead of fucking (i tried). wanderer is called kunikuzushi, kuni. wanderer is a whiny, whimpering mess while he tops you. could be read as fatui scara too if you'd like. 647 words.

☾ a/n: ngh. a small present for y'all since i'm ill again.

you swear to god you forget how to breathe when you hear wanderer's whimpers.

they come from his throat, soft, shy, like he can't fathom what he's feeling right now. his hips stutter as they press against your own, and his chest rises and falls in deep intervals. the grip he has on your hips is bruising, like he is holding onto you for dear life as he plunges his throbbing dick into your warm cunt.

"o-oh archons..." he groans, burying his nose in the crook of your neck and continuing the slow roll of his hips into you. its also dizzying how his tip bumps into your cervix and his pelvis rubs on your clit. indigo locks of his hair are sticking to his sweaty forehead and god, he's trying his best to suppress his moans by biting his lip, but its clearly not working.

wanderer looks so beautiful in this moment, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, the way he holds himself up above you. the sheer pleasure etched on his face is enough to make your heart flutter.

"i can't... i can't take it anymore," he whispers hoarsely into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. he starts to thrust faster now, his hips moving in a rhythm that matches the pounding of blood in your ears.

he doesn't want to hurt you, but the look in his eyes contradicts him. he wants this. he wants to hear you scream and beg for more. to see the pleasure and pain etched on your face as he takes you higher and higher until you come apart in his arms.

his hips are moving more erratically now, each thrust making a smacking sound against your wet flesh.

"i- i don't wanna... i don't want to stop..." he moans, the look in his eyes almost pleading as he thrusts deeper into you. his hands grip your hips harder, leaving red marks that would surely bruise later.

"k-kunikuzushi- kuni, please..." you whine, not even knowing what you're asking him for, but the way his cock twitches, becoming painfully hard inside you - even when it seemed that there was nowhere harder for it to be.

his name on your lips feels like a bandage ripping off an open wound. it sends a shiver down his spine and makes him groan even louder. but it's not just the sound of his name that makes you tremble. it's the feeling of him inside you, the way he moves, the way he fills you up so perfectly...

wanderer's fingers dig into your hips harder, pulling you closer to him, making every thrust more intense. his other hand is now holding onto your waist, keeping you steady as he fucks you relentlessly, pace becoming uneven. he wants to be gentle, he really does, but this feeling, the way you feel wrapped around his cock, its way too much for wanderer.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and filled with a mix of lust, love, and small tear droplets in corners of his eyes. you feel so good around him that the poor boy can't help but almost cry. his lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something but can't find the words.

"i- i- fuck... [n-name]..." he whines, his voice cracking slightly in embarrassment or frustration. he looks down at your flushed skin, the way your breasts bounce when he thrusts into you, the way your wetness glistens against his cock. "you're so perfect."

he lets out a groan of frustration, but keeps moving slowly. he can feel his orgasm building up, like a storm brewing. and he wants to hold onto it. he wants to prolong this feeling for as long as possible.

"i-it feels so good," wanderer whispers, his voice thick with desire. "i don't wanna cum yet... but i can't help it, [name], i just can't."

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edenesth · 3 months

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The Way to His Heart [7]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 6 | Fic Masterlist | Part 8

"Has anyone seen the mistress?" Seonghwa inquired, having lost sight of you since breakfast that morning.

He had combed through almost the entire estate, searching for you in the House of Lotus and with Eunsook, but to no avail. He had even gone as far as to check Yunho's temporary quarters, only to find the physician alone and engrossed in his work.

The general felt a twinge of embarrassment as he recalled asking the doctor, "Do you have any clue where my wife is?" only to have the taller man furrow his brows in confusion and reply, "Wha— not to be rude, but how would I know that, my lord?"

Your husband cleared his throat loudly, looking away and feigning nonchalance, "Don't get clever with me; I'm just asking. If you don't know, just say so."

Yunho lowered his head and suppressed a laugh, "You're right. My apologies, my lord. I hope you find Lady Park soon. Her next dose of medicine is almost ready. It would be best if she takes it while it's hot; the taste is slightly more bearable."

"Right, I'll find her soon. Don't worry."

The physician nodded, "I have no doubt that you will, my lord."

With that, Seonghwa hastily exited the room, questioning his decision to come there in the first place. He couldn't fathom why he assumed you would be with the handsome doctor. Even though he hadn't found you yet, there was a sense of relief in knowing that at least you weren't anywhere near Yunho, as he had feared.

And that's how he ended up back at your quarters, interrogating the servants responsible for maintaining your garden. A frown etched on his face as they shook their heads in response, "No, master. Mistress hasn't returned here since leaving for breakfast this morning."

Worry crept in as his mind conjured up wild scenarios. What if you had been taken away? What if you got hurt somewhere, unnoticed by anyone? What if—

His eyes landed on the pavilion in your garden, and it struck him. Remembering your determination to learn lady etiquette, he chastised himself for not thinking to check his own study. He had searched almost every corner of the estate except the very place he frequented the most.

Please, let her be there.

Fingers crossed, he hurried towards the study. If he didn't find you there, he might have to organise a search party.

"There you are."

His words escaped in a breathless whisper as he spotted you standing amidst his numerous shelves, completely engrossed in the book cradled in your hands. Instant relief washed over him, and he struggled to look away. Bathed in sunlight by the window, you appeared almost ethereal in that spot, your side profile captivating.

The marks on your skin had started to fade a little, with the help of Yunho's ointment, proving its effectiveness. For your comfort, the maids were instructed not to apply makeup if you weren't leaving the estate. Besides, no one here would dare consider you anything less than beautiful; you were adored by all. Your scars only strengthened everyone's determination to protect you, not just your husband.

He continued to quietly admire you from his corner, hesitant to disturb you. As you finished one book and reached for the next on a top shelf, he chuckled at your determination, especially when you went on your toes, biting your lip in concentration.

Eventually, he sighed and approached you, reaching effortlessly for the book you were attempting to get. You gasped as you felt his presence and saw his hand beside yours, "Y-you're here, Seonghwa."

Both your breaths hitched, and your eyes widened as you turned around to face him, realising the closeness. Surprised, you stumbled backwards, and his reflexes kicked in, his arm circling your back immediately, pulling you close. Frozen, your hands rested on his chest to steady yourself.

"Yes, I'm here." He murmured, his eyes shifting to see you biting your lips shyly again, the action reigniting his desire to kiss you. You stood still as a plank, heart pounding as he slowly closed the space between you. You held your breath when feeling his nose touch yours. Never having been kissed or wanted in your life, you didn't know how to react or what to do. Was this what married couples normally do?

Maybe now you'll find out.

A chill ran down your spine when you felt his lips brush lightly against yours, "Can I..." He muttered in his deep voice, gazing down at you with hooded eyes.

Before you could form a response, the door to the study slammed open, startling the two of you, and causing you to jump apart as if caught doing something scandalous.

Damn it, so close!

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to interrupt; it's just that—" Jongho was a mess as he stumbled in, panting and sputtering his apology.

You quickly waved to the assistant to signal it was fine before bowing to the general, "No, please, don't worry! I was just leaving anyway. I'll see you at dinner, Seonghwa."

Smiling at you, your husband nodded, "Yes. See you, my dear," The smile disappeared as soon as you left the room, causing Jongho to gulp nervously, "This better be good."

The assistant quickly collected himself, "Oh, it will be good, sir. I can promise you that." He said, rushing to make sure the doors were shut tightly before going back to debrief his master on his latest findings.

Eunsook heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing you, her concern evident as she observed you pressing your palms against your red cheeks, "Mistress, are you feeling alright?" She inquired, checking your forehead for any signs of fever.

You nodded, "I-I'm fine," attempting to calm your rapid heartbeat. The almost-lost moment with your husband lingered continuously in your mind; your first kiss had come perilously close to happening just moments ago.

"Thank goodness, you're alright. We've been looking everywhere for you. Where were you?" She questioned, and you replied, "You were looking for me? I was just reading in Seonghwa's study."

The elderly woman continued, "Yes, your medicine is ready. Physician Jung suggested taking it while it's hot," With an obedient nod, you followed her into your room. As she fed you the herbal soup, she casually asked, "You were in the master's study, you say? Did he find you there? He was searching frantically for you."

Your blush returned as you recalled the sensation of his lips brushing against yours, "Y-yes, he knows I'm safe. Don't worry." You reassured her while the head maid beamed, unaware of the fluttering in your heart as you tried to compose yourself.

Unlike you, the general did not have the luxury to linger on thoughts of your intimate moment. He vowed to himself that once your family received the retribution they deserved, he would dedicate all his attention to you. He turned serious the moment Jongho began speaking, updating him on the latest intel gathered about your family.

"What? Do those fools actually believe I'd swap my wife for one of them? Not even in their wildest dreams will that ever happen." Seonghwa scoffed in disbelief. The mere thought of your stepsisters was enough to repulse him, and he couldn't wait to send them to an early grave.

He pulled out the Jang family records again, asking, "And as for this... are there any updates? We only have a few days left until I return to work."

Jongho nodded proudly, presenting a couple of documents obtained in a not-so-honest manner, "You were right, sir. Your suspicions were accurate. We found just the thing to prove it. With this, we can finalise the plans and finally set them into motion."

"Good job, Jongho. How about that private investigator of yours?" The general inquired, his mind already buzzing with excitement as he plotted your family's demise.

The assistant bowed in gratitude, "He's still maintaining his cover in the Jang estate. He expressed his desire to assist us with the plan. Apparently, he's a huge admirer of yours, sir. That seemed to be his primary motivation for readily accepting my offer."

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes, his mistrust evident, "Is he now? Have you done a background check on him?"

"I have, sir. He's in the clear; I can vouch for him. I'm confident he harbours no ulterior motives other than a genuine admiration for you; he wants nothing more than to be recognised by you."

The general nodded, picking up the newly retrieved documents, "If you say so, I guess it won't hurt to have an extra helping hand. Make sure to pay him handsomely. Now, go get some rest; we'll be getting busy soon." His heart was immediately eased by his aide's assurance. If Jongho trusted this person, there must be a good reason.

"Yes, sir."

In the days that followed, Seonghwa appeared awfully busy, often confined to his study with Jongho for endless meetings. The next morning, you found a collection of your lady etiquette books delivered to your doorstep, with a servant mentioning that the study was required for important discussions between your husband and his assistant.

Assuming he was loaded with work after taking several days off, you didn't dwell on it much. While the general focused on perfecting his plans, you spent your days refining your etiquette with the head maid's help, working on correcting your posture, walking, table manners, and way of speaking.

The two of you only had brief encounters twice a day, during breakfast and dinner. Seonghwa apologised repeatedly, promising to spend more time with you once he completed his current project, and you reassured him that you were fine.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, a new week had begun, marking your husband's return to work. After your customary breakfast together, you walked him to the entrance of the estate, where his carriage awaited to transport him to the palace for the morning assembly with His Majesty, the King.

"This is as far as you'll see me off. It's cold out here, so don't spend too much time outdoors, okay? Head back to my study if you want, and take your medicine on time." He reminded sweetly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You smiled appreciatively, assuring him, "I will, Seonghwa. Don't worry about me. Have a good day at work." His heart melted at your words, and the sense of being husband and wife settled in. Having someone waiting for him at home felt unexpectedly warm, and he realised he could get used to it.

That's right, just keep smiling like that.

Rubbing his thumbs over your hands, he pressed a kiss onto your knuckles, saying, "I'll see you later, my dear."

Eunsook and Jongho exchanged knowing grins as they guided their master and mistress in opposite directions—Seonghwa into his carriage and you back to your quarters.

Carrying you in his thoughts, the general commenced his journey to the royal palace. He had always harboured disdain for the Minister of Military Affairs, but it had never been potent enough to instigate his downfall. However, circumstances had taken a drastic turn with your arrival. Your father had gravely miscalculated if he believed this union between you was a wise decision; in reality, it paved the way for his own undoing.

Unfazed by the attention, he arrived at the assembly, becoming the centre of attention for all the ministers and officials. Their curiosity was stirred by the general who had adamantly refused marriage, yet now found himself wedded against his will. Speculation abounded about whether he would cause a scene, as all members had been notified of his special agenda.

Your husband, however, remained unaffected by the scrutiny. He anticipated the spotlight, fully aware that these old fools relished nothing more than witnessing his misery. Despite his recognised achievements, it didn't automatically translate into wholehearted acceptance from these higher-ups. Their displeasure was palpable, harbouring reservations about his young age and the potential threat he posed to their established ranks.

The revelation of his marriage to you only fueled their satisfaction, as they believed that being tied to the Minister of Military Affairs would ensure Seonghwa's perpetual subordination, always a step below his father-in-law in rank.

"Good morning, General Park. You seem to be in quite a good mood." Your husband felt his eye twitch, hearing the voice he wasn't looking forward to.

Speak of the devil.

Facing your father, he smirked, "Good morning, Minister Jang. I can't deny that I am feeling quite good." It satisfied him to see your father's grin falter slightly, knowing the old man probably didn't know what to expect, but it surely wasn't this. The last thing they all expected was for him to appear... pleased.

Before the minister could voice any questions, the King entered the hall. Along with everyone else, the general knelt and bowed deeply, performing the formal greeting. In unison, they chanted, "Your Majesty, may you live a long and prosperous life. We wish for you ten thousand years of life and reign."

"You may all rise," declared His Majesty before expressing joy at the presence of his favourite subject, "Seonghwa, my boy! You're finally back! Oh, I cannot wait to hear all about your week off."

The minister raised a smug brow, eyeing your husband and presuming that his week could not have been too pleasant with you around. While he was almost certain of that, it seemed the general was adept at keeping up the act. Your father eagerly anticipated hearing about this important agenda without delay.

"Tell me, my boy. Is your wife as beautiful as we all speculated? There must have been a good reason for the minister to keep her so well hidden all these years." The King inquired, his excitement evident as he leaned forward in his seat.

Seonghwa chuckled, "Your Majesty, perhaps it wouldn't be too appropriate for us to engage in idle chatter in this meeting. After all, I'm sure all the ministers and officials here have more pressing matters to discuss and probably care little for the details of my marriage." He was merely teasing at this point, knowing full well that everyone was eager to hear about his past week.

"Nonsense! What could possibly be more important than your recent wedding? If anyone here has no interest in what General Park has to share, you are welcome to leave the assembly."

While leaving the assembly might seem like a simple option, it practically equated to a death sentence. Without the King's explicit permission, no one would be allowed to exit on their own. This implied that whoever refused to listen to what your husband had to say might as well be choosing a path leading to their demise.

All the higher-ups immediately bowed their heads low with clenched fists as they voiced in unison, "Of course not! We wouldn't dare, Your Majesty!" They were well aware of Seonghwa's subtle assertion of power over the King. Regardless of their high positions or ranks, he would always be the favourite. While it might go unnoticed by the less perceptive, it was a clear demonstration of authority, a warning not to cross him.

"Very well, I suppose I'll divulge a bit about my wife since you're all so eager to hear about her," The general couldn't conceal his shit-eating grin, pleased to have put these elderly men in their rightful places. The King applauded enthusiastically, "Please do!"

Minister Jang's earlier arrogance evaporated with your husband's unmistakable show of power, and he could only suppress his irritation as he waited to hear what Seonghwa would say about you.

"To answer your question, Your Majesty, she is even more stunning than you all might imagine, perhaps the most beautiful woman in all of Joseon, both inside and out, at least in my eyes. And you were right, my King, she truly is perfect for me. For that, I'd like to express my gratitude for sending her to me."

The entire room stood at a standstill as everyone tried to process his words. It was almost surreal that the formidable General Park, who had always been so adamant about never marrying and was coerced into this union without a choice, openly expressed his admiration for his new wife. Apart from the King, who genuinely relished hearing it, the rest of the assembly remained sceptical, wondering what game Seonghwa was playing.

"And because of that, I regret my earlier decision of not having a proper wedding ceremony. I now know my wife deserves only the best, which brings me to the important matter I'd like to address today, Your Majesty. I was hoping you would grant me permission to fix that. I'd like to plan a grand wedding to make up to her."

Your father narrowed his eyes dangerously; this was the furthest thing from what he had expected. He would rather die than give you a grand wedding. He thought he was finally done with you, believing you could have perished for all he cared. Yet, here your husband was, requesting to host a grand wedding? And for you?

Over my dead body.

His Majesty couldn't contain his joy, letting out a surprised laugh, "Oh my, Seonghwa! I'm so proud of you; I was beginning to grow worried you'd never allow yourself to love again. And of course, you can have a grand wedding! We shall host one as grand as a royal wedding if need be! Heavens, I cannot wait to meet this new Lady Park of yours; she must be something for you to have changed this much!"

Minister Jang cleared his throat, "Your Majesty, if I may cut in."

The King nodded, "Why, of course. It's your daughter we're discussing; do you have any ideas for the ceremony?"

Your father shook his head, "N-no, my King. I was hoping to remind the general that my daughter prefers simplicity and that this would not be necessary—"

With a smirk, Seonghwa cut him off, "Well then, minister, it would seem you do not know your daughter well enough, or at all."

The Minister of Military Affairs stilled at that; obviously, the general knew more than he let on, "Wha— that's not true! My eldest has always been one for frugality and would never ask for much, let alone a grand wedding; she might find that burdensome."

"Has she really not asked for much, or has she not been permitted to have a voice at all?" Your husband pressed, watching expectantly as the minister sputtered lame excuses, caught off guard.

Not oblivious to the fact that Seonghwa was attempting to convey something, the King raised a brow at Minister Jang's defensive demeanour, "What is it that you wish to say, my boy?"

Panicked, your father gulped, afraid of what the general might reveal. Not once did he think the heartless General Park would ever care about what happened to you. He assumed that, just like all the members of his family and estate, your new husband would also cast you aside and not bat an eyelash if you died, as had happened with all his previous marriage candidates.

"Your Majesty, even though Minister Jang is now my father-in-law, I feel compelled to speak out against the injustice I perceive for my wife," The minister did not dare to look up as he felt cold sweat dripping down his back, listening anxiously to what Seonghwa was going to disclose, "No matter how much he thinks she prefers simplicity, it just wasn't right for him to have sent her to me all alone on our wedding day."

With a frown, His Majesty eyed your father judgementally, "All alone? Please elaborate, Seonghwa."

Suppressing his sly grin, your husband continued, "My assistant found her wandering all by herself by the entrance of my estate, without a chaperone, any servants or palanquin bearers. And what's worse, she barely had anything on her, only carrying an empty duffel bag. Tell me, Your Majesty, who would believe her to be a noblewoman from a powerful house? I simply cannot understand why the minister could do this to his precious daughter."

"Is that true, Minister Jang?" The King's emotionless voice rang across the hall, and the minister shivered from the chill running down his spine, "W-well, yes, but—"

Everyone jumped when His Majesty slammed his fist against the handle of his throne, "That is simply unacceptable! It doesn't matter how much you insist your daughter favours simplicity; what you've done is completely ridiculous. Can you even call yourself her father? Oh, the poor girl."

Your father bowed all the way down immediately, pressing his forehead against the floor as he begged for forgiveness, embarrassed to have his wrongdoings exposed at assembly for everyone to listen like this, "Please, Your Majesty! Forgive this old fool for taking my kind daughter for granted! I will do anything to make up to her as you wish, a grand wedding if you will."

As if seeking Seonghwa's approval, the King looked at the general, "Would that suffice?"

Shrugging, your husband pressed his lips into a line, "I suppose I do have one condition, though," His Majesty nodded, "Name it."

The general smiled, "I've troubled you enough with concerns regarding my marital matters, Your Majesty. For this wedding of mine, I'd like to personally make the arrangements with the minister and his family, preferably at his estate."

"At his estate and not here? Why is that, Seonghwa?" The King asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I just want to see where my beloved wife spent all her childhood; I'm curious about the environment that made her so precious."

As the King showered praise on your husband for his apparent sweetness and saw it merely as Seonghwa being hopelessly in love with you, Minister Jang knew better than that he had an ulterior motive, and it couldn't bode well. The general clearly has something up his sleeves, but in the presence of His Majesty, your father found himself with little choice but to comply.

What do you want from me, Park Seonghwa?

« Preview of Part 8 »

"What?! A grand wedding for that useless thing? Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Jinah screeched, her frustration evident as she pulled at her hair.

Jinhee, in disbelief, glared at your old prison cell of a room from a distance. Servants had been ordered to fill it up with things to make it seem like a storeroom in preparation for Seonghwa's visit, "Maybe we've underestimated her. It seems she actually got the general wrapped around her finger."

Minister Jang had nothing to say except to hold his head in his hands. He couldn't forget the King's disapproving looks directed at him all throughout the assembly after what your husband had revealed. Not just His Majesty; but even the other ministers and officials had been staring at him weirdly, not understanding him for what he did to his own daughter.

Jinjoo stomped around like a brat, "Father, you promised us that marrying her to him would bring us satisfaction! What the hell is this?! I refuse to accept this!"

Having had enough of their whining, the minister threw the wine glass beside him onto the floor, "Be quiet, all of you! Do you honestly think the wedding is what matters now? My position could very well be in danger, and you care about that? Fools! Get out of my sight!"

The three were taken aback by the minister's unexpected fit of anger, and their mother quickly gestured for them to leave the living hall at once. Once they were gone, Lady Jang sat down beside her husband, "What is it, dear? What's wrong?"

"Park Seonghwa knows something, I'm sure of it. He said some things today that could make me look suspicious, and if anyone starts digging around, I fear they might find out what we've been trying to hide..."

Woohoo, shit's about to go down! Are y'all excited? HAHAHA🤭

I'm also shook that I'm like 20 followers away from reaching 1k! Thank you all so much; I just want you to know that it's your encouraging messages and replies that have been motivating me to update as quick as I can, really appreciate it!

As always, hope you enjoyed and let me know all your thoughts! <3

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sluttywoozi · 2 months

Text

Disconnected | ljh x reader

It's been three weeks since Jihoon spoke to you for longer than a few minutes, since he came to bed before you were asleep, since he looked you in the eyes and told you he loved you.

You know he does, of course, but you haven’t felt any evidence of it lately.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~5.0k | Pairing: ljh x reader | Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, smut

Warnings: distant!neglectful!jihoon, eating issues, marriage problems, anxiety, partial solving of marriage problems, small mention of pregnancy/having kids (like one part of a sentence)

Smut Warnings: body worship, breast play, biting/marking, oral f. rec., fingering

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, there’s a shower scene where reader takes care of their hair and i believe it should work for different textures but if it doesn’t lmk, chubby but its not a plot point

You look across the dining table at Jihoon, finding him absorbed in his phone as he chews and taking the chance to stare at him for just a bit longer.

He doesn’t spare you a glance, and your eyes go to your untouched food. You haven’t been hungry lately, eating is the last thing on your mind when you’re feeling like this, when he’s spending most hours of the day at the studio, and devoting the remaining time to anyone but you.

It's been three weeks since he spoke to you for longer than a few minutes, since he came to bed before you were asleep, since he looked you in the eyes and told you he loved you.

You know he does, of course, but you haven’t felt any evidence of it lately.

This is the life you signed up for, you try to remind yourself, but that doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t soothe the caustic burn in your throat that always comes when you’re suppressing tears, or make his side of the bed warm when you slide under the covers alone, and it especially doesn’t remind him to text you more than the stilted responses you’ve counted yourself lucky to receive.

But here he is, tapping away at his phone and shoveling bites of the food you cooked for him into his mouth, too engrossed in whoever he’s texting to even notice your gaze on him. You doubt he’ll realize you’ve gotten up until he’s finished eating, so you scoot away from the table and take your food to the kitchen.

There’s no point in letting it sit out when you’re not going to eat it, and you’re beginning to find you can hardly even bear the smell with your stomach roiling like this. You tilt your plate over the glassware, scraping your dinner into the dish and closing the lid with a click before storing it in the fridge with a sigh.

Now that Jihoon is home and fed, you don’t really know what to do with yourself.

While he’s gone, you take care of things around the house, do some freelance writing, tell yourself that maybe today, he’ll come home and be like he used to be.

Then when he does come home and greets you with a distracted hello and a flash of a kiss on the cheek before heading into his home studio, you find yourself feeling bereft, listless, just like you do now.

You suppose you could take a shower, maybe let a few tears slip under the cover of the water, blame your red, swollen eyes on shampoo, not that he’d bother to ask. Or even notice.

With your mind only half made up, you float on mindless feet to the bedroom and peel the clothes from your body, stopping by the dresser to grab some pajamas. You can hear utensils clacking against porcelain, so you know he’s still eating and likely won’t be coming into the bathroom at least until you’re done.

You don’t know why, but when he’s distant like this, you don’t like to let him see you naked.

Maybe it’s because you already feel stripped to your nuts and bolts, maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like your Jihoon. Either way, you prefer to be clothed around him, to at least have one extra barrier between him and you lest he see how vulnerable and unguarded you are.

The shower is comforting, warm enough you can almost pretend it’s his arms around you instead, though you stop yourself every time, unwilling to endure the pain once the fantasy fades. You hug yourself, try to hold your broken pieces together as water rains down on you and tears start to bubble over.

Biting back a sob, you take in a shuddering breath and reach for your shampoo, telling yourself that you’ve gotten through this before and you will again. Every time you hear those words in your mind, they feel a little less true, a little less sure.

You step back under the flow of water, rinsing the suds from your hair and squeezing out the excess moisture before coating the strands in conditioner. It needs to sit for a few minutes so you let yourself sink down to the heated tiles of the shower basin, shifting out of the spray and resting your back against the bench.

You tuck your knees up, loosely wrapping your arms around them and staring into the mist as if it contains the solutions to all of your problems. Your mind wanders back to Jihoon, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach as you wonder how much longer you realistically can take this.

It’s not like you haven’t talked to him about it before. The first time it happened was early in your relationship, maybe around the one year mark. You suffered in silence for a month, wondering if something had changed, if he’d met someone else, if he didn’t want you like he used to. You were close to breaking it off when he finally came out of it, apologizing for going radio silent on you and telling you it wouldn’t happen again.

And for two years, it didn’t. For two years, he was perfect, and present, and near ecstatic to show you his love. Then, it happened again, though you only let it last for two and a half weeks before you sat him down and told him you needed him to come back, to figure out how to balance music and you, how to make his life with you work with his life outside of you, even when it gets busy.

He agreed, and instantly made a change for the better, showing you how willing and able he was to manage his relationship with you and his work. That’s partially why this time is so painful - you know he’s capable of putting in the effort, you just don’t know if he can recognize when he’s not.

And it might be immature, it might be selfish, it might be both, but this time, you want him to figure it out on his own. You want him to see that he’s neglecting you, and make the change without you having to ask him to, even if it means you suffer in the meantime.

You grab your comb from the ledge and start detangling your hair, almost thankful for the tears that arise because they mean you’re crying about something other than him, for once. When the comb glides, you hold it under the water to clean it off, setting it back on the ledge and begrudgingly rising to your feet.

Your head tilts back as you rinse, your hands smoothing over your hair until the silky feeling of the conditioner washes out. You give your body a good scrub, rubbing with your exfoliating gloves until you feel brand new before stepping back under the water and letting it all wash down the drain.

You stare at the running water for a while, your thoughts as difficult to pin down as the droplets racing toward the small grate in the floor. The shower won’t run cold, not with the two heaters Jihoon had installed when you were building the place, so there’s nothing but the fear of wasting water keeping you from staying in the safe, spacious cubicle for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, you didn’t grow up in a wasteful household so you can’t linger, shutting the shower off now that you’re done and reaching for your leave-ins. You layer them into your hair and squeeze out the extra water, wrapping your head up in a turbie twist and grabbing a towel from the warmer.

Draping it over your shoulders, you hug yourself again, staring at your shivering form in the slowly defogging mirror and wishing you had Jihoon to hold you instead.

Even with that wish, you still jump and suck in a sharp gasp when he appears in the doorway. Immediately, you tuck the towel around yourself, hiding your body from him and looking anywhere but into his eyes. Your shoulders bunch up in discomfort, the skin fully exposed thanks to your wrapped hair, the lingering drops of water feeling like ice under his gaze.

His eyebrows furrow, his mouth opening as if to speak, before he closes it and averts his eyes, murmuring, “I, uh… came to tell you I would be in my studio for a few hours.”

You don’t know why he’s warning you, he never does when he’s absent like this, but you quietly say, “Okay,” waiting for him to leave so you can get dressed.

Except he doesn’t. He just stands there, halfway in the door, halfway out, his gaze barely to the left of you and suddenly deep, dark, like a bottomless well.

You feel like you can’t breathe trapped in here with him like this, with your ghost of a husband. More than that, you feel exposed, your frayed nerves sparking with the urge to flee, his presence eliciting your fight or flight response. You should leave out the fight, this time, considering the fact that you’d almost rather perish than speak to him further at this moment. How far could you get, you wonder, before he’d notice?

Tomorrow, when he’s wrapped up in his work again, maybe you’ll catch a train, a plane, go somewhere warm and sunny, somewhere that isn’t here.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” He asks slowly, his dark eyes sharp on you through the mirror, knowing.

And this is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted him to figure it out on his own, to put it together without you spelling it out for him, but now that he has, you don’t know what to do. So, you just nod, grabbing your pajamas off the vanity and locking yourself in the closet so you can finally change, finally cover yourself up, finally have another barrier between you and Jihoon.

When you finish getting dressed and taking care of your hair, you find yourself almost scared to open the doors, not knowing what will be waiting for you when you come out. Still, you take a deep breath and wade through the anxiety, pushing open the doors and stopping short when you realize the bathroom is empty.

Maybe he went into his studio anyway.

Maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he’s tired of having someone who requires his attention, his affection. Maybe he doesn’t love you like he used to, and just doesn’t know how to say it.

You’ve worked yourself into a state of numb teariness by the time you enter the bedroom and find him sitting on the duvet, his head in his hands and his back to you. He jumps to his feet when he hears you, rushing over and taking hold of your hands to guide you to the bed. Confused, you let him push your shoulders down, watching as he settles on his knees in front of you and takes your hands again.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he says emphatically, his voice choked up and his face tight with anguish. “I - I never should have let myself get so focused on work. I knew that I missed you, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until you left in the middle of dinner.”

Huh. You didn’t think he’d notice.

“I finally looked up from my stupid fucking phone and you were gone, and I could hear the shower running so I came to check on you, and I heard you crying,” he bites his lips between his teeth and looks away, his eyebrows pushed together and his face slowly reddening. You realize he’s trying not to cry, himself, and start to pull your hands from his so you can cup his face.

He doesn’t let you, his grip too strong for you to break and his eyes angry when he looks back at you, though you know better than to think he’s angry with you. “You shouldn’t need to comfort me right now, I should be comforting you. I’m the one that fucked up, that’s been fucking up.”

You don’t speak, assuming he wants to get all of this out at once. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “When I heard you crying, I started thinking about the past few weeks, and I realized how absent I’ve been. I can’t even remember the last time I really kissed you, and that’s ridiculous. I’m your husband, I should be kissing you and telling you I love you every single fucking day, cherishing you like you deserve, reminding you how grateful I am that you’re in my life.”

“I’m lucky you didn’t fucking leave,” he all but sobs, his face crumpling as he turns and hides his face from you in his shoulder. Again, you try to take your hands back, and this time, he lets you. He lets you cup his cheek and swipe away the tears that fell, he lets you pull him up until he’s sitting next to you, he lets you tug him into your arms and hold him close.

He shudders against you, burying his face in your neck and wrapping his big arms around you, lifting and rearranging you so you’re sitting in his lap instead of next to him. You wish you could get closer but you can’t, your chest is already pressed to his and your hips are aligned, your knees folded on either side of his body as he holds you.

“I love you too much to ever leave, Jihoon,” you sigh, leaving out the fact that you did briefly consider it before bundling him up in your arms when that just makes him shudder out a sob and hold you tighter.

“I love you so fucking much, and I swear on everything, I will never let this happen again,” he promises, and this time, you really think it might be true.

You spend the rest of the night together, laying in bed. Sometimes you just stare at each other, sometimes you talk, sometimes you laugh. You even cry once out of sheer relief, a brief catharsis that makes Jihoon tear up and hold you so tight, you can’t breathe.

When it’s time to go to sleep, he strips to his boxers and wraps himself around you, his body more on your side of the bed than his. It’s like he can’t stand to be separated from you now that he’s brought himself back, now that he’s realized how far away from you he was. You think he might even climb into your skin, given the chance.

You rest better than you have in weeks, sleeping soundly through the whole night with his breaths on the back of your neck and his arms wrapped around you, and when you wake, he’s still there.

You’ve changed positions, shifted to lay on his chest with an arm and a leg thrown over his body. He’s awake already, one elbow bent behind his head as he stares at you, and after you check the time, you ask, “Don’t you have to go into the studio today?”

“No, I told them I wasn’t coming in when I woke up,” he smiles softly, tracing his fingers up and down your back, making you shiver against him.

“When did you wake up?” You ask, slightly confused because you normally rise before him, especially on days he has to work.

“Like an hour ago, had a nightmare,” he murmurs, making your eyebrows furrow in concern. His fingers stop drifting over your back and come up to smooth away the wrinkle in between your eyebrows as he says, “It’s my own fault.”

“You can’t be at fault for having a nightmare, Jihoon,” you remind him gently, tilting your face into his hand when he cups your cheek.

“I can be when the nightmare is that you packed a bag and left,” he says distantly, like his mind is far away. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since it woke me up.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise him. “This just can’t happen again, especially now that we’re married.”

“I know,” he agrees in a soft voice, his face pensive. “I think we, or maybe I, should go to couples counseling.”

You hum, biting your lip as you think it over. His thumb tugs at it, pulling down until you’re no longer digging your teeth into the flesh. “I think that’s a good idea. For both of us.”

“I’ll do some research then,” he smiles down at you, brushing his thumb over your slightly indented bottom lip. You smile back, rising up on your elbow to lean in and press your lips to his.

This is the first kiss you’ve shared since the rushed, absentminded peck you got yesterday morning, and Jihoon must realize because his hand forms around your cheek again and his fingers slide into your hair, pulling you closer and holding you there.

You can feel all the love, the devotion, the adoration he’s pouring into it, his sunshine glowing through the fractures in your heart and slowly filling them in, like dandelions growing in the cracks of a sidewalk.

Time slips away and your thoughts do too, your brain empty but for Jihoon as he kisses you breathless. Your elbow starts to shake, the position a bit awkward for you to be putting all of your weight on it, and he, of course, notices. You don’t expect him to roll over and brace himself above you, his body held away from yours by sheer strength, so you gasp when you find yourself under him, surrounded by him.

It’s slightly overwhelming, being so utterly ensconced by him, but you love it, would stay here huddled under him for the rest of time if you could. The world could be falling apart around you and you wouldn’t have a clue, you’re so entranced by him.

“Baby, I don’t deserve it, but… I want to show you how much I love you. Can I?” He asks sincerely, his voice wavering with emotion. You’re about to answer with a vehement yes before he continues, “If you’re not ready, I won’t ask again, I’ll let you come to me.”

You won’t remind him that this is (partially) what you’ve been wanting for the past month, instead telling him, “I’m ready, Jihoon. I want you to show me.”

His smile is nearly blinding, so wide and bright you want to shield your eyes, though you wouldn’t miss a second of this, of him, for anything.

He kisses you again, sipping from your lips like they hold the nectar of the gods, like you’re his salvation, and you kiss him back in much the same way, your eyes fluttering shut and your arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

One hand delves into his hair when he trails kisses across your cheek and over your jaw, his mouth suctioning over your pulse point so he can feel your heart beat for him. And maybe it does, maybe that’s why you feel so lifeless without him, so faint, as if a strong gust of wind could blow you away.

But it’s also why you feel so vibrant now, why you’re lit up from the inside, why the effects of his love shine through every pore.

His mouth meanders to the spot under your ear that always makes you shiver, and he spends eons there, licking and sucking and biting until you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist and his name on your lips.

By the time he moves on to your breasts, you’re dazed, barely able to help him take off your pajama shirt. He has to straddle you to free up his hands and tug it off, and you come back online just in time to watch his eyes darken as they drag over your exposed skin. You’re not shy anymore, content to lay there and let him look his fill, your hands resting above your head, lifting your breasts.

His hands cover them before his lips do, his palms warm and soft where they cup the weighty flesh, squeezing gently as his thumbs brush over your pebbled nipples. He leans down to suck one into his mouth, taking deep pulls that make your back arch into him as the sensation sparks through you. He can’t seem to settle on one side, always switching so neither are neglected, your breasts marked up and spit slick by the time his kisses start to dot your stomach.

He’s always been vocal about how much he loves your belly, loves the soft pudge and the way it contracts when you laugh, loves filling it with food and covering it with kisses, would someday love to watch it grow with life. It’s no surprise when he settles between your legs and spends almost as much time on your stomach as he did on your breasts, his lips tracing every stretch mark and his teeth sinking into every curve.

You’re trembling when he finally moves on to your hips, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your pajamas and starting to pull. You lift your ass to help, remembering at the last second that you put panties on too last night, unlike usual. Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind, kissing you over the fabric before pushing your legs apart and nipping a line up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

He soothes the sting with his lips and tongue, working his way up to the apex of your thighs and licking you over the fabric when he gets to your covered cunt. You’ve grown wet enough for a small patch to form on the seat of your panties, and Jihoon uses the damp material to his advantage, firming his tongue and digging it into where he knows your entrance is.

The feeling is soft, muted, but still good, and you can’t help but bring a hand down to tangle your fingers in his long, loose hair. He turns his head and presses one last kiss to your thigh before reaching up and starting to pull your panties down, his eyes heated and dark and laser focused on your pussy as it’s revealed to him.

The underwear has barely cleared your feet when he pushes your legs apart again and leans down to suck in a deep breath through his nose, smelling your arousal and groaning before dragging his tongue through your folds for a taste. The noise that escapes him now is more like a whine, a punched out sound that comes from deep within his lungs, his fingers spasming on your thighs as he dips his tongue into your entrance.

He’s barely started but you’re already moaning, already wanting for more, already on the verge of begging for his mouth around your clit or his fingers inside. He gives you neither, relearning the shape of you with lips and teeth and tongue, one of his hands shifting to your pussy so he can spread you apart and taste every square millimeter.

It feels like a lifetime before he finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and your response is instantaneous. Your back arches, your fingers clench in his hair, and your thighs snap closed around his head, making him push them apart with both hands, your pleasure soaked muscles no match for his.

He brings you up just like this, with his palms pressing your thighs apart and his mouth on your clit, sucking and tapping and licking until you feel waves of bliss wash over you in a gentle release that leaves you floating.

That’s just the beginning, you learn, as he lets one thigh fall so he can slide a finger into your still fluttering walls, his lips vibrating around your throbbing clit in a groan that you echo softly. He moves slowly, letting his finger glide in and out even though you both know you’re more than ready for another.

“Jihoon, please,” you begin, lightly tugging on his hair, about to ask him for more.

“You don’t need to beg, baby,” he murmurs into you, sinking a second finger inside on the next stroke and spreading them to open you up. It’ll take more than two fingers to prepare you for his cock after three weeks of nothing, so you lay back and relax, content in the knowledge that soon enough, you’ll have everything you want.

His fingers crook inside of you, stroking along your front wall, feeling for that patch of nerves inside that makes you gush for him. He finds it easily, his calloused, practiced fingertips rubbing and grinding into it, and you can feel the arousal seeping out of you, know it’s probably gathering in his palm now.

He doesn’t care, doesn’t ever care how messy you get him, has even said he loves being coated in you by the end, loves tasting and feeling the physical evidence of how much you want him. It’s obvious in the way he moans when his mouth returns to your pussy, his tongue dipping between his fingers to get a taste at the source before laving up to your clit and wrapping his lips around it.

He sucks hard, and you can tell that he’s starting to lose patience, to lose control, his hunger for you beginning to overcome his desire to be slow and gentle and sweet. That’s more than alright with you, Jihoon has spent enough time showing you how much he loves you, now you’re ready for him to show you how much he wants you too.

When he withdraws his hand and returns with a third finger, you know it won’t be long before he’s filling you with his cock, and you can feel yourself get wetter at the thought. You almost want him to just give it to you now, to work himself inside even if you have to stretch around him, even if it hurts a little.

But you know he’s on a mission so you let him carry it out, sighing at the sensation of false fullness as that burning coil starts to form in your stomach. It winds tighter and tighter as he slides his fingers in and out, every dig of his fingertips into your sweet spot making you gasp and pull his hair. Soon enough, you’re holding him in place and he’s letting you, grunting and groaning as you begin to roll your hips into his movements, his fingers precise and his mouth devastating.

Finally, the coil catches flame and snaps, making your back arch and stealing every last thought in your mind as you cum so hard, you almost force his fingers out. He’s still stronger than you though, so he fights through your tightness to keep fucking you with them, bringing you through your orgasm and slowing only when you release his hair and pet his head with clumsy hands.

When Jihoon comes to hover above you, you’re close to crying, so wrought with feelings and passion and love, you almost can’t handle it. But his face is glistening with you, practically dripping, which makes you choke out a laugh and sweep your finger along his jaw.

You had planned to wipe it off on the duvet but he takes your hand and sucks your finger into his mouth, his eyes locked with yours, the darkness in them vast enough that you fear you might get lost.

He releases your finger and presses his slick lips to yours, his tongue delving into your mouth so you can taste yourself. He cups your cheek with his non-sticky hand and tilts your head, changing the angle of the kiss and making it even deeper, eliciting a quiet moan from you as your legs hitch up on his waist and your arms wrap around his neck.

You flex your legs, trying to bring his hips down to yours, but he stays braced over you, his body still inches away when you want him to be so close, you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

“Jihoon, I want you,” you break away to breathe, gazing into his eyes and watching as he wars with himself.

“I don’t feel like I deserve you right now,” he admits solemnly, his eyelids fluttering when you shift one hand down to touch his rock hard cock.

“What if I think you do?”

“I’m glad you feel that way, but I just wanted this to be about you. I think we should wait,” he gets quieter at the end, as if he’s afraid of your response, and you can’t push him, not when it seems like he thinks you’ll be upset with him for saying no.

“Okay,” you sigh, only the slightest bit of dejection seeping into your voice, though you try not to let it come through.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers before kissing you again. “Why don’t you get the bath started while I deal with this? I’ll come join you after.”

“That’s a good plan,” you smile softly up at him, craning your neck for one last peck before he climbs off of you and lets you go.

You slide to the edge of the bed and stand, about to hobble on shaky knees over to the bathroom when he catches your hand and pulls you between his legs.

“I love you, so fucking much,” he says, his voice wavering and his eyes watery when they meet yours.

You let the words wash over you like an ocean wave, the sentiment cleansing and healing and refreshing to your still-bruised spirit.

“I love you, Jihoon,” you squeeze his hand and lean in when he pulls you, his lips meeting yours before they press to both of your cheeks and your forehead in sweet kisses.

With your heart full of love and light, you make your way into the bathroom and start the tub, focusing on the sound of rushing water and valiantly trying to ignore the muffled noises coming from the bedroom.

You’ve waited for Jihoon before, you can wait for him again.

AN: don't look at me im self soothing

My Masterlist

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

hi! I loved your fic with reader and sirius in a situationship and he comes over for a hookup and reader is super stressed and he helps. Can you please do another one with that dynamic? Maybe angst where they’re hanging out at a party and Sirius is all over reader but then says they’re just friends? Possibly smut ensues 👀

I love reading you work!!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: smut mdni, p in v, semi-public sex, hurt no comfort

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Shh.” Sirius nips at your earlobe, eliciting another half-suppressed mewl from you as he presses you into the wall next to James’ shower. “You want everyone here to know what’s going on? James’ll have a field day.”

“He’s already gonna know if I walk out all marked up.”

“S’not my fault, is it?” he hisses, fingertips digging into your ass as his teeth scrape across your pulse point. “Why’d you have to wear this fucking dress, huh?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you pant, but you’re laughing, tits bouncing almost completely out of the tight bodice as he thrusts into you, the lace lining barely covering your peaked nipples. Sirius’ eyes had gone nearly all black when he’d seen it in your closet. Dollface, when did you get this pretty little thing? You’ve been waiting for the opportunity to undo him with it ever since.

Part of you wonders if he’d had a similar plan tonight. Sirius is wearing—or, well, he had been wearing—the black jeans you’d helped him thrift last weekend, slung low over his hips and paired with a tank top that shows ample expanses of his inked-up torso and arms. He’d watched as you drank the outfit in, and the pretense of socializing at James’ party hadn’t lasted long before he’d drug you into the bathroom by your elbow.

Sirius shifts, pushing you harder against the wall as he takes your weight with one hand, freeing the other to paw at your boob. It plops readily out of its confines and into his palm. You moan as his thumb brushes your nipple, ducking your head to smother the sound against his shoulder.

You start kissing the tattoo there a second before he finds the spot he’s been searching for inside you and your head lolls back. Your hands spread over his shoulders to ensure you don’t topple over, lightheaded and cock-addled.

“Easy, pretty girl.” Sirius’ tone is smug, his hands coming back to your ass as he hits that spot over and over again. He presses his lips to yours sweetly, swallowing your sounds. “I know you didn’t have that much to drink, try to stay upright for me.”

Pathetically, it warms your heart to think that he’d been keeping an eye on you. You use what leverage you have against the wall to grind your hips into him. Sirius groans, pounding into you so hard you think you must ascend, your vision all starry and wild as pleasure shoots out from your core, tingling all the way to your fingertips.

Distantly, you’re aware of Sirius covering your mouth with his again, thrusting into you a few more times before he comes too and bites down on your bottom lip as his grip tightens on you. Your chest hurts. You feel almost like you could cry, which is new. You both stay there for a minute, him relaxing his hold on your ass until it’s a bit kinder and you idly pulling a strand of his hair through your fingers, until Sirius breaks the kiss. His eyes meet yours, the color of heavy clouds, and you have the sense that he’s peeling you like a tangerine. Seeing down to your hidden, squishy bits.

“You alright?” he asks you.

You swallow. “Yeah,” you say, pleased to find that your voice holds no trace of the emotion spreading like a blight behind your sternum. “You?”

Sirius’ lips tilt. “I’m fantastic, dollface.”

He adjusts his grip on you, letting you get your legs underneath you before lowering you to the floor. Your panties bunch around one shoe, getting slick on your ankle.

“Ugh,” you sigh, sitting down on the lip of the tub while Sirius takes his condom off. “Can you pass me some toilet paper? I can’t put these back on like this.”

“Just throw them out.”

“I can’t, I really like these.” You start to reach for the toilet paper on your own and Sirius finally obliges, passing you a wad. “Thanks.”

He tugs his jeans back up, buttoning them before leaning on the wall to watch you. You keep your focus on your task and not on ogling how his biceps bulge when he crosses his arms like that. “I can just get you another pair,” he says.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh, come on.” His tone takes on a familiar quality. You look up, and sure enough, he’s smirking down at you. The expression does things to your stomach you can never let him find out about. “I’m the one who ruined ‘em in the first place, aren’t I? Let me make it up to you.”

You would say it’s been sufficiently made up, but you only shake your head, folding the toilet paper over to a dry part. “I’m not throwing them out. I just need a minute, then I can put them back on.”

“Suit yourself, darling.” Something in you flutters at the pet name, but then Sirius pushes off the wall. “I’m gonna head out, get back out there so nobody sees us leave together.”

You keep your gaze downward. “Good idea.”

You notice him flash you a smile in your periphery. Even without really seeing it, you can guess what it looks like: flirty, impersonal. “See you out there.”

He opens the door, and you see only a flash of light brown hair before he’s slipping out and shutting it behind him, shielding you from view.

“Hello,” Remus’ voice says slowly. He must’ve just been passing by, but if the extended occupation of the bathroom hadn’t caught his attention, Sirius’ hasty exit certainly has. “Don’t suppose I need to ask where you’ve been.”

“That,” you hear Sirius say in his jovial way, “would be terribly nosy, Moony. Unlike you.”

You creep closer to the door, pressing your ear to the crack in time to hear Remus’ amused hum. “Don’t suppose I need to ask if you know where y/n is either, do I? Mary’s been looking for her.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up shortly,” Sirius replies.

There’s a short period of silence wherein you wonder if they’ve walked away, but then Remus says quietly, “I hope you’re being careful.”

Sirius laughs, the sound derisive. “Thank you for your concern, but you’ll find a condom in James’ bathroom trash if you’re worried enough to go looking.”

“Not what I meant. She’s a sweet girl, Sirius. Don’t fuck her about.”

You can practically hear the lewd joke forming on Sirius’ tongue, but his voice lowers, unexpectedly sober. “I’m not,” he says. You stop breathing. “She’s under no false impressions, alright? We both talked about what this was before we started, and she doesn’t want a relationship any more than I do.”

Remus’ sigh is long-suffering. “Sure.”

“Honest, Moons. We’re just friends.”

Your heart—your stupid, mutinous heart—shrinks and withers like a balloon without air. You move away from the door as quietly as you can, sitting again on the cold lip of James’ tub. Sirius says something about taking charge of the music selection, and you breathe carefully as he and Remus go off. You’re furious with yourself, humiliated for feeling so dejected. Sirius is right; you had been clear about what you wanted when you first started this thing. Boundaries had been laid down. Just because your feelings have changed, that doesn’t mean his have. It was unfair of you to look for more from him.

Your underwear are a lost cause. You bury them underneath more toilet paper in James’ bin, hiding the condom while you’re at it. You’ll get yourself new ones without telling Sirius. What you do shouldn’t be his problem anyway.

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demonpiratehuntress · 4 months

Text

the only one

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

summary - Ace was always a flirt in whatever bars you went to, but once he's in love with you that changes.

warnings - none

a/n: i forgot to add this part in "marry me" so i just decided to make it its own fic. it was haunting me

When you first met Ace, he was perhaps the biggest flirt you had ever come across in your life. Anywhere and anytime, if you were in a bar he would be chatting up almost every local woman he met. It never used to bother you when you were just friends, but once you developed a crush on him it became a bit of a problem.

Most nights you would end up going back to the ship alone, and even though he wouldn't do anything with them - as evident when he returned to the ship after you alone - it still ate away at you. Made you feel things you didn't want to feel, unpleasant emotions that had you crying and sobbing into your pillow late at night when no one could hear.

Or at least, when you thought no one could hear.

Ace's room was next to yours, and every night he was absolutely crushed to hear your sobs. He was never sure what caused them, but he knew you wouldn't tell him. So he set out to discover the cause himself, and did as such on another island trip.

Noticing the way your face fell when he left the table to go talk to some girls at the bar, it instantly hit him that you were hurting because of him. And that was his first sign that you liked him.

That's when everything changed.

Once Ace was sure you had a crush on him, he stopped trying to suppress his feelings for you. They came out in full bloom, and his behaviour in bars and pubs completely changed, noticeable to everyone who knew him.

When Ace decided to show he was deeply in love with you, you noticed.

Every bar you went to after that involved him sitting right next to you the whole time, drunkenly flirting with you and you alone. Telling you how pretty you are, how cute you looked when you were so red, and how sweet you always were to him. No matter how many pretty girls were in the bar that day, he was glued to you.

"Ace," you would giggle and push his head off your shoulder. "Those girls in the corner are eyeing you out, they're pretty."

The raven-haired commander pouted, not even shooting them a glance, "But (Name), no one is prettier than youuuuu." He smiled, dropping his head back onto your shoulder. His breath reeked of alcohol, so you just dismissed it as drunken rambling, your face bright red.

But then there were times when he didn't drink at all, and still ignored anyone other than you trying to get with him.

"Sorry, can't talk right now."

You watched him dismiss yet another pretty woman as he made his way back to the table, handing you another drink. He plopped down in his seat next to you, offering you his goofiest grin yet.

"Ace, you just-"

He shrugged, still grinning at you, "I didn't do anything."

"But that girl-"

"What girl?"

He was staring at you, awestruck by your beauty. His eyes were only ever on you these days, and nothing changed that. He didn't look at anyone else, never finding the need to, since he was so hopelessly in love with you. Even when you went to go get drinks for the group, Ace would watch you go and come back, his eyes stuck on your figure. He would stare with the most loving, adoring gleam in his eyes, feeling butterflies each time you returned his smile.

You were still oblivious, "Ace, I think you should talk to one of them. They seem to like you, and you need a girlfriend."

"Well I don't like them," he replied, suddenly leaning forward, "And I already know who I want as my girlfriend."

"Oh." Your face fell, but he was quick to make you smile again.

"(Name), you're so dumb."

"Am not!"

"Are too! I stare at you in every bar and all you think about is me talking to other girls!"

You blushed hard, stuttering and stammering out a nonsense reply, but you found it difficult to argue with that.

"Ace, you deserve better than me. And they're prettier."

"If I really thought that," he leaned in so close that your lips almost touched, "I wouldn't be sitting here with you, would I?" He grinned again. "You're the most beautiful woman in this bar, and every other bar, so I'm happy right where I am."

Then you started dating, and all Ace would do in bars was show you off. To both men and women that approached him, even if it had nothing to do with the conversation.

"Did you see my girlfriend?" He would ask them, drunkenly. "She's the HOTTEST-" Marco would usually have to drag him away before he spilled something more explicit.

Any time a woman would come up to him, Ace would hightail it out of there and do one of two things. One, he would hide behind you and grip you so tightly as he points you in the direction of the daring woman. Two, he would perch himself on your lap and kiss all over your face with his arms around your neck. Each one depends on how drunk he is.

"No thanks, I have a girlfriend."

"My girlfriend's right over there."

"My girlfriend is prettier than you."

"(Nameeeeeeeeeeee), come and tell them that you're my girlfriend!"

He's so in love that he doesn't even pay attention to anyone but you wherever you go. If you tell him to drink less than last time, he will. If you tell him to stay at the table, he will. He will sit you on his lap and lock you in his arms, not allowing you to move for the rest of the evening. He usually falls asleep against your neck, but you don't mind.

But, generally, when Ace is with you in a bar he will keep you glued to his side so everyone knows that he is taken. The brave ones who still approach will usually have to deal with you, and he loves to watch.

Once you're married, you best believe this man is going into every bar yelling to anyone who will listen that he's married, that he has a wife, or that his wife is the hottest person in the universe. He clings to you and makes sure people know you're married, even if they are just passing by and have no intention of talking to either of you.

"How times have changed," you teased him one day, sitting on his lap in yet another bar. "A while back you'd be flirting with every woman in this bar."

"That was before I knew you liked me!" He protested, blushing in embarrassment. "And anyway, that's what happens when you find the one."

"The one?" You blushed.

"Yessss," he smiled happily, pecking your lips. "You're the one. My one. The only one I will ever want and ever need." He peppered your face with kisses. "To me, you're the only woman in these bars."

"Good."

#one piece #op #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace #ace x reader #ace x you #one piece ace #one piece portgas d ace

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 9 months

Text

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 1: Sunrise

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the very first instalment of this series, featuring baby!Babey and teen-uncle!Daemon! This prologue will be the only Daemon POV of this instalment (or at least that is my current plan), and there will be several time jumps in keeping with canon. Please keep in mind that, as canon diverges around Episode 5/6 in this series, much of what occurs in the show will also occur as-is here, so don’t expect anything particularly innovative in terms of plot, lol. I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to establish Babey as a firm part of the storyline in a manner that is a little less ambiguous, and will also serve to provide more wholesome Babey/Daemon interactions to foreground their later shift. A couple things: there will be NO ROMANCE in this fic, because Babey is a child. Ew. There may be mentions of romance between other characters, but this story will be told firmly through Babey’s eyes and thus events are limited to her own interpretations.

Anyway! Enough from me - on with the show!

TRIGGERS: mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth, mentions of childbirth trauma, blood.

“And so it was that, in the summer of 109 AC, Queen Aemma took once again to her childbed, remaining there for near two days for what would be a difficult and taxing labour. In the early hours of the morning, King Viserys and his lady wife welcomed a living babe—but not the babe they expected. The arrival of a second daughter took both by surprise, for they had come to believe the child in the Queen’s belly had been their longed-for son. It was nonetheless announced that the Queen had been delivered of a healthy girl, and a great relief was struck up across the Realm, the bells of King’s Landing being rung from dawn to dusk and the people gathering on the streets in praise of their new Princess.”

- ‘Fire and Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

It's quiet this time, he thinks. No snivelling midwives, no wailing… A good thing, surely.

Still. The silence, in all of its peculiarity, is unnerving. After the last occasion—the frenetic activity bustling up and down the halls, the yelling, the sound of Aemma’s screams, the stench of blood thickening in his nostrils as he stepped forth to take his first and last view of the purple, unmoving babe in the cradle he would never outgrow—the absence of sound seems almost foreboding. Should he not hear the child cry? Should he not be within by now? He would venture to knock on the door, but he dare not risk disturbing this fragile peace—especially if it is not fated to remain so.

Thus, Daemon Targaryen, eighteen summers of age and the King’s very own brother, waits in his seat opposite the entry to the Queen’s chambers as he has done for hours. And, as he sits, he prays.

Well—not pray, exactly. He’d have to believe in gods to do that. But, should a higher power exist, it cannot hurt to lend his own voice to the masses that even now attempt to muster enough mercy to grant the survival of his cousin and the child she has worked so hard to bring forth these past moons. Let them live, he urges, pressing the thought out into the air around him, into the sky far above the Keep. Let them both live.

“Any news?”

Daemon snaps to attention, head tilting automatically to the intruder. He suppresses a sneer. Now is not the time.

“Nothing,” he says, taking care to keep his tone even.

Otto Hightower sighs. “Well”—the Hand of the King moves closer, towering over Daemon with his hands clasped behind his back—“no news is good news, I hope.”

“Hm.” He’ll not dignify that with a response.

Hightower’s eyes narrow in on him. “There is no need to sound quite so downtrodden, Prince Daemon. I am sure the King will find some use for you… now that you are no longer his heir.”

He knows what the man is after. A display of anger, perhaps—maybe even hot-headed insistence on his part that his position stands as it has since Viserys won the throne, that the child is dead, that the Lord has every reason to fear him still. He won’t give him the satisfaction, though. If his brother ventures out to see Daemon once again railing at his most trusted advisor…

Daemon’s desire to meet his nephew outweighs his need to put this upstart in his place.

“Never fear, Otto.” He smiles, lips stretched wide with too much teeth, threatening more than welcoming. “I’ll always have a place by Viserys’s side. I am his brother. And you…” He looks the man up and down. Even now, the pin of the Hand is attached to the cunt’s lapel like a sycophantic badge of honour, gleaming in the golden torchlight. “What are you, exactly?”

Hightower’s jaw clenches. “I am the Hand of the Ki—”

“For now,” Daemon says, a smug half-smirk playing at the very corners of his mouth. “Don’t forget that. For now.”

What he doesn’t say is plain to read upon his face. One day, he’ll understand. One day, he’ll see you for what you really are. A leech, one who latches onto power and drains those who truly wield it dry.

The reminder makes Otto pale. “I—”

The door creaks open, the flushed face of one Viserys Targaryen appearing in the space between wood and frame. “Daemon.”

Daemon rises. “Is—how is—” He cannot get the fucking words out.

His brother grins. “Aemma is well, and the babe is healthy.”

He lets out a relieved breath, surprised to discover exactly how tense he had been since the messenger had roused him from sleep at the hour of the owl. That tension releases itself with the air he pushes from his lungs, his shoulders sagging from the freedom of it. Suddenly, his eyes no longer feel so wide, so fear-bright, and fatigue sets in. He is tired. But first—

“May I see him?” he asks.

At that, Viserys pauses, whatever he had intended to say to Otto left unfinished. He clears his throat, all joy fleeing his face. “Ah… About that.”

“Is the boy… crippled?” The Hand’s voice is hushed, apprehensive.

“No, no!” Viserys insists, shaking his head. “Only… she is small, quiet. Nothing at all like Rhaenyra was.”

“A girl? But Runciter was so certain!” Otto says, mouth parted in shock.

Runciter’s a fucking fool. Anyone who sets stock by his theories ought to be burned alive, Daemon thinks, rolling his eyes. He’d never liked maesters—any of them, least of all the doddering fuckwits appointed to the vaunted station of Grand Maester. That Runciter had gotten this wrong is hardly surprising. None of them seem to know what they are doing.

He pushes around his brother and leaves him to his latest inanity, moving onward to where his newest niece lay.

The Queen’s chambers are stifling, unbearably hot, the windows closed tight and the fires blazing in spite of the warmth already pervading the early hours of the morn. Another ridiculous notion, he suspects, though whether it be Westerosi custom or Targaryen superstition, he knows not. Perhaps dragonbabes can only be born into the fire they are made from.

Last time he was here, Aemma had been gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and near hysterical from the passing of her first, her only son. She’d laid weeping in her bloodied shift still, bedraggled hair sticking to slick skin as she’d mourned the child, insensate to kind words or reason from any who had approached her. Eventually, Viserys had demanded all who were not the blood of the dragon to remove themselves from the room. Together, he and Daemon had borne Aemma from her childbed, had taken her to the bath still waiting, had disposed of the last markers of gloom and tragedy marring the space.

Only those of Valyrian blood should ever bear witness to weakness from one of their own. Only those of Valyrian blood could ever understand the magnitude of such a loss. Their line had been dying out since the Doom—every death since only ever added salt to the wound.

What Daemon walks into this time is different. So very, very different.

Aemma is gaunt still, overcome by weariness, no doubt sapped greatly by the trials of such long labour. Shadows carve deep hollows beneath her eyes, skeletal, made almost sinister by the flicker of dim light, and her mouth is pale and cracked. Yet, there is naught but a buoyant sort of lightness adorning her face, shining more brilliantly than a crown ever could.

The chamber bears none of that ominous atmosphere that pervaded that night, instead filled with the heady scent of frankincense clogging each breath he draws, earthy smoke settling warm in his gut. The sheets are clean. The midwives calm. The Grand Maester, asleep in the chair by the fire.

And, in the Queen’s arms, the smallest wrapped bundle he has ever seen.

“Is that…” He swallows, dazed and speechless.

His cousin beams. “Come,” she says. “Come and meet her.”

Wordlessly, he approaches, taking care to make his footfalls light so as not to disturb the delicate creature enshrined in a mother’s embrace. As he draws close, he sees that the babe is not asleep as he had thought. Instead, open eyes look upward, deep dark indigo with the merest hint of lilac-violet-amethyst, the promise of Old Valyria in that muzzy, unfocused gaze.

This is the moment he meets you.

Aemma graciously accepts his silent question, relinquishing you to your uncle with naught but a gentle sigh and a stroke to the cheek. So little are you that you settle easily into the line of his arm, head to the crook of his elbow and rump to his cupped hand, light enough that it would be easy to forget you are even there. You let out a soft bleat, feet kicking beneath your swaddling—but that is all. For when that blue-nearly-purple stare shifts, locking with his, you fall silent, still. And so does he.

You are beautiful.

Of course you are. Viserys is hardly the handsomest of men, and Aemma comely enough though of no great noteworthiness, but their firstborn is about as lovely as any girl of nine summers can be. Your sister.

Gods, he thinks. Rhaenyra, an elder sister. The very notion of his spoiled little niece playing such a part seems unwittingly hilarious in this moment. She will not like being made to share her mama and papa—her uncle—with you.

Right now, that is irrelevant. His attention returns to the slope of your nose, the rosebud bloom of your lips, the blush of your rounded cheeks, tracking the near ethereal features of your face with a delicate fingertip. Newborns are dreadful looking things, usually, squished and red and misshapen. You look like a painting, or a doll made by the finest artisans, a sculpture rendered by magic rather than mortal hands. He wonders if it is love for you—and it is love, he has no doubt of that, for his love of family is perhaps the one true redeeming quality he possesses—that blinds him to any imperfection, or if you really are as lovely as you seem.

“What will you name her?” he asks, smoothing the cloths off your fragile little head to take the briefest peek at your scalp. Ah—there it is. Targaryen silver. With an Arryn for a mother, one could never be certain.

“Rhaenyra’s insisted on naming her sister Visenya.”

Daemon glances toward the foot of the bed. Viserys has returned, absent of his loyal hound, drawing near without his notice.

He snorts. “How very like her.” ‘Tis true; Rhaenyra has always been fixated on stories of the Conqueror and his wives, in particular forming a fascination for the elder of Aegon’s Queens. It is a powerful name. A warrior’s name. He frowns. “A fine name—but not for this little thing.”

Visenya is anger and retribution; violence and chaos; death and destruction. Daemon can find nothing of the sort in you. Every part of you—from the tips of your fuzzed palewhite hair to the petite softness of your wiggly little feet—seems fit for a destiny of another kind. One of peace, of calm, of joy and goodness.

Aemma hums an agreement, wholly preoccupied with gazing at her newest child. “If she were a son, her name would be Baelon.”

“Hm.” Viserys steps forward, palm brushing featherlight across your side as he passes to sit by his wife. “Baelon and Visenya. Those are the names we had prepared. But alas, Baelon was not to be. And Visenya is not… right.”

Daemon stands, bringing you a scant few steps toward the window. Dawn is approaching. The sky has relinquished the darkness of night, and there, on the horizon, the faintest of ambers illuminates the locus where the heavens and the earth meet, silhouetting the city below. As he watches the sun rise, he just barely hears the staff behind him make their final exits, awash in a rustle of equipment and a hush of words offered to their mistress and exultant ruler.

A tiny noise below draws his interest. Your eyelids have drooped, soft lashes framing lavender lids that sweep across the skin of your cheeks. When he dips his finger into the parting of your mouth, you begin to suckle at him, reflex rather than need.

“What would you call her?” Aemma asks after seconds, minutes, hours. He turns, brow arched in surprise. She seems genuinely curious, though she is admittedly not one for mean-spirited japes as it is. His cousin has always valued his opinion more than his brother ever had, even if was she who had forced his bitch of a wife upon him. “If you could,” she adds, “what name would you give her?”

He looks to Viserys, wordlessly asking for permission. A dip of the chin is his response. Letting loose a soft grunt, he peers down at his small charge.

Visenya is too fierce. Gael too glum. Too many fucking ‘Rhae’ names, so no Rhaenys. Daella too bland, Saera too provocative, Alysanne too common.

And then, he thinks upon it. The perfect name. Your name. When he says it aloud, he is met with a shine in Aemma’s eyes, a gleam in Viserys’s grin.

“That is it,” the King says, nodding decisively. “That is what we shall call her.” Rising, he comes forward to clap Daemon on the shoulder lightly, hand warm even through the layers of his shirt and coat. “Thank you, brother.”

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, tipping his head.

There is a tightening in his chest, the sort of feeling that threatens to stop his heart from the depth of his own enduring emotion. As Viserys makes his way to the door to deliver the announcement—to proclaim your birth, to order the ringing of the bells, to declare your name for the entire world to hear and know—Daemon gazes down at you.

“What do you think, sweetling?” He says your name again.

This time, he swears that you smile back at him.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48798151/chapters/123097897

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thelov3lybookworm · 2 months

Text

Love Needs No Voice (Part 1)

Summary: The famous guy is a little too stubborn for Y/n's liking.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: The reader in this fic is mute. I just want to warn everyone, I have no experience or know anyone who has experience with muteness, so everything i write is based off of my research over the internet. If I write something that might offend anyone, please let me know so I can rectify my mistake. Its not my intention to hurt anyone.

That said, Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The timer Y/n and Nesta had set rang, signalling the end of the hour, and some people from the table nearby looked over before returning to their conversation.

Finally. Y/n heard her best friend whisper from next to her, relief evident in the way Nesta cracked her back.

Y/n simply smiled at her friend from childhood, stretching her back as she clenched and unclenched her fist, sighing when her body relaxed after an hour of no movement.

It was saturday today, meaning most students of the university were either exploring London, sleeping in, or sitting in the cafe near the campus, completing notes and assignments.

Y/n had had nothing else to do, and she wanted to finish all her assignments, so she had planned to come to the cafe, and Nesta had insisted to come along.

And even though it had been her decision to tag along, Nesta had been fussy the whole morning, whining about wanting to do something else, but not wanting to leave Y/n either. They had both settled on studying for three hours and then going out.

Nesta stood up, bending this way and that before sighing. "Let's go get something to eat." She mumbled.

Y/n thought about it for a second, then shook her head as the image of the famous boy flashed in her mind. She glanced around a little, then gestured at Nesta to go by herself.

"You're not hungry?"

Y/n again shook her head.

Nesta shrugged. "I'll bring you something."

Y/n waved, then turned back to her book, continuing to scribble her notes across it.

Y/n watched her friend make her way through the crowd of students toward the line that led to the cafe counter, leaning back in the cushioned seat she currently occupied.

The scrape of a boot caught Y/n's attention, and she stiffened a little, hoping it was not who she knew it was.

Alas, the fates were not kind to Y/n on some days, and today was most probably one of those days, considering she'd stubbed her toe almost over five times now.

The handsome boy that all the girls from the university fawned over dropped into the seat next to Y/n, a huge smile on his face.

Y/n suppressed her sigh.

Y/n should have known there was a chance she would encounter him today, considering one of his friends worked as a barista in this exact cafe.

The violet eyed boy had never noticed her until a month ago, and Y/n had used to believe herself lucky to be out of sight of the boy that basically smelled of money, who wore clothes that practically screamed My father is rich, haha, you losers.

But then on that fateful day a month ago, Y/n had decided to stay in the library finishing up some of her literature assignments, and that had probably been one of the worse decisions of her life.

Nesta had her cheerleader practice that day, and then she had been too tired to study, so Y/n had told her to go home. To go and get some rest, that Y/n could handle by herself.

How wrong she'd been.

After two hours of study, the sky had begun to darken in the distance, rain clouds gathering, promising heavy rain. Y/n looked out the window, and decided it was time to call it a day. She gathered all her supplies and notebooks, placing them neatly into her bag. Y/n was never one for messiness, and her mother and Nesta liked to joke that her need for organising everything perfectly will bite her in the ass one day.

That day, Y/n understood what they meant.

Y/n meticulously stored everything away, arranging her books in the order she wanted, all the while glancing out the window and hoping it wouldn't rain anytime soon.

After she was finally done, she raced towards the exit, finding another student standing there, staring out over the grounds, now wet with the heavy rain that began pouring. He wore a simple black vest and grey sweatpants, his dark hair tousled, his neck gleaming with sweat.

Y/n skid to a stop, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. She was too busy wondering how she would go back to the small rented apartment she shared with Nesta, not realising the person next to her was none other than the Rhysand.

Y/n frowned when she felt eyes on her, and she glanced from the corner of her eye to find the boy staring at her. She turned her eyes to the small puddle quickly forming a little distance away, glaring at it, a blush climbing up her neck at the intensity with which he stared at her.

"Hey. I'm Rhysand." He waited for a few moments, and when it was clear Y/n would not reply, he continued awkwardly. "Is anyone coming to pick you up?"

Y/n blinked, looking at the guy. She stared at him for a moment, then glanced behind her, checking to make sure no one was standing behind her and that he really was talking to her. He rose a brow at her actions, and she quickly shook her head no.

"So... do you have an umbrella?"

She again shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, her blush spreading down her neck when she realised that she was wearing the worst possible outfit ever.

Rhysand opened his mouth to speak again, but just then a sleek, shining black sedan pulled up, and he paused. A man in a full suit stepped out of the driver's side opening an umbrella, walking the few steps towards Rhysand.

The man said nothing, just stood holding the umbrella over Rhysand's head, who turned to Y/n with a cheeky smile. "And that is my very talkative body guard. Very cheery, that man."

Y/n stared blankly, wondering if she was supposed to laugh. His smile faltered, before widening as he stepped towards his car. This guy really was rich.

He made to get in, but turned at the last moment. "If you don't have an umbrella, how are you going to go home?"

Y/n simply shrugged, tugging her jacket tighter around her. A frown appeared on his face. He stood there, studying Y/n for long enough that she had to resist the urge to squirm. "I can give you a ride." He said, matter of factly.

When Y/n shook her head, he silently contemplated something, then turned to his bodyguard. "Give her the umbrella."

The man in the suit didn't even hesitate, simply waited for Rhysand to get settled before shoving the umbrella at her. Y/n stared at him, panicked. He stood unmoving, waiting for her to take the umbrella.

Y/n grabbed it, wishing more than ever that she could talk in that moment. She wished she could tell Rhysand to keep the umbrella, but he obviously would not have learned the sign language and there was no other way she could talk to him, and she didn't have the will to get out a pen and paper.

Rhysand rolled down his window, something like concern and curiosity swimming in his eyes. "You can return it to me tomorrow, if that's why you are so hesitant." Y/n nodded reluctantly, swallowing. He smiled. "Are you sure you don't want me to drop you home?"

Y/n shook her head, then ran off, knowing he would try to continue talking, and then eventually find out about her lack of voice, and then pity her. Then tell the whole university so everyone can make fun of her. That's what usually happened.

She didn't need anyone pitying her out bullying her. She did enough of that herself.

Someone nudged Y/n's shoulder, and she blinked out of her thoughts, turning to find Rhysand smiling at her.

Y/n swallowed, trying not to get lost in his beautiful violet eyes.

"How are you doing?"

Y/n studied him for a moment, then turned back to her notes. She felt him deflate next to her. "Why don't you talk to me? Why do you ignore me?"

Y/n fidgeted with her pen, attempting to block him out. It didn't work. His voice was just that hypnotic. "If you want me to leave you alone, just say the word." He mumbled, his voice sad.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, releasing a breath through her nose.

A tense silence descended around the two of them, and Y/n wondered if he had left. When she opened her eyes, she found him studying her intensely. This time, she held eye contact.

A few moments passed, and suddenly, he jolted, his eyes widening in shock. Y/n's brows furrowed, and she turned to glance behind her at the seats behind her, wondering if something was going on.

When she turned back to him, he still looked like he had seen a ghost, though now his eyes swam with emotion.

"You- you... you can't..."

His words did nothing to soothe Y/n's confusion, and she simply blinked at him.

"You can't, can you? I said if you want me to leave you alone, just say the word. You..."

Suddenly, it all clicked for Y/n.

He knew.

Y/n straightened, grabbing all her books and shoving them haphazardly into her bag. A book's cover even folded outward, but Y/n pushed it in, uncaring. All she wanted to do now was to run away, far, far from everyone that knew, from everyone that would soon find out.

Rhysand grabbed her hand as soon as Y/n stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. Precisely at that moment, Nesta came bounding up to the two of them as he too followed Y/n up, a to go cup of coffee in her hand and a muffin in another. The muffin Y/n loved.

Nesta slowed down, raising a questioning brow at Y/n. Knowing everyone would soon find out, Y/n signed to Nesta.

He knows.

Nesta stiffened, then handed Y/n the muffin so she could sign back. Did you tell him?

Y/n shook her head, walking closer to Nesta and ignoring Rhysand as he called her name. He figured it out.

Nesta glared at Rhysand, then grabbed her bag from Y/n and dragged her best friend away.

Y/n felt eyes on her all the way until she reached the exit, and she turned to look back at the stunned boy once.

What she saw confused her a little, but she could not contemplate on it much as Nesta didn't stop.

He had looked guilty, but also...

Determined.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe

#rhysand x reader #rhysand fanfic #rhysand #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #mating bond

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pandorasfavorite · 2 months

Note

can u do a dom x fem!reader and basically shes an interviewer at wwe and dating dom and decided to try the pheromone perfume thing on him and it drives him wild and then smut 🤭

Perfume is Powerful

I'm clawing at the walls writing this.... and were pretending baby boy is in his Champion era.

You and Dominik have been dating for close to a year but no one knows. There have been rumors, but of course, there was no concrete evidence, you guys were careful. You hate to be a woman who is displeased by her boyfriend... the sex is great every time without fail. But part of you longs for something more feverish, quick, risky. Anytime yall fuck it's passionate and in bed, you want that movie type of sex. The kind that makes you throw your head back and have your mouth muffled by his big hands while he plows into you. Truly when Dominik steps into work he is instantly into character, but regardless his character is still in love with you....

You are dressed up in a business casual type outfit, a skirt that was a bit shorter than normal, that the cameras couldn't see. But your shirt was skimpy, covered by a coat that would conceal you during the interview. What brought the whole thing was the new perfume you bought, all the reviews say it makes their boyfriends go crazy, so you had to try it out. You roll the perfume onto the sides of your neck, your wrists, and just a bit on the insides of your thighs...just in case.

Dominik has yet to come to the interview but all the cameras were set up when it goes live. Dominik couldn't be around you before the interview otherwise his character wouldn't be as pronounced, and it would be too obvious. He walks in with that usual swagger his face etched with a frown, that mean look always gave you goosebumps in the best way. You couldn't help but smile and Dominik was holding back, his lip just barely quirked up at the sight of you before he suppressed it. The directors told you both it was time. You and Dominik stood nearly shoulder to shoulder facing the camera. "3...2...1...were live!" the director yelled.

You smile directly at the camera to start your introduction, "I'm joined by NXT champion Dominik Mysterio, who got a front row seat to his opponents match for tonight, that his father set up. How are you feeling going in?", you turn to ask him and immediately you are struck. Dominik looks bent out of shape all of the sudden, his jaw is tight as if it was wired shut and his fist is clenched to his side. He shakes his head and coughs trying to play it off, "Well, my back hurts from carrying this company on my back for past almost two years now. I already beat Dragon Lee twice with my dad in his corner". Dominik speaks to the camera but its clear to you that his mind is elsewhere, his hand is twitching at its side now...towards you.

You smile at his cocky response moving on to one more question with your own twist, "Standing here with Mr. 'Dirty' Dominik Mysterio has been a great pleasure, we have one more question for you.".

Dominik swallows and you noticed he has started to sweat, pulling at his shirt to get some air. "Yea".

Your directors nodded at you, they knew of this news, but Dominik is just now finding out on live television. "What is your advice for a new wrestler such as myself?", the roars of the crowd were booming loud enough for the cameras to pick up on. Dominik's eyes went comedically wide and he nearly dropped his belt right off his shoulder. He breathes shallowly, he gathers his bearing just enough to say, "You don't need any advice". This means Dominik had complete confidence in your abilities. You turn your attention back to the camera and you smile. The crew instantly packed up their things and rushed out of the room in a matter of 30 seconds, on their way to other segments.

The door clicks shut and you hear Dominik's belt smack on the ground. He unbuckles his belt, ripping it off of his body and he rushes towards you. His large hands grasp and squeeze your waist, his nose nustling into your neck, and then you hear a loud muffled moan. His mouth is open sucking on your neck while he takes deep breaths, inhaling the natural smell the perfume brought out. Your fingers run through his hair, and you giggle at his reaction, "You okay baby?".

Dominik thrusts your body against him, with no space left for yourself. "You smell good", he says in an uncharacteristic deep voice, your eyes light up. You kiss his cheek, "Don't I always?".

"This is different, mierda mami. You're driving me crazy", in a second you feel his teeth scrape across your collar bone. His hands work at the buttons of your skirt pulling it down till it falls to the floor. He tosses his shirt of quickly and sinks to his knees to connect his lips to the soft of your legs. You spread your legs just enough for Dominik to get between them and the moment he does the groans at the same smell, his hand falling from your leg to his cock. He lays his forehead on one of your legs and his eyes are squeezed shut, you rub his head trying to see what's going on. "Dominik? What's wrong?", your voice is overflowing with concern, you didn't think he'd react this strongly. "I think I'm gonna cum", he sputters out, his fingers leaving red marks on your thighs. You can't control the gasp that flies out of your mouth, you knew that was going to be burned into your mind for a year... maybe two.

You sink to your knees in front of him, your hands cradling his face now... not that it helped considering you put it on your wrists as well. "Do you need a minute?", you ask so sweetly. He answers with a deep inhale, nearly tilting his head back at the pleasure you bring to him just by your natural pheromones. God the way he was acting you didn't need any prep, he could slide right in. "I need it now hermosa, tell me you can take it, tell me mami", he looks up at you with wide, glossy, dilated eyes that take your breath away. "I can take it", you whisper to him trying to diffuse some of the tension he is feeling.

His face splits into a major grin and he pushes your thighs apart so he can get in between them. In that moment he gets close to you, only to push you back by the chest, a hand behind your head when it hits the floor. You lay on your back, your feet flat on the floor and your legs spread. Dominik pulled off your coat but simply unbuckled your bra from under the shirt, tossing it off to the side. His patience was wearing thin, he pulled your shirt just above your boobs and his hands instantly go to touch them. His mouth follows and the closer he gets to the smell of you he can feel himself lose control over again. Another groan of pleasure and a bit of pain from denial brings him back to his twitching cock. "I can't be easy, I have to fuck you-tell me-", you sit up on your elbows for just a moment to look at him. "Fuck me", you say with absolute certainty.

He follows your instruction, pulling out his cock quickly and pushing into you with one fluid motion, the girth stretching you in the most pleasurable way. Your mouth falls open with a moan/whimper. "I know mami, it's going to feel so good in just a second", he says like a promise, though he was feeling as if he was going to cum on the spot. You tug at his hair, your wrist right by his face, the smell driving him to a frenzy, he thrusts into you at a relentless pace. The sounds of his hips smacking against your ass was loud enough to echo, your moans come out loud and high-pitched... too loud. Dominik think the sounds from your mouth are the hottest thing he's ever heard but you both cant risk getting caught. His hand clasps over your mouth, his hair dangling in front of him, his hips working rhythmically, his body looking like a Greek god. He slows down and goes deep inside of you, groaning as you moan, "I'll give you some advice if you want to walk- don't wear this shit. My cock was hard the moment I got close to you", he rasped into your ear.

The sensation felt so good, his deep thrusts hitting the spot inside of you that only he could reach. Every roll and rock of his hips made your walls clench around him and you felt it coming before you even realized it. Your head just barely tilted back and your back arched, Dominik knew what was coming just by that. He pressed you back down harshly, pressing down on your stomach just to the point you could feel that pressure. "Cum. You know you go first", he grits out feeling himself getting close too. As you cum your pussy convulsed around Dominik's cock and the pleasure was astronomical for him. The wet slick and almost painful tightness brought him over the edge moments after you. He cums with a groan, his face falling into the side of your neck.

He inhales and pulls back with a groan, his face made as he glares at you. "You still smell so fucking good. I just came mami-", now he sounds like he's whining at the effect you have on him.

#dominik smut #dom smut #dominik mysterio smut #dominik mysterio x reader smut #dominik mysterio x you smut #dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio x reader #dominik my bbg #dominik mysterio fluff #dom dom #dominik mysterio x you #dominik mysterio fanfiction #wwe #monday night raw #the judgement day #the judgment day wwe

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throneofsmut · 6 months

Text

Kintober Day Twenty-Two : Against a Wall

Rhys x Female Reader

Being Helion’s little sister had its perks. Like being able to lose yourself in all of the books the Day court library had to offer. Granted you were only a couple years younger, he was extremely overprotective. More so now that he was High Lord of Day and his advisor’s were hounding him to marry you off.

Their excuse was it would help make the Day court even stronger, but since you were children it was obvious Helion would inherit the crown.

You didn’t mind it, yet some people thought you were envious but truth be told you didn’t want nor care for the crown. Helion knew that, he also knew you just wanted to be happy above all else and to be loved like the one written in your books. Hoping to one day find your mate.

So he made you a promise. When he became High Lord he wouldn’t marry you off, or force you to do anything you didn’t want to. He instead let you find love on your own and basically let you do whatever, as long as it didn’t hurt you, others or the day court.

Still he was overprotective and intimidating, making it hard to find someone willing to date the High Lord’s little sister. But there was one who didn’t care that he was High Lord. The heir to the crown of the Night Court.

Rhysand.

Which was why you were about to get fucked against a wall on one of the floors of the Day Court libraries. While your brother and Rhys’ father were in a meeting.

“Rhys.” His name was a prayer on your lips as he moved your hips over his clothed cock, reveling in the soft whimpers leaving your lips from the friction. You could feel him through the clothes separating the two of you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing against him.

“I need you inside me.” You confessed softly, trying to hold back the moans trying to escape you. As he kissed your neck and breasts, nipping at them lightly before pulling back to look at you.

He gave you a wicked smirk but something flickered in his eyes at your words. “I said i’d fuck you against the wall, do you think i’m not gonna follow through with that, darling ?”

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You snarled against his shoulder as he grounded hips into your harder.

“You won’t be able to walk after I’m done with you.”

“Rhys-“ Your words died in your throat, as he pushed into. Crashing his hips into yours and then he’s pulling almost all the way out before crashing back into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

He growls into your ear quietly, “You have to be quiet or we’ll get caught.”

But it’s too late, you’re too far gone, lost in the pleasure he’s making you feel. Too lost in him. In the way his cock feels inside you, his body pressed against yours and his low groans in your ear.

“I told you to be quiet, fuck- your legs are shaking.” He groaned, lips parted slightly. You look at him through half-lidded eyes. Your eyes falling to his soft lips, licking from his bottom lip to his top lip before claiming his mouth with yours.

Suddenly he’s pulling back, resting his forehead against yours as he fucks you faster and harder than before. He knows you're about to fall over the edge from the way you're clenching around him and he was to fall with you.

You bite his shoulder, suppressing a scream as you fall apart. Rhys, falling right behind with a low groan, as he cums inside of you.

He presses lazy kisses on your forehead, cock still buried inside of you as he holds you up against the wall. Chests still heaving, when the both of you hear your brother calling out for you.

“Y/n.”

The both of you pull apart, trying to straighten your clothes out, you throw a scent glamour over the both of you. Hoping he won’t notice anything but your legs are stilling fucking shaking.

“Fucking Hell.” You mutter and Rhys is by your side in an instant, helping to steady you.

“Y/n ?” Helion turns the corner looking at the both of you. Eyes narrowed as he stares down Rhys and Mother help you because Rhys just gives him a lazy grin in response.

“What are you two doing here ?”

Fuck he knows. You and Rhys are caught. “Uh…” And then Rhys is talking, “She was showing me a book about the-“ He turns to look at you and as soon as your eyes meet, the both of you let out nearly inaudible gasps.

Staring at each other with wide eyes.

He inches closer, giving you a broad smile as he cradles your face in his large hands. Your cheeks glowing as you gave him a dimpled grin in return, before the both of you breathed one word.

“Mate.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #rhysand high lord #rhysand x reader #rhysand smut #rhysand acotar #rhys high lord #rhys x reader #rhys smut #rhys acotar

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chiliyue-archived · 9 months

Text

Self care

↬dressing his wounds/scars

includes; dazai x gn!reader

entry; ❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜

[Event Navi | M.list] | [Bsd M.List] ♡

dazai wanted to chagrin.

the scars littering his arms gawk back at him tauntingly, provoking a surge of memories to consume him in a numbing pulp. but it was hard to remain wrap in his own demons, not when he felt compelled to copy the smile plaster on your lips. it was the very one he came to be smitten over.

you were seated in his lap, the bathroom too tiny to accommodate the pair of you but he hardly seemed dejected by it. if anything, a grin began to play on his lips when you held onto his shoulders for support, shifting until you got a good angle to work with. " hold still."

he nods, waiting patiently as you brush your lips on his nose and reel away. he stops the urge to bring you back, finding content in just having you close with a hand settling on your back.

he does revel at the glances you steal from him - attention divided between dressing the molded wounds and risking a look. he relishes in the way you display a lift in your lips whenever you catch his familiar brown orbs - only for him to poke your cheeks before you could stray too far from your adjective. and when you went to brush aside the loose hairs that tickle your forehead, his hand was already in the process of tucking it behind your ear for you. his fingers linger a second longer each time - reluctance growing like a tide before holding onto your shoulder.

" my own personal nurse," he sighs, leaning close enough to press his lips on some part of you. the laugh you sent him was infectious.

he found it terribly even cuter, however, how your face became scrunched up as you handle the materials with foucs or when the putrid waft of antiseptic permeated your cramped bathroom. he was sure to kiss the pinched area whenever he saw the crease form, brightening in how it disappears. but internally he prays this wasn't the work of a lucid dream.

the hands on his face tell him otherwise, your thumb trailing the apples of his cheeks and reminding him that you're right there with him.

it was almost easy to forget how vulnerable he was setting himself up to be. almost.

" i'm gonna start."

the grin that found itself on his lips when you first cuddled up nearly fades as soon as you start fiddling with the gauze in your fingers, peeling back his shield and revealing flesh that has been long voided of light. it was instead replace with an anticipatory flutter in his heart, trompering in his sternum as though ero's own blessing was bestowed upon him in that moment.

" does this hurt?" he watched as you carefully ran your fingers over the scars - almost ghostly in its approach.

"it doesn't," he admitted.

"perfect."

and for the first time in so long, skin that has been starved of human touch became filled with vitality again. he wanted to shudder at the exposure, and he felt as though your reassuring rubs were the only thing keeping him from running away. he was so accustomed to patching himself up that it almost felt unreal to how welcoming your touch was.

even when he supposedly got use to it, he still has to suppress the urge to recoil when you feather against him for nth time, shivers riveting along with his spine and eyes squeezing shut.

your hands were so much softer than his, he mentally notes. he couldn't help but be mildly entranced when you handle the material with a steadiness unmatched to his own. you were treating him far better than he has ever and will presumably ever treat himself.

" you're getting distracted." he remarks with a poke to your forehead when he catches you staring again. it was futile to resist the twitch in his mouth that when you bat your eyelashes at him, an unsullied face gleaming unapologetically.

"sorry, you're just handsome." he swallows the lump in his throat but he was powerless to subdue the warmth that flickers in his chest cavity, meandering to the other cold parts in his body.

a form of silence furnishes the bathroom as you coil the new gauze around his arms, mindful to not produce any discomfort. it takes everything in his willpower to not shake when you lean down to capture the covered area in a kiss.

"do you find me handsome with these scars?"

dazai finds himself sucking in a breath when you smile against his second skin. "even more so."

"not many would agree with you."

he blinks when you suddenly shift the limb in your hands, sparing only a quick glance at him as you shuffle closer. and you really surprised him this time. very quickly, his pensive gaze dissipates with a shiver trembling along his body, fingers flexing in your grasp when you capture his knuckles this time in a kiss.

he swore he felt the breath in his throat was about to squeeze away, brain too hazy to recognize anything else. his stupor was accentuated when you blinked at him, irses meeting his own through your eyelashes.

" they're wrong."

"you're so certain?" you nod, moving to kiss the corner of his mouth.

in an effort to garner control the situation, he hand slips to clasp your chin gently, maneuvering your head until your lips met. you savor the way his breath prickles your lower lip, something akin to a breathy hum emulating from him. it's timbre ricochet along from the chaste kiss, jolting your nerves.

you're too engrossed in the exchange to notice the way his fingers weaved into your palm properly, exposed wrist meeting yours. he lets out a sigh as he felt the pulse echo against his, rhythm growing in sync to each other perpetually.

when he withdrew, he didn't let you get too far, a hand resting on your nape and keeping in proximity. his pinky and thumb played with baby hairs, lazy motions in contrast to his palpitating nerves. he was close enough to rest his forehead on yours, eyes peering down to watch you dress the rest of him.

"now, just relax and let me take care of you. okay?"

"okay." you saw him smile in the corner of your eyes, paired with a squeeze of your hand. you couldn't help but reciprocate the same gesture, and once again, the same tickling came to fill his barren husk. he smiles, reaching out to sweep your loose strands aside when it came to sweep over your eyes again but he stills when you capture the limb in your hand. he blinks hard as you adjoin it to your lips, placing a butterfly kiss on each pad.

"you have the most beautiful hands and fingers." he freezes knowing if he wasn't cautious he could reach the cusp of breaking down at any moment. "i could hold your hands forever."

as though proving your point you offer him a tight squeeze - but inwardly the squeezing of his chest was far more pronounce.

he attempts to collect himself with an exaggerated breath. "you're too good for me," he whispers. "i might get addicted to this."

your lips brush on his forehead and he almost shakes, unable to do nothing more than recline into you until it was just impossible.

"good" you hum. "you're also very pretty."

for the first time since he entered the bathroom, a swatch of red began to streak his cheeks. it certainly felt inevitable now with your ceasless antics, not that he didn't complain - the guilty and almost shaky grin that came to his lips was telling of that. notably; it was absent of the mischievous gleam that commonly orbits him; instead, it spoke both of his gratitude and effervescent affections that brew rampant the more you indulge him.

dazai allows his head to fall forward; forehead meeting your collarbone. his fanning breath reminds you of his presence, even when he grows silent as you curl the bandges into its proper orientation. he angles his head just enough for his ear to rest right over your chest.

you could barely hear the words that left him, voice just loud enough to cut the calming ambiance. "you're pretty too."

the thrum of your heart echoing in his lobe, pair with the heedful glides of your hands reaches a form of pinnacle for him; weighing him down to the city of yokohama, in your shared tiny cramp bathroom and encompassing care, covering him with a duvet so thick he could feel his eyes grow heavy.

but he wonders if you knew just how heavy his heart was for you.

this was really out of my comfort zone and style but I really like it :) giving all lowercase a try ! i like how causal it feels

anyways, i have a lot of dazai works brewing (and some tecchou :>)

taglist; @eynnwwyjth @anqelically @seisitive @iheartpieck @seiiblue @averagebsdwatcher @solandis

be added or removed here ♡

#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd scenarios #bsd fluff #dazai fluff #osamu dazai x reader #dazai imagines #bsd imagines #dazai x you #bsd x you

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astermath · 10 months

Text

nemesis; part two.

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: with carmen reworking the restaurant, you’d think his mind would be far too occupied to even think about anything else. yet he can’t shake the guilt from what he’d put you through a month prior. after some talks in therapy, he decides to take a leap of faith and see if he can talk it out with you. he not only wants to convince you that he can be better, but he's got an offer for you too. one you truly can't refuse.

♡ landing page ♡

word count: 4.9K

tags: carmen being unsure about his feelings but trying to be better episode 3265742, letting reader in a little more, APOLOGIES!!!, cursing ig, carm goes to therapy yippee, syd being the absolute realest, regular font below!

notes: sorry this took literally forever omg, I lost my carmen muse for a bit but we are SO back baby. I missed him so much and so sorry if some things don't follow the canon completely (I've been watching season 2 on and off bc I've been so busy lol BUT my fics never follow the canon completely anyways),, hope u guys enjoy and let me know if you'd like a part three ;))

lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Carmen’s life hadn’t known a moment of mental rest in ages. If you asked him when he last sat down with his thoughts or acknowledged his mental anguish, he probably would have said he couldn’t remember the last time. If ever.

With plans to completely revamp The Beef and everything that came with it, now his feelings should be the last thing on his mind. Renovation plans, unforeseen costs and a completely new menu, sure, he could worry his ass off about those, but feelings? Absolutely not. Good thing he was usually so good at suppressing those anyways.

So why was it that he couldn’t shake the thought of what he did to you?

Why, every time he had a moment to himself, would he be overtaken by this intense feeling of guilt? He didn’t even have to be alone, just a second of quiet and the image of you crying in distress would intrude on his thoughts.

It was getting to a point where he’d told his sister, Natalie, about it. Well, not all of it, he wasn’t even sure if he knew all of it. Just that he knows he hurt you, and that coming to terms with what he projected onto you might be a good first step in understanding himself better.

Or maybe it was something more along the lines of “I gotta talk my shit to some people”. Probably that.

To his surprise, it was actually helping. Besides the group therapy sessions where he’d talk about Mikey, the business and his future, he was talking to other people in his life too. Even told Sydney about you, kind of on accident. The words just seemed to… Flow out. It was probably the exhaustion doing its thing.

“I guess I just felt like,” he kept his eyes on the floor he was sweeping, “she was doing it all to fuck with me. I don’t even know where I got the sick idea that she had some obsession over me, but it— it drove me at the same time. It’s like her being on my heels at every aspect of culinary school just made me want to try even harder.”

“Maybe you painted her in that light because you knew it was a good way to keep pushing yourself.” Sydney spoke almost absentmindedly, sweeping the other side of the room. She listened to everything he said in the meantime, and though what he was telling her was a bit worrying, she was glad they got to have talks like this. Carmen often doesn’t like to bring up his past like that.

“Huh,” he paused sweeping for a moment, “yeah… yeah, maybe. Or maybe it was something else.”

Sydney wasn’t even sure he knew what he was referring to. It sounded like something entirely different, like a crush, but what kind of person treats their crushes like that?

Probably an overworked, pressured, overachieving culinary student with a dangerous need for validation. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“So yeah, I visited her restaurant, and… It just felt the exact same as back in New York, you know? Like she was rubbing it in my face again, and— and I know that sounds insane, or conceited, but I just can’t let it go. It’s like the thought of her is stuck to my brain like a stubborn piece of gum.” He wanted to smack himself for that stupid analogy, but what was said was said.

“So how’d you handle it?” Sydney’s head perked up, some of her braids now draping over her shoulders.

“Handle what?” Carmen became more and more uneasy the more he talked about you. Like his chest was tight, it was uncomfortable, but not in the way he was when the health inspection came by, it was different. Weirder. Unfamiliar. He didn’t like it, because he didn’t understand it.

“The talk with her.” She emptied the last bit of dust into the trash bag.

“Oh,” his mind took him back to the parking lot a month ago. The way he could almost taste the tears of your skin from how close he stood, he could hear the shakiness of your breath and the profound desperation in your voice when you apologized to him, when you really had no reason to.

If it was still so clear in his mind, then what must it be like for you?

“Carmen?” Sydney snapped him out of his oncoming train of thought.

“Yeah? Sorry, I— Uh, I don’t know it was…” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly finding it in his best interest to look anywhere else but her face. “Bad. It was— It was bad.” He looks a bit shameful when he meets her eyes. “I fucked up. I like, went all New York boss on her. And then I just… Left.”

His colleague just stares at him for a moment. She knew what he was like when he snapped like that, but that was with his staff, people he liked. So how badly did he snap on you, a person he’d been resenting for years?

“I’m gonna go take out this trash, and uh… Head home.” She lifts the grey plastic bag she was holding. “But uh, Carm?”

“Yeah?”

“You got issues, man.” She has a bit of an awkward smile on her face, but he knows she means it. He knows she’s right. She usually is.

He nods, silently, letting her words sink in. He did have issues, everyone knew that, but most people didn’t just say it. That’s why he liked Sydney, she was so real, so honest. She was so good for the business, for the kitchen. And maybe her saying that to him was all part of grounding him in the reality of it all. Of his issues, just that they existed.

“Heard.” he says. His voice comes out raspier than he expected, like he’s struggling to say it.

“Goodnight, chef.”

“Night.”

He’d thought about what Sydney said the entire night. He does have issues, he knows that, he’s just mad at himself for letting everything get this far before seeking help. It scares him. Because it reminds him too much of Mikey. Or what he heard about him when things got bad.

He doesn’t want to make the same mistakes his brother did. Lock people out of his life just because it seems easier, because it’s better to minimize the damage than to figure out why you’re doing damage at all. And yes it’s uncomfortable, yes it’s scary, terrifying even. But he keeps being reminded of how it must feel for you.

It’s something he’d never considered before. He always thought he had you all figured out, all fake smiles and backhanded compliments to distract him. It never occurred to him to just… Ask. It was always just easier to assume. It fit his view of you and it kept him going, even if it was at the expense of ever getting to know you at all.

He’s hoping he can change that with a few text messages and a long, probably uncomfortable, talk over coffee. Just hoping, trying, that’s really all he can do. He’s well aware of how bad he is at communicating, but he has to give it a shot. For you, at least.

He stares at his phone screen for far longer than is necessary, continuously rereading the messages he’d typed. His eyes keep flicking to your contact, making sure he sent it to the right person. The only thing you two had texted about before was a time and place for him to try your new restaurant. His heart aches at the exclamation points and emojis you’d sent; you were so excited, and he drove all that excitement straight into the ground.

He closes his eyes and shuts off the phone. His chest hurts, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. Maybe he has. You could have that effect on him, making it harder to breathe. He always wondered why he had such nervous reactions around you specifically. He always figured it had to do with your one sided rivalry, but it feels… Different. More complex.

Your eyes are finally peeled off your computer screen when numerous phone notifications alarm you. Truth be told, you’ve been trying your best to keep yourself occupied as much as possible. That usually helps when you get waves of emotions like this, keeping busy, distracting your mind from overthinking.

Ever since your last encounter with Carmen, you’ve been so on edge. Always trying to do something, anything, so you wouldn’t have to think about what happened, why he acted like that to you. Because you know if you did, you’d just start blaming yourself again, and you’d be back to square one.

Your eyebrows raise at the name of the contact. You were sure he’d blocked you, or at least deleted your number after last time. He was avoidant like that, and frankly, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to talk to you again after that anyways. Maybe it was just to drive the point home, make you feel even more worthless.

Still, you were curious. Even if it was just to cuss you out even more, at least you knew what to expect, right?

[carmen]: hey, I really want to talk to you about what happened last time.

[carmen]: well

[carmen]: I want to apologise

[carmen]: but I can’t do that like this

[carmen]: I’d much rather do it in person

[carmen]: if you’d let me

[carmen]: meet me at odette’s tomorrow around 10? coffee’s on me, I just want to talk

[carmen]: please

The last message was sent minutes later than the rest, while you were reading them. He was desperate for an answer, and though you wanted to hear him out, to talk to him, something in you felt off about the whole thing. Like he was just doing this to clear off his own guilt, only to then ditch you just like he ditched you after culinary school. Because you’re rivals, apparently. That’s what you do.

But then there’s something else in you too. The part that’s still nostalgic about New York with him. About the glances back and forth when you were timed on preparing certain things, about the way he’d stare at you when you got feedback, the ignorant bliss you lived in. When you still believed he might have liked you just a little.

That part of you takes the upper hand when you reply and take his offer. Your heart is in your throat, nerves overtaking you already and you weren’t even with him yet. He had that effect on you sometimes, making it harder to breathe.

You wondered what that meant.

Carmen sits alone at a booth, all the way at the back of the café he’d chosen. It’s rather quiet, as most Mondays are, yet at the same time, it’s so loud. Loud in the way he hears the clinking of every spoon against porcelain cups, the crinkling of a napkin and the not so subtle ticking of the clock above the entrance. 10:06. You were late.

Suddenly he's filled with more regret than he's ever felt before. He's not ready to see you again, only to be reminded of how he made you cry, and of his own tumultuous emotions and shortcomings that lead to this moment. It's surprising how fast the emotions he associates with you changed; he's not angry anymore, he's scared, guilty, nervous. He wants to see you so bad and yet he feels like you'd be better off never talking to him again.

It's too late to make a run for it when you finally walk through the door. Hair a little damp from the rain, just a bit disheveled from what he could only assume to be rushing over to the café. And that same angelic smile you offer to the barista that greets you, the same one you'd offer him every morning, whether he looked at you or not.

He had no choice but to look now.

Your smile falters into something more nervous, a little melancholic, when your eyes meet his across the café. Though you knew he was going to be there, something in you feels surprised to see him again. Maybe it’s because he isn’t yelling at you or throwing insults at your head this time. Or maybe because he’s actually looking you in the eye. Since when did he get so good at that?

You sit down across him, taking off your coat and putting your bag besides you.

“Hey.” You smile again, much more awkward this time.

“Hey.” He returns the same thin lipped smile.

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Carmen swears the whole café has gone silent in that moment, leaving the two of you to listen to the sound of your own breathing and heartrate picking up. You’re not sure where to look, not being used to being in such an intimate setting with him.

“Do you want a coffee?”

“Sorry I was late.”

You both talk over each other, and the urge to chuckle about it overtakes you. Carmen can’t help but smile as well. You seem nervous, and somehow that puts him a little more at ease. Like he’s not the only one who’s in their head about it.

“Sorry, I, uhm, yeah— I would like a coffee.” You scramble over your words. “Please.”

“Sure,” he nods, “and no worries.”

“Hm?”

“That you were late. I haven’t been here that long either.” He lied. He’d been there half an hour early, cursing himself for letting him sit along with his thoughts for that long and psyching himself out into almost leaving.

You both order and another heavy silence sits between you two. You both know why you’re there, what needs to be talked about. Yet neither of you know how to bring it up.

You’ve lived most of your lives believing this version of each other you had in your minds. Because it kept you grounded. Because it was easier. He never let you in and for the longest time, you were at peace with that. You could have a slightly distant view of who he was, your classmate, your rival. And he could do the same. Keep you out, pretend you were there to keep him on his toes, to always try to outdo him.

Those facades of each other don’t work anymore. The real world has forced you to reconcile with each other, whether you liked it or not.

Your coffee gets brought to your table, and both of you feel this urgency to say something, anything, at least.

“The pastries here are good too, if you want to get one.” He finally broke the awkward silence. He can start with talking about food, something he knows. If all else fails, resort back to that.

“I haven’t tried a pastry besides my own in a long time. Maybe I could learn a thing or two here.” You admit. He knows that feeling. He’s not nearly as adventurous with his food choices as he wants to be, but as a busy chef on the brink of a new entrepreneurship, it’s usually beef sandwiches and frozen meals.

“I think yours were better though.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Huh?” You look up, realizing you were avoiding eye contact by staring into your cup.

“The danish I tried at your place. It was fire.”

“Oh. Right. Thank you, we make everything from scratch.”

“I could tell.” He takes another sip. “I guess I— I kinda forgot to tell you that. In the heat of it all.” He huffs to himself. “Food was so good it made me upset.”

“Upset?” His word use frustrates you. Upset is when they forget to give you your sauce with your order. What happened back there was not upset. That was rage. Wrath. You raise an eyebrow and he realizes he said something wrong.

“Well, more than upset. Listen, I— We need to talk about what happened.” His blue eyes peer into your own. They’re almost distracting enough to avoid you noticing his fidgeting hands.

“I’m listening.” You lean back slightly in your seat. You’d played nice with Carmen all your life, given him every chance to return it. Now it was his turn to try.

"Right." Of course he has to talk. It's his fault, isn't it? He's the one who snapped-- why did he even imply you'd have to explain yourself? He runs a hand through his hair, and there he goes again, eyes darting across the café to find something to focus on as he sought out the right words. You'd almost find it endearing, how bad he is at this, if it wasn't so important to you.

"You don't do this often, do you?"

"What, like-- meeting up for coffee?"

"Talking about stuff. Your feelings and shit." You hid your slightly amused smile behind your coffee cup before taking a small sip.

"Oh. Yeah, no, I-- I don't. Not until recently." He takes a deep breath. Just like they had told him to. “I’ve been going to this therapy thing my sister recommended. S’not much, but… It’s a start. Talked about the restaurant, my brother—“

“Your brother?” Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah, my— my brother. Mikey.” He looks a bit surprised. He’s come to the shattering realization that he’s never told you anything about his personal life, ever. You don’t even know about one of the most important people in his life, his main drive. You’ve known each other for so long yet you know so little. “I never told you about him?”

“You never told me anything.” You answer curtly. “We never really… Talked, you know?”

“Yeah— yeah, you’re right. I just thought… Wow.” He smiles, more out of shock than anything. He feels so stupid. How immature is it to be feuding this much with a person who doesn’t know anything about you?

“I guess I really don’t know much about you either.” His fingers rake through his messy curls again. “Makes me feel like even more of an idiot for going off on you like that. Like I had you all figured out.”

“Yeah, that was uh... That was something." The mood shifts a little. His smile fades as soon as he sees the melancholy in your eyes return. Of course it wouldn't be that easy for you to forgive him, to feel better about all this. "You know, I never knew you thought of me like that." A small smile graces your features. Somehow it's sadder than the expression you had before.

"I mean, I knew you didn't like me. I was pretty much at peace with the fact that you were never going to like me, either. But I never thought you hated me that much." You sniffle, trying your hardest to blink away any oncoming tears. "Like your life, your entire career, would have been easier without me there at all."

His heart aches at the sight of you, all teary eyed and trying to be brave. You're much braver than him. Sadness is a much harder thing to express than anger. He's starting to figure that out more and more.

"I don't hate you." He starts. He sees the confusion contort your features, and he knows he's not making any sense. "I mean I did-- I did hate you. Or, maybe not you, just... The fucked up idea I had of you. And-- and that was on me, that was my own fault." He feels an urge to touch you; to rub your back, hold your hand, anything to comfort you. It's tearing him apart to know that he's the cause of all this.

"But why?" A single tear rolls down your cheek, leaving a wet streak on your skin in its wake. "Why did you think that about me? I-- I get that we had a little rivalry going but jesus Carmen, did you really think I spent my whole culinary school career trying to outdo you?"

"To be honest... Yeah." He feels ashamed. So ashamed. He hopes the waitress doesn't walk by and listen to any of this, see you crying, and make you feel even worse. "Cooking was always just... My thing. If I was good for anything, it would be that. So seeing you do so well at something I'd started to base my whole existence around, it made me jealous, so fucking jealous." He meets your eyes, even if it's hard. You have to know he's being sincere.

"And it's-- it's unfair, it's so unfair to you, I know, and I'm really fuckin' sorry. I'm trying to work on myself, on everything, and I hope I can prove that to you." His face has that red tint you recognize whenever he's nervous or stressed. You can tell this is taking a lot from him.

"Is that really all? You were just jealous?" Your voice is quieter, fragile almost.

"I don't know. I wanna think it's that simple but I really don't know. There's a lot I don't understand about me, or you, or us. My mind doesn't know how to react when I see you anymore I think, now that things are different." He takes a deep breath, like saying that took a physical toll on him. "You have this-- this weird effect on me, and I don't know how to cope with it. I think it was just easier to be mad at you than to be anything else."

Anger is easier to express than sadness. The easiest out of all emotions, actually. Sometimes a little too easy.

You look to the side, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. You huff out something close to a laugh, and though he’s caught off guard by it, he doesn’t mind it. Even if you’re laughing at him, at least that means you’re not crying.

“You’ve got issues Berzatto. You know that?”

“Yeah. I’ve been told.” He smiles, and it’s heartfelt this time. Not nervous, or sad, or awkward. He’s happy to see you a little more at ease.

“It’s just really crazy to me.” You trace your finger over the edge of your coffee cup as you talk. “I spent so much time in culinary school looking up to you. And then I find out you were always just trying to keep up with me.”

Carmen’s eyebrows raise a little at your words. “Looked up to me?”

“Yeah, like… Your drive, your passion, it’s so impressive. Always looking to improve, to do better, it just— it inspired me to do better too. As cheesy as that may sound.” You smiled. “S’why I opened up in Chicago, you know.”

“Really? Huh.” He leaned back in his seat.

“Because I wanted to work with you. Or for you. Either would have been fine with me.” You sigh. “I like owning my own place, but… I don’t know, for some reason I always imagined us working together.” You smiled. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he replied quickly, “no not at all, I— I totally get that.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head when he stares at you for a moment.

“I mean you’re a remarkable chef, really, like— insanely remarkable, and, well, we’re revamping the restaurant completely right now. We need people— more people, new people, and so, I was wondering— or I’ve been thinking—“ He stops himself from losing his breath from all his rambling, before he freaks you out even more than he already has.

“I want you to come work for us at the Bear.” He puts his hands together, as if he’s about to beg. “Please.”

You can almost hear yourself blinking out of confusion. There’s suddenly no more loud silences, no, the café seems dead quiet for once. All you can do is stare at him, wait for a laugh, because clearly this was a joke right? There’s no way Carmen Berzatto, chef supreme, arch nemesis of yours, would want you anywhere near him, let alone work in his own establishment.

“I’m sorry?”

He feels stupid already. You had every reason to say no. He’d been the biggest asshole in the world to you, he’d kept his distance all his life, and now he expects you to be his employee. Or, well, colleague, more so.

“I’m uh— we’re redoing the restaurant entirely. New equipment, new staff, new everything.” He swallows; the thought of everything that needed to be done arises for a moment. “We need people that work hard, who know what they’re doing and who are passionate about it. And I barely know anyone who’s better at what you do than yourself.” He pauses, waiting for you to stop him. But you don’t.

“So I’m asking if you’d work for me. With me. It won’t be anything like old days, if anything I— I need to learn from you.” He scoffs at himself. “Could take a thing or two about how to communicate with my staff.”

You smile, and he genuinely thinks you’re about to start laughing at him. You chuckle, but it’s not mean, it’s honest. Cute.

“You know, you have great timing.” You grin.

“I do?” the smile on his face reflects the hope he feels.

“One of my chefs wants to take over the place for me. Well, has been wanting to. I haven’t had an exact reason to say yes to her yet.” You shrugged. “Guess I do now.”

“…Is that you saying yes?”

“It’s definitely not me saying no.” Your eyes meet his, and there’s something between you both that’s different now. It’s not like there’s a switch that’s been flipped. It‘s more like this conversation was the turning page of a new chapter.

“I’ll think about it. I want to see it first. Maybe talk to some of your staff.” Carmen’s chest strains a little when he thinks about you interacting with Richie. Then he’s reassured when he thinks about you interacting with Sydney or Marcus. You’d fit in well, you have great feeling for people.

“Yeah— yeah, I get that. Totally. I can arrange that. Uhm, we’re renovating right now, actually, it’s all really kinda wild, but if you wanna stop by, chat with Syd, or Nat, or talk about the plans, let me know. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you.” He’s not lying, you seem like you’d get along well with them. Especially Sydney. Your thinking processes are very similar to each other. And to his.

Carmen gets the bill, even though you try to pay for it.

“It’s just a coffee, just let me get this one.”

You let him have this one, simply because you can’t argue with him after the conversation you just had. You’re in too good of a mood after his proposition too.

He walks you to your car, hands in his pockets when you reach it. It’s cold outside, and his breath comes out in visible puffs of air. His nose is a little red, but you think it looks cute.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” he starts, “I know you didn’t have to. Like— after how I acted to you. But— But I really do appreciate that you’re givin' me a chance here.” He’d always been confused about how positive and faithful you were in people. He never thought he’d be grateful for those exact features too.

“No worries, I… I had a good time. I’m glad we talked.” The keys jingle as you fidget with them. Among them is a keychain in the shape of a cherry, he recognizes it. It reminds him of how little you’ve both changed. And how much.

“Yeah.” He sighs. Relieved, almost. “Me too. But I’ll let you leave, might wanna tell your chef the good news.”

“Good news?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“That you’re selling them the business.”

“I haven’t decided yet, Carm.” You scoff. But he can tell you have, you look too excited about it all to not have your mind made up yet. It excites him too. Scares him a bit as well, but what’s a new chapter without a bit of tension?

“Right. Sorry.” He huffs. “Just text me when you wanna head over to see the place. It’s uh… It’s a work in progress, but it’s getting somewhere.”

“I believe you. I’m looking forward to it.” You lean back against your car a little.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“See y’around?” You unlock it and walk up to the driver’s side.

“Course. Uh, don’t be a stranger.”

You grin, leaning down to get into the vehicle. “Never with you, Berzatto.”

He watches you drive off, standing in the cold for far longer than any sensible person has any business standing there. But he feels good. He feels warm.

He thinks about what you said to him before you left. You were right, you were never a stranger to him. You were always like a constant in his life; whether you were actually present or not. And even if he didn’t know that much about you, which he was insistent on changing, you were never a stranger.

Never with him.

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floral-force · 10 months

Text

Breakfast in Bed

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

summary: Simon, the man you met at the bar and kissed good-bye, stays true to his word and visits you the next morning. Little do you know, you've been on his mind as much as he's been on yours, and he wants to devour you.

words: 7.2k+

warnings/tags: EXPLICIT, 18+ ONLY. piv (unprotected), praise kink, pet names, very light consensual choking, d/s undertones (barely), ghost is def an ass and thigh man and you can't change my mind, fluff, banter, a cute ending

a/n: this is a long-awaited part 2 to american hospitality! it can be read as a standalone, but I highly recommend reading AH just for the ambience and more sexy, flirtatious banter (and drunk tf 141)!

masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist

You woke up with a groan, rolling over onto your side. A bright ringtone blared in your ears and sucker punched your hungover brain; you must’ve drunkenly set a morning alarm last night. So, you snatched your phone off your bedside table to silence the offensive, repetitive notes, but paused when you saw that it wasn’t an alarm at all—it was Simon, calling you.

You quickly answered the call and cleared your hoarse throat. “Hello?”

There was an amused rumble on the other end. “Had a good night, did’ya?”

“With no thanks to you,” you jabbed, rolling onto your back and closing your eyes.

“Not gonna show a little appreciation to the man who paid your tab, love?”

“Not when my head hurts this fuckin’ bad,” you groaned, fingers rubbing your temple as you clutched the phone and held it close to your ear.

Even if his deep voice was a bit tinny through the phone, you wanted to hear every single syllable, hear every single breath. That was one thing you wouldn’t forget—the way Simon had held your waist in his large hands and bent his head to talk into your ear, pushing the blaring bar music aside so he could heat your skin with every dulcet innuendo. His delicious British accent would haunt your ears for years to come; you don’t think you’d ever forget it.

Simon clicked his tongue. “That isn’t very hospitable of you, is it, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip and smiled, suppressing a girlish giggle at the way the pet name sounded rolling off his tongue. “Maybe not,” you shrugged, opening your eyes and staring up at the ceiling, “but I hope you can forgive me.”

“If you ask nicely, baby, I’ll consider it.”

You sucked in a breath. This Brit had you horny at ten in the goddamn morning. You hadn’t even had a sip of the Pedialyte stocked in your fridge for gnarly hangovers like the one slowly rearing its ugly head as you woke up more and more.

Simon said your name. “Hm? Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll give it a try.”

“Good girl,” Simon purred. You could hear the smile on his lips as you shakily exhaled, rubbing your thighs together after a needy pulse from your cunt. “When will I see your gorgeous face today?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “It’s a ‘when’?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear with th’kiss I gave you before you got in the Uber.”

Your fingers graced over your parted lips. How could you have forgotten that magical, drunken moment? It almost felt like a dream; too good to be true; except it was, and Simon was there, facing you as your friends and his laughed under the streetlights. Simon was there, and he was gripping your waist, large fingers tracing up the back of your skull as you watched him lift the edge of his balaclava up just enough to meet your waiting lips with his. You remembered tasting vodka and sugar and a hint of smoke as he coaxed your lips open to swipe his tongue across yours before pulling back slowly, staring down at you with heady brown eyes.

Another low, satisfied rumble in your ear as you struggled to respond. “So, when am I meeting you at your flat, love?”

“Shit, what time is it—ten?”

“A quarter past, yeah.”

You rubbed your bleary eyes. “Gimme, like, half an hour. I need water and Pedialyte.”

“I’ve got’ya covered there, pretty girl.”

“What d’you mean?” you asked, your brow furrowed.

“I mean—”

You nearly screamed when your door creaked open, sitting upright as a pale elbow pushed it open to reveal familiar broad shoulders and mischievous brown eyes. One hand held a phone to a red-tinged ear and the other curled around a plastic Pedialyte bottle, its pink liquid and condensation a bright contrast against the tattooed forearm and the black shirt and dark denim jeans leaving little to the imagination about the toned body underneath.

“—I’ve got it, sweetheart. Don’ even have t’lift a pretty little finger.”

You were too stunned to speak, lowering your phone to your lap as Simon stepped into your room. It took him only a few wide strides to reach your bedside—this was the one and only time you’d be grateful for your small room. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and stared down at you, the rest of his pale skin below his eyes hidden by a black fabric mask looped around his ears. His neck was exposed, and if it weren’t for your dehydration, you’d be lunging for it. Instead, you stared back at him, narrowing your eyes.

“You have blond hair,” you commented, kicking yourself for letting the stupid observation slip out.

The corners of his eyes creased with a hidden smile. “Figured I’d let it see the Chicago sun at least once before I leave.”

Your mattress dipped with his weight when he sat at the foot of your bed, back curved as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. You crossed your legs under your comforter and gave him a smile, leaning forward and running your fingers through the short, sandy strands. He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning his head back just enough for you to notice, even with sleep still clouding your eyes and your head spinning—from one too many vodka crans or arousal, you couldn’t tell.

“I like it, Simon.”

His eyes fluttered open—such a delicate movement for such an imposing man—and stared at you as you gave his head one last pet before withdrawing and taking the Pedialyte. You opened it and dramatically sighed in relief before taking a long gulp, the sticky-sweet fluid a balm to the consequences of your actions, but not to the heat pooling in your belly. There was only one thing that could fix that—well, four things, to be exact. You’d fallen asleep thinking about i

“Fuck, that’s good.” You sighed. “Do you have this across the pond?”

“Across the bloody pond, fuckin’ hell.” Simon mocked you, and you gave his muscular bicep a playful shove. He let his body sway with it, shaking his head. “No, but we’ve Dioralyte.”

“Maybe I’ll try it someday,” you said, taking another sip.

He shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, love, maybe.”

Simon’s eyes darted to the floor, then back to you, the hand on his thigh wandering over to rest on the mountain your knee created poking up under the comforter. You licked your lips and ran a finger over his tattooed forearm, stroking up and down, gently scratching your fingernail across the inked skin, inching down past his wrist and over one of the bulging veins on the back of his hand. It was almost enough to make you forget about the way the room spun around his head and the somber tone of his response.

You shook your head and scooted closer, careful not to jostle the half-empty bottle. His warm hand snaked up your covered thigh, and you were able to smell the smoke and vetiver wafting off his body and able to see amber flecks glinting in his curious eyes. He was intoxicating, and you needed to drink as much as you could before he was gone for good. Simon was intimidating and commanding; but the blush sneaking up towards his eyes, and the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek with each pass of your fingers through his short hair exposed something tender under his brooding brow. There was something soft in Simon despite the skull jaw printed on the black fabric mask encircling his head and neck below dour brown eyes.

But now was not the time to poke and prod, to try to stab at the chinks in Simon’s armor.

No. Right now, you needed to wash your face, drink some water, and figure out what to do about the wetness between your legs.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence that had settled in the room. You walked your index and middle fingers up Simon’s arm, starting the playful journey at his wrist as you spoke. “What did you have in mind for today?”

“You’re not going t’ask how I got in your flat?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

You shook your head as your index finger stepped over the bend of his arm, your middle finger landing on his thick bicep. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“I could be a murderer, sweetheart.”

“At least you’d be a hot one.”

He tutted at your coy indifference. “Thought you Chicagoans were keen to threats.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” you breathed, your fingers reaching their destination—the edge of his mask. Your nose was inches from where his lifted the fabric covering it, your head spinning with lust and not your hangover, shifting your left side down to set the Pedialyte on the floor so you could place your hand on his chest and feel his heart hammering under your palm.

“You are a goddamn minx, love, fuck,” Simon rasped, his right hand wrapping around the side of your neck, the tips of his fingers trailing up past your hairline, the heel of his palm ghosting over your esophagus. Your blood pulsed through your jugular as he leaned in closer, his black pupils blown as he stared you down. You closed your eyes and shakily exhaled, your heart skipping a beat as the fingers pressing into your left thigh tugged the comforter down, bunching it up at your knee. You couldn’t hold back the quiet, needy sigh when his warm hand touched your bare thigh and squeezed the fat of it, massaging it under his palm as he inched towards the bend of your hip and the edge of your pink panties.

Simon leaned in and the fabric mask brushed against your hot cheek as he purred into your ear, “You have no idea what I want to fuckin’ do t’you, pretty girl.”

You gently shook your head, sharply inhaling as the hand around your neck slid down to rest over your breast, his middle and index fingers catching on the stretched hem of the oversized shirt covering it.

“You’re right, Simon, I don’t.” You mimicked his movement, dropping your hand over the crotch of his jeans, smirking when you felt his erection under your palm, stroking up his length where it strained against his jeans. Your breath hitched at the sound of Simon’s throaty groan.

“Bloody hell, baby,” Simon murmured, pulling back and cupping your cheek, his left fingers toying at the hem of your panties, “you’re fuckin torturin’ me.”

“Sorry, I’m not giving you the warm Chicago welcome I promised last night,” you smirked. “But it is very American of me to give a British man a hard time.”

The double entendre made Simon shake his head and chuckle. “When will you Yanks let that shite go?”

“When pigs fly,” you bit your lip and giggled, “or when you fuck me so good I can’t remember how many colonies you lost a war to.”

“I’ll do far more than that, love.”

“Yeah? Prove it, British boy,” you teased.

You gasped when Simon pushed you back into the mattress, your head landing on your pillow, your eyes fixed on the chestnut ones glaring down at you. You kicked the comforter down and off your legs, shivering when the cold air whipped against your bare skin and shivering at the way Simon was looking at you, something dark and hungry lurking behind his eyes and waiting to strike, waiting to hit you with something that only he could give to you.

“You really want me to, pretty girl?” he asked, his growl laced with uncertainty.

You nodded emphatically, reaching up to wrap your right hand around his left bicep, digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt to leave crescent indentations on his skin. You wanted to leave marks all over him, wanted to let everyone know that the Chicago girl he fucked was as feisty as her city, wanted them to know he’d had the best pussy of his life in the windy city.

“I want—I need to hear you say it, baby.”

You smiled at the needy word that slipped out of his seductive mouth. “Yes, Simon.” You snaked your other hand under the hem of his shirt, splaying your fingers over his defined abs and parting your lips at the way he groaned. “I need you to give me the best cock of my life.”

A moan slipped out of his mouth, the whine filling the late morning air as sunlight illuminated his tawny hair. “So certain it’ll be th’best, are you?”

“I dare you to prove me wrong.”

His eyes snapped open, his eyebrows knitting together and eyes creasing with a devilish smile. “I plan to, pretty girl.”

You laughed when he flipped you over, his strength startling and thrilling you. Your panties were soaked, your cunt pulsing with need—need that had been delayed for far too long. You lifted your ass into the air with your knees and settled down onto your forearms, spreading your knees a little further apart, ready for whatever may come. You turned your head and pressed your right cheek into your pillow, closing your eyes and sighing as you let yourself begin to fall down the rabbit hole of pleasure that had been teasing you since he’d barged into your room earlier.

The mattress lifted when he stood with a huff. You heard the old wood floor squeak under his heavy steps, the scratch of denim being forced to the ground, the hurried toss of fabric on the ground.

He breathed your name. The mattress gently dipped behind your feet. “Fuckin’ hell, look at you.”

You yelped when Simon’s calloused hands grabbed your waist and tugged you to the foot of the bed, your feet dangling off the duvet. He gruffly tugged your shirt up to your neck with both hands, exposing your torso to the chilly apartment air. He ran his large hands down your bare spine absentmindedly with a rumbly, deep sigh, the sound and touch making you shiver. His hand landed on your hip, stroking up and down over the thin fabric barrier hiding your hot skin from him.

“Was thinking about this all goddamn night,” he mumbled lowly, his fingers tugging at the elastic band of your panties.

“Me too,” you breathed, neediness edging your voice.

You arched your back, twisting your neck to get a glimpse of the masked man. Your eyes met his for a moment before they flicked down to take in his toned body, his defined muscles like that of a god’s in the morning light. You ached to run your tongue along every crevice, gently drag your fingers down his sternum and sashay them across his impressive abs, murmur sweet nothings into his pale skin.

“That’s it, love, arch that back for me, show me that gorgeous arse of yours.” His hands jiggled your ass as you did as told, and he hummed in approval. “There y’go, good girl.”

His purred praise and needy groans as you settled into a deeper arch made your walls quiver. As much as you wanted to lavish Simon with your own devotion, you were content to be at his command. For now, you were content to simper and sigh as he ran his hot hands up and down the sides of your torso, following the curve of your body and squeezing the skin and fat under his fingers. For now, you were content to give in to Simon’s desires, because you knew that the lust that filled his head also filled yours; the heady desire that made his cock throb also made your cunt pulse.

You gasped and scrunched your eyes closed when he clapped a hand onto the fat of your one of your cheeks, playfully huffing when he let out an amused chuckle. He forcefully exhaled and clicked his tongue.

“You are a goddamn minx, love,” he growled, the floor squeaking underneath his words. You jumped when you felt his hot exhale against the back of your sensitive thighs—he’d taken off his mask, you realized. He slapped your other cheek, kneading the meat in his hand as he exhaled in awe. “Christ, look at this fuckin’ thing.”

You giggled, pleased with the maskless exhale and with the admiration lacing Simon’s deep voice. “You like it?”

“Like it?” he asked incredulously.

Simon chuckled and yanked your panties down to your knees. He desperately worked them off your legs and then spread your knees a little farther apart, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air. His ragged, hot pants against the suddenly sensitive skin of your left ass cheek made you shudder—he’d taken off the mask. Your fists curled into the duvet, and you bit your lip as Simon pressed a fingertip against the top of your mound, then hissed as he delicately stroked it down the seam of your folds. The care he took to avoid touching your soaked sex drove you wild, sent shocks down your vertebrae, made a delicious heat gather in your gut, and you heard an embarrassing whine slip out of your swollen lips and fill the room.

“Oh, baby girl,” he crooned, pressing a burning kiss into the back of your left thigh under the curve of your ass, “I fuckin’ love it.”

Your proud chuckles were cut short when his thumbs pushed into your folds and spread them open. His tongue licked a sloppy circle around your dripping entrance and his fingers dug into the bottom of your cheeks as you rocked your hips back to experience more of his hot mouth. The fact that he was tall enough to kneel and still be able to eat you out made you go slack-jawed; what else was he capable of doing with size alone? Simon’s nose nudged into your crack and you whimpered the rest of your coherent thoughts away into the duvet when he nudged the tip of his tongue into your aching hole, jumping at the sensation.

He pulled away and released his thumbs, wet lips smirking against your thighs when you whined and pushed your ass back, silently begging for more.

“I knew your cunt would taste delicious,” he groaned, suddenly licking a quick stripe across your hole. “It’s jus’ begging for me t’fuck it.”

Simon continued his quick, teasing ministrations, lavishing your soaking core with his deft tongue. The man took his time, winding you up with each sudden suck on your folds and making you simper whenever on obscene slurp filled the air. He had you nearly howling as the morning light began to shift and heat your already-scorching skin with its rays. Your bones softened with every bit of praise murmured into your slick and sweaty center; each accented and heady “good girl” was a promise of even more sweet nothings yet to come from his wet British lips. Your head snapped up as he abruptly pressed the pad of his thumb against your hardened clit, drawing circles with delicious pressure that had your core tightening and begging for the sweet release Simon had been building up within you with every swipe of his tongue.

“F-fuck, Simon—” you hissed as his tongue nudged into your quivering entrance once again, cutting you off—“baby, please don’t stop.”

You heard him groan and felt the vibrations against your sensitive, swollen folds. “I don’t intend to,” he mumbled, his thumb never slowing and his other hand’s fingers kneading your thigh. “I feel you gettin’ close, pretty girl. Whenever you’re ready, I want you to cum on my fuckin’ tongue.”

You whimpered and shook at his statement, moaning as he continued to fervently lick your cunt, driving you towards that heavenly edge with determined circles and stripes. You noticed yourself languidly rocking your hips, adding a new, delectable motion to the drawings on your clit. Simon kept murmuring your name and nodding his head with muffled praise—“So fuckin’ good for me, such a pretty girl, fuckin’ stunning”—as your whines increased in pitch and volume.

Your thighs tensed and your core tightened, your hole clenching as you whispered, “Simon—fuck—I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it, lovely, I want this cunt wet an’ ready for me,” Simon growled into your cunt, punctuating his command with furious laps and twists of his tongue.

You repeated your last three words over and over, his dulcet moans harmonizing with them as the holy refrain crescendoed into a glorious orgasm that made you shake and grit your teeth and pant his name. All the while, Simon slowly circled his tongue around your dripping hole, moaning and slipping his thumb off your clit and gliding it slowly up and down your saliva-slick seam.

You shivered and squirmed at the stimulation, and he pulled back with a low, amused exhale, pressing a wet kiss onto your sweaty thigh as you began to come down from your heavenly high.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” Simon mumbled. “I bet you feel even fuckin’ better.”

His hands curled around the front of your thighs before sliding back and up over the curve of your ass. You took one last shuddering breath as the floor creaked with his movement, and jumped when you felt his hard, hot cock rest above your crack. From this position alone, you immediately knew this man’s cock was going to destroy you, and your cunt quivered in anticipation of the tight squeeze.

You hummed and sighed. “Your tongue was fucking incredible,” you panted, wiggling your ass against his length, wet and loose and ready for him.

“Best you ever had, love?”

You nodded emphatically, twisting your head back around to try to give him a satisfied smile. You could only see the left half of his face with the awkward and sharp twist in your neck, but you did manage to catch the corner of his pink lips quirking up into a smile, his ivory cheek flushed pink. You got a glimpse of the bridge of his nose—straight and sharp, a perfect companion to his focused brown eyes. Fuck, he was gorgeous.

“Absolutely, daddy,” you added cheekily, noticing his eyebrow raise.

Simon hummed in approval and chuckled, bending down and pressing his warm skin against yours, placing his right hand on the back of your head. Now, the features were a bit clearer as he tilted his head to the left—the sharp, angular jawline; that strong, straight nose; those thin pink lips that were swollen with arousal.

“Keep callin’ me that, and you won’t be able t’move when I’m done with you, love,” Simon crooned, petting the back of your head as his tangy breath filled your nostrils, your juices still coating his tongue and lips.

“That’s the idea,” you replied with a giggle, batting your lashes. “I wanted that from the beginning, daddy.”

He clicked his tongue and gave you a wry smile as your eyes gorged themselves on his unique facial structure, cutting off your visual feast with a teasing thrust that sent his thick cock between your legs and pressing up against your sensitive folds. You nudged your knees apart a few more inches and readjusted your back, lengthening and stretching it. You settled back into a deep arch with a mischievous shake of your ass accompanying the movement. Now, you could only hope this new angle would allow his thick cock to slide deep inside your slick cunt.

“Can’t wait to feel you around me, love,” he rasped, running a knuckle gently down your temple to the middle of your cheek. You closed your eyes and smiled coyly, biting your lip and wiggling as you folded your arms underneath your head. Simon’s warm hand dragged up the curve of your back and came to rest on your hip, the other wrapping around his cock, his knuckles pushing up between your folds and into your slick heat. You whined when he swiped the fat head of his cock against your dripping entrance, huffing at his mirthful chuckles.

“What, does my baby need this cock?” Simon purred. You nodded, and he clicked his tongue, tapping your cheek with the pads of his fingers. “Use your words, darling. Daddy can’t hear you.”

His words made the walls of your pussy quiver and pulse, his deep voice penetrating under your skin and tickling your brain and clit at the same time. The man was making you fuck-drunk already and he hadn’t even notched the head of his cock inside your needy hole yet.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, all shame about your pathetic whines gone and replaced with a burning desire to be claimed. You were breathless as you panted, “P-please, Simon—I need your cock s-so fucking bad.”

“That’s my girl,” Simon hummed, tapping your cheek and then withdrawing his hand to place it on your ass, fingers digging into the meat of it and making you hiss as he dragged his head up and down your seam, circling over your clit and cruelly nudging at your needy entrance. The sudden and subtle rough kneading and pressure hinted at his growing need, and you shivered at the thought of what was to come.

All the air was expelled from your lungs and your fingers dug into the duvet when he forced his thick length inside of you with a sharp thrust and grunt. Both of his large hands grabbed the fat of your hips as he rocked his, nudging himself deeper with each languid roll. A cry got caught in your throat as you felt your cunt clench around him and suck him in for more. Simon obliged, moaning your name as he bottomed out.

“You take me so fuckin’ good, baby girl,” Simon groaned, inhaling sharply along with you when he pushed in just a little more so his head could gently kiss your cervix.

He dug his fingernails into your skin as he slowly pulled out, holding you in place when you unconsciously followed his movement so he wouldn’t leave you empty and needy. You whined and cried and wiggled, but you were held still by his large, warm hands as he pulled out completely, leaving your pussy gaping and clenching around nothing.

“Fuckin’ hell, love,” Simon mumbled as he gently eased your lifted ass and arched back forward so you could rise to your hands and await his cock on all fours. He traced a thick thumb around your gaping hole and snickered at your needy whimper. He gently flicked his thumb up and gathered some of the arousal leaking out of your throbbing center, then swirled it around your slick inner folds and hole. “Your cunt’s already cryin’ for me and I haven’t even properly fucked you yet.”

The mattress dipped on your left; looking down, you saw a muscular leg settling in near your waist as Simon urged you to crawl up a bit towards your pillows with a playful tap on your ass. A few seconds later, Simon’s right leg moved the mattress and his muscular thigh brushed against yours. You shivered when Simon’s bare torso fell upon your back, his searing skin colliding with yours. He had caged you in, trapped you underneath his broad, toned body and in his strong arms. You were at his mercy, stuck in the storm, and entirely helpless as he growled and groped you, his hot hands traveling up your soft torso to massage your breasts.

“Then do it already, Simon,” you urged, your pent-up lust infecting your tongue and tone. “Take me, daddy, please.”

“Jus’ wanna play with my pretty doll a little bit first,” Simon husked. When you groaned in frustration, he shushed you and kissed the back of your head. “Patience, love. Daddy’s gonna take care of his doll soon enough.”

You rolled your head back when he bit into your shoulder and rolled your hardened nipples between his thumb and pointer fingers. Simon soothed the nip with a soft kiss you didn’t think he was capable of before his left hand gently curled around your neck, his hand hovering, waiting for your consent or denial. With a huff, you quickly lifted a hand and pressed his shaking hand against your throat and grinned when he groaned and pulled you up to your knees and into his chest, his cock nestling itself between your folds and brushing against your sensitive clit. Simon’s right hand was splayed across your waist, his fingers trailing over your right ribs as his left wrapped around your neck effortlessly.

You closed your eyes and leaned back, giving him control as you raised your left arm over your head to find his and thread your fingers through his hair. A tangled moan escaped Simon’s throat at your touch, and you smiled. Yes, he was big and bad and built like a god, but you could bring him to his knees just by petting his soft hair. The strangled cry returned when you slipped your other hand down to where his cock bobbed up against your slick folds and graced your fingertips up the shaft and along the fat head’s weeping slit.

“You’re driving me fucking mad,” he growled into your temple.

“Now you know how I fuckin’ feel,” you quipped, earning a playful pinch in your side that made you giggle and squirm in his firm grasp.

He hummed and moaned your name as you kept teasing his throbbing cock with your featherlight touches. In retaliation, he gave your neck a gentle squeeze, then settled his thumb and first two fingers over the pulsing veins on the sides of your neck. The pads of his fingers pressed into your jugulars, and the arch of his hand came to softly rest over your trachea to enhance the heady rush that you got from being choked. The pulsing, breathless desire was even more delicious since the man behind the hand was incredibly hot and rocking his hips up and brushing the leaking head of his cock over your sensitive bud, smearing precum over it with the help of your fingertips.

“You are beyond perfect,” he declared, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I wanna look at your gorgeous face while I destroy you.”

Your cunt throbbed and you nodded enthusiastically, swirling needy circles over your burning clit.

“Would my baby girl like that?” Simon asked with a squeeze.

You nodded and he released you, a sly chuckle in your ear right before he flipped you down to the mattress on your back, your tits bouncing from the impact as you giggled and tried to grab at his arms with your eyes closed. Your bedframe creaked in protest underneath Simon’s deep, amused hum, but you had a feeling he was going to leave it with a perpetual creak—or just break it entirely.

When you opened your eyes, you took in the man staring down at you as he stroked his cock with his left hand, the muscles under his tattooed left arm rippling with each restrained stroke. Simon’s brown irises were black and blown with lust and need, his cheeks pink like his swollen, thin lips that curled into a smug smile. You made a note to kiss his strong jawline and find out just how sharp it is while running a hand through his tawny hair and clawing at his thick pecs with the other.

The morning was in full bloom, its bright light illuminating the sweaty dew on Simon’s chest and forehead. Simon stared down at you and let his hand wander all over your body as one of yours worked needy circles around your clit. He shook his head and spit in his palm, and your lips parted as he wet his cock with it before placing his hands by your ears, caging you in. He nudged your legs further apart with his knees, the head of his cock teasing your throbbing entrance. Simon’s hungry eyes never strayed from yours, even when you closed your eyes and begged him to fill you again.

“You’re a needy little thing,” he muttered into your cheek, the chain of his dog tags brushing across your chin as the tags fell flat in the divot between your clavicles.

“Please,” you breathed, driving your body down to try to notch him inside of you, but he just clicked his tongue and moved along, denying you the relief you craved. “Stop teasing, daddy.”

Simon drew back and pinched your chin between his fingers. “Such a whiny girl.”

You rolled your eyes, the Chicago fire within you blazing to the surface. “I wouldn’t whine if you just gave me what I want.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, curious and amused. His hand wrapped around your throat, and he applied a little more of that exciting pressure than he had before, your lips splitting into a grin. He shook his head and released your neck, spitting into his palm and then slipping his hand between your bodies.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you, princess?”

“And what’re you gonna do about it, daddy?”

Simon tilted his head and smiled sardonically down at you. Before you could tease him for his silence, two of his thick fingers forced themselves inside of you, twisting and pumping in and out. You jumped and cried out, digging your nails into his forearms. He repeated your name three times with a condescending tone, chastising you as your pussy squelched with each delicious pump of his fingers.

It was embarrassing how close you already were to a second orgasm, but the shame disappeared when Simon leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You parted after a few seconds, only to catch each other’s swollen lips once again in a hungry, sloppy kiss as his fingers continued to work you open in preparation for his throbbing length. Simon’s thumb began to press circles into your clit as his fingers curled in and out of your clenching cunt, making you moan into his mouth with each pass of his fingertips over that hidden sensitive spot inside your cunt.

Simon pulled away and gave you devilish smile, his lips wet with saliva.

“I think I’m gonna fuck that American attitude right out of you, lovely.”

You bit your lip and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”

He kissed you and withdrew his fingers, leaving you achingly empty again. Your whine was quickly replaced with a heady sigh as he rubbed circles around your clit again with his cock. He dropped to rest his left forearm on the mattress, his sweaty abs brushing against your damp skin, his eyes locked on yours.

“You are so fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he murmured, his hand wrapping around the top of your skull as he pressed a needy kiss into your wet lips.

It was while your mouth was occupied that he slid inside of you, making you gasp and grab at his shoulders. He raised himself up off his left forearm—damn, this man was strong—and planted his right hand next to your ear again as he slowly rocked his hips. His strokes slowly went deeper and deeper; Simon was playing with you like you were his own personal doll—and part of you didn’t hate that thought as you met his eyes and felt your heart skip a beat at the way he was looking at you with lust-blown pupils and a determined brow, his lips slightly parted for hot breaths to escape and blow across your dampening forehead.

Simon was a god in the bright morning light, illuminated and sparkling. But with the way he set his intense gaze on you, the way he stared at your body with reverence, how he worshipped your wet, throbbing pussy with every fluid stroke, you’d think that he was the servant, and you the goddess whose altar he devoted his life to tending. Your name was like a sacred hymn to him; he choked and held back until your pussy began to spasm ahead of your building orgasm, and then he sang it out, filling your room with his musical moans.

You dug your nails into his carved shoulders, gripping him for dear life as you bent your knees and moved them up. Simon pulled out with a growl and then straightened, grabbing your thighs and yanking you towards him so your ass was in his hands.

“Put your legs up on m’shoulder—that’s it, good girl,” Simon husked.

He pressed a kiss to your knee and notched the head of his cock at your soaked hole. He shook his head and gave you a soft smile—yet another thing you didn’t think he was capable of, but maybe the mask and tough exterior had you fooled—as he stroked your cheek.

“You feel amazing inside of me, Simon,” you sighed, smiling back up at him. “I’m literally about to cum again.”

He seemed to perk up at that. “Is that so, princess?”

You nodded, and he kneaded your ass before leaning over you and planting his hands by your shoulders. You let your legs fall open a bit more as his cock slipped inside of your aching cunt, a tease of what was to come.

“I want you to ruin me,” you pleaded, raking your hands up and down his sweaty back.

“Keep your eyes open while I do it then, pretty girl.” Simon shifted and pressed a kiss to your shin with a wink. “And tell me when you’re goin’ to cum again for me, princess.”

You nodded, then let your mouth fall open as he thrusted into your needy cunt, bottoming out with a groan. Simon began to fuck into you, his hips slamming into the fat of your ass, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air along with the dirty symphony of moans and whimpers. You did as told, your eyes never leaving his as he fucked you without mercy. The muscles in his back flexed and strained underneath your hands as he began to speed up, his erratic pace and rhythm revealing how needy he really was under the surface.

He tilted your ass up a little bit and you cried out, scrunching your eyes closed as your abdomen tightened and fire began to spread throughout your cunt.

“Si-Sim-Simon, fuck! I’m gonna fucking cum!” You shouted and licked your index and middle fingertips, then started to rub furious circles around your clit, the fire of your orgasm about to engulf you.

“Oh, good fuckin’ girl,” Simon groaned. “Look at me, baby, keep those eyes open.”

You blinked your eyes open and were met with a proud smile from Simon as he continued to pound into your squelching cunt and slam into your cervix.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he purred.

You whined and rubbed your fingers around your white-hot clit even faster, your circles turning into furious swipes from side to side as Simon’s thick cock split you open. All you could do as your climax began to burn you up was stare into his eyes and whimper and moan in absolute pleasure. Your entire body was heavy with arousal and lust, but you somehow started to curl up off the bed as your abdominal muscles tightened in preparation for the eventual scorching fire.

“Go on, love, cum for me—make daddy so fuckin’ proud,” he coaxed, gritting his teeth as his own orgasm started to approach. “You can do it, princess, y’look so fuckin’ beautiful when you do—”

You cut his praise off with a shout of his name as your orgasm burnt you alive, and Simon immediately followed you off the fiery cliff with a thundering moan and one last, sharp thrust as he filled your spasming pussy with his spend. For a little while, all you could do was twitch and take deep, shuddering breaths as your orgasm continued to pulse through your cunt. Simon was hunched over you, a few drops of sweat landing on your sticky skin as you finally gathered the strength to wipe your sweaty brow with a shaking hand.

You slowly lowered your upper back and head back down to the mattress and wiggled your toes; your orgasm was so intense that you’d curled up and were still shaking from the force of it. Simon shuddered when he pulled out of you, giving you a concerned look when you winced in pain.

You gave him a reassuring smile and sat up. “I’m okay. I’m just—ah—” you winced as you swung your legs to the side of the bed and stood up on wobbly feet— “gonna be sore for a day.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

“Why?”

“I was going to—erm—” Simon cleared his throat and rolled his neck out before continuing. “I was going t’ask if you’d be so kind as to take me around on a tour of the city.”

You grinned, plopping back down and ignoring the sharp pang from the impact of your sore, leaking cunt against the mattress. You looked into Simon’s brown eyes, finding something a little shy. It was endearing, even if you knew that today would be the last time you’d ever see him. Realistically, nothing could come of this—an international hook-up caused by a spilled drink—but you’d try your best not to think about that while showing Simon around Chicago. Instead, you’d try to focus on how he scrutinizes everyone around him, how he could potentially make taking the city’s public transit easier, and how you could maybe get to hold his hand if you play your cards right.

He called your name, snapping you out of your somber thoughts. Simon was standing now, tugging on his underwear as the sun lit his toned body up and made your spent pussy throb again when your eyes landed on his perfectly illuminated bulge.

“So?” he asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

“As your unofficial Chicago ambassador—”

“S’you’re an ambassador because you took a mingin’ shot with me?”

“Yes. Hush.” You stood and closed the short distance between you both, shivering when he wrapped his warm arm around your still-bare body without hesitation. You looked up at him and took a breath. “As I was saying, since I’m you’re Chicago ambassador, it would be my honor to be your tour guide, Simon.”

“I don’ think I’d be able t’find one prettier than you, love.”

Simon bent his head down and tilted it, his nose inches from yours. You felt your cheeks grow warm and your heart skipped a beat when he lifted your chin up with his fingers, the tip of his thumb dusting over your bottom lip. Now, with a less-clouded head and vision untainted by sex, you could see the finer details of his skin—a jagged scar a few inches long stretching up his cheek starting at the edge of his upper lip on the left, two tiny, brown dots right below the curve of his right eyebrow, a fine line in his forehead from age or stress—and appreciate it fully in the clear light of the morning.

“There are plenty of girls in Chicago,” you murmured, trying not to get lost in Simon’s handsome features or swept away in his arms.

He shook his head and parted his lips slightly. You moved closer to him and brushed your nose against his and placed a hesitant hand on his broad, muscular chest.

“There’s only one American lass that I want,” Simon insisted. He looked into your eyes and his lips brushed against yours as he whispered, “You.”

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a/n: it felt so good to finish this after being blocked for so long. I hope you enjoyed; please reblog if you did, it's how us creators get exposure!

taglist: @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations @oliviagreenaway @johfaam0 @sofasoap

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley smut #cod fic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty fic #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley #my fic

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afro-hispwriter · 1 year

Text

Help pt.2

(part 1 here)

Neteyam(22) x Na'vi!reader(22)

Warnings- pregnancy, childbirth, water birth, bruises, PTS

Neteyam wasn't banished from the clan, he wasn't made an outsider. But he was sent away, told to clear his head. He made himself a place out on the reefs,

You were okay, and so was the baby. Your neck was bruised, it hurt every time you swallowed for some time. You now also wore a thick neckpiece that hid the bruise, the stares got to be too much.

You tried to visit Neteyam or tried to convince the Tshaik and Ole' ekytan to let him back in, but neither worked. Tuk stuck by your side since then, she was utterly traumatized.

"Please Jake he needs to know I'm okay." It felt like the tenth time that day alone you've asked Jake. He snapped at you.

"I will say it again, Neteyam needs to know the consequences of his actions."

"But it wasn't him that night." You grabbed his arm. "It was like something took over, he needs help and nobody will give it to him. Jake sighed and punched his nose.

"Fine, what help do you think he needs."

"Your friend, Norm."

Norm and Max arrived in only a few days by their helicopter. They greeted Jake happily, but when Jake started getting serious, so did they. You did not understand what they were saying.

"Y/n," Norm says in his butchered na'vi. "Would you like us to check you over?"

"No no, you must worry about Neteyam, not me." You grab his arms and ears flatten against your head. "Help him."

"Ok Ok." He placed a hand on your shoulder. "I am going to talk to him."

"Let me go with you."

"No Y/n," Jake interjected.

"Please I have not seen my mate in almost two weeks." Norm sighs and eyes Jake.

"You can't come, but I will give him a message." You nodded

"Okay, please tell him that it wasn't his fault, we miss him." You place a hand on your growing belly. "That I see him, always, no matter what."

Jake took Norm on his skimwing to the reefs where Neteyam was. You waited for hours for them to return and when they did it was almost dark.

"Do you know what it is?"

"You should sit." Your heart started racing and Jake grabbed your hand, helping you to the floor. "Is it life-threatening?" You're eyes start to water at the thought.

"No No, uh he has PTS." Your head cocked to the side in confusion. "His trauma can affect his daily life, mood swings, sometimes they are brought back to the origin, and its possible they can become aggressive... like he did that night." You swallowed and slowly raised a hand to your neck.

"How can we help him?" Jake mumbled something and shook his head.

“For now it's getting him to talk with someone he trusts, and that person is you. Then we try another way.”

"Yes! I will leave now." You say and call your Ilu.

"I should go with you." Says Jake and you shake your head.

"No, I want to be alone with my husband." You dove into the water and attached to the Ilu.

You popped out of the water and looked around for Neteyam. You spotted him in the distance bow pulled back and pointing towards the water. You stepped onto the rocks and walked towards him.

"Neteyam!" His head shot towards you, and at the sight, his tail dropped and ears flattened.

"Y/n!?" He dropped his bow and stared in awe. "You should not be here." He held his hand up to stop you from getting closer.

"Ma Teyam I miss you." He shakes his head.

"How can you after what I did?" His head hung low.

"It wasn't your fault." You were now in front of him and he started back up.

"Yes, it was." You reached out and grabbed his hand.

"You just need help and I am going to help you." He started to blink furiously, trying to suppress the tears.

"H-How?"

"Talk, we are just going to talk." You place your unoccupied hand on his chest, right over his heart which was beating quickly. You slowly sat down and crossed your legs. "Lay down."

Neteyam was hesitating, fear creeping up inside him. He slowly went down to his knees and sat there in silence, staring down at his lap.

You frowned but gasped at the flutter in your belly. Neteyam opened his eyes wide in confusion and worry.

"It seems our bub missed you too." You gently grabbed his rest and pulled it towards your stomach, making his hand flatten against it. It wasn't long before he felt a push against his hand, and then another, and then one that was harder. Neteyam sucked in a shaky breath and scooted closer to cradle your stomach with both hands.

"I-I." He sobbed and bent down his head to rest his forehead on your belly. "I'm so sorry I almost killed you both." He kissed your belly. "I don't know what happened you have to believe me." He looked up at you pleadingly.

"I believe you." You cradled his face and he instantly melted. "T-Tell me how it started, that night." He nodded and sniffed, he then slowly turned around and laid on his side. Head resting on your thigh.

"I couldn't sleep." You threaded your hands into his braids. "The storm was happening, stuff was flying and hitting around. One just hit very loud and all of a sudden I was under a soldier, he was choking me." He caressed your thigh. "Then I felt my chest burn, just like when the bullet hit me."

You stopped your hand movements, instantly remembering all those years ago when Neteyam was shot and on the brink of death.

"I threw the guy off of me and that's when... that's when I was-." Tears ran down his cheeks. "Mama's im so sorry." He squeezed his eyes tightly together and he was almost shaking.

"Look at me." You say and slowly lift his head. His eyes opened up to you, yellow eyes teared up. "We're going to get through this, I know it." He went back up to his knees and pressed his nose into your chest. He placed his hands on either side of your hips.

"Can I kiss you?" You giggled and rolled your eyes playfully.

"Of course, you can." Neteyam slammed his lips against yours. You instantly kissed back, he pushed his tongue against your lips and you didn't even fight it and let him take over. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of you, laying flat on the ground. He placed his knees on either side of your hips and deepened the kiss. You started to lift a leg to wrap around him but he stops.

"I can't, not yet." He looked away from your eyes but gently kissed your collarbones.

“It's my fault I tried to start it, I'm sorry.”

“No, you don’t apologize for that. Ever.” He pecked your lips and pulled back, faces still close. You could now see the details on his face. He looked exhausted.”

“Neteyam when was the last time you slept?”

Neteyam fell asleep in your arms to the sound of you humming his song cord. He looked so peaceful and relaxed. You wanted to take in the sight as much as possible but you were starting to go hungry. You started to slide Neteyam off of you when you heard the chittering of a skimwing. You looked over to see Jake riding in, he stepped onto the rocks and did a slight jog toward you. He looked at Neteyam and then at you.

“How is everything?” He asks and you smile.

“We talked now he’s sleeping. Jake?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“I think we should being Neteysm back to the village.”

“We’d have to talk to Ronal and Tonowari.”

“His time here is over, it will be good for him to be around others, around his family.” Jake thought for a minute before nodding.

“Fine, but we leave now.” You nod and start to shake Neteyam awake.

“Ma Teyam wake up.” You say and his nose scrunches before his eyes flutter open. He sees someone standing there and instantly jumps up, ready to defend you.

“Oh… dad?” He stands up straight.

“We’re going back, all of us,” Jake says staring at his son. You start to stand up and Neteyam helps you.

“What if it happens again?”

“Don’t think about it Ma Teyam.” You kissed his shoulder.

“I’ll be watching,” Jake says sternly and walks to the ocean where his ride waited. Neteyam called his skimwing and greeted her.

“Are you going to ride with me or my dad or your ilu?”

“With you of course.”

You led Neteyam to his parent's pod.

“Your mother misses you, and so do Kiri and Lo’ak.” You say and Neteyam looks around. The people around you kept looking at him in disgust.

“What about Tuk?” You stopped and sighed.

“She wouldn’t leave my side for a while, she was really scared.”

“Of me?” You look back at him.

“Of the whole situation.”

You stepped into the pod. Neytiri was braiding Tuk’s hair not aware of your presence.

“Neytiri.” You say and she looks up and smiles.

“Y/n, how are you?”

“I am well um.” You side-eye Neteyam who hid behind the walls. You tugged him forward to make him known.

“Neteyam?” She asks and stops, Tuk looks and her eyes widen.

“Mother, Tuk.” He says then looks to the floor. Neytiri swallows before standing up and walking to her son.

“Oh, my son.” She pulled him down slightly to her height and kissed the side of his head. “I have missed your presence.” Neteyam pushed his head into the crook of her neck and wrapped his arms around her.

“I missed you too.” They pulled away and Neteyam steppes passed her and towards Tuk. “Hey Tuk.” She looked up at her brother and crossed her arms.

“I’ll be at dinner.” She says and walks past him and outside the pod. Neteyams shoulders dropped and he groaned.

“Neteyam.” You place a hand on his shoulder blade. “It will be fine she’ll come around.” Neteyam shook his head and whipped around.

“You shouldn’t have brought me back.” He says and walks away.

Neteyam sat far away from the people in the sand. He couldn’t be himself to grab any food, he hated the stares too much. He watched you talk to his sister, eating a piece of fish. He hated what he said to you, you were trying to help him.

You see Neteyam sitting by himself, with no food or anything. You excuse yourself from Kiri and go grab another plate of food. You walk up the small hill and smile slightly and Neteyam.

“You have yet to eat.” You say and sit down, then handed the plate to him.

“Thank you.” He dug in immediately, hunger overtaking his senses making you smile. “I'm sorry for saying what I said.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t respond just kept eating.

You sat there in comfortable silence even after you both finished eating. His tail kept brushing against yours until you wrapped them up tightly. Something you did when you were younger.

Neteyam watched the flaming lights of the torches. They were so bright and the smoke they were causing almost looked suffocating. He hadn’t even realized how quick his breathing had gotten… but you did.

“Neteyam.” You grabbed his shoulders. “You’re okay.” Someone screamed in the distance and his head shot towards the sound and he stood up. You followed him up and grabbed his face. Tears started to run down his cheeks.

“Not safe.” He whispered

“You’re safe.” You say and try to pull him in a hug but he was holding back.

“You’re. Not. Safe. I’m. Not. Safe.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You're safe my love everything okay. You won’t hurt me.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay.”

He whimpered and his whole body shook.

“Y/n?” You turned slightly to see Tuk standing there in concern. “Is Neteyam okay?”

“Just stay there Tuk.” You say and start to hum his song cord.

Tuk frowned but slowly started to make her way to you two. She reached out and grabbed one of Neteyams fisted hands and pried it open. She held it and wrapped an arm around his torso, followed by her joining in your humming.

Kiri and Lo’ak searched for Tuk she had been running off lately which worried everyone at times.

“Where is she?” Asks Kiri as they stand in the middle of the dancing Na’vi. Lo’ak shrugged and looked around before three dark blue na’vu caught his eye.

“There.” He nudged his sister and pointed up the hill.

“Should we go up there?” Asks Kiri, unaware of their parents coming up from behind.

“No, they need this,” Neytiri says and they all watch.

Neteyam slowly started to come back. His vision was blurry so he wiped his eyes. But he then slowly wrapped an arm around your torso and looked down at Tuk and hugged her as well.

“Thank you.”

It took time but Neteyam was healing. All the support from his family and friends helped. Even the people tried to help once they understood what was happening.

He still had yet to forgive himself for that night. He’s not sure he ever will but the new fresh start he was about to go through will start that process.

“Argh.” You groaned and slapped a hand in the water.

“You must push Y/n.” Instructed Ronal as she was kneeling in the water.

“So much.” You groaned and through your head back against Neteyam.

“You can do it.” He kissed your neck, healed neck now. You grabbed his arms and rested almost all your weight on him. You screamed in agony as you pushed again for the final time. You felt the baby slip out of you and let out a breath of relief. Ronal lifted the baby from the water and the cries of the baby filled the room.

Tears of joy start running down your cheeks. Ronal placed the babe in your arms.

“You did so well Ma Y/n,” Neteyam says and kisses the top of your head.

“It is a boy.” She says and walks out of the pool of water. You look down and start to coo.

“Hello.” You say and brush your finger along the newborn cheek. His crying eyes fluttered open, and at the sight of his parents, he calmed down. You smiled and kissed his soft wrinkly forehead.

“Hey, bub,” Neteyam said and held his finger out. The baby instantly grabbed it tightly.

“Hold him Neteyam.” You start to twist your body around, just enough so Neteyam could grab the baby. But he hesitated, watching his son squirm and let out small adorable whimpers made him think of when he almost killed him. “It’s okay, you won't hurt him.” The smile you gave him was reassuring enough. You passed him to your mate and moved to the other side of the healing pool to get a better look.

“Uäza.” He says and feels the small skinny tale wrap loosely around his arm. “That is the name of our son.”

“I love it.”

“Hear that? Mama loves your name. We love you and we are always going to take care of you. I will never hurt you or your mother again my son.”

#neteyam sully x reader #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader

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