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tripleyeeet · 7 months

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GUARD DOG (11)

SUMMARY: During the aftermath of your confession, you and Astarion navigate your feelings.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,982

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, canon typical violence, brief mentions of past abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I made my Saturday schedule with a few hours to spare. :') Also, update: I'm going to be closing my tag list on Monday. I have a lot of people signed up and it's becoming a bit overwhelming to keep track of over time so if you've been thinking about joining do it while you still can!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

You feel like a ghost, drifting from one experience to the next —your body moving as needed while your mind wanders, failing to grasp the fact that you’re already rooted inside of Moonrise Towers.

Blinking hard at such a realization, you find yourself scanning the secluded office you and the party suddenly occupy, feeling the fog of your mind slowly begin to lift, remembering why you’re here. Why Ketheric Thorm has somehow allowed you to explore the contents of his subject’s office.

He needs you to get the relic. Not that you know exactly what that is. Considering he doesn’t trust you yet, all you know is that after you’ve gathered supplies you’re meant to go to the mausoleum to find it. Along with a man named Balthazar who’s gone missing. The same man whose office you now find yourself looting.

Moving through the space as quietly as possible, you notice quickly that all around there are stacks of books, creating this sort of claustrophobic space you have to steady your breath against. Deep within your chest, you can feel the past anxiety of the day bubbling up within your throat as you take it all in, threatening to spill just as Wyll clears his throat, telling you to hurry up so that Z’rell doesn’t get suspicious.

At the mention of Ketheric’s disciple —an orc woman you met earlier— you swallow hard and nod, allowing the fog to resurface as you wander towards a nearby desk, exploring the contents of the tabletop with narrowed eyes. Across it, all the usual items sit: various notebooks, an ink bottle with a well-used quill, a couple of decorative knick knacks here and there. However, there’s also a skull that sits at the top right edge, piquing your interest enough to reach out and grab it, testing out the weight.

“Death enthusiast or necromancer?”

As if on cue, Astarion slithers up to your side, pulling out various tools from his pocket before kneeling on the ground, turning his attention to the desk drawer.

Almost immediately you reply with necromancer, but unlike him, there isn’t a flirtatious tone that coats your words. Instead, there’s just exhaustive sadness, prompting his eyes to flicker up momentarily as he pushes the hook into the keyhole.

“Care to elaborate?”

You shrug and run your finger around the eye socket of the skull, tracing the edge with distraction —feeling your mind continue to distance itself from the task at hand as your gaze grows fuzzy.

It’s a sensation that suddenly makes you remember the events of earlier. The ones where you foolishly confessed your feelings only to receive no such reciprocation. A feeling that weighs you down without warning, covering you in a layer of anxious smog that sticks to your skin, reminding you that you’re mad at him. Frustrated and disappointed —a version of yourself that makes you wish you could be anywhere else so that you could process your feelings.

Because you haven’t had time to, yet. Thanks to Shadowheart’s interruption, all you’ve been left with is questions. Inquiries so intense that between fighting the convoy for the lantern and arriving at the steps of Moonrise, you’ve managed to drive yourself over the edge.

Breathing in, you can feel how heavy it’s made you. How, as Astarion remains knelt beside you, trying his best to avoid your gaze but ultimately failing to do so, makes you want to plummet into the earth in a heap of tears.

“I’m going to take a look in the other room,” you tell him then, giving yourself a moment of reprieve as you place the skull back onto the desk and make your way to the door. Once there, you reach for the handle and freeze in place, releasing a shaky plume of air before you swallow hard and push it open, allowing it to close until Astarion’s hand shoots out to grab it.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Standing near the entrance, you open your mouth to respond but ultimately fail to come up with anything that isn’t mean-spirited, prompting you to instead frown and turn on your heel, moving towards the farthest bookcase you can find. Immediately after that, you attempt to tune out his presence completely, opting to sift through the catalogue of books before you, searching for some sort of clue. Perhaps a book on the Shadowlands themselves or something to do with the undead —anything to distract your mind from Astarion’s movements as he explores the room, eventually turning to face you.

“I assume you want to talk about earlier.”

You do but not right now, so instead of responding you roll your eyes and grab the first book you see, opening it up to find a series of familiar-looking symbols gracing the page.

At first, they merely look like some sort of intricate design. The way each figure curls in odd ways, drawing your eye to the complicated graph in the centre. Then your mind clicks into place and you’re suddenly blinking back the fog, forcing your mind to focus on the translations written below each image, realizing what they are.

They’re Infernal letters. The language of the Hells clearly displayed in front of you, reminding you of Astarion’s scars as you look up to scan him, watching him reach for a nearby book.

“Listen, darling, I know you’re angry with me but—“

Without even thinking, you shush him loudly, moving towards his frame. “Take off your shirt.”

He drops his jaw open in shock, laughing in slight confusion. “I beg your pardon? Take off my shirt?” His eyes are wide as he continues to stare, quickly discovering that you’re serious as he tosses the aforementioned book aside. “You’re aware our compatriots are just beyond this door, correct? Or have you suddenly gone mad with lust and failed to remember?”

You scrunch up your face, shaking your head. “Ew, Astarion. No, not like that.”

He shoots you a look of relief before quickly backtracking and narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry —what d’you mean ew?”

His sudden offence makes you scoff and motion to the open page in front of you, forcing him to notice the symbols. “These look like your scars, don’t they? The ones on your back.”

There’s a moment of silence that stirs between you then. As Astarion reaches for the page, gently brushing his fingers over yours while leaning in, you swallow hard and try not to think of before. Of the unrequited statement that still lingers between you, ripping you apart while he somehow remains fine.

Standing there, drinking in the great interest that befalls his face, you find it incredibly hard not to reach out and shake him in that moment. To grip him by the collar and demand answers despite knowing there are far more important things at hand. For example, the fact that, on top of the already complicated infiltration mission, you’re now required to go on this little treasure hunt. One that will most likely have dangerous consequences if you manage to fail.

Meaning, the last thing you should be thinking about is how Astarion still hasn’t bothered to respond to your confession.

“Did that bastard seriously carve Infernal into my flesh?” He looks disgusted as he glances up at you, his brows knitted towards the centre of his face while you offer your sympathies.

“I guess so.”

Swearing under his breath, he takes a step back, immediately moving his hands to pop open the leathers of his armour, ignoring the way you press your lips together nervously.

“You know he spent the entire night doing it,” he says then, moving his hands across the many fastenings, shaking his head at the memory. “For hours I laid bare beneath him, enduring the pain of his blasted knife —and for what? So he could further brand me as his own? Make even more claim to a helpless slave.”

You frown at his words, hearing the ache of his voice crack inside your ears as you take a step forward, listening to him huff and toss his leathers onto the floor before taking off his undershirt.

“Wasn’t it enough to merely strip me of my rights? To starve me as I filled him up each night.”

A part of you wants to tell him no. That nothing Cazador did to him would ever be enough. But then you hear the breath that escapes his chest —the tremors of its wake hitting your fingers as you tentatively grip his shoulder, feeling the strain of his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” you tell him, forcing your thumb further into his flesh with careful precision, feeling him melt. “We can take the book and come back to it.”

Immediately, he scoffs in response, craning his neck towards you just as the door creaks open, revealing a very shocked looking Gale who freezes at the doorway.

“I uh… I recognize that I’m interrupting something. However, might I suggest the two of you perhaps don’t do this right now?”

Releasing Astarion from your grasp, you take a step back and close the book in your hand. “May I suggest knocking, maybe?”

Gale snorts and raises his hands in innocence. “Perhaps you’re right. My apologies. I promise I’m not here to make a fuss. Just here to remind you that while you’re attempting to bed one another in quite literally the worst location we’ve experienced thus far, the rest of us are out here dealing with the constant reminder of our impending doom.”

Smiling sarcastically, Gale then motions to Astarion who smiles back and reaches for his clothes. “And here I was thinking of inviting you to our little party.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll have to decline though on account of the fact that both of you frighten me and frankly, I’m not one for sharing.”

“Hm. Too bad.” Astarion pouts, prompting you to sigh in embarrassment, pressing the book in your hands against your forehead.

“Yes, well, anyway. The rest of us are going to split up and take a look around. Feel free to join us?”

His last sentence is phrased as a question but you know deep down it’s more of a command, telling you to stop, so you do. Nodding your head in response, the two of you then watch him leave before turning to the other, releasing shared heavy breaths as Astarion continues to redress.

“Stupid wizard.”

Despite the grin that erupts across your face, you realize then that focusing on anything other than the task at hand is dangerous. That, even though you want the answers to all the questions floating inside your head, the only thing you should be focusing on is Ketheric Thorm and the hidden relic that Balthazar failed to collect.

You shouldn’t be thinking of yourselves. At least, not in the way your mind wants to. Instead of emotions, it should be focused on survival. On the steps needed to ensure your safety to get to all the parts you actually want.

“He’s right you know —about doing this another time.” You tap the cover of the book and see Astarion roll his eyes, moving his hands to readjust the top layer of his armour with a sigh.

“I understand that but—“

Before he can finish, your hand finds his chest, pressing it softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise. Just give it time.”

Deep down you know it’s a difficult thing to ask. Considering Astarion’s spent the majority of his life waiting already, you’re well aware of the lack of patience he’s developed. How, his sliver of freedom thanks to the Illithid has granted him the ability to become easily irritated by time.

Unsurprisingly, since you’ve known him, he’s always been prone to bouts of restlessness. Whenever he’s forced to wait there’s often a scowl that presents itself across his face, growing with each passing moment until he eventually explodes. Because of this, when you look at him with desperate eyes, watching the way he twitches and shifts, you’re more than anxious. You’re downright terrified. Lost to a grouping of thoughts that tell you he most likely hates you for asking.

“I promise the moment we have time, I’ll spend every waking hour trying to translate this for you,” you tell him. Hoping and praying that just this once he’ll understand that waiting is the right thing to do and not a lie you tell him to gain his trust.

“Can we even afford to wait, though?”

You look at him like you don’t know the answer, sliding your hand upwards to play with his collar. “At this rate, we might just have to take that chance. You heard so yourself, Gale and the others are already planning to depart. We can’t fall behind and further risk our chance of surviving this.”

He knows you're right. You can tell by the way his jaw clenches and he looks away, trying to suppress the frustrations.

“I know I already said it before but I do love you. Truly. I’d do anything to make you happy but right now keeping you safe is my number one priority and if that means delaying said happiness, so be it.”

After that, there’s a moment of silence that hits. One that’s filled with avoided glances and heavy sighs —all of which come from Astarion as he struggles to accept your words.

At first, it fills you with regret, realizing the way you phrased yourself probably sounds a bit insensitive. But then you see that familiar smirk begin to curl across his lips, pulling upwards with a scoff as he playfully shoves you away.

“Fine. I’ll wait. But not because you told me to.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious. You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever I please. You just happen to make an effective argument. Plus, you’re rather convincing when you’re professing your undying love for me.”

“Shut up.” Pushing him back in annoyance, you shake your head and step through the doorway, moving through the office until you’re out in the hall again, glancing around as you pack away the book. “What supplies do we need anyway?”

“Potions, definitely. Perhaps some arrows or elixirs. I know Gale wanted some spell scrolls but after the stunt he pulled earlier I refuse to get him any.”

You fake pout in his direction as you both begin to walk with no destination in mind. “Aw, is somebody sad that the wizard didn’t accept his sexual invitation?”

“Hardly. That man wouldn’t know an orgasm from a sneeze.”

Suppressing the urge to laugh, you offer an unknowing shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t bed a goddess and not have the dexterity to please a woman.”

Scoffing, Astarion turns towards a random doorway, giving you a curious look before you nod your head, prompting him to open the door. “Please, the man pales in dexterous endeavours compared to me.”

“Hm. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll ask him for a hand one day. Maybe do a little experimentation?”

As you smirk in his direction there’s a feeling of normalcy that hits. Slowly but surely it fills you up with that familiar warmth, reminding you of the reason you first fell for Astarion in the first place. Somehow he has this unwavering ability to make you grin through the darkness. To distract you from the hellish fear that nips at your feet each time you step into dangerous territory.

Compared to everyone else he’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend. And now that you’re joking back and forth, grinning as he stares at you in fake shock thanks to your statement, you begin to accept that his response no longer matters. That you’ve made your peace with it, knowing he’s still there, comforting you in all the ways you need as you walk further into the room, noticing a white-haired woman standing in the corner.

Upon taking another step she turns from the worktable in front of her, raising a brow at the two of you before fully turning around with a grin. “Ah, the True Soul.” Moving forward, she then extends her hand towards you but fails to meet your gaze once she notices Astarion’s nose begin to turn up, causing you to frown. “I’m Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguineous arts.”

Taking her hand, you feel an unwanted heat hit your palm, making you look down as you peel away, offering your name before motioning to Astarion. “This is—“

“A vampire spawn,” she interrupts with interest, leaning towards him with crossed arms and curious eyes. “What an absolute pleasure.”

Both of you share an awkward glance that doesn’t go unnoticed. Despite that though, she barely bats an eye as she offers her hand again, this time to Astarion who clears his throat and shakes his head. “Astarion… sorry I don’t… touch.”

At first, she seems a bit disappointed but then such feelings are quickly erased when she turns her attention back to you, revealing another grin as she drops her hand. “I assume you’re faring well around Moonrise?”

“If by fairing you mean struggling to find a decent potion seller then yes.”

She clicks her tongue in understanding, turning towards the worktable behind her to grab a vial unprompted. “Perhaps I could be of service then? As long as you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing?” You raise your brow, watching her twist the vile between her fingers with a smirk.

“I happen to trade in blood,” she explains. “And the potions that can be wrung from it. Obviously considering such details it’s ideal that I earn the consent of my customers. Otherwise who knows what kind of havoc might occur. Hence the willingness.”

“Hm, now nice of you to offer the bare minimum,” Astarion comments, making you narrow your eyes in confusion, wondering what’s suddenly got him so on edge.

“Yes well, if you’d humour me with a drop or two of your blood I could whip up something truly potent for the both of us.”

Immediately there’s a wariness that sets in at the mention of sharing. Overall, it feels as if there’s something off about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself or the instant distrust you sense from Astarion as he stands beside you, tensing up with every passing moment you spend talking to her. Either or, you take both as a sign of caution, taking a moment to collect your thoughts as you glance around to view her workspace, noticing various needles and vials, haphazardly filled with liquids you can only assume to be her customer’s blood.

“Not sure I like the idea of weaponizing my blood, to be honest.” Offering her a polite smile, you see her kindness falter in response, replacing it with an air of curiosity.

“I can assure you it’s safe,” she says. “Nothing more than a pinprick but obviously if you aren’t keen perhaps we can discuss other matters.”

As she speaks her gaze focuses on Astarion once again, her lids half-closing in such a lusty way you find your chest brimming with something bordering between anger and jealousy —enveloping you in hatred.

“Your spawn, for example.”

The way she says it feels like she’s insinuating a sense of ownership. As if Astarion’s your pet or something equally disgusting. Angrily, it makes you scrunch up your face and turn towards him, sharing a look of displeasure before ultimately turning back to scowl. “You’re aware he’s his own person, right?”

She laughs dryly. “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Yes, he does. Because it’s true.”

After that she’s silent for a moment, taking in your words. Allowing them to sift within the air as each of you stare at one another, trying to figure out how to proceed even though you know you’re already done.

Unable to entertain the lack of sense, you move your hand to Astarion’s arm, feeling him tense beneath your grasp. Then you awaken your tadpole to contact his, feeling the creature shift against the corner of your eye.

Can we leave, please?

Before he can make the effort to listen to your words, Araj is already speaking again, telling you stories of her childhood and how, even then, she wished to be bitten by a vampire, prompting the two of you to stop.

“I’m sorry. You want to be bitten?” Astarion says in disbelief, watching her nod and take a step closer, sharing her interest further.

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?

She looks at him longingly as she speaks, telling him then that she’d want nothing more than to feel the icy sting of his teeth against her flesh, making you scoff in disgust even though you know all too well what it feels like. How addictive it can be to let your mind drift away as you're sucked dry.

“I’ll even compensate you if you like.”

“Compensate me?” Astarion laughs. “Darling, I’m sorry but my talents cannot be bought.”

“Not even for a potion of legendary power?” she muses.

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Hm, afraid not.”

Her tone shifts then, frustrations filling her every pore as she looks towards you but motions to him. “You might want to talk some sense into your spawn, you know. I don’t offer such rarities lightly.”

You catch Astarion open his mouth to respond, but before he can you’re already stepping forward, inserting yourself into Araj’s space with such powerful aggression, pressing your knife to her throat.

“Are you always this dense?”

Suddenly aware of the consequences of her actions, she lets out a shaky breath and eyes Astarion, her expression filling with desperation as you press the blade further into her flesh, using your other hand to force her to look at you. “You’re aware of the meaning, yes? Of the word no?”

Instead of answering she just groans at you, angling her head upwards to try and distance herself from the knife, forcing you to tighten your hold. “Oh, you don’t? Well, allow me to enlighten you then.”

For a moment you pause, grinning wickedly at the fear within her eyes. Taking in the change of demeanour as you twist the edge of your blade away, huffing as you release her all at once, watching her gasp.

“It means he doesn’t want to suck your fucking throat. Just as I don’t want to kill you… at least, not here.”

Sensing the truth within your words, Araj gives you a careful nod and retreats, reaching to grip her tender neck as you put away your blade and scowl one final time.

As you do Astarion looks at you with wide eyes, barely responding when you grab his arm and lead him back out of the room, swearing angrily under your breath when you slam the door behind you.

“Well, that was an eventual moment.”

You can’t help but laugh and lean forward once you realize you’re alone again, resting your forehead against his shoulder in slight embarrassment. “Sorry. I just…”

His hand loops around your shoulders before you can even think to pull away, forcing you into his chest as he laughs and kisses your head, granting you a moment of peace within his hold. “Don’t be. It’s quite enjoyable seeing you like that.”

“All deranged?” you mumble against his chest.

“Protective,” he corrects. “In fact, I find it quite flattering seeing you puffed up, ready to kill for me.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Like I said, it’s because I love you.”

“Yes, well…” Pausing to clear his throat, you feel his hand stroke the top of your head, slowly moving down towards the back of your neck before repeating the process —doing it several times before he ultimately releases a heavy breath. “I love you too, darling. Thank you.”

TAGLIST:

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#guard dog #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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bippiti · 1 year

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anla j.s

anla [trv] — to yearn for

synopsis when jake goes through the heat for the first time, who's better to go to than you?

pairing na'vi! jake sully x omaticayan! gn afab reader

things to note set in the first movie, the reader takes neytiris role & teaches him the omaticayan ways

wc 1k

when jake was first learning the omaticayan ways, he would often come to you with different questions and thoughts. He'd ask you about the plants, the forest, the food, and more. even after he became fully na'vi, he'd find you with more inquiries.

but when he found you deep in the forest, you knew something was amiss. you could feel the heat radiating off of him and see the sweat covering his forehead; his hands were shaking as he bought them toward you

jake was a mess. he had been riding his ikran when he felt this wave of something hit him. he felt warmth spread over his body, and as he got off, he only had one person on his mind.

you.

and now that he had found you, his head was getting light. seeing you, your hips, your face, your eyes.. it was too much. you were too much.

you knew what was wrong almost immediately; males that are of age but haven't yet mated go through tìsom. it's eywas attempt to push them to who they are meant to be with. apparently, it was you. you couldn't deny the feelings you had for jake. spending almost every day together for the last few months, you had found yourself falling for the dreamwalker. that didn't matter right now; you had to take care of him.

he knew you were trying to explain something to him, but it was falling on deaf ears. all he could think about was you. how you'd look without your loincloth on. how you'd look on top of him. how you'd sound while he-

you clapped in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts, and you sighed. him finding you was a sign from eywa; you couldn't just ignore it. standing up, you grabbed jake as you made your way to the tree of voices. once you got there, you kneeled among the purple and blue flowers.

"you finding me while you're in tìsom was a sign from eywa jake. it means that we are meant to be mates. my heart has already chosen you, but you must choose me too" you look up at him, tail moving faster than you'd like it too. you were nervous, but you doubt he'd pick it up in the state that he's in.

"I've already chosen you, too," he whispered, bringing his hand up to your cheek. you welcomed the warmth and grabbed your queue. following you, he did the same. as you made tsaheylu, you closed your eyes. you could feel him, feel the warmth spreading across your chest, into your stomach as you began to get drunk off him.

you connected lips, his tongue brushed yours as you began to grind down onto him. his hands fell down to your waist, and you could feel his nails press into your skin; the crescents they formed were a welcomed pain. your moans were silenced as his lips began a feverish assault on your lips. he was rough. too preoccupied, you didn't notice his hands snake to the knot in your top, silently undoing it. once you felt it become loose you shrugged it off, and he took a moment to bask. he finally had you. you in your full glory. lips puffed, eyes glossy, he had you.

seeing the way he was watching you brought back memories of when you had begun to teach him

jake was still new to pandora, a baby. in your words, at least. whenever he was walking in the forest, he was mesmerized. apparently, on earth, they had lost most of their greenery, much of it being synthetic and chemically engineered. he would reach his hands up to touch the Loreyu and would always smile when they would collapse into themselves. his childlike awe of pandora only increased over time. Pandora was a gift that kept on giving, and its beauty never ceased to amaze him.

you were the best thing pandora had given him. you were his home; he never had to be afraid of you judging him. no matter how stupid his questions or rash his decisions, you would be there with him. and now that he had you on top of him, kissing him, he could die a happy man.

the kisses he left on your neck began to trail down to your collarbone, leaving purple marks in their wake. as he trailed his lips down to your chest, swirling circles onto your nipples and massaging the other. your breathing started to get uneven, and your hips started pressing onto him harsher. you let out a moan as he bit down. the smirk on his face was evident as he brought you down onto the cool soil. he continued his path down, past your naval and stopping at your hips.

he glanced up at you, hands still on either side of you. a silent ask for permission. you raised your hips, and that was all he needed. he hastily began to undo the knot, groaning when he was met with the smell of you. he couldn't wait; he needed to be inside you

your breathing got uneven as he started rubbing his tip up n down your folds, collecting your slick. you felt yourself become full as he slowly pushed himself inside you

you don’t know how long jake had had you pressed into the soil, you honestly couldn’t care. you had cum more times than you could count, and his pace was unrelenting. with each thrust of his hips he met your cervix, and you felt your head grow light at the feeling.

his fingers dug into your hips as his pace began to accelerate again. you felt the familiar coil forming in your stomach as you moaned out.

jake brought his head down to your ear as he began to whisper sweet nothings to you; each thrust had you seeing stars, and as you let go you felt him coating your walls

as you were settling in with your new life with jake, you hadn’t been feeling the best, you had become faint many a time and food you used to love suddenly tasted like ash

you had gone to your mother the tsa’hik about it, and after a prick on your neck you looked up to see her smiling at you

eywa had given you another gift

an pls lmk what you think! likes, comments n rb r always appreciated🫶

tags @stevesdick @ellabellabus07 @neytirls @your-left-sock @xferik

#jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully #avatar 2 smut #avatar smut #jake sully x gn reader

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miinatozakiii · 7 months

Text

have we met before?

myoui mina x fem!reader ; fluff, angst

synopsis: you and mina are destined to meet in every universe, it’s fate, it’s inevitable—but that doesn’t mean the circumstances are always ideal for the two of you.

warnings: mentions of food

wc: 5.5k

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬

a/n: based on those silly little drawings on tiktok that also have my heart screaming and crying bc they're so cute but sad for no reason like stop pls you're just a silly little stick man why am i sobbing

“do you think we know each other in every universe?” you ask in a small voice, almost a whisper.

mina turns her head to face you, you’re still looking up at the ceiling, breathing slowly. “what kind of question is that?” mina responds, laughing lowly from the sudden inquiry.

“i don’t know, I saw it online,” you start, turning to meet her gaze—squishing your cheek against the mattress in the process. “something about people meeting in other lives and universes, it was pretty interesting.” you add sleepily.

mina’s arm moves to settle down on your shoulder while you lay on the bed facing each other. you look at her with a tired, warm gaze through weighted eyelids. mina softly drags her knuckles over your skin, it makes you sigh contentedly.

“so what do you think?” you press again.

mina just smiles at you and uses her fingers to push loose, messy hair away from your face. you hum groggily in response and lean into her touch.

“i’d hope so.” mina murmurs, looking at your drowsy state.

she takes a moment to fully take in your presence, then presses a kiss against your forehead.

“me too.” you agree, resting your hand over her knuckles.

in this universe mina has just moved into the city, relishing the beautiful, new environment as she strolls around the area.

there’s a couple to her right across the street. they hold hands and swing them gently while they laugh and gaze at each other lovingly—mina smiles at the sight.

mina spots a small restaurant from her peripheral vision, something about the plants growing around it catches her eye, as well as the simple design and lights in the front. she walks towards it, fixing her loose, gray shirt.

she watches a woman step out the restaurant, and that woman is remarkably appealing. the woman kneels down to pet the calico cat that sits in front of the calatheas plant, the woman’s thumb rubs the top of its head, earning a pleased purr.

the woman fetches a small can of water, quickly tending to the plants by watering them, and inspecting them a bit after.

mina makes her way over and catches the attention of the waitress in the apron—the same woman who had tended to the plants. She turns and smiles immediately at mina, setting the can down and greeting her.

“hi, can i help you?” she asks. the woman’s voice is enchanting, it’s soft and welcoming.

mina nods then eyes the rest of the restaurant, it’s quite cozy.

“yes, do you serve lunch?” mina asks.

“yes ma’am, come on in, i can find a seat for you. it’s not too busy at the moment.” the woman says, urging mina to follow her, “there’s only our regulars here at the moment, many empty seats for a lovely lady like you.” mina’s lips curve upward from the unexpected compliment.

the woman leads her to a little table near the window, a small pot occupies it and it holds a healthy-looking fern in it. the waitress hands the menu over to her with both hands—which mina accepts gracefully.

“i’m y/n,” you start, “i’ll be your waitress. i’ll be back in a couple of minutes, take your time.”

what a wonderful name.

when you return, mina has picked out what she would like to order. you approach the table with your signature grin—one mina finds very captivating, sweet, and cute. she has trouble keeping her eyes off your lips for a moment.

“ready to order miss?”

“yes. may i have a bowl of the glass noodles?” mina asks. you nod and started to write on the small notepad in your hand.

“yes ma’am, anything else?”

“green tea would be great.”

“alright. by the way, the glass noodles come with a side dish, any protein on the menu-“ you point to the protein options on the menu with your pen, “there.”

mina reads through the options: salmon, tuna, mushrooms, tofu, chicken, beef, shrimp, and pork.

“what would you recommend?” mina questions, making you think to yourself for a bit.

“my favorites are the tofu, it’s seasoned very well. you can never go wrong with tuna or salmon either, but those are just my preferences. all the protein choices are wonderful.”

“i’ll take the tofu then.”

“alright. so, japchae with a side of tofu and some green tea for the pretty lady in the corner.” you say as you charmingly smile at mina, “will that be all?”

mina giggles at your boldness, nodding. “do you always flirt with customers?”

“only the pretty ones that catch my eye—you’re the first to do so.” you admit.

“i’m flattered, y/n.” mina responds. you smile brightly from how she uses your name, and because she’s tolerant of your stupid flirting.

You giggle. “your order will be ready in a bit. i’ll make sure to pull at the chefs strings to have it out as quick as possible.” you say, “anything to satisfy the lovely lady.”

mina laughs at your comment then rests her chin on her palm. “thanks waiter.”

you arrive ten minutes later and snap mina out of her daydreaming, she’s been staring at the window and watching the people of the city pass by. she could get quite comfortable knowing that a lovely waiter is within a one-mile radius.

“your japchae and tofu, as well as your tea.” you beam, setting down her hot tea and meal.

mina smiles and the aroma of the food pleases her senses, so does the waiter’s delightful presence. the food smells wonderful, it looks delicious too. you nod at her before scurrying to help out the group of elderly men at the other side of the restaurant, they pat your shoulder and make you giggle. seems like your presence is something that everyone is fond of.

as you swiftly run a hand through your tousled hair, the lines of your face come into sharper focus, accentuating your features. the black apron around your waist becomes slightly taut as you tighten it, giving mina a glimpse of your punctilious nature. you reach for a soft rag and press it firmly against the worn wooden surface. the tendons in your forearm flex with each wipe, they’re quite toned.

mina's gaze lingers on your arm, drawn to the dainty tattoo adorning your wrist. it’s a subtle flower-like design, its colors blending seamlessly with your skin—mina thinks it’s cute.

but it's not just your appearance that intrigues her. there's something intangible about you, an inexplicable familiarity that fogs up her mind. in the short span of thirty minutes, you’ve managed to create a tranquil atmosphere around her with the help of your dorky charm.

it's as if you have a unique ability to make her feel instantly at home, even though she can't recall ever meeting you before. the way you carry yourself so casually, the kindness and warmth that radiate from you, all contribute to this puzzling connection she feels.

you hand mina the check after she finishes up, the price is not bad at all. you grab her bowl, small plate, and tea cup, balancing them effortlessly on one hand.

“can i pay with cash?”

“of course, let me put these dishes in the back. you can pay up at the register since it’s cash.” you respond, departing temporarily.

mina shuffles through her purse and pulls out a few bills, making sure to tip you generously for your wonderful service and lovely charm. she walks over to the register, you’re behind the counter with a strand of hair falling over your face and tapping at the screen.

“your total is fifteen hundred yen.” you say. mina hands you twenty-five hundred, making you raise your brows in surprise.

“i liked your service.” mina shrugs, bashfully avoiding eye contact. she puts her wallet back into her purse, and explains, “i just moved into the city, i’m really glad i ran into someone as sweet as you on my first day.”

you grin and feel a warmth spread across your cheeks, “is that so? i’m glad. i hope you like it here, i’d love for you to visit again. i wouldn’t complain if a beauty like you were a regular.”

mina’s lips turn, it’s hard for her to make eye contact with you. a small laugh leaves your lips as you take the money she had slid across the counter, carefully handling it then placing fifteen hundred yen in the register, and putting a thousand in the tip jar.

you beam at her again, “thank you, have a great day miss.”

“it’s mina.” she corrects politely, “my name is mina.”

“pretty name. fits you.” you respond, ears growing pink. mina laughs and waves at you with a gummy smile—it’s adorable and you want to see it again and again. butterflies flutter in your stomach from the sight of it. the elegant woman with the cute beauty marks walks towards the door, and as you sense this fleeting moment, your eyes search frantically for something that’ll have mina trudging back in the future.

spotting a pen and napkin nearby, you swiftly reach out, snatching them up in your trembling hand and scribbling a string of numbers on it.

mina steps outside and takes in the scenery of the restaurant, it fits the lovely, calm neighborhood that it occupies.

“wait! mina!” a voice calls out. she turns and spots you, rushing out the door and settling yourself in front of her.

you hand her the napkin you scribbled on. “this is my number, i’d love to get to know you more.” you say timidly as mina takes the dainty piece of paper.

“you’re cute.” mina boldly states, laughing softly, “this place isn’t far from my apartment, and the food is good. there might be a new regular here soon.”

“perfect.” you hum.

“thank you for the food, i’ll see you again.”

“see you, mina.”

a tender silence envelops both of you as you exchange a knowing glance, the unspoken connection blooming with a newfound sweetness. something about mina seems oddly familiar, weirdly comforting—you’re not one to flirt so easily, but the words had just spewed out your mouth every time you talked to her.

you wonder: maybe you know her in another universe, you remember hearing about that theory from one of the elderly customers. maybe you’re good friends someplace else—maybe more.

in another universe, a complex web of fate had merged your brother, jun, with mina—a princess from a kingdom that held tensions with your own. their marriage seemed to hold the promise of easing the strained relations between the two kingdoms.

jun, the epitome of the stereotypical prince, perfectly fit into the mold. women swooned over him and he possessed the necessary “princely” skills, he seemed to have it all. however, beneath his "charming” exterior lay a massive ego, pissy attitude, and a small, smooth, and pathetic brain. he carried himself as superior to you, despite his cowardice and controversial morals.

as for yourself, in this royal universe, you were less recognized compared to your stingy brother, but still held a significant position. while you may have lacked certain attributes expected from a princess, it honestly mattered very little since you weren’t in line to inherit the throne (you didn’t like the thought of all that work anyway, so you were relieved.)

a generous freedom was granted to you, which allowed you to develop an intellect that your brother desperately needed, and a great personality compared to the prick of a prince. admittedly, you possessed a prominent physical beauty, attracting numerous suitors, but they often drew back after realizing you weren’t just a stupid, submissive woman who they could boss and fuck around with.

you had first seen mina at the altar while she was getting married to your brother—a fate so cruel it makes you want to object, especially only hearing that she’s a soft-spoken, kind soul—according to your father.

something about her seemed oddly familiar, even as you watched from afar. she turned towards you only once, and you made eye contact in that brief moment. your brows creased when your heart recognized her, yearning for an odd reason. she turned back to face jun and you ignored the sensation in your chest, figuring that the feeling in your heart might’ve been the sorrow you had for this newlywed: princess mina.

you never have dinner at the same time as your brother, so you’ve never had dinner with the new addition to your kingdom. though this changes when jun is sent away for the night (for whatever “princely” reason, you don’t know, and neither do you care.)

you’re seated across from your brother’s wife, and this is the first time you’ve seen her up close and in person. she’s beautiful.

you find yourself captivated by mina's ethereal beauty, unable to tear your eyes away from her radiant presence. every curve and line of her face is a testament to perfection, leaving you marveling in awe.

mina’s features are more than attractive, they’re perfect—no painter could ever capture the full glow of her visuals. her lips look so soft, the way her silky, dark hair effortlessly flows down her shoulders makes you yearn to run your fingers through them, losing yourself in their silky texture. as she gracefully picks up a piece of salmon, the way she chews it delicately, you can't help but be captivated by her composure and grace—damn, you think, she even eats elegantly.

when mina’s eyes meet yours, you shyly look away at the strangely flustering eye contact, feeling nervous for whatever reason.

most women would feel a bit insecure, self-conscious, and maybe even intimidated in your situation. however, all you feel is an unspeakable attraction from your brother’s wife, which has got to be messy.

It gets messier when mina looks at you while you avoid eye contact, and you quickly pretend to be busy by gracefully picking up a piece of salmon and chewing it like a princess should (because mina is right in front of you).

mina observes you, her eyes filled with a deep curiosity while she tries to sneak subtle glances. it's evident that she recognizes the resemblance between you and your brother, but you’re definitely the better-looking sibling. her gaze lingers on the white ribbon holding half your hair up, rendering you even more fascinating in her eyes. stray strands of hair gently frame your face, and as you tuck them behind your ear, her eyes follow the movement with a mixture of awe and allure.

though you and mina have never engaged in conversation, the inscrutable (homosexual) tension between you two is undeniable, as if you were destined to meet.

“is there something on my face?” mina asks, voice soft and wow, even her voice is beautiful. she tilts her head when she catches you stealing a glance.

“oh, no, sorry.” you respond politely, “i just, um, noticed your beauty marks. they’re pretty.”

(you don’t know why you chose to compliment her now and here when you’re alone in this dining room and the tension is prominent—are you trying to embarrass yourself?)

“thank you, y/n was it?” the sound of your name being articulated by that delicate voice of hers is enough to have your cheeks burning.

“yeah, y/n.”

“you’re quite pretty too.”

you smile and poke at your salmon, “thank you.”

two weeks from that dinner, you find yourself meeting with her and spending more time with the lovely princess since her own joke of a husband can’t do so. mina was never fond of jun anyway, he boasted too much, and you were much more pleasing to the eye—and her heart.

you lead mina around the castle, holding her hand and dragging her to the large library in the east wing. you ramble about the books you’ve read, cheeks flushing lightly when you go on a tangent about romance novels. when you stop gushing about books out of fear of boring her, she urges you to go on, giving you that signature grin that makes your heart leap.

a few weeks after that moment in the library, mina finds herself situated in your own bedroom. it’s a large room, fit for a princess like you. the room smells like peaches and is tidy for the most part, though books clutter some spaces and it honestly feeds mina’s growing interest in you.

the ribbon in your hair is worked at with your slim fingers and your locks are let down with a swift motion of the fabric. you run a hand through your hair and lead mina to your bed, grabbing her hand and urging her to sit down next to you.

mina sits down and you hum, softly while you lean against the headboard of the bed.

“are you tired?” mina asks, and you shake your head.

“not really.”

“it’s quite late.”

“perhaps.” you say, turning over to face her. “you know, speaking of sleep. i’ve been having dreams about you.”

mina raises her brows and giggles, “really now?”

you hum, “yeah, it’s a flash of different scenes, different lives.”

“sounds interesting.��

“mhm.” you sigh, looking from the mole on mina’s nose to her lips. “we always end up meeting. do you think we know each other in every life? like, maybe there’s other universes where we’re… maybe we’re best friends in another kingdom, or maybe we’re commoners.”

“that’s a possibility. you read a lot of books, maybe they’re creating that fantasy world up in that brain of yours.” mina teases, subconsciously scooting closer to you.

your gaze stills on her face, you stay silent for a moment and mina grows flustered as you travel across her features with your look. your hand moves over to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and your thumb rubs against her soft, delicate skin—just below her left eye.

“an eyelash was there.” you say, and her cheek grows noticeably warm from the contact of your thumb on her skin.

“i had this one dream, you know…” you start, moving your thumb along her cheek and tracing the side of her face with your pointer. you lean a bit closer, and mina does too, she stares at your plump, soft, peachy lips. “we were really close, like this.” you practically whisper, voice lowering as you mumble.

“yeah?” mina asks, leaning closer. now both of you are staring at each other’s lips, bodies reeling in closer as if there were a string of desire pulling your hearts closer to each other.

mina tilts her head and her eyelids start to shut, you mirror her action and do the same. her cold fingers find your cheek and softly caress your skin, pulling you in closer for a kiss.

her lips are as soft as they look, warm against your own despite the chill of her fingers on your face—though they seem to burn into you the deeper the kiss grows. the locking of lips is dangerous, especially with mina seeing as she’s married to your brother and all. the two of you know everything will have to be behind closed doors, love can be difficult.

mina pulls away with lidded eyes and you whine in response.

“did we do that in your dream?”

“yeah, a few times.”

“déjà vu i guess,” mina murmurs against your lips, “i’ve had the same dreams,” she admits before sliding her hand down to your neck, gently gripping your hair and twirling it around her finger. she kisses you again, your lips recognize the feeling.

in this universe you’re on the way back to the ice rink. you’ve forgotten your bag filled with your shoulder pads and gloves.

you check the locker room and there’s nothing, but you do spot momo’s unlocked locker. knowing the clumsy, forgetful teammate, she had probably rushed out after getting a call from that sana girl she’s been talking to. the swooning lesbian had most likely left the building in a second, you’re using that against her for sure.

“where is it…” you grumble, wandering around the locker room and shuffling through every corner.

a sigh leaves your lips and you head out to the rink, it has to be there if it’s not in the locker rooms; otherwise, you’re completely fucked and your wallet might come to life just to kill you if you don’t find that dumb bag.

you step into the rink area, your face getting hit with the cold air of the room. the issue at hand is completely disregarded when your gaze lands on a figure gracefully gliding across the ice, her presence seemingly ethereal. her movements are an intricate dance on the frozen surface beneath, each glide harmoniously transitioning into the next. you’re captivated to say the least.

her body glides effortlessly, proof of her unquestionable talent. with every spiraling twirl and soaring leap, she effortlessly keeps your attention on her, you’re enamored. her skate blades etch intricate patterns into the ice, similar to the way yours hack at the ice when you speed through players to score a point during your scrimmages.

the woman stops and her eyes meet yours, making you redirect your attention elsewhere, reminding you of the reason why you’re even back here past practice hours.

she skates towards the gate that leads out the rink and you quickly walk away, scanning the seats for your blue bag. it has to be here somewhere; you prayit’s there.

your prayers were answered—a blue bag is spotted on one of the benches with the same shoulder pads you had used earlier, you let out a sigh of relief.

when you make your way back towards the door back to the lobby, you’re face-to-face with the same woman who had been skating—she had been the only other person here besides you at this hour, further emphasizing her devotion to her art.

she examines you carefully. your hair is still disheveled and your nose is also pink from the practice you had earlier. you’re wearing a comfy-looking navy hoodie, as well as matching, baggy sweatpants—though maybe a slightly darker shade. the blue bag is held over your shoulder, sitting along your back while you carry it.

mina swears she recognizes you, the messy hair that falls over your face and that dorky, awkward smile you shoot her is strangely familiar. maybe she’s met you at this rink before, that’s probably the case.

“sorry, did i interrupt you?” you pry, scared to have disrupted her elegant performance.

“no, not at all.” she responds. you look her up and down, eyeing the full black outfit she wears briefly before meeting her soft eyes and appealing features. you pause for a brief moment when you see the two recognizable beauty marks: one above her top lip and the other on her nose.

“have we met before?” you ask, curious as to why there’s a weird understanding from her.

“i don’t know, maybe we have.”

“you seem very familiar, i can’t put my finger on it.” you mumble, brows furrowing lightly.

“i- i thought that too.”

you put out a hand, “i’m y/n.”

mina reciprocates the gesture and puts her hand in yours—a strangely perfect fit, as if her hand has been there before.

“mina.” she says, staring at your hands making contact.

“do you always practice at this rink?” you question, interested as to how you’ve missed someone as eye-catching as her.

mina nods. “i usually practice later or in the early mornings.”

“that’s why i haven’t seen you around.” you hum, “i practice during late afternoons.”

“are you a hockey player?”

“yup.” you respond proudly, shooting a grin that makes the figure skaters own lips turn. you shove your hand in your pocket and find your phone, checking the time. “i’ll leave you to your practice, you skate beautifully by the way.”

mina smiles and you contemplate whether you should pry and find out more of her schedule just from seeing the curve of her pretty lips. “i’ll see you y/n, hope we run into each other again.”

“likewise. have a great night mina.”

“you too.”

you’re a lucky woman, very, very lucky.

you run into the beautiful figure skater two days later, and then two days after that, and somehow you’re running to her after every other practice.

quick conversation and small talk is exchanged between the short periods of time that you see each other, a friendship blossoms quickly.

mina, with her quiet demeanor, has always been reserved, even around her own coach and most people she interacts with. however, something about your presence makes her feel instantly at ease—as if you’ve known each other for years. your charm effortlessly melts her tension away, creating a comfortable atmosphere where she’s no longer limited to her usual three-word responses.

beyond her enchanting beauty on the ice, mina's personality shines in its own unique way. her lovely features are undeniably captivating, but it's the tenderness in her remarks and descriptions of her day that truly warms your heart. each word she utters, spoken in her soft and honeyed voice, forms an urge to know more about mina.

not even a month later, the two of you find yourselves in a small diner sitting across from each other.

your cheek is in your palm while you listen to mina go on about her recent fixations and interests—one being the legos that she had finally bought after eyeing for two months. you find yourself laughing at the way she talks about the plastic building pieces with such passion and excitement, your smile growing wider with each remark from the divine woman in front of you.

mina goes on about her dream of being a professional figure skater, that it’s been her dream since she was a litte girl. she even admits that she’d love to travel to other countries to train and learn more, she’s fond of foreign training programs. the success she craves inspires you, and soon after you exchange your own dreams of being in one of the big league hockey teams. you give mina a little background on yourself, explaining that you lived in canada for half your life, which also happens to be the same place where you started becoming infatuated with hockey. mina nods in awe, listening with intent.

the two of you ramble and laugh and smile and blush—it makes the two of you so amazingly giddy.

the date is cliché, something out of a movie: dinner with a beautiful woman, paying for her meal, and then driving her home—before she leaves, you kiss her cheek—she blushes and kisses you on the lips, leaving you in the car with a flushed face and a dangerously quick heart rate.

most of your relationships in the past—if not all, have been quite rocky after a couple of months, but that’s not the case with mina.

there’s a simple understanding between you two, as if you already know each other’s likes and dislikes by heart. you’re accustomed to mina’s mood swings and troubles, always being there if she needed a shoulder to lean on. there was a silent understanding, and mina was glad that she had you. mina is understanding when you explain your past and the difficulties of pursuing a hockey career, and once you’re done shedding a few tears you exchange your first “i love you’s.”

it's safe to say that being with mina has been the best time of your life, not even a year has passed by and she’s had you swooning more than momo had been when she first got with sana. you’re hooked, you’re in love.

there’s nothing that could break you and mina up, not with the wonderful communication and understanding of boundaries. you two were perfect for each other, there was no way anything could hinder the relationship.

“can we talk?” you and mina say together, surprised that you said it at the same time with the same uneasy tone.

“you go first.” you urge, mina shakes her head.

“no, you go.” she responds. you laugh to calm your nerves, to ease your worries, to stop the tears that start to well in your eyes, it works temporarily—but mina can sense the tension in the air, and it’s frightening.

you inhale, then exhale slowly.

“i was scouted, they want me in one of the best training facilities and teams in canada.” you croak out, a lump forming in your throat after you speak. mina purses her lip and you can tell she tries to stop herself from crying, closing her eyes and turning her head downwards.

“y/n,” she says, voice shaky, “they… they want me training in korea.”

you blink and tears spill, rolling down your face.

“i think you should take it, mina.” you say heartbreakingly, “you’re very talented, i know it would get you far. it’s your dream, i know how much you liked the training over in korea.”

“i think you should take,“ mina cuts herself off with a sniffle, “you should go to canada.”

the two of you aren’t lying, wanting the others to achieve their own dream, but the inevitable product is the two of you parting. that’s the last thing you want.

if you had known that you would’ve met mina earlier, she would’ve been your dream, you’d give up everything for her and mina would do the same for you. however, these offers are something that the two of you have been longing for, and even if your hearts may shatter by taking up these opportunities, the two of you know it has to be your choices.

you pull mina into your arms, a bittersweet embrace. her tears stain your t-shirt, yours seem to stain hers as well.

“i’m sorry.” mina cries.

“don’t,” you sob, “it’s okay, we’ll be okay.” you add, though you’re unsure yourself.

the distance is impossible, and it’s already difficult to spend more than three hours a day with each other now, so thinking of how it would be while you’re thousands of kilometers apart has you holding onto mina tighter, knowing that you’ll have to let her go.

your flight leaves in less than two hours, and you still have to go through baggage as well as security.

a tear slips down your cheek as you hold onto mina, you don’t want to let go, you can’t, but you have to.

you two had a long talk filled with tears and runny noses about how this would go down, and you decided to spend the last few days together, savoring and cherishing the last moments of each other’s presence. sure, the two of you could see each other now and then, but it would be too hard to keep a long-distance relationship going when your schedules are full and your bodies are tired. the time difference doesn’t help either. it just won’t work out, no matter what obstacle you tried to work around, it was evident that this wasn’t going to cut it with the new circumstances.

so you two decided to do what was necessary: break up.

mina pulls away with tears spilling down her face, she’s wearing the sweater you gifted her on her birthday. it makes you sniffle.

“i’m going to miss you.” you say in between tears, “too much.”

“me too.” she says. her nose is red, eyes pink, and her bottom lip quivers.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i wish we could-“

“y/n, i love you. i want you to achieve this dream.” mina cuts you off, “i’m willing to let you go for it to happen.”

“i’ll love you forever.” you cry, “whatever happens, there’s always a space in my heart for you. when you make it to the big screen, i’ll cheer for you. promise”

mina closes her eyes and wipes her tears, “and I’ll do the same. god, y/n… i love you so much.”

“don’t say that, please my nose is getting stuffy,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. your voice cracks, it’s shaky. “i promise in another universe or something like that, everything will work out, and we won’t have distance keeping us apart. in every life i swear mina, i swear i’ll find you, we’ll meet and we don’t have to part like this and- fuck, god i can’t do this.”

mina laughs, it’s not out of amusement. she’s going to miss your dorky little rambling. “you’ve been watching too many marvel movies.”

“stop that,” you sigh, smiling in between tears. “but I swear, I will.”

“is that a promise?”

“yes mina, yes.”

mina smiles again before tip-toeing to kiss you, you get the faint taste of her salty tears. the kiss is quite long, both of you not wanting to pull away, not wanting to part.

your hand lingers on mina’s cheek, it’s soft on her skin, she melts into your touch one last time.

“i love you always.” mina says, using her own thumb to wipe away your damp, pink cheek.

“me too.” you rasp, “always and forever.”

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #twice mina #kpop fluff #twice angst #myoui mina #myoui mina x reader #mina x reader #mina imagines

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koenigsbleachedshirt · 7 months

Note

Please I need some emotions...I need how all three would react to finding YN beat up or something. The emotions, the angst, the possessive and protectiveness....PLS I BEG OF YOU

Bet 🙏🏻

TW: graphic violence, fighting, shooting

y/cs = your callsign

initial situation -> you were out on a mission with your team to deal with a no-name terrorist group. Everything had gone well until the last standing member managed to slam the butt of his gun against the back of your head. You toppled to the ground in pain, vision peppered with black spots. "Fuck... you piece of shit." You hiss when he gets you on your back and starts beating down on you.

Ghost

He hadn't seen or heard of you after calling through the comms, so he grew worried. "Cap', y/cs hasn't responded to my inquiries, I'mma go 'ave a look." Ghost informs Price, who nods in return.

He was decently close with you, so it left a bitter taste in his mouth when you didn't respond. What if someone had managed to mortally injure you and you were laying somewhere and bleeding out?

Ghost hurried through the rooms of the mostly cleared building and came to a stop when he spotted one of the terrorists on top of you, his fists continuously beating down on your, by now unconscious, body. Then he saw red.

Simon ran towards the fucker who dared to touch you yanked him up by his vest, literally throwing him a few feet away from you before proceeding to punch his living daylights out. "Ya fuckin' dare to hurt one of our mates?! I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya, damn cunt!"

He doesn't stop bashing his face in until it's a bloody mess, his fists dripping with the man's blood. He doesn't spare him another glance before going to check on you, blood running cold when he sees the state you're in. Simon's heart is beating out of his chest at the sight; your lip is busted and still slightly bleeding. There's also a laceration on your cheekbone and a nasty bruise forming around it, and not to forget the black eye you're starting to get.

Ghost exhales a shaky breath and gently scoops you up into his arms, careful not to hurt you any further. That bastard has probably beaten more places than just your face.

And he's going to kill them all by himself if he has to.

König

He had just finished absolutely obliterating five of the terrorists in another room and was about to check up on his team when he heard your pained cries from across the hall. König didn't waste any time, running to the source of the sound and kicking open the slightly ajar door.

The man was sitting on your stomach, violently beating you up; you try your best to kick him off, but he's too big. All you can do is try to shield your face, but it doesn't do much because he still got a few good hits on you.

But then you see your Colonel behind your attacker, distracting you enough to catch a fist to the jaw, and suddenly, you're out cold.

The giant colonel did not enjoy that. He picks the asshole up by the back of his collar and puts him in a chokehold. "You made a giant mistake here, du kleiner Bastard." König says into the terrorist's ear, sounding almost demonic, before he manhandles him around.

And then he breaks his back, like a stick that's being snapped over his knee. The man screams bloody murder, but König isn't done. Next, he breaks the arm he used to beat you up with, snapping it so hard the bone broke through the skin. And then the man went limp, either fell unconscious due to the pain, or straight up died.

He couldn't care less, though, as he tossed him aside and moved to kneel down next to your knocked out form. A pang of panic went through him as he hurriedly picked you up to evacuate and get you to a medic as soon as possible.

König is not going to lose you. Not when he finally found a new purpose.

Keegan

He witnessed it all through the scope of his sniper rifle, jaw clenched tightly. How dare this terrorist scum hurt you?

"Sergeant Russ here, I'm going in." He says into the comms before quickly making his way to where this man decided to touch something that wasn't his.

When Keegan arrived, you were already knocked out, his blood running cold. "You dare hurt my y/cs? Oh, you've made a grave mistake there." He says, voice dangerously low as he raises his assault rifle.

The terrorist on top of you freezes, arm raised back for another punch, but not plowing down again. "Get the fuck off of them, hands in the air."

The man does what he's told, but right when he's back on his feet, he moves to take out his gun, probably trying to shoot Keegan.

But instead, he aims it at you. Keegan's eyes widen, and without thinking, he shoots the terrorist straight through the forehead. The man's aim falters but still pulls the trigger, and the bullet lands inches from your face on the ground.

Keegan drops his rifle from the shock; that fucking man almost killed you right in front of him. His whole body is shaking as he flops down next to you, one hand gently caressing your cheek. "You're safe now. Let's go back to base." He says before slinging his rifle around himself and then picking you up and carrying you out of the building.

#ask - answered #cod mw2 #cod x reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #ghost x reader #keegan x reader #konig angst #könig angst #ghost angst #keegan angst #tw violence #tw guns #tw injury #tw shooting

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callsigns-haze · 6 months

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That Lavender Haze….

THIS IS REPOSTED FROM MY OLD BLOG!

A/n: This is the first post to my new blog so please be nice! I'm going to try to make this into a series so please show this story a bit of love and reblog!

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Y/n 'Haze' Mitchell

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Y/N has always got broken by the person she goes back to. Driving up to her wingman's house every time might sound crazy but the both of them are stuck in that haze…

Warning: Smut, heart breaks and a bit of angst

Based of the song: Lavender Haze by Taylor Swift

You ought not have driven here, outside of your wingman's and his best friends apartment. You shouldn't have climbed the four floors and walked right down the gray hallway. You definitely ought not be knocking on their front door, hoping he's home to temporarily put you back together.

This is wrong, you know it is. But this was likely to happen. You always come to Hangman, seeking the love and attention you've been stolen of.

This is a unnatural thing, it's normal for the both of you. To everyone else, the connection you have with Jake seems cruel and one-sided.

That's why when the door swings open and dark brown eyes cut into slits at the sight of you, you drop your eyes and look down at your slick hands.

"What?" Coyote asks, tone cross as he keeps the door cracked. You keep your eyes low and chew on your bottom lip.

"You know why I'm here." Your voice is broken, tears still in your eyes, accompanying the sobs caught in your throat.

"I do." Javy says.

You sigh and take a deep breath.

"I'm not as bad as you seem to think I am, Coyote." You say, staring down at your thumbs hoping he doesn't retaliate with his usual scoff and roll of the eyes.

Instead, he exhales in a huff.

"Why do you do this?" He questions, a hint of pleading in his inquiry.

"I need him…" You whisper, feeling the guilt and selfishness curl around each word.

"But you've got a boyfriend." He tries reasoning with you. "You know he can't date anyone because he waits around for the next time he'll have to take care of you, right? Why not just leave your cunt of a boyfriend and be with Jake?"

You feel the air whisp around you as Javy throws his hands up, frustrated with the situation. His anger can only grow with your response.

"I need him, too. I love him and I can't leave." You explain, every bit ridden with tragic truth. Without seeing Coyotes' face, you can hear the disapproval swimming around in his mind and it adds to the ache in your torso; the edges of the hole widening and stinging as you wrap your arms around yourself, a feeble attempt at keeping yourself whole.

"Please," you whisper, properly holding Javy' cold, cobalt gaze for the first time since he's opened Jake's door, "just let me in. Please."

He stares into your hollowed eyes for a long moment, an exasperated sigh heaving in his chest, but steps aside to let you into Hangman's apartment.

"I know he'll hate me if I refuse you." He says, shaking his head. "He's sleeping on the couch in the living room, I'm leaving." Coyote grabs his keys from the breakfast bar, then he's gone.

You drop your bag and jacket on the floor and head towards the living room, finding a deep sleep Jake sprawled out on his sofa. Just the sight of him reels in the pain of what's happened earlier, but not enough to numb it.

Kneeling down, you push his blonde hairs from his face, scratching his scalp as you go. A contented sigh blows through his nose, causing you to smile at his peaceful state.

"Jake…" You whisper, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. He stirs a bit but his eyes stay closed. You press your lips to his and run your nose along his chin.

"Hangman, wake up." You breathe. His eyes flutter as an agitated groan sounds in his throat.

"Fuck off, Coyote," He murmurs, batting you away. "We can finish the movie later, I'm tired."

"I'm not Javy, cowboy." You say, poking his nose so that he opens his eyes fully, smiling wide once he realizes who's woken him.

"Hey, angel," He half yawns, stretching like a massive cat. He sits up, shaking his hair around, then looks at you. Really looks at you.

"What's happened?" He asks as you rise to sit next to him on the sofa, your legs laying across his lap and his hands resting on your thighs.

"It's nothing. I just popped by." Your attempt to sound nonchalant falters, your voice cracking due to the amount of time you spent crying on the way there.

"Nothing? Really, Haze? Have you forgotten how well I know you?" He questions, glancing at the clock on the cable box, then eyeing you suspiciously. "Or maybe the fact that you're "popping by" at half passed midnight?"

"It's fine, Jake. I'll be fine." You mutter.

"Your eyes are red and puffy, your cheeks are tear stained, and your arms are wrapped around your middle like you're trying to hold yourself together." Jake observes, scooping you up and into his lap. He lays his head on your shoulder and places soft kisses on your neck as he rubs your back.

"I don't want to say." You breathe, sniffing as images of your boyfriend intimately touching another woman cloud your memory.

"Shhh, it's okay. You don't have to tell me." He coos, turning your face towards his. He runs an index finger down your jawbone before brushing his lips against yours.

"I'll take care of you." He whispers, running his fingers through your hair. "I'll make you forget."

The warmth of his lips press to yours, surging comfort and safety throughout your body. His hands run over your back and thighs, the hole in your chest already starting to close. Jake pulls back, eyes furrowed and breath jagged.

"Be mine…just for tonight. Just for a few hours." He murmurs, wiping away your tears kissing you softly. You nod your head, melding your lips together as he cradles your body to his chest and lifts you, starting towards his bedroom.

This is where the cycle repeats itself. You get hurt, you run to Jake, Jake makes love to you, you leave him to go back to the one causing the pain. It's a backwards agreement, made years before. Hangman's always been there, always volunteering to pick up the pieces and fill in the cracks.

And you know why.

It's in the way he touches you, the way he stares into your eyes with the utmost sincerity. The way he held you when your first pet died, the way he walked you home everyday after school, even though you didn't go to the same one. The way he cradled your face in both hands when he gave you your first kiss.

And you know it's killing him.

It's in the way his face fell when you told him about your first boyfriend, the way he didn't want to know about your first time. The way he drags his feet every time he walks you to his door, riding out the kiss goodbye with a languid pull of his lips. The way he takes his time with you, savoring every second he gets to spend expertly navigating about your body. No one knows your body like he does, not even the man you love.

Even with this knowledge, you still return to him; eyes puffy, nose sniffling, and in need of a good cuddle. But it's never been just a cuddle. Never been Jake holding his best friend until she cries away the pain.

It's always been Jake making love to the woman he adores, chasing the pain away. It's wrong, and it's morally backwards, but you can't let it go. You need his unrequited love just like he needs to take care of you, it works for you both.

So here you are, sat on Jake's lap as he sits on the edge of his bed, lips smacking together as hips grind. His fingers slip underneath your shirt, caressing the taut skin as he lifts the fabric up and off. You do the same, pressing your lips to his newly exposed collarbone and scratching your nails down his stomach. He moans into your skin, sucking on the heated flesh of your shoulder as he undoes the button and fly of your jeans. He gently slides you off of his lap, standing to remove his own sweatpants. You start to do the same but he stops you, batting your hands away.

"I'll be doing that." He says, licking your lips before kissing you with a new determination. He breaks away, holding your stare as he stands straight, hooking his thumbs in his gray boxer briefs and sliding them down his lean legs.

His cock springs free, taking your attention as it thumps against his stomach.

Jake kneels in front of you, carefully removing each sneaker from your feet, followed by your socks. He rises, bringing you with him to lift you in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. A shudder runs over you both as his dick presses against your moistening center through your jeans. His lips find yours, hands cupping your backside as he climbs on to the bed, laying you beneath him.

He sits back on his heels, eyes locked with yours as he removes your jeans. You bite your bottom lip as he mouths at your ankle, lips ascending up your calf, tongue licking at the inside of your knee. He does the same with the other leg, venturing up your inner thigh and nipping at your sensitive skin. His verdigris gaze holds your own as he closes his mouth around your clothed center, hot breath washing over the intense sensitivity. Your back arches, hands gripping your breasts as pleasure pools in your belly.

"Please…" you whimper, grinding your yourself on his mouth. He doesn't hesitate to rid you of your underwear, immediately spreading your lips apart and licking at your clit. His tongue glides along the length of your core and he hums in appreciation, closing his eyes at the taste of your arousal.

You claw at the sheets, watching as Jake loses himself in pleasuring you.

Your fingers run through russet ringlets, nails scratching at his scalp and his eyes roll back. Your eyebrows pull together, sending Jake a silent plea. He knows what it means, so it's no surprise when he detaches himself from your soaking core with a loud smack of his lips, parting with one last lick over your entrance. His tongue slides up your tightening stomach, lips nipping and sucking at taut skin as you try catching your breath.

Jake kisses at your breasts, teeth coming down over each clothed nipple. His hands slide under your back, unclasping your bra and tossing it somewhere off to the side. You yelp as he sucks a hard nipple into his mouth, tongue circling the risen flesh. You pull at his curls and he sighs, sucking harder.

"Jake!" You holler, grinding your drenched center along his stiff shaft. He moans loudly, releasing your nipple and capturing your lips into a deep, lust driven kiss.

"Jake, please…" you whisper against his lips, and he needs no further instruction.

He lines himself at your entrance, covering his lips with yours as he slips inside you. His girth stretches you, his length making you feel full as he bottoms out.

"I've missed being inside you, Haze." He murmurs, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your jaw as he groans. "God, you're so tight for me."

Your thighs hug his waist, hands gripping his wide shoulders while he grinds around inside you. Your boyfriend is nowhere near Jake's size, so he's giving your walls time to adjust to the intrusion.

"Move…" you moan into Jake's ear, lips brushing against his lobe and he shivers. He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at your aroused expression. One hand lays on your cheek as the other grips the sheet by your head.

"Ssshhhit…" he hisses, pulling out halfway, then diving back inside at a leisurely pace.

He holds your eyes, watching your reaction to his tip brushing against that spot deep inside. You lick your lips and hook your hand on the back of his neck, tugging him down to you. He crashes his lips to yours, absorbing your moans while trading a few of his own.

As you start to think of how much you wish Jake would venture a bit deeper and pick up the pace, Jake's lips pull away. He lifts his upper body, holding himself up on his hands, placed on either side of your head, and drives into you with a new, shaper force.

Hangman's length delves into your warmth, not stopping until he's fully sheathed inside with his pelvic bone greeting yours. A delighted groan sounds in your throat, not making it passed your lips as you've taken the lower between your teeth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he swivels his hips, grinding the tip of his cock against your g-spot.

"Fuck…" He sighs, reveling in the moisture of your tight confines as he pulls back just a bit, delivering short, forceful thrusts in that way your body's craved. Your eyes open to see a darkened shade of jade, his mouth agape as he pleasures you both and watches your reactions to his every move, groaning when you squeeze around his shaft, taken by the sight of him.

You silently thank your best friend for having the uncanny ability to know exactly what you want, when you want it, and how; tangling your fingers in his hair and claiming his rosy lips. He kisses you back with great fervor, relishing in your gratitude as he increases the length of his strokes, pulling out until just the tip, then thrusting back in with powerful determination.

He pushes his knees up and under your lower back, raising your abdomen, now leveled with his groin. The thrusts are impossibly deeper this way, your muffled cries rising a few octaves as a large knot forms in your belly. Jake sucks your tongue, growling when your nails dig into the skin of his back, prompting him to go faster and harder. He breaks away from your lips, groaning incessantly as your body starts to quiver. Pressing his forehead to yours, reaches between the two of you to circle your clit with his middle finger.

"Yes, angel," he pants, kissing you chastely and repeatedly pounding into you,"cum for me."

The pressure on your clit sends you right over the edge, back arching and toes curling as you give in to your erupting climax.

Your orgasm exploding around Jake's cock makes him reach his own climax, teeth digging into your throat as he growls and white-knuckles the sheets. His cum spills inside of you, the sensation eliciting a contented moan from your own lips. No one can do that but Jake, not even the man you love.

The man you think you love.

The man you've left at home to come lay in Jake's bed.

Jake's lips sponge feather light kisses along your shoulder, silently asking if you're okay. You wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze, assuring him you're just fine, especially in his arms.

You're clothes are on, your keys twirling in your hand as you lean against your wingman's front door. He stands a couple of feet away, kicking at the carpet with his naked feet, sweatpants hung low on his hips and wet hair smoothed back. You push yourself off of his door, walking over to him and laying your head on his bare chest to listen to his heart as your arms simultaneously encircle each other.

"You know who it beats for." Jake whispers, tangling his fingers in your hair. You nod, turning your face towards his and allowing him to mold his lips to yours.

The kiss deepens when he pushes his tongue past your teeth, walking forward until your back is pressed to his front door once again. He moans into the kiss, hands roaming your body as yours rest in his damp curls.

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, nose affectionately nudging your head to the side so he can kiss the searing skin there.

You feel it before he says it. The adoration, the undying dedication, the promise to never give up on this wayward friendship.

"I'll always be waiting." He whispers, kissing your ear, then softly kissing your lips.

"Come back to me." He says, like always.

"You know I will." You say, tracing the outline of his bottom lip before turning around and unlocking the door.

Neither of you choose to speak on how sad the legitimacy of that statement really is.

But that was 7 years ago and that was the first time you never came back…

A/n: And this is the first post for Haze and Hangman! Please reblog this post and give them love! Please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist and follow this blog since we're only getting started!

Tagging some friends:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@rosiahills22

@horseslovers2016

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

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divineprank · 9 months

Note

thank you for ur ganondorf essay , my crops are watered and my skin is cleared <3

Oh this was so unexpected, thank you! You have no idea how big of a smile you put on my face! I've always been a little self-conscious about all absolute freakin' novels I'm always spamming your dashboards with when it comes to Ganondorf's character and analyzing these amazing games, so this really made me feel better! I'm really glad that someone got some value from the little essay I wrote!!! Your message means a lot to me! ♥

#I have another one coming really soon too!#according to microsoft word i'm 5 pages in with 9338 characters and 23 paragraphs already #and I haven't even gotten to my point yet LOL #kneel. :: [inquiries]#out of time. :: [out of character]#dullweapons

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brayneworms · 7 months

Text

gouge away (if you want to) | johnny joestar

kinktober day ten: kissing

word count. 2.4k

content. disabled johnny, but like his prostate works, anal fingering, prostate orgasm, kissing, johnny cries after sex it's canon, gender-neutral reader, fluff, mentions of ableism, established relationship, this is sappy

♪ gouge away - pixies

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

For a while—a long while—after his accident, Johnny thought he'd never be with someone again.

A part of it was the paralysis. Okay, a big part of it was. He learns after using the chair for a bit that he sorta stops becoming a real person to most people, that their eyes just sorta slide past him. Oh no, how sad, that guy in the chair must have it so bad. Don't be rude and stare, now. Sometimes he wishes they would stare at him, like he knows they wanna. He almost finds their determination to ignore him totally more jarring.

And that's only half the problem. The other part is that even if he could find someone, his goddamn dick doesn't work anymore. Which would for sure pose a problem. So Johnny resigns himself miserably to a sexless and potentially loveless life, and pretends it doesn't make him want to die.

Still. Anyways. It all seems kinda redundant now, 'cause he's lying under the sky in the dirt with his pants halfway off, and you're—you're doing something, or you're tryin' something that Johnny is extremely skeptical about. A bit of time travelling with Gyro had taught him many times that there was a lot of things about the human body he was ignorant of, but he still can't help but be dubious of the claim you made to him a few minutes ago.

I'm gonna make you cum.

At once, a protest had risen to his lips. You can't. Almost a reflex. You'd cocked your head in inquiry, and Johnny had gone redder, down to the tips of his ears hidden by his hat. It's my—it doesn't work. Down there doesn't...

You seem to consider this for a few moments. Then you say, there's something else we can try.

You disappear inside the tent and come out with the bottle of aloe vera they'd been using to treat the burns that had blistered as a result of the unforgiving desert sun. He had red peeling skin all up his shoulders and the bridge of his nose.

He watches dubiously as you squeeze a clear, cold glob onto your fingers. "Wh—where are those goin'?"

He's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You know what a prostate is, Johnny dear?" You always call him that. Johnny dear, like it's all one word. Johnnydear. He always gripes and groans about it and then has to turn away extremely quickly to hide his flush. He's going to examine the reaction he gets when you baby him sometime, he promises himself, just not right now. He's got a lotta shit on his plate, okay? Corpses to find and such.

"N-no," he answers, stammering when you kneel between his legs and spread his thighs gently apart. He sucks in a breath; one of your fingers leaves a cool trail of aloe along the skin there.

"A prostate," you tell him patiently, like you're not situated between his naked thighs, "is a gland that people with your particular reproductory set are born with."

"You sound like Gyro," he mutters. "Kinda killing the mood a little."

"I just want to make sure you're fully informed." You roll your eyes. "It's just that you're leaking precum, see?" To his mortification, you swipe your fingers over the tip of the dick he can't feel and hold them up; under the starlight, they gleam, and he burns with embarrassment. "Means you might be able to feel it. Means I might be able to make you cum."

Johnny swallows hard. He wants—it sounds good. Sounds great. But with the hope comes that fear, an ever-present shadow. What if it doesn't work?

"Hey." You lean over him, and before Johnny can protest you've captured his lips, a slow, deliberate cling. Johnny loves kissing you. He thinks it might be his favourite thing to do, other than jockeying and he can't do that anymore, so this takes an automatic first place. He sighs and melts against you like softened butter, his hands winding themselves over your shoulder and jaw. He loves everything about it. The closeness, the slow gentle intimacy, the way you smell. That last part is probably weird, 'cause you mostly smell like sweat and leather, but Johnny likes it all the same.

You kiss for a while; one of your hand strokes soothing shapes into his ribcage. When you pull back, the panic that had been rearing up inside him has faded to a dull murmur.

"Don't get in your head about it," you whisper. "If you can't feel it, then that's that. You know I won't think less of you."

A lump rises in Johnny's throat, and he shields his eyes from the burning sun of you seein' right through him. "I know," he says, almost petulantly.

"So? Wanna give it a try?"

A part of him doesn't. A part of him is so, so scared. But a bigger part of him, the one that likes kissing you and likes the way you smell and the way you touch him and look at him and everything, really, is nodding before that first part can protest. You kiss him again with a smile, a little faster, a little dirtier this time. This is another thing Johnny likes about kissing—it can take so many different forms. Even if he did find the corpse pieces and get the use of his legs back, Johnny reckons he'd still like kissing more than real sex.

Your mouth starts moving down, sweeping the sensitive skin of his neck and collarbones, the valleys of his pectorals, a nipple. The last one makes Johnny gasp and you giggle, and he splays a palm over his face in embarrassment. You coax such stupid noises outta him. But you seem to enjoy it, so whatever.

Down, down, down. Somewhere between his navel and his pubic bone he stops feeling it. But it still somehow feels sorta nice, which doesn't make a whole lotta sense but it does to him, so. He watches you between his fingers as you reach between his legs, he thinks prodding.

You look up at him. "I'm going to put a finger in, okay?"

Johnny nods eagerly. "Don't gotta tell me. I won't feel it."

You roll your eyes. "I'm still gonna tell you. We can stop whenever, okay?"

"Okay," Johnny says impatiently, and wiggles his hips. You smack his hipbone playfully, which does nothing to temper his brattiness on account of him not feelin' a fuckin' thing. Then you get a quiet, serious, concentrated look on your face that Johnny usually only sees when you're fighting. Or when he's making you cum. That expression, more than any of your words or hesitation, it what makes him quiet down and take it serious.

There's a silence that stretches on. Johnny supposes you must be doin' something, considering the slight furrow he can see between your brows and the achingly careful, gradual movement of your wrist. Finally, after about a minute, you look up at him.

"My finger's in," you tell him, and Johnny bites his lip.

"Can't feel it," he says. He's starting to think this was a really bad idea.

"Just lemme—hold on," you say, and your wrist moves a little, and then—

Johnny keens. He feels, he fuckin' feels so much that it lights him up from the inside and sets his nerves alight, some part deep inside him that he didn't even know existed 'till five minutes ago and it's so good it immediately brings tears to his eyes.

"Oh," he says like he's surprised, and he is, apparently so much so that it's all he can say. "O-oh, oh, oh—"

Your finger retracts back into nothingness, and Johnny bites back a sob. "Johnny?" you ask worriedly. "Did you—is it too much?"

"No, no," he babbles, feeling incoherent already. You brush his hair back from his face with your free hand, the one that ain't inside him, your thumb stroking over his cheek. "It was—fuck, felt so weird. But good. Really, really good. Can you—are you gonna do it again?"

"Will if you want me to," you answer lovingly, and Johnny is biting back another sob for a whole different reason. "Might be a bit intense, Johnny dear. You sure you wanna?"

"Yes, yeah." He stares up at you beseechingly, feeling a bit pathetic but also too far gone to give a shit. "Please, I wanna—I wanna feel it again."

You nod, leaning over to kiss him again. Johnny relaxes into the embrace, losing himself in the familiar touch of your lips, the smell of you, taking the bite out of his surge of panic—and then with no warning you're brushing against that spot inside him again and he's moaning into your mouth, loud and unrestrained. It's pitchy and startled, and your free hand cups the back of his head as he pulls away in shock.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ," he swears, slamming his head back against the dirt. "O-oh, oh god, ohgodohgod—"

"Still good?" you ask, and your fingers made a weird sort of curling motion and it occurs to Johnny that you're movin' them in and out, sort of like you would if you were actually fucking him, and the thought makes him flush so hard he feels feverish. You're fucking him. You're fucking him.

He nods deliriously. "Mhm, yeah," he gasps out, feeling breathless, feeling giddy. "Don't stop, feels so fuckin' good, oh my god."

Your fingers press into him over and over like you're ringin' a bell, and all the while you kiss him and for the first time in ages Johnny feels that both parts of his body are equal. The bottom half has come alive under your jackhammering fingers, the top half consumed by you and your kiss. The kissing makes it so much better, 'cause Johnny reckons if anyone else had their fingers in his ass he'd probably hate it even if they were touching his whatdidyoucallit like that and making him feel amazing. He'd hate it 'cause they wouldn't be you.

The kissing reminds him it's you. The chaps on your lips, the smell of you, the feel of your face and skin, your body pressing into his. It's so all consuming it makes him wanna cry, in a good way, in a weird way. Your fingers move faster and weirder, and Johnny starts making those stupid oh! oh! noises again, stifling them against your mouth, and your tongue presses in and you swallow them whole.

All too soon, Johnny feels a weird tightening, one he hasn't felt since before the incident. He feels a constriction of panic, his fingers clutching at your clothing. "I—hah!—I f-feel weird."

"Bad weird?" Your fingers slow down, nearly stop, and Johnny whines.

"No, no, good weird, good," he pants. "Move again, fuck."

You pick up the pace; Johnny shudders, tensing in your hold all over again. He feels like he's burning, like he's sweating out everything bad he's ever felt.

"Do you mean you're gonna cum?" you ask, your voice lower this time, so close to Johnny's ear it makes him shiver. The harsh brush of your chapped lips against the soft skin there makes his body feel electric.

"I think," he whispers, eyes screwing shut. "Sorry—oh—I think, yeah."

"Don't feel sorry," you tell him almost sternly. "I want to see you cum, Johnny. Wanna see you cum so hard your pretty little head goes blank. You deserve it, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps out. "I deserve it."

What you do next with your fingers is almost brutal in the wracks of shivering pleasure it sends simmering through Johnny's body; every curl of them has him writhing and gasping and moaning, he must sound so stupid but you seem to be liking it and fuck, he's liking it, he likes feeling a little stupid and helpless while you take care of him and he's definitely gonna have to unpack that, but later, 'cause—

"I'm gonna cum," he gasps, hands flying out to curl in your clothing. "Baby, baby, I'm gonna cum, I—kiss me? Kiss me, okay, I wanna, oh, oh oh oh—"

You crash your lips together, and your fingers curl up one last lingering time and Johnny shatters. White stars explode over his vision, shatter inside his head, and for a split second it feels like every cell in his body freezes up and screams and dies. He's vaguely aware of some long, drawn-out, breathless noise he's making and the way you swallow it with your mouth.

It takes several seconds for him to come back down to earth. When he does it's to the sensation of you running your fingers through his hair and pressing soft, feathery kisses to his cheeks.

He pants like a dog. When you see his blue eyes on you, you sit up, seem to retract your fingers from between his legs. Your image starts to blur, and Johnny sees your expression crease in concern. He realises he's crying. Not like, actually, not like he's got something to be upset about. He's just... tearing up. Like someone's turned a faucet on behind his eyes and just left it there. He pushes the heels of his hands into the sockets and presses down, willing it to stop, willing the overwhelming feeling blooming in his chest to deflate.

"Hey, hey." Your voice, low and soothing, pressed into his hair, your arms holding him tightly. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says almost angrily. "I'm fine. Dunno why I'm—fuck. Sorry. I'm good, I promise I'm good. That was... so, so good."

Your expression of concern gives way slightly. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Johnny sucks in a shaky, wet breath. "Thanks. Thank you. I didn't even... I didn't even know I could feel like that anymore. Not just 'cause of—you know." He gestures vaguely to the lower half of his body. "All of it. Like, I didn't think anyone would wanna—while I'm still like this. And I—I figured I didn't deserve it, or something. But... it was really good."

Your smile is a little sad. "I'm glad, Johnny dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now that we know it works, we can do it again. And again, and again." He flushes, and you laugh sweetly, and Johnny could just die to the sound of it. "Still, we should get some rest for tonight. Gyro will skin us alive if we oversleep again."

You're right, of course. Johnny lets you maneuvre him onto his sleeping skin, and you unroll yours right next to him. When you do, Johnny reaches for you, clinging like a damn insect. But you don't seem to mind, 'cause you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him in even closer. He tucks his head into your shoulder.

He thinks that he'll get to kiss you tomorrow, too.

His sleep is dreamless and deep.

#🫀.scribes #jjba smut #jjba x reader #johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar smut #jojo x reader #jojo smut #jjba x dom!reader #dom!reader #dom reader #jjba x dom reader #jjba x gn reader #jjba x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #braynes kinktober 23

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theold-ultraviolence · 1 year

Note

pls write something about the reader measuring aemond so they can get his measurements but it turns spicy 🙏😩 thank you so much i love your works!!

Lovers

Aemond Targaryen x seamstress!reader

Summary: Something stirs in prince Aemond's trousers when you're taking the measurement of his legs. A sequel to With Him, At All Times but it can be read as a stand-alone. A part 3 of this will be coming soon! A/N: Dear anon, thank you for your patience and your support to this story!! I hope this was worth the wait! x CW: oral sex (m) receiving. Fluff and Smut. Words: 2.5k. Seamstress!reader masterlist

Trembling hands struggle to untangle your old measuring tape, as you kneel before prince Aemond.

While now an ordinary task, this never fails to make your heart speed. Like a sturdy thread, the novelty of having Aemond here like this will never wane – the tension between the two of you, stretching endlessly from its spool.

The night of his name day, when you'd gifted him a brand new eyepatch and he'd thank you with a kiss and a promise to return to you after the festivities held at the Red Keep, had been a night of overflowing wine and laughter, of warmth and hopeful gazes and timid touches that have gotten a little bit bolder with time until a full year has passed now, with the two of you teetering on the tightrope suspended above a pool of desire in which none of you had dived in just yet.

You know his measurements by heart; he’s been in your shop countless times, and not just as a customer anymore.

But when there is a fitting to be made, he’s always asking for a little adjustment here, for you to add a specific accessory there, to make the clothes looser, or tighter, and so on and so forth, making it absolutely necessary for you to stand close to him and touch him.

You’ve started to think he’s doing this on purpose – if his knowing smirk is any indication of it.

Those sneaky dimples, that glint in his eye…the prince is taunting you, testing you, waiting for you to cave in first, either because he’s got his honor to uphold, or because he’s just as scared as you.

But you can’t.

The gallows look bright from here.

The sound of that blade is sharp, as you’re finally able to extend your tape across the prince’s long legs, see his muscles tensing beneath his trousers. As you rise to note the measurements from his hip to his knee, you’re face to face with Aemond’s bulge, and oh, but the flesh is weak.

You’re an inch away from caving – salivating as you look up at Aemond and find him gazing at you intensely.

You open up your mouth to speak but your eyes are stirred from the prince’s to something shifting by your eyesight.

When you turn your head, he’s fully hard, constraining his pants.

You gulp down and look up once more, meeting him flustered and blushing, shaking his head and poorly trying to cover himself with his hands.

"Forgive me, my lady! I did not mean for this to happen!”

You gently take his hands and give them a reassuring squeeze, still kneeling before him.

“Aemond, it’s okay…” you gaze at him longingly, whispering, “it’s okay.”

He merely looks at you perplexed, as you tentatively rub his thumbs with your own for a long moment, neither of you speaking.

Your eyes briefly look at his erection, then to his eye as he towers above you, as if with a silent inquiry.

He closes his eye and lets out a breath while tightly holding on to your hands before he finally speaks in a hushed tone, as soft as velvet.

“My lady, it is no secret that what I feel for you runs deeper than a customer and supplier, or friends. I’m attracted to you, my lady, deeply so.”

Time stops the moment these words leave his gorgeous lips – which, from here, look all pouty and full and so kissable. Your hold on his hands is the only thing that’s keeping you from floating towards the clouds above.

And it must be a puppet master in your head that’s maneuvering the strings that guide your actions, for you never imagined yourself bold enough to do so – a mere seamstress, always alone in your little shop, with no real experience in this arena. Yet here goes, with a deep intake of breath…

“Perhaps my prince and dear friend would like to know the depth of my own feelings?” You whisper seductively. “Maybe I could…show him?”

Fuck, you hope it’s not too bold, you hope you haven’t ruined this, fuck, fuck fuck…

…But his gaping mouth and bated breath grant you all the confirmation that you need, all the reassurance. He gives your hands a loving squeeze before he gulps down and replies, “my lady…whatever you’ll give me I’ll gladly take. Only if you’re comfortable.”

“I am.” Your response is firm, even if you’re burning up inside, even if your hands are shaking like they do when you’ve been sewing endless piles of clothing on sleepless nightss.

A thought, as soft and soothing as a cloud passing through the scorching rays of your want, helps to calm down your nerves.

He’s Aemond. Your Aemond.

When he’s here, he’s adamant in letting you know that he’s not a Targaryen prince, but only a man. Your friend.

Your constant companion and confidant, whom you’ve trusted with pieces of your soul you’d never before shared with anyone else, just as he has.

You tenderly release his hands, but take one of his wrists in your hold, guiding his fingers until you brush them ever so softly with your lips – so softly that Aemond feels as if he’s carding a hand along rose petals.

You kiss each pad of his finger tenderly, moving up to each strong tendon until you flip his hand up to kiss the inside of his wrist, right at his vibrant pulse point, letting your lips linger as you look up at him.

He sighs as he cradles your face with that palm, letting it rest against your cheek as you nuzzle his thigh.

This close, you inhale his wonderful scent. He always smells like leather and smoke and something earthy that’s indescribable but entirely his – a scent you’d bottle up and keep at all times with you.

As you nuzzle his thigh, your hand strokes his other – up and down and in circular motions, inching closer and closer to his bulge.

You look up at him as your hand lands on his erection, reverently palming it as you marvel at the sheer size of it and how solid he feels.

“May I?” you murmur, meeting his bright eye intently, without stopping the motions of your hand.

“Please…”

He’s so quiet, you barely even hear him. His answer is reinforced by him caressing your hair, guiding your head to him; he gives your earlobe an affectionate rub before he begins to unclasp his jacket and shoulder it off, leaving him in a light linen shirt that he lifts up to his midriff, generously exposing his skin for you.

You rise to see his sculpted abdomen, that taut road of his navel, framed by protruding hip bones; his milky skin has your mouth watering and your fingers taking even longer in unlatching his trousers, that you pull down, inch by inch, revealing a sight that you’d only ever dreamed of before.

His cock is as beautiful and intimidating as the rest of him. He’s big – and you had already guessed it, but seeing him up close is something else. He’s thicker at the base, where he’s nestled among fine silver-blonde pubic hair – that’s inexplicably endearing to you – curving elegantly with a ruddy, glistening tip.

With one hand, he keeps his linen shirt bunched up to his middle, while the other returns to the back of your head ever so fondly, guiding you to him.

The stare with which you look up at him screams of your lack of experience – of your sudden cluelessness as to how to even proceed. Aemond just smiles kindly, then takes himself in hand, fisting the base of his cock so that it would remain in place for you.

While this might be a little bit frightening, you remind yourself that so it had been taking over your father’s business, and you’d gained experience in your trade by pure instinct and practice. You figure this wouldn’t be different.

You lean closer, one hand supporting yourself on his thigh, while the other takes over Aemond’s fist, beginning to stroke him up and down experimentally, using his leaking precum to aid in the deliberate gliding of your hand.

A shaky exhale escapes you at the sensation of having him in your hand, the way his veins pulse, how his skin is silky smooth yet scalding hot and throbbing – and his scent, so heady and musky and so addicting it makes you bite your lip to prevent more moans from escaping.

At night, when you’ve fantasized about what it would be like to be intimate with a man like this, you’ve sometimes recoiled at the idea of oral sex – wondered if it would be unpleasant or weird, but this is beyond what you could’ve imagined, because it’s him.

It’s his essence – a sacred part of him that he’s allowed you to touch, to feel and smell…to taste.

Gods, do you ache to taste him.

You timidly open your mouth, resting your tongue on your bottom lip on instinct as you take in his delicate head inside your mouth; he feels heavier like this, prompting you to open up wider to take him, as you swallow more and more of his thick length – being mindful of your teeth.

You must be doing this right for he tightens up his hold in your hair and groans while tilting his head back.

His abdomen contracts, his chest heaves, and those wet sounds of him gulping saliva down his throat and hissing could have you climaxing right here without even touching yourself.

Guttural moans spill from your throat in response, which vibrate in his cock and in turn make his eye screw shut and teeth bite into his lips so hard he might draw blood.

It’s intoxicating, how all it takes to have prince Aemond weak at the knees is to have your mouth enveloping his cock, his length down your throat as you suck him vigorously.

The longer this goes on, the more you grow both confident and desperate in equal amounts, making you bob your head faster, clawing at his thigh for purchase as you look at him with a glazed look, all teary eyed and sinful.

His hold on your head gets rougher as his hips start buckling up – “relax your jaw, dear love…”

Your heart soars out of your chest while your cunt flutters because of his actions and words.

With a slack jaw, you let yourself be used, let Aemond fuck himself into your eager mouth, which glistens as mixed precum and drool run down to your chin.

On pure instinct, you hollow out your cheeks which makes him growl in surprise, and plead, “more! please, do that again.”

Obediently, you hollow out your cheeks as he keeps fucking your mouth and and moaning from the tightness, the suction, the fucking lewd sounds you make as you gag around him and gasp for air when he slips out of you.

“Dear love, I’m so close…I’m so close, please.” He urges, and you tighten up your grip around the base of him and concentrate the press of your tongue on the underside of his cockhead, licking on the jutting vein that traverses his length with force, sucking him unabashedly and moaning with depravity, lost in your own forbidden lust for the prince.

You come up for air again and gasp against his head, “please, my darling, please,” it sounds like you’re weeping, before swallowing him whole again, until your nose nearly touches his pubic hair – feasting on him until you can feel him shooting up his load inside your mouth, which you gulp down audibly, drinking and drinking and drinking until there’s not a drop left.

You come off of him panting, feeling like you’ve just surged up to the surface from underwater and you’re desperate for air.

With your head dropping on his thigh, you nuzzle his sweaty skin before you feel his callused hands brushing your hair back, caressing you with such care and affection you’d gladly remain on your knees forever, all for Aemond.

Your Aemond.

The sound of blades crashing down onto the necks of thieves and beggars is muted by your shared breath and the ringing of your ears, but it’s there nevertheless, withholding you from fully accepting what’s just happened, and what more could there be.

His blushing face and dripping sweat tug at the poorly sewn stitches of your heart. “My prince…Aemond. We cannot –”

“ – What can’t we do, my lady?”

That firm tone yanks you from your worries; he offers you a hand to help you stand, and when you meet face to face, he cradles your neck, holding your gaze directly.

“You know full well what, Aemond. You’re a prince. I’m a common seamstress,” you lament, “we could never be together.”

“Dear lady, I can do whatever I want, be with whoever I want, I don’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks. Titles do not matter to me; what matters to me is what lies in your heart and your mind. All I care about is your consent. No one else’s.”

The resolve in his voice makes you believe that anything is possible. That the sky is within reach and fire does not kill. That anyone could ride a dragon, even someone without Valyrian blood.

But you can.

And maybe no repercussions would come out of this affair with the prince.

What is love without trust?

With your heart stuck in your throat, and tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you whisper, “promise we’ll be safe?”

“No harm will ever come to you as long as I live, my love. I promise.”

Like a spell, he seals his words with a kiss.

A kiss that seems to last the entirety of the evening, until the sky outside turns indigo before fading to black and ushering you two to your bed, where time suspends and titles disappear, except for those given to two people intertwined in the way that Aemond and you are.

Lovers.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #seamstress!reader #reader insert #fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #my writing #aemond targaryen smut

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scent73 · 4 months

Text

REAL FAGGOT FOR IRL USE AND ABUSE

I am a depraved and disgusting faggot. I exist to serve men—don’t care about your race, age, weight, appearance, endowment, or status. I seek use and abuse IRL.

I have few limits: No children, no animals, no drugs, no blood. and no scars. I am not looking for a master, but will gladly serve them and ALL other men.

Serious men seeking to use and abuse a faggot IRL should message me.

Why am I depraved and disgusting? Because there is VERY LITTLE I WON’T DO.

I am a cumdump and accept ALL raw loads in ANY hole. My cunt accepts cum, piss, and spit. Used condoms and frozen cum make fine lube, but fresh cum is the best.

My throat was made to be fucked too. Rough, merciless throat pounding is what my mouth is here for. Stuff it with your cock, your fingers, your feet.

Or shove your dirty, sweaty, stinking socks, jocks, and underwear down it to gag me. Make me lick your dirty sneakers and feet clean.

My mouth is a urinal and toilet. It is a sewer for your piss, spit, and shit. Piss down my throat.

Take a shit in my mouth. Smother my face in your dirty ass and make me lick it clean. Have me kneel as you take a shit on the toilet—sucking your cock as your stink fills the bowl—and then use my tongue as your toilet paper.

Fart in my mouth as I eat your hole.

Force me to clean the bathroom floor and your toilet with my tongue. Drag me to a public restroom—nastier the better and reeking of piss and shit—and laugh at my humiliation as I lick clean the toilets, and spit on me as I drink the stale piss from the urinals.

Force me to drink sock tea—soaking your nastiest socks in your piss, steeping them until every last particle of dirt, sweat, cum is mingled with your piss—and then watch as I drink every last drop.

Lock my useless fag dick in chastity. Screw in a urethral plug or catheter. Kick, slap or punch my balls and trample on my nuts. Crush my locked nub with boot. Torture my cock, balls and ass. Delight in my pain and agony, and feel disgust at how I beg you for more.

Restrain me as you slide a urethral sound down my piss slit and attach electrodes to my balls so you can send surges of electricity through my body.

Slap me and punch me in the gut. Whip me like the worthless faggot I am.

Use me as your slave, as an object. Make me clean your home, do your laundry, serve you meals and beverages, wait on you hand and foot. Enjoy yourself as I massage your body. Use me as a footstool.

Make me eat and drink of the floor. Whore me out to your friends and strangers. Humiliate and ridicule me.

I have few limits. No children, no animals, no drugs, no blood. and no scars. I am not looking for a master, but will gladly serve them. I am a slut and a faggot. I exist to serve all men.

Serious inquiries should message me.

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moodymisty · 5 months

Note

May I request Vulkan taking care of his pregnant S/O and just over all being cute and fluffy?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Ahhh, it's about time someone asked for Vulkan. This is about as fluffy as I can make WH without completely losing the plot. I mean, we're in this hellpit for a reason, aren't we? Apologies for any offness for Vulkan, I'm still lore reading for him and his legion.

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy/Tokophobia warning, General 40kness but overall pretty bland and fluffy

Word Count: 935

A clash of blades, the sound of a ceramite gauntlet hitting a chestplate with inhuman force- Salamanders fight one on one in the large open space. The sky high above grumbles and threatens to downpour, but it hasn't smothered the Salamanders' fire just yet. Not that it isn't trying, with the smell in the air and the cold, moist wind on your skin.

You watch them, hearing the ringing of metal on metal and blood drip onto the stone ground as you wrap your arms tighter around yourself in the chill. Your rounded stomach serves to be the perfect place to rest them.

"Mother,"

You don't respond to the title right away, head only darting to the right once you see a massive pair of dark green boots enter your downturned vision.

You don't think you'll ever get used to being called that. Particularly with the prose that the Salamanders use. Not all of them use the familial title, but enough do that it still feels almost overwhelming. You wonder if Vulkan felt the same way, at first.

"Should you not be resting?"

Your eyes travel up the massive Astartes, up to a face staring down at you stoic and neutral, head tilted with the slightest curiosity. He turns away from you however, when you both hear another voice laugh at the Astarte's inquiry.

"If she will not listen to me about rest, she will surely not listen to you either."

Vulkan comes closer, his massive hand covers your shoulder and you purse your lips while shaking your head.

"I don't want to spend months stuck in a room. Can I not watch them spar for a few moments?"

You might not have many more chances to, if your child grows any larger. It's already a pain to do tasks that were menial not long ago. Though you can't complain, given the unsurprising nature. The child's father is a Primarch that towers over you, after all.

A Salamander gets toppled over by his opponent, but quickly regains his footing as you watch him defend himself. The man that had first approached you excuses himself, taking his exit and leaving you and his Primarch largely alone. Barely anyone would be able to hear you over the sounds of metal ringing, from both weapon and armor alike.

"We only worry for you."

Vulkan's gaze is soft, hand still firmly on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. But as much as they do worry about your health, it also seems that his men get a pride in them, at their Legion Mother being here.

Vulkan could tell when you had first arrived that his sons rose just a bit higher, shoulders squared just a bit more, and even though they always fight with their all, Vulkan could tell they went just a bit farther beyond.

Taking to a kneel in front of you, the massive Primarch places the hand that was once on your shoulder on your stomach, despite him being unable to feel with the armor of his gauntlet impeding. It's the symbolism of the gesture that he desires foremost. Your body relaxes a bit.

"And how is the little one now?"

It will always strike you how incredibly gentle he can be despite his size and the sheer power contained within it. It must surely be a conscious effort to do so.

"Well, according to the apothecary." He looks towards you, and his hand once again moves to the side of your jaw. You lean into the surprisingly warm armor. His thumb brushes against your skin.

"And how are you?"

The question makes you laugh, for some odd reason. He doesn't ask why and simply waits for your answer.

"Tired. Aching. The fresh air is nice, though." Vulkan smiles.

"Your intuition was right, it seems." He's referencing your concern from a few months back, about your worry of the child of a Primarch taking a toll on your body. You grumble largely to yourself.

"One of the few times I hate being right."

The comment makes Vulkan struggle to hide a smile behind stoic expression. He worries underneath it; For your health, the health of the child, and so many more things. But you worry enough. As you should, you're the one who's health and strength is being tested every day by simply holding a such a life within you. He has never voiced these things- he wishes to be your strength whenever yours might falter.

You consider maybe returning to your private quarters, finally heeding Vulkan's advice to rest despite your complaints, until you notice a unique set of armor among the sea of deep green. It makes you perk up and curious look to see if your first inclination was correct. Vulkan follows your gaze, raising up to his full height.

"Commander Artelleus is going to join them?"

The commander of the Pyre Guard is nothing short of a violent force of nature, in stark contract to his surprisingly selfless nature. Any step you might've made to leave is taken back and idea abandoned.

"I'll stay just a bit longer then."

Vulkan laughs. Surely the commander with have his pride warmed when he tells him of your comment. But for Vulkan, casual, purehearted curiosity even in the face of such violence and brutality will always be one of his favorite things about you. Many times had you kept him company by his forge, even before he called you his beloved.

Vulkan gently moves to pick you up, sitting on his arm. Your hand grips the edge of his pauldron as you sigh at the feeling of your weight being taken off your legs.

"Very well."

#vulkan x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer40k x reader #Vulkan/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 4 months

Text

VH - Meet the Wife

Vampire Hero was insufferable. All his foes agreed on that.

So, after Supervillain escaped, the first thing he wanted was revenge. It was easy to locate Hero – it was not like this smug bastard was hiding. Currently, Supervillain was watching him by one of the windows of his home.

It was a nice scene, if a tad melodramatic. Hero was sitting by the bed – and yes, he was kneeling – holding the hand of a pretty woman who didn’t react. Supervillain knew that she wouldn’t. He had made an inquiry about her. She was Hero’s wife, and she'd been cursed.

“It’s a sleeping spell, and it’s not curable for now”, he’d heard from one of Hero’s colleagues. “She’s only awake one or two hours, poor guy. He basically turned good for her sake.”

Supervillain’s reasoning was simple. If you couldn’t attack your foe directly, you went for the weak spot. A hero annoys you, you kill his wife, the hero goes mad with grief, that was a classical story. He had a nice view from the window. She really looked like one of these virginal princesses you see in these old fairy tales books. It was not hard to imagine the girl with her hands clasped, pleading for the life of the innocents until her man relented. Yes, it would be fun to rip her into pieces.

After a while, Hero went off. Breaking into the place after that was easy. Supervillain opened the door, checked a couple of rooms, and smiled. He didn’t have to be careful. Even if the wife would wake up, she looked frail even wrapped in blankets. He tilted his head, looked at her, wondered if that was worth gloating when no one could hear him, then shrugged and stabbed his victim.

“Zdiiiiiiiingbonnng”

Supervillain’s eyebrow went up his hairline. He removed the blankets, leaving the body covered with only a silk gown, and tried again. The result was the same. The dress was damaged, but the blade bounced on the skin. Supervillain squinted.

Two purple eyes slowly blinked and stared at him. A skinny hand brushed over the hole in her dress. The wife yawned.

“Are you the delivery man ?” she asked.

Supervillain straightened up.

“I’ve come to deliver a message to your husband”, he answered. “I will not rest until I’m avenged.”

“Avenged ? You didn’t get a tip ?”

“I’m your husband’s mortal foe.”

She laughed.

“No, you’re not. You’re food.”

She opened her mouth, and Supervillain just had time to see a glint of her razor-sharp teeth before she bit his neck. That didn’t last long. After the first sip, she rejected him with disgust. Her thin arms threw him away much farther than the laws of physics should have permitted. He landed in the middle of the room, and not too softly.

“How dare you,” she said with a voice low enough to make the ground shiver. “You’re not even worth eating. A couple of centuries ago, young man, I wouldn’t even have wanted your head in a spike near my castle.”

Supervillain crawled back in the direction of the main door. She stepped towards him with as much enthusiasm as one would throw the trash out, but she stopped. Her eye had caught a note stuck on the fridge. Supervillain squinted. The note said: “Please don’t kill or maim in the house sweetheart ♡ (because of my job)”

The wife clucked her tongue and sighed, but reluctantly stayed still. Supervillain’s pride got the better of him. He stood up, dusting his cape, squared his shoulders and groaned:

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. You might be strong, but I’ve wiped out cities. Once the country was nearly in my grasp. It takes talent. It takes guts. It takes more than powers that were given to you on a silver plate.”

“Nearly ?”

She gave him a look of absolute contempt and went back to bed:

“Don’t boast about your failures, little man, and leave me be.”

Incredulous, he watched her getting back to sleep, putting on her face something to shield her eyes from the light. It looked like a mask, and not a normal sleep mask, but a huge, heavy thing that glittered. As a vampire, he supposed she didn’t need to breathe, but still, it didn’t look comfortable. He stepped forward to take a better look. It was in metal all right, and it was a grimacing face of a demon.

His blood ran cold. He already saw that mask. It was depicted on a book he had as a teen, about the dark and evil rulers of the ancient times. “The Iron Death”, said the legend. “The gory story of an evil empress who drowned her captives in the blood of their subjects, and sought to be turned into a vampire so she would keep her empire forever.”

He shook his head in disbelief. It was an old tale, a story from at least a couple of centuries ago. And the Iron Death had been vanquished by a vampire hunter who had...oh.

Who had put her to sleep eternally.

He suddenly felt a drop of sweat on his forehead, but he grunted for good measure:

“Right. Like I’m going to believe that. Where’s your consort, Iron Death? Where’s your cruel prince who tortured for his entertainment?”

“The Hero agency offered him money to look after me if he worked for them”, answered the low voice of the lady. “My poor darling didn’t enjoy the scream of his victims as much as before. He’s changed his hobbies. You do that after a while. But I didn’t. Get out.”

Supervillain ran.

Vampire Hero is now a recurring character. His job is to troll current villains. (Yes, I know he technically doesn't appear here, but it still counts.) Check the Vampire Hero Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with him.

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trentsgirl · 11 months

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any chance you would think about carrying on with the “you’re adorable when you sleep” its got me hooked!! Or just would love to read more jude things 🤍

— 🐇⋆⭒˚｡⋆

⟡ summary: you and jude are both academics rivals, and he has his eyes set on you.

⟡ content: fluff, but a little bit of kissing in the end.

⟡ tag list: @luciddy @pampeop

⟡ part one — part two.

⟡ masterlist.

a yawn escapes your lips as exhaustion takes its toll, causing you to rub your tired eyes. the need for sleep is overwhelming, but the impending assignment from your english professor demands your attention.

sipping on your fifth cup of coffee, you can’t help but feel the lingering impatience from the café employees, as everyone else has already left, leaving you as the sole customer.

the clock strikes midnight, and frustration washes over you as you realize you’re not even halfway through the essay. you curse under your breath, feeling utterly helpless, and in a moment of frustration, you bang your head against the keyboard.

“you forgot to mention the cause of the word, that’ll give you five hundred words or more,” startled, you look up to see someone standing next to you.

you were greeted by jude, wearing his signature arrogant grin. you notice his sculpted muscles, showcased by his tight black shirt, paired with dark sweatpants.

“you scared me,” you say, glancing away and pressing your palm against your chest, feeling your heart racing. jude chuckles lightly before kneeling down to pick up your backpack.

“what’re you doing?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow in surprise. jude dismisses your inquiry and begins to pack your laptop and notebooks into your backpack. once he’s finished, he effortlessly slings the bag over his shoulder.

“c’mon,” he says, concern evident in his voice. “you can barely keep your eyes open.” jude extends his arm to you, and cautiously, you grasp it, allowing him to support you.

“why are you doing this?” you query, your voice laced with exhaustion as you walk alongside him.

“clearly, the workers want to start cleaning up and close up as soon as possible,” he says with a hint of amusement. “you’re kinda getting in their way.”

“whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes in response.

minutes later, you find yourself back at your dorm, accompanied by jude. despite the fact that his own dorm is on the other side of campus, he insisted on walking you back to ensure your safety.

silently, Jude takes the keys from your backpack and opens the door without uttering a word. leaning against jude, eyes closed, you struggle to maintain your balance as exhaustion takes over.

shaking his head with an amused smile, jude lifts you up in a bridal-style hold and carries you into the dorm.

fotunately, your roommate happened to be away for a week, visiting her family, sparing you the need to explain the situation to her.

a few seconds later, you sink into the softness of your mattress. the blanket is gently pulled over your body, and the room is enveloped in darkness as the lights are switched off.

exhaustion takes over, and you instantly fall into a deep sleep, completely unaware that jude has yet to leave your dorm.

you awaken abruptly, still half in a daze, sensing movement on your bed. shifting slightly, you peer up to find jude sitting on the side of your bed, leaning against the wall, with your laptop resting on his lap. the glow of the screen illuminates his face in the dimly lit room.

“jude?” you utter quietly, but loud enough to get his attention. “what’re you still doing here?”you inquire, curiosity and confusion evident in your voice.

“helping you,” he replies simply.

“helping me?” you repeat, still clueless and seeking clarification.

he turns the laptop towards you, revealing that he has been working on your english essay. “you’re doing my essay?” you ask, slowly sitting up in surprise.

“yeah, yours was pretty bad,” he comments bluntly, causing you to raise an eyebrow in response.

you crawl beside him, rolling your eyes, eager to see his work. after all, you didn’t entrust your assignment to a boy with the brains of a kindergartener.

flabbergasted, you look over his work and can’t believe how excellent it is. you stare at him, demanding to know why he’s so talented at writing.

“writing is the only thing i’m good at,” he says with a shrug. “that’s why i always ace my essays."

“holy shit,” you exhale, impressed by his skills. “i’ll pay you if you can help me with all six of my missing essays,” you suggest, realizing the value of his writing abilities.

“how much are we talking about?” he asks.

“fifty?” you answer.

he appears to consider your offer for a moment before shaking his head. you couldn’t believe that he was the one turning down fifty euros. “what? why not?” you exclaim in disbelief.

“i prefer to do it for free,” he says with a smile.

you raise both eyebrows, taken aback by his unexpected response. locked in a prolonged gaze, it feels as if time stands still, and you find yourself unable to look away from his intense gaze.

he gently cups your face, his thumbs softly caressing your skin. in an instant, his lips meet yours, and your mind spins with a mix of surprise and desire. it takes a moment to register that you are kissing jude, but the sensation is undeniably incredible, leaving you unable to resist the intensity of the moment.

your mouth opens, your lips part, and jude isn’t one to pass up an opportunity. his tongue explores your mouth, and you gasp into the kiss, your heart racing.

after taking the laptop from his lap, he simply picks you up and positions you on his lap, his legs squeezed between your thighs.

indulging in a few more tender kisses, jude gently withdraws, his captivating gaze fixed upon you. “i see you kept the note,” he remarks, gesturing towards your refrigerator with a subtle nod of his head.

as you turn around, your eyes catch sight of the note that jude had given you. it is placed on the fridge door, secured with love-shaped magnets.

“i didn’t know where else to put it,” you admit, feeling a bit embarrassed by your choice of location for the note.

“keep it there,” he smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i like it.”

#trentsgirl—work! 🪐⋆｡°✩#fanfic rec🦢#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #football #football fanfic #football fluff #england football

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