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wineauntie · 3 months

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ahhh how would Father’s Day be with single!mother x Quinn and evie?

FATHER’S DAY — Quinn Hughes x single!mom reader

summary: in which, Evie gets to celebrate her very first Father’s Day and Quinn gets to be at the centre of it.

note: thank you so much for this ask, lovely! more of these three because they have my heart <33

warnings: literally nothing major, just heartwarming fluff. Quinn being the best dad, use of y/n, y/n/n, nicknames like bug, darling and love.

word count: 2.5k+

Father's Day had always been a rocky territory for you and Evie, especially before you'd introduced her to Quinn. You remembered so clearly when she was two, that she had come home from kindergarten with a Father's Day card, telling you "daddy card, daddy card!" over and over again. You had to break it to her that there was no "daddy" to give that card to.

The topic of Evie's father wasn't one you liked to think about. You were childhood sweethearts and when you found out you were pregnant, he was the first one you'd told. You'd expected tears and perhaps a bit of uncertainty, the two of you had often discussed a life beyond what the two of you had and that included children and marriage. You'd rushed over to his house as soon as the test had shown positive, brandishing the stick in your hand when he'd opened the door. You hadn't really known what else to do...you were still relatively young and this pregnancy wasn't necessarily planned.

He'd dumped you on the spot.

Actually no...he'd told you to get rid of "it" and then he'd dumped you...all while dropping the nuclear bomb of knowledge that he'd been sleeping with your best friend.

You'd frozen, not even flinching when the door slammed in your face. You'd gone into autopilot making your way back home and once you'd entered the safety of the four walls, you'd finally broken down.

It was safe to say that Evie's biological father wasn't a topic you wished to dwell upon.

But then you'd met Quinn and all of a sudden, every single definition of a dad seemed to befit him– it was something Evie had noticed too.

So when Evie was four and calling Quinn "dad" more often than not, the celebrations of Father's Day now seemed more appealing.

"Mom, Mom!"

You turned around from your place at the counter as Evie bounded into the apartment, her backpack swinging on her shoulders as she rushed to hug your legs.

"Hey, baby," you hummed, wrapping your arms around her, and stroking her hair as she looked up at you. "How was school?"

"Mom, I have a secret," Evie whispered as much as she could, giggling as you tilted your head in wonder. Your daughter tucked herself into your side with a smile across her face while Quinn entered the kitchen behind Evie, his keys swinging from his fingers.

"I swear that pickup line gets bigger by the day," he sighed, but despite his exasperated words, the soft smile reserved for you and Evie remained steady on his face. He placed the keys in a ceramic bowl before bending down and poking Evie's cheek lightly. "I'll need to start bringing a bed and pyjamas with me at this rate."

"Dad, that's silly!" Evie giggled heartily as she practically fizzed in her spot. Quinn's smile widened as he ruffled her hair before moving upwards to come face to face with you.

"Hey," Quinn spoke again, his voice low as he pressed a kiss to your welcoming lips. You hummed in response, your hand resting on his cheeks as he kissed you.

"Ew! Mom, Dad, stop!" Evie squirmed and broke free from where she'd become trapped and basically ran away screaming, her hands thrown up into the air.

You and Quinn fell into a fit of laughter, breaking apart to watch Evie disappear into her room. He pressed another chaste kiss to your temple before he flicked the switch on the kettle. You tidied up your laptop, which you'd been working on before they arrived home, tucking it aside, before picking up Evie's dropped backpack. You brushed it off before carrying it towards her room.

"Evie, darling, you left your bag in the kitchen," you spoke gently pushing the door open.

"Mom, in, quick!" Evie rushed to say, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the room as she closed the door.

The excitement in Evie's eyes was contagious as she held up a handmade Father's Day card, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Look what I made!" she exclaimed, practically bursting with pride, waving the card around, allowing you to take it gently.

The front of the card was adorned with a drawing of what you presumed to be Evie and Quinn holding hands– the latter indicated by a scribbled "Winnie", as well as the fact, the man in the drawing held a hockey stick in his other hand. The two were surrounded by colourful scribbles of writing.

Evie looked at you in question, her eyes wide as she waited for your reaction. You smiled warmly, opening up the card to reveal the inside, in which Evie's scribbled handwriting tried its best to be neat.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart," your tone softened as you crouched down to face Evie, handing the card back to her.

"You like it?" Evie asked carefully, as if afraid of your reaction.

"I love it," you reassured her while your thumb caressed her cheekbone. "How about you and I plan the entire day for Quinn tomorrow? Make it nice and fun for him, hm?

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Evie nodded rapidly as she pulled you towards the bed so you could scheme.

As you both sat on the edge of her bed, Evie began to share her plans for Father's Day through childish babbled, with you listening as intently as possible. The two of you huddled together, discussing the details of your surprise day for Quinn.

It was seven thirty in the morning when you felt a soft poke on your cheek. Allowing your eyes to flutter open, you lazily smiled as Evie silently urged you to get up before she "sneakily" crawled out of the room, her bare feet slapping against the floor of the hallway as she ran.

You rolled over to face Quinn, who had pulled you deep into his arms throughout the night, your nose gently brushing his before you carefully untangled yourself from him, tucking the blankets back over his sleeping figure before you crept out, following Evie.

Evie was practically fizzing in the living room as she clutched her card to her chest. You gently pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing a finger to your lips, signalling for her to keep quiet. Together, you and Evie tip-toed to the kitchen, where you both embarked on the mission of creating the perfect Father's Day breakfast for Quinn.

You'd been dating Quinn long enough to know he loved waffles. Not only was it his go-to cheat breakfast, but also his favourite meal to make for you and Evie. You and Evie got to work, following a recipe from an old cookbook you'd thrifted a few years ago, creating a waffle mixture. You'd tasked Evie with the important role of assistant chef, letting her stir and add a range of ingredients into the bowl.

Keeping a close eye on Evie, you moved away to heat an oiled pan to cook some bacon to go with the breakfast. You flicked on the radio, keeping the music at a lull, hoping to keep you and Evie's activities as secret as possible. Your daughter's tongue stuck out between her lips in concentration as she mixed, careful so as not to splash herself with the batter.

The scent of freshly brewing coffee began to fill the air as you worked side by side, flipping the bacon as Evie pushed the bowl aside. You watched from your peripherals as Evie opened the fridge and stood on her tiptoes to reach for the fruit you kept inside.

"Careful, love," you chided, scooping the bacon off of the pan and onto a plate before moving the pan from the hob. You turned and helped Evie gather the fruit and bring it towards the counter, where you chopped and sliced it up and put it all in bowls for Quinn.

"Mom! There's someone at the door," Evie whispered, her pyjama-clad arm pointed towards the entrance to the apartment in worry as a knock resounded.

"Perfect," you smiled, moving around Evie to get the door. You unlocked the door and peeked your head around the edge, to lay your eyes on a delivery man holding a bunch of neatly wrapped flowers. "Hello! Are those for me?"

"Ms. y/n?" The delivery man asked, glancing down at his clipboard.

"The very one!" You beamed, opening the door wider and taking the flowers that had been passed over to you. "Thank you!"

"No problem, have a nice morning," the delivery man nodded before he turned around, leaving you with the bunch of flowers. You closed the door quietly as you walked back towards the kitchen.

"Pretty, Mom!" Evie all but squealed before her hands clapped over her mouth at the volume. You chuckled and nodded in agreement as you set them down on the counter.

"They are, aren't they?"

Evie's excitement radiated as she carefully arranged the breakfast tray, making sure everything looked just right. The handmade card, now carefully positioned next to the wrapped flowers– you'd been surprised to learn that the florists had allowed you to order them last night for delivery this morning.

"Do you think Dad will love it?" Evie whispered, her eyes wide with anticipation as she surveyed the breakfast spread. The waffles were a golden brown with whipped cream and the bacon beside it with all the fruit bowls laid neatly on the tray.

"Absolutely, sweetheart," you assured her, sharing a conspiratorial smile. "Especially when he knows it's from you."

With the tray complete, you and Evie tip-toed back towards you and Quinn's shared room. The tray was clutched in your hands as Evie carefully clutched the bunch of flowers and her card.

Quinn stirred awake as the bedroom door creaked open. He opened a singular eye–which widened at the sight of his girls in the doorway.

"Good morning," he rasped, stretching up his arms as he sat against the headboard. His tired eyes glanced between you and Evie in wonder. "What's all this for?"

"Happy Father's Day!" Evie suddenly exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious as she jumped onto the bed beside Quinn, nestling into his side. Evie beamed with pride, holding up her handmade card and flowers for Quinn to see.

"W-what?" Quinn's voice cracked with emotion as he looked at Evie with softened eyes. His arm that had naturally fallen around Evie's shoulders had tightened around the girl.

"She wanted to surprise you," You spoke up, your weight shifting on your feet. The tray was getting heavier in your hands, but you tried to hide it so Evie could do this at her pace.

"I've never done today before," Evie muttered, her gaze falling to the bedsheets. "But you're my dad now." Quinn tilted his head to look down at her and you swore you saw the shimmer of tears brewing along his lower lashes.

"I'll let you in on a secret, bug," Quinn started, his soft voice so gentle and caring. "I've never had today done for me, and that means it's both our first time." Evie looked up to meet his eyes, her own wide and childlike.

"We're both babies at this," Evie said rather seriously, her head going lax against Quinn's shoulder. Her words caused Quinn to laugh and pull her closer to his side, his eyes flitting towards you.

"Oh, y/n/n, come put that down here," Quinn rushed to move and help you, but you merely pierced him with a gaze that threatened 'you stay where you are Quinn Hughes or I swear...' You placed the laden tray on his lap, perching on the bed by his feet.

"Oh, wow, look at all this!" Quinn exhaled with a smile. "This looks incredible!"

"Mom made it!" Evie burst, looking at you with a wide grin. "And I got to help make the batter and the fruits. She even let me sort the fruit into the bowls!"

"No way! That's my favourite part of the tray," Quinn remarked causing Evie to duck her head in embarrassment. He looked up towards you and pushed into the centre of the bed, moving carefully to not spill anything as he gestured for you to join his free side.

You were more than willing to sink into the warmth of his side of the bed as he pulled you into a short, but loving kiss. Your hand brushed through his mussed hair, as you pulled away and curled up beside him.

"Thank you for the breakfast," Quinn murmured as he nuzzled his nose against the side of your face.

"I had the best helper," you smiled, looking towards Evie who was sneaking a raspberry from a fruit bowl. Quinn followed your gaze and once more, his gaze melted completely.

"So, bug," Quinn started, "what are those in your hands?"

"Oh!" Evie bounced onto her knees, picking up the flowers that she had placed half-mindedly on the bed in front of her and holding out the card for him to take. "These are for you!"

Quinn smiled and took both items from Evie. He emitted an indescribable noise as he saw the front of the card and the inside message. His lip jutted out as he buried his head into Evie's hair, his face smothered as she giggled.

"That's me, that's you, and that's your hockey stick" Evie pointed out matter of factly, as Quinn glanced up. This time he couldn't hide his watery eyes as he listened to Evie explain his card, his free hand found yours and squeezed gently, his head resting atop Evie's. "And I wrote inside all myself!"

"I love it, bug," Quinn croaked, wiping his eye briefly as he pulled her into a side hug. "I'm gonna put it on the mantlepiece so everyone can see."

Evie bashfully smiled and wrapped her small arms around Quinn as much as she could. She'd once again forgotten all about the flowers which Quinn had swiped at the last moment to save them from being squished.

"These are very nice," Quinn commented, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. "Don't think I've ever gotten flowers before."

"There's a first for everything it seems," you hummed softly, resting your head on his shoulder quite like Evie was doing on his opposite side. Quinn pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of your head before placing the flowers carefully at the end of Evie's legs.

"Yeah...there is," Quinn mumbled, "thank you...both of you," you and Evie both found yourselves nodding, the smell of food in front of you now growing more and more intense. "I might need both of your help with this breakfast, though."

Evie didn't need any other prompting before she grabbed at an entire bowl of fruit and started scoffing it down like a girl starved– which you knew she wasn't considering you'd already fed her plenty of waffles before you'd entered.

As you sat down and listened to Evie, who was telling Quinn all about the day ahead through a full mouth, you marvelled at how this Father's Day had transformed into a celebration you cherished, a far cry from the painful memories of the past.

Together, as a family, you were creating a different kind of story to the one your past had tried to force you to live—one filled with laughter, warmth, and the genuine bond between you, your daughter, and the man she proudly called "Dad."

more single mom!reader x quinn is coming I swearrrr!

#wineauntie #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #nhl x reader #quinn hughes fluff #Quinn hughes x single!mom #Quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #i love quinn hughes what a man #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfic #Quinn hughes x single mom!reader #family is family universe

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nouvxllev · 4 months

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a snowy night

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: in which you had a fun idea for you and taras first anniversary (and christmas)

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: none

a/n: merry late christmas everyone!!!

masterlist.

Pulling your very sleepy girlfriend out of her bedrest wasn't ideal for a first anniversary, nor the first very early morning of Christmas.

"Y/n," Tara groaned, her body and pajamas getting dragged across the ground like she was a sack of vegetables, "Y/n, it's literally the middle of the night, what are you doing?"

Ignoring Tara's protests, you persisted in dragging her like a lifeless corpse you found on the snowy street of New York. "I know, I know, but trust me, you wanna see this!"

With some reluctance and a little bit of motivation from you, Tara mustered the energy to get up and finally walk with your hand guiding her.

"Okay, what's so important you had to drag me across our bedroom so early?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes, still half-asleep as she yawned. You could feel her eyes observing you as best as she could, eyeing the duffel bag you carried, "And why do you have a duffel bag on you like you're gonna flee the country?"

"And why would I ruin the surprise by telling you?" You grinned, pulling her by the sleeve, "Okay, before I let you in on this, close your eyes." You both stood by the doorway of the bedroom, Tara looking slightly unimpressed.

"Tara, can't you trust your girlfriend for like one second?" You asked, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows.

"No?" She chuckled, crossing your arms alongside you, "not after you pulled that prank on me last Christmas."

"Okay, but you've gotta admit, trapping you in a life-sized gingerbread house was pretty funny and, a stroke of genius by yours truly."

Tara rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "How'd you even do that anyway?"

"You know I always love the flair for the dramatic." You looked up at her, nothing but smile and love from your eyes.

"Which is why I love you." Tara whispered, her arms wrapping around your waist as she pulls you in closer.

You chuckled, she leaning into Taras hug. "And which is why you're going to love this! Come on, close your eyes," you let go of Tara's grip on you, taking her hands into yours and watching as she closed her eyes with her palm.

"I'm so breaking up with you if this is another prank," she remarked, playfully, of course, but who knows how likely that might become true?

"Oh don't say that, I won't be able to continue those anymore."

With Tara's eyes closed, you guided her into the living room, or maybe just a room with how you renovated it.

When you knew Tara was fast asleep, you had dashed over to the living room after taking your sweet time removing yourself from Taras koala-like cuddle from you and tore it down bit by bit.

Not really, but every piece of furniture scattered on the floor you relocated to the garage. The soft carpet that covered the tiles, was carefully stored in someplace else, revealing the smooth hardwood tiles underneath people could easily slide on.

You led Tara to the living room, her free hand intertwined with yours, the warmth of her palm this season never felt so comforting on yours.

"I knew you always wanted our anniversary to be unforgettable, ever since the day you told me on a warm winter night on top of the apartment building I used to live in, and I thought," you continued, pulling Taras hands down with your own, "what's more unforgettable than spontaneously pulling my girlfriend out of bed to go indoor skating with me in our home?"

Tara opened her eyes, only to see an impromptu ice rink in the middle of their living room. Fairy lights were adorning the corners, little Christmas trees scattered along the way, the floor was powdered to give it a little more boost to the slipperiness, and makeshift cardboard walls surrounded the area. It wasn't the biggest, considering it was only a living room, but it had everything that made Tara Carpenter happy. And that thought was enough for you when you designed this.

Her jaw dropped, and she looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and delight. "You did all this for our anniversary?" She questioned, excitement palpable in her voice.

You nodded, a proud grin on your face. "I wanted to make it special, something we'd remember." You giggled

Tara couldn't help but laugh, the joy bubbling up inside her. "You're fucking insane, you know that?" She pulled you in for a kiss, "but there's no denying that I love it."

You smiled, a lovesick one at that, before taking her hands again and leading her to the powdered floor. "Well, I figured if I couldn't take you to the ice rink in Central Park in the middle of the night, I'd bring the ice rink to us."

You put down the large duffle bag you had been carrying and opened it, pulling out two matching socks that kind of resembled the both of you, "And, as per ice rink tradition, we have skates! Or, socks, in this situation."

Tara chuckled at the sight of the matching socks, each knitted with a design you specifically asked for.

"A duffle bag for a pair of socks?" She laughed before taking the socks from you and slipping them on, "Only you would turn our living room into an ice rink and substitute skates with these."

"Well, I try my best," you replied with a playful wink, already putting on your own pair of socks. "Also, I still have many in store with this duffle bag."

You both stepped onto the powdered floor, the smoothness beneath made it super easy to glide and a comfortable feeling set between the two of you. Tara was wobbly at first when she first tried to slide across, but when your hand was with hers, she quickly found her balance.

"Tara, did you know your talented, smart, beautiful, girlfriend can do a triple axel?" you teased, letting go of Taras hold as you give yourself space from her.

She rolled her eyes playfully, "Oh please, as if you can even do a single one."

You smirked, feigning an offended look. "You deeply underestimate me, my love."

You took a few steps back until your body hit the cardboard walls. With little to no skating experience and the fact you've never trusted yourself once with your balance, you launched yourself. A bit too fast for your liking to the point you ended up doing not even a full rotation and crashed into Tara, "Fuck, oh shit Tara—!"

It was a decent attempt, you'd say so yourself since you didn't completely eat shit, but it gained a laugh from Tara who had been laughing her ass off ever since you landed on top of her.

"Okay, I'd give you points for your ambition and spirit." She chuckled one last time before pulling you and herself up.

"Thank you. Someone finally recognizes talent here."

"Is the talent the 'talent of crashing into your girlfriend?'" Tara teased, brushing off some of the imaginary dust from her clothes, but also the white powder that clung to her shirt.

You grabbed her hand and continued to skate, ignoring the heavy pain you had in your chest, "It's a skill only a select few possess, you know."

Tara rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile. "Then looks like I've got the most skilled girlfriend in the world."

The two of you continued to slide and glide all over the living room, talking about whatever and whenever. The both of you lost your balance here and there, and the both of you may or might not laughed before pulling the other one out of their misery on the cold powdered floor, but it was the most memorable moment of your life; you'd say.

Minutes turned into hours, and you and Tara continued until every single cardboard wall was down due to your attempts at doing probably one of the most difficult tricks in ice skating.

Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Tara found yourselves lying off the ice rink, taking off some steam and deep breaths.

You stood up, quite abruptly, and lent Tara a hand. "Mind coming with me?" You asked, eliciting a confused smile from Tara, but she took your hand anyway.

You helped Tara to her feet and led her outside the door, the cold breeze hitting the both of you like a truck. "Where are we going exactly?" She asked as you led her around the corner to where a ladder lies that goes up to the rooftop.

You quickly climbed up the ladder and turned back to Tara. "Come on, there's something else I want to show you," you say, as you reach for Tara's hand to pull her up.

To her surprise, there was a blanket laid on the rooftop, fairy lights being hung on poles you had taped to the ground, yet again, and cups of eggnog and hot chocolate waiting for you both. The city lights glittered in the distance, and the stars above shined brightly.

Honestly, Tara didn't know how she managed to have someone like you in her life.

"Y/n.. y/n, this is so— It's beautiful." She said, breathless, as she approached the picnic blanket with you in hand.

You smiled at Tara's genuine appreciation, happy that your surprise made her happy. "I'm glad you like it," you replied, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Shall we sit, my love?"

Tara chuckled and sat down with you, never letting your hand go one bit. "The moon looks beautiful, even at this time."

You could've been looking at the moon, adoring its enchanting glow that reached the world, and the beauty of it all. But no, you were allured by another celestial being, something far more greater than anything that would exist in the cosmic universe, it was Tara.

"Yeah, it's quite beautiful."

The two of you sat in silence, gazing at the stars that slowly started to disappear as sunrise started to take over as you held hands together.

"I'm sorry." Tara broke the silence, her voice soft, "I should've planned something like this too for you, and for our anniversary. It's amazing, y/n."

You turned to Tara, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Tara, you being here with me is more than enough. I didn't plan this to receive anything in return; I just wanted to create a special moment for us and for you to have the best anniversary you can get from someone. And many more, of course." You reassured her, gently squeezing her hand, "Besides, being here with you is all I could ever ask for."

Tara leaned in and pressed a tender kiss against your cheek. "You're incredible, really. You know that?" she whispered, "you didn't have to do this."

"I had to, and I wanted to. You gave me so many happy moments in the short time we've been together, it's just a little something to pay you back."

Tara smiled as she wrapped your arms around yours, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "Thank you, y/n. I love you. Like, so much."

"Well, it's not over yet. There's one more thing," you said before unzipping the duffel bag you had brought and pulling out a box.

Tara raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

You turned to her, facing Tara with nothing but love.

"I want to make everything special and feel special for you, Tara. You're someone I couldn't bear to lose, and someone I didn't think I deserved, up until now. I want to tell you that I promise to do everything for you so that I'll deserve every piece of you in my heart." You vowed, opening up the box to reveal a promise ring. And, as if by cue, snowflakes were falling to the ground, and ones that ended up in Tara's hair. You never knew there was the absolute perfect time to gift the love of your life something special.

"Y/n—Y/n, this is too much, seriously." Taras heart swelled with love, her eyes widening and her smile reaching up to her ears, revealing the dimples you always loved.

"Never is it too much when I want to show my love to you, Tara. You only deserve the best, and only the best. So," you held your sentence as you lifted up Tara's hand and slid the promise ring onto her finger, "I bought this to tell you that I'm fully committed to you, body and soul, and promise I'll always cherish you no matter what. It's a reminder that you are deserving of all the happiness in the world."

Tara stared at the ring, content in her eyes as she looks up towards you. "Y/n, I don't know what to say. This is... it's perfect. Thank you."

You grinned, feeling a sense of contentment in making Tara feel special. "You don't have to say anything. Just know that you mean everything to me, and I'm grateful for every moment we share."

Tara chuckled, "For a moment, it felt like you were exchanging vows over there."

"Oh, my vows will be much more longer." You responded, a chuckle you gained from Tara.

"Well, speaking of vows," Tara began, her tone becoming more serious, "I want you to know that you have a special place in my heart since the day I met you. You've made every moment memorable that I didn't even know it was possible. Every mundane chore could never be the same now that I have you, y/n. God—I just, love you. Like so, so, so, much."

And with that, you leaned in for another kiss, embracing Tara and laying down with her as you both kissed. "I love you too, Tara."

The night, or maybe early morning, continued as you both laid down, seeing the sun take over the night sky as the moon was still visible.

You turned to Tara, "Do you think we could still sleep in?"

"I don't think people crossing the street on Christmas would like to see two people sleeping ontop of their rooftop."

"Baby, it's New York, people probably stumble into waaay worse things in their mornings."

Pulling your sleepy girlfriend out of her bedrest wasn't ideal for a first anniversary, nor the first very early morning of Christmas. But was it the best decision you've made? Definitely.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

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meyousing · 1 year

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𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re a delinquent--blade's sworn enemy--who has been captured by none other than blade himself, and the price you must pay to him is unlike any other you had before.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: yandere blade x reader, nsfw, non-con, mentions of death but no actual death, hes so fucking sexy, edited but could be done better I'm just excited to post this bc he's so mmmm. sexual nsfw under the cut as always <3

The inevitability of this day was something you wished to delay, but you always knew it would come to this. Fumbling your escape and landing in the captivity of your sworn enemy and his fellow hunters made it that much worse, nearly embarrassing. The dark smugness in his eyes, as he watched your hunched form be rounded up by Kafka, was dehumanizing. You tried to tune her voice out as she spoke to the others who had been captured at your side, those who were seemingly more of her target than Blade’s since he continued to watch you and only you, while Kafka hardly spared you a glance. Your ears twitched upon hearing an instruction to follow her elsewhere; you were more than eager to be away from Blade to save yourself some pride, wasting no time as you took a grand step in the direction of the door.

“Not you.” His voice was gruff and heavy beside your ear, you tried not to jump out of your skin as a firm hand reached through your hair and found itself on the back of your neck. The grip was not harsh, not painful, or muscle-cramping, but it was solidifying–literally grounding. It kept you in your place, reminding you of precisely who was in control because you knew you had nowhere else to go, your free will and autonomy robbed with something as simple as a touch. “Your punishment is of a different sort.”

The other prisoners led away by the ever-shrinking head of plum-toned hair only isolated you two further, a lump forming in your throat when the doors to this newfound prison cell closed behind Kafka, and you could no longer feel the previously dense presence. A room once full of four or more, is now only occupied by two. Only you, and Blade.

You were nervous to speak. Not nervous to say the wrong thing, you felt no fear of angering him. You just knew that you were utterly fucked, and that it would be easier if you simply started things off yourself. You were only nervous to kick off the inevitable, be it death or endless torture. But waiting would only make things worse, this you also knew. Nerves be damned, it would be better to face your reprimand than to let anxiety fester. Did you really want your final moments to be ones where you cowered in fear? Did you really want to let Blade win, to have the last laugh?

“What’s my punishment? Stab wounds equal to my crimes committed?” it was blurted out, the shakiness of your voice making the words jumble together and be spoken too quickly, entirely giving away what state you were in. How embarrassing, how pathetic.

A hoarse chuckle followed your pitiful little interrogation.

“No.”

His hand slid down your neck and across your shoulders as he walked tantalizingly slowly to stand in front of you–between you and the door, signifying just how trapped you really were. Now you faced him with eyes in line with his chest, not daring to meet his gaze that still burned into and through you despite how willfully you ignored it. Thankfully, when he applied extra pressure to your shoulder and caused you to collapse onto your knees before him, you could at least stare down at his shoes and separate yourself from his immediate proximity that much more. Though this new position rattled you even further, you knew exactly what awaited you–

“–A beheading.” Your voice was an octave lower than normal, likely due to that persistent lump in your throat that slowly began to prevent you from being able to breathe properly now that reality was setting in.

He had the nerve to laugh again. But his verbal confirmation of your guess didn’t come, instead, a physical one did–a frigid steel meeting with the side of your neck, instantly threatening the radiating heat of your skin with a chill. This was it. You wanted to say something more, tell him to get it over with and to stop prolonging the inescapable, yet paralysis held you beyond physicality.

Your voice was entirely gone now, mind having abandoned cohesivity when scenes of your life began appearing within it, replaying all of your wrongdoings and emphasizing what exactly you had done to dishonour Blade and land yourself here in the first place. What an absolute fool you were, living for cheap thrills and delinquency, daring to enjoy the chases prior to your capture with the assumption of eternal freedom, the assumption that you would always outsmart Blade because he hadn’t caught you yet. Now that you were imprisoned, now that you were caught and met by the very sword that would deliver your demise within the grasp of the man you purposefully teased and evaded… you just wished you could start all over again. Maybe now you could; perhaps death would allow you to reincarnate into a soft and sweet animal, something like a small sparrow or a wild rabbit, so you could live your life primally and peacefully, with no games or deception. Simply fulfilling your life's purpose as nature intends.

The pressure was suffocating, it felt as though the sharpness only carved deeper into your flesh, leaving you with a memorable scar before you were completely decapitated. Gradual ringing invaded your ears as you swallowed hard and tried to conceal your fear, hands beginning to shake as you weakly brought them to meet behind your back, taking on a more honourable position to maintain some semblance of dignity in your last moments.

Last moments.

You weren’t ready to die. Not yet. You had wasted so much precious time being such an idiot, you knew that there was more to life than that, you couldn’t die now–

The sound of a button coming undone followed by the shrill peal of a zipper being pulled down nullified the chaos of your thoughts in an instant. The ringing you once heard had faded out, a newfound deafening silence making the room feel awfully heavy around you. You were unable to control the wandering of your eyes as they panned up to see Blade’s free hand at the front of his pants, nudging them down until they scrunched at his upper thighs.

His lips slowly turned up in a devilish smirk, one you could see clearly in your periphery even as you quickly cast your eyes back down in a panic, breaths becoming heavier to compensate for the rapidly increasing beats of your heart. You truly wished that your basic common sense was lesser, that you were an idiot in more ways than the one that brought you to your current position so you couldn’t tell exactly where this was headed.

He couldn’t possibly be planning to do something so vile with you.

A sudden swishing sound made you gasp, a quick flash of light before your eyes made them widen as the weapon that was once at your neck was now tipped against the ground in front of you, parallel with your alignment. The sway of your clothes followed the movement with a slight delay, and the newfound cool air hitting the skin of your torso let you realize that he had sliced your shirt; now it hung pathetically off of your shoulders and was nearly exposing the more intimate area of your chest. Instinctively, your hands moved before your thoughts could form as you tried to pull it back up, to prevent it from falling off entirely and cover what little remained of your dignity.

“Stop.” Now the tip of his sword hit your chin, nicking it slightly as he added force behind the touch to tilt your head up, giving you no other option than to stare up at him. You winced, heat flooding the small wound as it began to bleed. With hands frozen in front of you following his command, you could only squeeze your eyes shut to try and shrink in on yourself, feeling the material of your severed shirt brush down your arms as it slid, resting at the curves of your elbows.

You heard him exhale heavily as your breasts were now exposed, you were trying to control the way your body began to tremble; knowing that he would feel the vibrations of it through his sword if you didn’t calm down. Would your nerves only excite him further?

His rustling continued on, you refused to let your eyes peer open as desperately curious as they were to watch while he pulled his undergarments down to where his pants were, freeing himself from such confines. He let out a growl-like sigh and you assumed he had done so successfully, the sound of flesh rubbing against flesh letting you know that he began stroking himself. This sound made one of your eyes peer open instinctively to watch in bewilderment–was he really doing this now? This was how he got off? You regretted regaining vision immediately, the way his eyes remained so intensely trained on you, unblinking, sent something horrible through you. A disgusting rush of anticipation.

As eagerly as you wished to, you couldn’t deny your attraction to Blade. Of course, nobody had ever asked you about such an absurdity, but you couldn’t deny it even to yourself. As you feigned disgust, scrunched your nose up, and scowled at his lewd movements and the increasingly wet sound they began to make; the way his inky hair fell over his carmine eyes that seemed to glow beneath the strands, that simper which only seemed to widen more devilishly the clearer your confliction became to him, made you wholly weak.

“Blade–”

“You don’t have permission to speak.” His words showed how stable his composure was in this state, no trembling or stuttering was to be heard. His fingers danced over his tip, running over his slit and the underside of his cock, causing him to release a hiss through his teeth. You swallowed hard and felt your nerves light up at the sound, attempting to take a deep breath that would allow your lungs to refill and not move enough for the steel to poke further into your skin. Thankfully though, Blade removed it from you and let it rest at his side instead.

Relief did not last for very long at all, because he shuffled closer to you now, the tips of his shoes coming into contact with your knees. Being forced to keep your head up meant that he was now inches from your face, and you flinched back–but not away–when he abruptly held the heavy tip of his cock against your bottom lip, his skin tender and warm as he brushed it against you and smeared his precum over your lip like a gloss.

“You know what to do.”

With hidden inhibitions deciding to take over, your body acted on its own once your tongue darted out to get a taste of him. He chuckled in amusement, surely he was surprised by your immediate obedience, and it tapered off into a hum when you didn’t even bother to stop there, lips slowly wrapping around the shape of him to suck his tip into your mouth. His stance remained firm, not even thrusting in time with the light bobbing of your head, instead seeming to channel his focus into keeping his gaze locked on your every move; eyes hardly flitting as they switched from your own to your mouth.

The rebellious feeling of adrenaline that tingled within as you put on your best performance was exhilarating. Even as your mind asked why you were so quick to obey your biggest enemy, you already knew why. You’d always wanted to get laid by him, always feeling your panties dampen when running away from him post-battle; thrilled by the bloodlust-induced look in his eyes as he watched you scamper off, while you were left to wonder what would happen if you accidentally tripped or stumbled and let him catch you sooner. Now you knew exactly what would happen, and you were so glad that it finally was. Could it be that the tension was mutual, or was he simply using you because you were right here? You needed to find out.

As you slid your tongue along the underside of his shaft and squeezed your lips a little tighter, letting your cheeks hollow, Blade’s chest heaved and you could tell that it was a slip-up.

“Enough.” He muttered the word, but his delivery did not make it any less firm and commanding. You were just getting started, disappointed to be stopped so soon, and embarrassment started to creep in when his expression didn’t show any sort of contentment from your service following his deep breath; if anything, he looked the complete opposite of content, brows furrowed in a way that seemed bored. Was the slip-up so impactful on his pride that he couldn’t show you some kind of appreciation? Before you could even gauge what he thought of you based on his body language, you were shoved by the shoulder off your knees and onto your ass, landing with a grunt on the cool concrete.

He mounted you quickly, though before your faces could get too close you were spun around and pressed down flat to your stomach, cheek squished against the ground. His fingers dug into your abdomen as he grabbed your hips and lifted them roughly, making quick work of your bottoms and exposing your wetness to the cool air sooner than you expected. Instinctively, you tried to move away to regain some dignity following the new vulnerability, but he felt your resistance and tightened his grip, making your muscles tense up, and a small “ow” left your lips even though it wasn’t actually enough to hurt. He seemed to have heard it, alleviating you by moving his hands to grab your own, holding them out and above your head as the tip of his cock prodded at your entrance, his hip bones sharp against your asscheeks.

“This is the price you have to pay.”

The whine you let out as he pushed in was humiliating, biting your bottom lip to try and suppress it didn’t work very well as being filled so deeply right away was nothing short of delicious. Any pain brought by the initial push of his cock was immediately quelled and replaced with hot pleasure, made stronger by the way he pulsed inside of you every time your walls couldn’t help but clench around him. As you lifted your head to try and take in a breath to calm yourself, you felt Blade’s warm cheek press against yours, becoming impossibly closer to him in an act that was too tender. He hadn’t pulled out to make a full thrust just yet, instead taking his time in smothering you with his presence; breath too hot as it cascaded down your neck, body too large as it encapsulated yours entirely, so warm even through the many layers of his clothes–which reminded you of just how bare he had you by comparison.

As his cock pushed deeper into your womb and his hair began to hang in your periphery, such a sensory overload caused you to forget about your current privileges. Or rather, lack thereof.

“Blade, I–”

A hand left yours to grab your neck.

“Your rebellion never stops, does it? Not even as I punish you” he bucked his hips like a reminder of what he was doing to you, poking sharply at your cervix and causing you to see stars for a moment, a silent moan croaking in your throat. He chuckled, and you felt the vibration of it against your back, through your torso. “What is it?”

“Why?” it was strained, but you knew such a simple question needed no further explanation. He chortled once more, letting his fingers up slightly so he could stroke his thumb along the side of your neck.

“Because,” He had started to rock his hips slowly and deeply as he spoke, effectively clouding your mind (perhaps purposefully) and causing his next words to only half register; “I’ve always liked you.”

Then he pulled out completely, giving you a brief moment of pause before rutting into you hard, making you gasp for air as he started with a pace that showed no mercy while he held you completely still, locked in place so he could fuck you how he pleased; fast and like a brute.

“Always such a minx, don’t think that I never noticed how you looked at me. I know you like me too, you want this.” His grip on your neck slid higher up so he could tilt your head back, darting his tongue out to lick and then nip at your skin. “Though the real question that I have is, for how long have you wanted this?”

A semblance of annoyance began to sprout within you, it would fully fester if he really expected a response when it was clear that you were in no state to answer, and not just because of your restricted airway. Your legs began to shake with every stroke, your pussy was squeezing him tighter, forcing his thrusts to stay deep as you pulled him inside. All you could get out were small whimpers, hardly forming syllables. He had to have understood what he was doing to you, but he managed to seem displeased with your receptiveness to his movements, growling at your lack of anything comprehensive.

“It appears this repercussion has become more of a reward.” He pulled out of you so soon, halting all motions and causing you to release a cry of protest, turning your head to see where he was going as he lifted himself off of your back, though he forced you to stay arched for him, taking his hand off of your neck in favour of pushing your head down to the floor, disallowing you from seeing him at all. “You can’t even answer a simple question, so why should I continue to reward you?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, tears actually forming in your eyes because it felt so good to be filled up by him that you were mourning the loss of such delectation. His fingers tangled through your hair and he lifted your head with a fistful. He leaned forward to keep his voice by your ear and you could feel his cock brush against your inner thighs as he did, making your legs twitch in desperation.

“That still isn’t an answer.”

“I’ve wanted this since the day we met!” you sobbed, the words slurred as you subconsciously pushed your hips back against him, unable to wait any longer. His form remained solid, allowing you to writhe and squirm like an insect as he kept you right under his thumb. If he was smart enough to know that taking pleasure away from you would get him what he wanted, you feared that he already knew what your answer was going to be and only did this to torture you.

Silence ensued. Barely any response on his part, frustrating you even further and bringing even more tears to your waterlines.

“I know.”

Your body jumped in delight when you felt something finally move in to soothe the ache in your core. Blade swirled the tip around your pussy lips and you were expecting him to pick up where he left off, though upon feeling an extreme precision behind the movements of whatever just entered you, you realized that he was fingering you–it had been his fingertips that were teasing you at first, but now he was knuckle deep, fingers crossing and prodding over your sweet spot with terrifying accuracy. You suppressed a squeal when he used his middle and index to push down against it, making a pulsing motion. Each pulse made your muscles twitch and soft, breathy moans escape you. You missed the feeling of his cock rubbing against your walls, though the incredible accuracy that he managed to deliver with his hand made up for it completely.

“Improvement… but it seems I still have to work on you. Many prices to pay, indeed” he dared to let out a hoarse laugh, finding himself too funny as you were left a breathless mess on the ground below him, trying not to completely collapse as your body trembled.

He started to pick up the pace then, pushing in harder and much faster now, forcing your pleasure to crest much sooner than you felt ready for. Your heart raced as your body lit up from zero to one hundred, you came with a loud cry and felt your orgasm squirt onto his hand before you could even try to control yourself. Blade cackled again, more boisterous this time as he matched his hand to the rhythm of your pussy throbbing around it, slowing more and more until you ceased all motions.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to completely let go of you once you had settled down, your head almost thumped into the ground had you not braced yourself quickly enough, your hips falling with no grace as you lay limp and weak. Blurrily, you could see him standing up and tucking himself back into his pants, seeming to have already cleaned his hand (you could have sworn there was a newfound glimmer on his lips following this revelation, you didn’t have to guess what from). It took every last bit of strength you could muster to ask him a question that was just above a whisper:

“Where are you goi–”

“A Stellaron Hunter’s day of work is never truly over. I’ll be back for you later. Reflect on your actions for now” he cut you off.

That was all he had to offer before he strode to the door, opened it, and slid out swiftly, almost without a trace; had you not still been in such a state of disarray following the rapid orgasm you had just experienced by his hand, your mind full of nothing but Blade. With him so prevalent in your thoughts, you figured the best thing you could do right now was obey his command. Reflect upon what got you here, what an amazing result of your getting caught this was. You’d have done so intentionally and so much sooner had you known the lust was mutual.

Fatigue set in quickly, your eyes fell closed and your breath slowed as soon as you were completely flat on the ground again. With your body tingling pleasantly from the aftershocks, you were able to slumber without any concern. None about where you would go from here, whether it would be with Blade or not, and if he would get you better accommodations or keep you in this cell like the prisoner you now were. Choosing to wear rose-coloured glasses would certainly benefit you in the long run, you couldn’t possibly know just how much of a prisoner Blade planned to keep you going forward.

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aerynwrites · 7 months

Note

Thank you for writing these, they are fantastic! Could you do one where Tav is doubting her abilities and is overwhelmed with the responsibility of fighting the netherbrain? Halsin would be there to stand with her and remind her of her strength, bravery, and growth. And kiss her too, because of course.

Not Alone

Halsin x Reader

A/N: thank you for the request friend! I hope this is what you wanted - I had fun writing this Bc wouldn’t we ALL be overwhelmed with that??

Word count: 1k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, feeling overwhelmed, emotional hurt comfort, kissing, fluff.

It seemed to come out of nowhere.

The desperate squeeze of your chest. The burning tears behind your eyes. Shaking hands, narrowed vision, the inability to breath or think straight.

The sadness and grief and anxiety and…fear.

It all comes crashing down one unsuspecting evening, as the moon hovers high in the sky, trying and failing to comfort you with her pale light as you rush from your tent.

Worry about waking your companions doesn’t even cross your mind as you stumble from camp and into the surrounding wilderness, tears blinding you.

Gods, it’s too much.

The tadpoles, your friends' personal quests, the absolute, the guardian in your dreams…they all haunt you. Drain you constantly through the day and even now - where sleep used to be a respite - even your dreams are no longer your own.

A stray rock catches the toe of your shoe and suddenly you're acutely aware of the world around you once more. The rushing of air past you as you crash to the ground and the pain in your knees as you land. The dirt and grass beneath your fingers as you dig desperately into the earth. The wetness on your cheeks, and finally the broken sob that bursts from your lips.

You want to scream, and you just about let it out when something falls against your shoulder. However, the only sound that comes out is a strangled gasp as you turn to find the intruder.

Halsin, your druid companion turned lover - crouches before you, concern drawing his brows together and thinning his lips.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice gentle amidst the roaring turmoil of your mind. “I saw you rush from camp as I was returning and you seemed…troubled.”

Shaking your head you turn away from him, shame bubbling up in your chest. That forever cracking facade of a leader, pushing forward once more.

“I’m fine.”

You try to sound firm, but the words come out broken and choked around the lump lodged in your throat.

Halsin says nothing for a moment, instead moving to sit beside you in silence, staring out into the wilderness ahead.

You try to control your emotions, try to pull yourself together, but the tears just won’t. Stop.

“Even the strongest of leaders feel the weight of what they take on.” Halsin finally says. “No one can carry it alone forever.”

“I never asked to be a leader,” you respond, voice as empty as you feel.

More tears come forward ushering out all the thoughts you’ve been holding in your mind. The things you’ve been hiding, trying to keep everyone happy.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper, finally looking over to the druid from where you sit on your knees. “I just wanted to find a cure for these things in our heads and every solution has been a dead end o-or an avenue to something worse!” The words spill from your lips in shaky breaths.

“And on top of all that I have to stand by and watch as my companions, my friends struggle too. Astarion and his past with Cazador, never feeling free - yearning for escape. Gale and Shadowheart trapped by a goddess. Karlach being told she is literally damned to hell. And then you -“ you gesture vaguely to the man next to you. “Bearing the weight of the shadow curse and Thaniels well being…”

Slowly, with each word it seems the tears start to stop. Or dry up. You’re not sure which. But as you continue to speak it’s as if a tiny miniscule weight is lifted. You finally turn to face Halsin, who just gazes at you patiently, concern evident in his eyes.

“I don’t say this to make it seem like I don’t want to bear these things. They are my friends and you-“ you reach out to take his hand in yours, appreciating the comforting squeeze he gives you. “I love you. I want to help you and everyone back at camp but it’s just-“

“Too much to bear alone.”

Halsin completes your thoughts exactly, and before you can speak he’s gathering you up in his arms. You melt into his embrace, surrounded by the warmth and safety you’ve come to crave from the man holding you.

“I don’t know how you did it for so long.” You admit, arms moving to wrap around him. “And for centuries no less. How did you bear it? The responsibility.”

Halsin holds you tighter. “Admittedly, at first I did not bear it well,” he tells you. “I felt much like you do now, overwhelmed by others burdens and the decisions that were mine to make everyday. Constantly worried if the path I was leading the grove down was the right one.”

Gently, Halsin separates from you, just enough that he can see your face.

“So…what did you do? How did you keep it all from tearing you apart?”

Halsin smiles then, a tiny pained thing - as if seeing you go through what he has, hurts him as well.

A calloused hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing away residual sticky tears.

“I learned to share my burdens with those around me. With my family, my friends. And they were happy to assist me, just as I know those surrounding you will lend you their aid as well.”

You open your mouth to speak but Halsin cuts you off with a quick press of his lips against yours, retreating to press another one to each cheek.

“These are not your burdens to hold alone, my love,” he assures you, eyes searching your own. “You are strong and brave, but let us help you. Lean on me as I have you.”

His words bring on a whole new wave of tears, but instead of sadness all you feel is overwhelming relief and comfort. Halsins arms tighten around you as you press into him, head resting against his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper, not having the words to express your gratitude.

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Halsin rubs a soothing hand up your back.

“Anything for you, my heart.” Reaching up, he runs gentle fingers through your hair. “Would you like to return to camp?”

Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, relishing in the peace and quiet nature provides in this moment. The night is cool, and the gentle breeze rustles the grass and trees as the moon above gazes down on you both.

“I’d like to stay here for a little longer if that’s alright.”

“We can stay as long as you’d like,” he smiles.

And with that promise, you feel the last tendrils of dread slip from your mind.

You’re not alone. And that’s what matters most.

#halsin x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 halsin #bg3 #Baldurs gate 3 #Baldurs gate #halsin #request #ask box

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unfortunatebrainfarts · 26 days

Text

Cussing out anyone and everyone is fun until you get lasso'd out of bed to do it on behalf of your casual space cowboy co-worker who for some reason knows where you live

Boothill x f!reader

A/n: soort of part 2 to my previous work but can be read seperately‼️

"For the last time — let me go before I literally unscrew your dick off."

"Psh, as if ya got the balls for that lil' missy."

You don't even have to look at Boothill to know he was immensely enjoying himself right now — hell you couldn't even if you wanted to since you were currently getting dragged through the ice cold floors of wherever the hell you were, with a fucking lasso firmly binding your legs and arms.

"It's like 5 a.m. in the morning, what the hell could you even want at this god forsaken hour?!" You righteously grumble, but alas, you were met with nothing more than silence probably because you've asked similar questions before. Yes. This has happened before. Many times before.

For Boothill, tracking down enemies and pinning them down was great. Not being able to curse them out and instead calling them a 'cutie' and blessing their soul? Not so great. But that's where you come in! His lovely fellow galaxy ranger who's been with him long enough to know what he wants to say, and is far too weak(compared to this baby shark looking freak of a cyborg) to refute him. Physically that is — you always make sure that you complain his ear off to at least ensure some sort of mental damage.

"Hey! If you're going to take me somewhere could you at least not drag me all the way there? Ugh these floors are so cold I feel like I'm gonna get hypothermia. If I do and I sue you, don't you have to pay me compensation for that? I'm expecting at least a million credits or so cause I don't think Lan provides health insurance for the galaxy rangers—"

Your pitiable monologue was abrubtly cut short by Boothill firmly gripping the rope which binded you and roughly jerking it upwards so that your body would fall limp directly on his shoulder like a giant worm, your head just centimeters away from his.

Of course to which you responded with automatic aggressive squirming and wiggling only making you look more and more like a worm. But honestly who could blame you? I mean, who just DOES THAT and expects the other party to be calmly subdued?!

"Oh sugar honey iced tea, could ya quit strugglin' for just one moment—" A large, metalic hand was promptly placed around your waist and no amount of wiggling could even get it to so much as budge. "Now that y'r off the darn floor ain'it 'bout time ya shut yer trap? Heh... we're almost there."

Now that you were head to head with Boothill, although not in the most favorable position, you could see his face now — his face with probably the most shit eating grin you have ever seen on it. His sharp teeth making themselves apparent, and unwavering eyes focused on just whatever lied ahead.

And then his feet stood still.

"THERE," he shouted unrestraintedly like a madman, while pointing his free hand at... a random lady in purple?

Without warning, Boothill launched himself forward stopping only inches away from the woman who looked just as confused as you.

"Now, go tell 'er that she's a wonderful ray of sunshine that deserves absoloutely nothin' but the best. Oh Acheron, bless your soul ya lovely imposter, be prepared to go on a playdate and have some teatime with me soon! Until then, you should keep yourself safe."

The sheer passion that Boothill had in his tone made it clear that he had a message to get across. Though you don't think the other woman, or supposedly Acheron, understood a word he said. You exasperatedly sigh, you felt just as bad for this lady as you did for you yourself.

"Well?! What'cha waitin' for," the arm around you tightened just enough for a squeak to involuntarily come out of you and you knew you weren't getting out of this.

You mentally apologise for this poor lady before translating his thoughts into words, "Er... what he means to say is uhm, 'you're a disgusting piece of shit who deserves to die seven times over by my hand. Oh Acheron, you absoloute dumbass fucking imposter, be prepared to meet me and face me off in a showdown soon, but you might as well just kill yourself before that."

"...," Acheron's face remained unchanging and blank throughout the whole spiel, Boothill's however, was characteristicly smug and maniacal.

To others, the three of you looked as if you were frozen in time for at least a minute or so, until Acheron simply tilted her head and monotonously responded,

"Sorry, who are you?"

#I wrote this in like 30 minutes pls help #li actually writes🤯#boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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triassictriserratops · 16 days

Note

Would you be able to elaborate on your statement about the pseudo sexual imagery of the Everlark pearl? I hadn’t really considered the pearl from that angle before and would love to hear your thoughts on it.

In response to this post So firstly, this in NO WAY takes away from the other symbolism present in the pearl. This is in ADDITION to, NOT instead of. In fact, lemme go into it all from my perspective, although I know MANY creators have expressed a lot of this much more eloquently than I will! PEARLS AS THEY RELATE TO THE CAPITOL

i always viewed the presence of the pearls on Katniss' capitol wedding dress as twofold. Firstly, it speaks of the opulence and extreme perceived wealth of the Capitol. To have a dress adorned with chains of pearls - what a symbol of luxury! I also viewed them as binding/chains. A representation of the "freedom" of the victors. The trappings of their wealth while living under the thumb of the Capitol. Their chains aren't metal, they're beautiful and delicate but still present and just as deadly. Like a gentle hand on their throats.

PEARLS AS THEY RELATE TO PEETA In direct contrast to the Capitol pearls, the pearl Peeta gives Katniss is singular. It isn't purchased, it is found. It is found in a space where Peeta has nothing else to give to Katniss, other than his life. Instead of a chain or a burden it is meant as his symbol of freedom to her, in conjunction with the locket - "I give you fully back to your family. To the people who love and need you. I let you go, but this, here is something to remember me by." (And I also love how it's representative of Peeta's ability to find pieces of beauty in the most horrific of circumstances.) KATNISS' MENTAL CONNECTION OF PEETA AND THE PEARL We also know that, during Peeta's capture, Katniss connects this pearl heavily with Peeta's life and her need to protect it. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to agree to be the Mockingjay." I tell her. "Because you want to or because you feel forced into it?" she asks. I laugh a little. "Both, I guess. No. I want to. I have to, if it will help the rebels defeat Snow." I squeeze the pearl more tightly in my fist. "It's just...Peeta. I'm afraid if we do win, the rebels will execute him as a traitor." I slip the pearl from the drawer and spend a second sleepless night clutching it in my hand, replaying Peeta's words in my head. "Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with?" I knot the pearl into the corner of the parachute, bury it deep in the recesses of the bag, as if it's Peeta's life and no one can take it away as long as I guard it. Then, later, when Peeta returns and is found to be hijacked, his essence and personhood taken from him and from HER - the Pearl becomes a symbol of the boy she lost and everything he isn't anymore. Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. "Is this-?" "Yeah," I say. "Made it through somehow." I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him. "Haymitch says he's getting better," she says. "Maybe. But he's changed," I say. I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread. And, finally, when in the Capitol, in the last mention of the pearl, we connect it with his literal LIFE in Katniss' HANDS. (And Peeta's unwillingness to risk Katniss' life even for his freedom.) "Should we free his hands?" asks Leeg 1. "No!" Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. "No," I echo. "But I want the key." Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl."

And, finally, here we go: THE PEARL AS IT RELATES TO KATNISS' SEXUAL AWAKENING It is no coincidence, to me, that the pearl is gifted from Peeta to Katniss following the events of the kiss on the beach. Katniss has now admitted to herself that Peeta holds sexual currency with her. Her body is reactive to his own and feeds a hunger in her, a flame. The giving and acceptance of the pearl can be viewed as the "tender" of that sexual currency. Katniss ALSO thinks of the pearl as it relates to Peeta in the ways that Peeta was able to make her PHYSICALLY feel. She connects it with both what she felt with him that night on the beach, and what she HOPES to feel with him upon his return. (And what she misses when he is "lost" to her.) I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it's soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself. I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena. To make myself put a name to the thing I've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. He's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone.

all I'm saying is that Peeta would literally pass out if he ever hears about how she basically kept rubbing one out in 13 to thoughts of him. (Because, let's be real. That's what the symbolism of the pearl was.) Rolling the pearl between her fingers? Kissing it to her lips? COME ON. It's so on the nose. (Or clit in this case.) 🦪😏

#peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #everlark #the hunger games #thg series #thg #hunger games headcanon #thg headcanons #the hunger games headcanon #thg analysis #the hunger games analysis #hunger games analysis #symbolism of the pearl

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 2 months

Text

SKZ DRABBLE-Lee Minho

No one says 'no' to a God. That's what you've always been taught. But maybe, no one's just ever really had the chance. or A retelling of Poseidon and Amphitrite, if it were a little bit more modern and a lot more geared toward those of us who are total sluts for enemies to lovers. This one's for you, babe.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, Lee Minho, Minho, SKZ au, skz as greek gods series, lee know, minho x you, minho x reader, greek mythology, modern greek au, skz fluff, skz smut, skz angst, skz fic, skz fanfic, skz x you, skz x reader, femreader, y/n, enemies to lovers, greek gods, Poseidon

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Spit as Lube, Virginal Sex

Soundtrack:

🌊 Euclid by Sleep Token 🐚 Bad Habits by Nerv

Title: Wave After Wave

"Oh my gods, he's literally the hottest man I've ever seen."

You glance up from gathering wood for the celebratory bonfire at your sister's uttered words, and follow her gaze to the man reclined by the roaring fire next to your father.

You can't quite make out his features from here-they're made wavy and indistinct by the heat of the flames-but you know he's handsome, incredibly so.

Why wouldn't he be? He's one of the fucking Big Three after all.

You say as much, scoffing under your breath with a slight smile in your besotted sister's direction.

"He's one of the major Gods, Thetis. Of course he's going to be incredibly good looking. They've been made to appeal to every single one of the five senses." You hit her ass with one of the sticks you carry, and she gives you a little glare with a pout of her lips. Your voice turns teasing. "You're no better around him than a pitiful human, weak for his charms and falling right into his traps."

She crosses her arms over her ample bosom and pouts some more, even as you shove some of the gathered wood into her waiting arms. "Well, can you blame me? We only ever see sailors here, or the minor gods, if we're lucky. But one of the Big Three?" She huffs, following after you, trying to balance the bundle of sticks as she hurries to catch up. She's slightly out of breath when she says under her breath to you, her eyes flickering back to the man beside your father once more, "And I would argue he's the best looking out of all the Big Three."

You shoot her a sharp look. "Don't let anyone hear you say that, Thetis. Father will have you punished for blasphemy."

"You cannot punish me for saying the truth." She rolls her big blue eyes, lined with long, dark lashes, and flips her blonde braid over her shoulder. Her round cherubic cheeks are pink from exertion, her red lips pursed into a perfect pout.

You'd be shocked if your father didn't do his damndest to secure Thetis the God's hand before he leaves here tonight.

You set your logs down beside the fire and catch your breath, brushing the bark from the front of your finely made dress as you glance at your younger sister once more.

"You'd better go and charm the man then, because I'm fairly certain Glauce has already staked her claim." You motion with your head to your sister, who is practically in the God's lap, her long dark hair twined around her fingers as she leans over to playfully whisper something in his ear, the seashells around her neck dipping between her bare breasts.

Thetis's eyes narrow and she pushes past you with a huff. "We'll see about that."

You watch her go with slight amusement, content to enjoy the games of tonight from afar.

You've never been interested in the Gods like your sisters, nor marriage, and you have every intention of living your life out on Naxos, dancing and remaining free for the eons.

Being tied down as a Big Three's wife, constantly scrutinized and judged, cheated on with mortals?

No fucking thank you.

You adjust one of the ornamental pins in your hair with a sigh, trying to stop it from digging into your scalp, and wish for the thousandth time that you could let your hair down.

The breeze off the sea is calling your name, and you itch to pull off this ornamental gown and untie your hair and dive into its welcoming, azure depths.

You crave the silence the deep brings.

"Daughter."

You turn at the sound of your father's call and see him approaching, his hands tucked behind his back.

You give a brief duck of your head in deference as he walks toward you, a dip of the knee to show your respect.

"Father."

He places a finger beneath your chin, guiding you back to your feet. "Rise, child. I have something I wish to discuss with you."

You wait patiently for him to continue, your gaze holding his. The breeze tugs at your skirt, twisting it around your legs, as if it's a silent invitation to follow it into the embrace of the sea.

Your father's lips lift into the hint of a smile as he strokes his hand down your cheek. "My beautiful eldest, the coveted rare pearl that adorns my crown. I always said you would be a blessing from the Gods, and I was right."

You cock your head, nodding slightly. "Thank you, father. I hope I have made you proud."

"You have, my child. You have." Your father sighs, and his eyes soften slightly as he takes you in. "As have your sisters." He glances out at the sea, his eyes following the rise and fall of the waves for a moment.

Finally, he says, "He has made a decision."

You watch him-the way his brow furrows in thought, the way his dark eyes reflect the blue of the sea-and then you reply back confidently with another duck of your head, "Thetis will make an excellent wife for him and a stunning Goddess of the Seas."

Your father meets your gaze once more, and there's something there now that unsettles you, his lips curving down seriously, his expression somber.

"It is not Thetis who has been chosen."

You stare at him, confused. "Who then? Glauce? Maera?"

You cannot imagine one of your younger vapid, vain sisters ever catching the God's attention, but stranger things have happened.

Something sad flickers across your father's face, and he reaches for your hand.

Your stomach drops at the expression.

"He has chosen you."

You feel as if you've just been barreled by the waves, thrown beneath the surface, crashed helpless over and over again against the sharp, jutting cliffs.

You can't seem to catch your breath.

You're drowning.

"What?"

Your father gives you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Poseidon has chosen you."

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Minho watches you for a moment before making his presence known, his body hidden in the shadow of the column.

This is one of his favorite versions of you-sitting beside the sea, your feet buried in the sand, your dress wet as it clings to your curves, hair down and free, tangled slightly from the salt water.

He likes to imagine this is how you looked as a child, roaming the beaches of Naxos, causing mischief, dancing barefoot into the night.

Now, you are his queen, and yet, he still sees that untameable girl in you, even till this day.

You laugh out loud and splash salt water back at one of the dolphins as it breaches near the shore, showering you with a wave of the sea, and Minho's mouth curves into an unbidden smile as he steps out from behind the pillar.

He approaches you quietly, content to watch you admire the dolphins as they breach and play, fins the color of smoke cutting through the turquoise water like butter on a warm day.

He'd known, the moment he had the mansion built, that the secret cove beneath that let him have free access to his beloved sand and sea would quickly become his favorite place to spend the time.

As soon as he'd met you, he'd known it would be your favored place of refuge as well.

You were similar in that, escaping to the sea when everything became a little bit too much.

You glance up as he approaches, giving him a smile that almost blinds him, and not for the first time, Minho can't quite believe that something so beautiful, so perfect, belongs to him.

He is much like the sea-turbulent and fickle, intimidating and dark, dangerous when provoked-and you have been the only one in eons of years that has dared swim below his surface to explore the depths beneath.

He finds himself grateful for that every single day.

He sits down in the sand behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you back against him. The salt water on your dress dampens his pants, but he can't bring himself to care, burying his nose in your hair that smells of sea and sand and sun, running his lips along the curve of your neck just to taste the salt on his tongue.

You give a little hum of approval at his touch and lean into him, and Minho chuckles.

Glancing out at the dolphins playing in the waves, Minho's lips pull up into an amused curve.

"And what have you taught your little pets today, sweetheart?"

You lean your head back against his shoulder and he admires the way your nose crinkles as you give him a teasing smile, arching a brow.

He lets a finger trace down your throat, playing with the seashell strands you wear around your neck, his cock immediately paying attention to the way they disappear between the valley of your breasts, your skin sparkling with the sea.

"Oh, you'll love this one." You chirp back, standing up as you wave to get the dolphins attention. You glance over your shoulder at him, grin turning wicked. "I've taught them to flip you off."

You raise your hand, and a few of the dolphins immediately use their tails to propel them above the waves, their sleek bodies upright as they wave their fins in tandem back at you.

Minho chuckles, standing up, his arms going around your waist once more, as he leans in to murmur against your ear, "I don't think your trick is quite as impressive as you think. They lack fingers."

You give a little shrug, and lean back against him, and there it is again, that devastating smile that leaves Minho feeling like he can't breathe, like he's just gone beneath the waves and can't resurface.

"Well, you have to use your imagination a little bit." You whisper back, expression cheeky, as you tilt your head to be able to kiss the line of his jaw.

"Oh?" Minho remarks in bemusement, his brow inching upward as he looks down at you in his arms. He takes a fingertip and traces slowly down the column of your throat, the skin he leaves in his wake shining with conjured droplets of sea water, shimmering in the afternoon sun. "I can think of a lot more things I'd rather use my imagination for right now, sweetheart."

He lets his finger dip between your breasts, and he doesn't miss the way you shiver at his touch.

His lips curve into the start of a smirk.

"Like imagining you out of all these clothes."

You pull out of his arms and turn to face him, walking backward slowly so that your feet disappear into the frothing waves of the sea, your gaze never leaving his.

Something mischievous comes across your features as you stare at him, standing knee deep in the water, your dress like a living creature wrapped around your legs, the dolphins frolicking against the sunset.

"That can be arranged." You tease him, arching a brow, as you slowly slide the dress down one of your shoulders, revealing a swath of perfect skin.

And without another word, Minho leaves the shore behind and joins you in the waves.

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It's clear that though he may have chosen you, he doesn't like you.

Not in the slightest.

The man can't even look at you as you pull up to the mansion bordering the sea, and you're grateful-not for the first time during the drive-that he'd left the Stingray's old fashioned top down so that instead of focusing on the oppressive silence between the two of you, you could hear nothing but the wind whipping in your ears, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

The hum of the car purrs to a stop as he parks in some sort of underground garage cut into the seaside cliffs, and you're not certain whether you should let yourself out or wait for his move.

He doesn't look at you, or seem in a hurry to leave the car, so you remain still, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes ahead.

Fuck, this is awkward.

What does one say to an all powerful God that has just taken them-unwillingly, you might add-from the only home and family they've ever known?

Fuck if you know.

You clear your throat, and decide that if he won't break the silence, you will.

"If I may-" You start to say, startled to a stop when he gets out of the car abruptly, not even bothering to look in your direction as he stands.

"You'll be shown to your room. You'll be expected for dinner every evening at 8 sharp. It's on the veranda overlooking the sea, your maid will show you where. Feel free to go where you will, just don't go alone."

It's like he's talking to the wall, his hand on the open door, his eyes on anything else but you.

You feel the anger from earlier bubble upward into your throat as you regard his obvious disdain.

You reach for your own doorhandle.

"You've brought me all the way from Naxos, and I know no one here. Certainly you're not just going to leave me alone on our first night together-"

"I have work to do." He says coldly, cutting you off, and without another glance, shuts his door, before stalking off toward the stairs that must lead up into the mansion above.

You stare after his retreating form in shock for a moment, before you growl beneath your breath and get out of the car, moving to open the trunk where your luggage is stowed.

"Fine." You hiss beneath your breath. "I'll see myself to my room then."

And in that very moment, you decide you will ask the Great God Poseidon, one of the Big Three, for nothing so long as you both shall live.

It's going to be one long fucking eternity.

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He doesn't like it.

He doesn't like how you make him feel unsettled, as if every inch of control he's ever struggled to gain in his own damned, immortal existence is thrown out the window as soon as you walk into the room.

He's had to claw his way here, to where he is now, in charge of his own life, in charge of his own sea, and he doesn't intend to lose that, not now or not ever, and definitely not because of a pair of fucking beautiful doe eyes.

He'd known it as soon as he saw you-dancing with your sisters on your father's little island-that he was never going to escape your grasp.

You hadn't even looked at him, for gods' sake, hadn't even given him a moment of your attention, and he was instantly bewitched.

And Minho did not bewitch easily.

And now, here you were, in his house, in his domain, soon to be in his bed, and he was absolutely fucking terrified of what that meant.

You were his, and he didn't know if he could fucking handle that.

"Fuck." He swears beneath his breath, running his hands through his hair in an agitated motion, his elbows resting on his knees as he sits, collapsed in the sand.

The night is muggy, the warm air heavy with the saltiness of sea water, and he stares at the dark crests of the waves, rising and falling like a giant being breathing peacefully in slumber.

His fingers find a shell in the sand next to him, and he hurls it into the waves, watching as it disappears beneath the surface in a ring of ripples.

The water is reflecting the stars of the night sky back to him on its surface, and it feels as if he's sitting in the middle of a constellation, but his head is no clearer than when he first left the mansion for the cove beneath.

His mind wanders to you-are you settling in for the night? Your perfect skin sliding between the silk of the sheets as you curl up in the middle of the large bed, alone?

He wonders, briefly, what your hair looks like when it's not ornamentally pinned, what you wear when you sleep, how your face looks crinkled and barely awake in the morning.

He wonders how it would feel to hear you say his name-not his name gifted by the mortals, but his given name-in a murmur against his skin, your perfect breasts free from the sheer material of your dress, your hands, or gods forbid, your lips, on his aching cock-

"Fuck." He swears again, more vehemently this time, and falls back against the cool sand, staring at the jagged rocks overhead.

He can't lose his cool every time he sees you, he's worked too damn hard to get where he's at, and he's a fucking god for hell's sake. He needs to pull it together and stop thinking with his dick.

It's going to be one long fucking eternity.

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"You know-" You remark offhandedly as you glance out over the sea, red from the setting sun. You can smell the salt in the air, courtesy of the Stingray's open top, and the warm air whips your hair as Minho speeds along the deserted oceanside highway.

Minho glances over at you, a slight curve of amusement to his lips, a silent signal for you to go on, as he maneuvers the sports car around a curve.

You let your fingers float outside the open window, weaving along in the breeze like a dolphin skimming and jumping through the waves.

"-I hear skinny dipping is even better at night."

Minho chuckles, the sound low beneath the rush of the wind. "Oh? Who told you that?"

You shrug, biting back a smile, as you admire the way the nail polish glints on your fingers in the rosy tint of the sun, the flash of the pearl on your ring finger.

"A little fish."

Minho gives you another amused look, but it's clearly exasperated, his brow arching. "You're not getting out of this party, you know."

You sigh and let your head fall back against the seat.

"Well fuck."

Minho chuckles again, and reaches over with his free hand to rest the warmth of his palm on your thigh, his other hand easily maneuvering the car through the twists and turns of the road.

He gives your thigh a little squeeze, and you glance down at his hand-the tan, smooth skin, the rise and fall of his knuckles, the perfectly trimmed nails.

Your eyes flick to his other hand on the wheel-the golden glint of his wedding band contrasting the strip of inlaid pearl that matches your own.

Your skin heats underneath his touch, even though the fabric of your dress acts as a barrier.

It's a thin, flimsy barrier at most.

"I promised Hyunjin we'd be there." Minho sighs regretfully, and you know he's dreading this soiree just as much as you are, even more so. "But I swear to you, sweetheart, after this, no more parties for another decade."

You give a little laugh and squeeze his hand. "I'm going to hold you to that, your highness."

Minho smiles, his gaze moving down to your hand resting over his own. His eyes catch on the wedding ring you wear, and he raises your hand to his lips, brushing a light, lingering kiss across your knuckles.

"I know you will."

Your gaze drifts back longingly to the sea, fingers still encased in the warmth of his own.

Minho gives your thigh another squeeze, and when you turn to look at him once more, he gives you a dangerous smirk, perfect teeth flashing and dark eyes glinting.

"However, skinny dipping is never off the table, sweetheart. So trust me when I say I'll be holding you to that too."

You grin back at him.

"I would expect nothing less from the God of the Seas."

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Dinners with Minho are unbearable.

You spend the majority of your time on the veranda watching the waves crest in watercolor beneath the setting sun, the sleek, almost apparition like forms of the dolphins darting in and out of the frothing foam.

He never talks, and you never ask.

It's easier to eat in silence and excuse yourself to your room for the rest of the night while your new husband disappears gods knows where to do gods knows what.

Tonight, the dolphins are especially playful, leaping and chittering to each other, and you find yourself watching them longingly, wishing you could be as free as they seem to be, bound to no one and nothing.

The sound of a fork scraping obnoxiously across a plate draws your attention back to the table, and Minho is watching you, his expression unreadable, fork held loosely in his hand, his empty plate before him.

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down, as you set your own fork down next to your barely touched food.

His features remain blank as he wipes his mouth with the linen of his napkin, the maid scurrying in to quickly clear his empty place.

You've never noticed, but his eyes are dark-dark and stormy like the sea at night-and they're uncharacteristically cold, no warmth lurking in their depths.

"Do you like them?" He asks suddenly, voice flat, almost uninterested, as he waves away another servant approaching with more wine in a decanter.

You stare at him, schooling your expression. "Like what?"

You know you're addressing him casually, you should watch yourself-he's your husband and a god-but you can't seem to bring yourself to care in the face of his aloofness.

He won't give you anything, so you won't give him anything either.

He lets his gaze scan your face, giving nothing away, then motions with a glance toward the sea below.

"The dolphins."

You give a little shrug and glance down at your food, scraping it around your plate. You have no appetite suddenly, not when you can feel Minho's gaze boring into your skull.

"They're beautiful. The freedom and joy they possess intrigues me."

"Then you can have them."

You jerk your gaze back up to his in surprise, your mouth dropping slightly open, but he's already pushed back from the table, no longer looking at you, as he motions for one of the maids to begin to clear the table.

"I have work to do. You may retire when you are ready." His voice is emotionless, and he doesn't spare you another glance, as he turns and strides away.

You watch him go, anger beginning to bubble in the pit of your stomach. Your mouth tastes of bile.

'Then you can have them.'

He thinks he can just give living creatures to another just like that? Like they're property? Like they're his to own? Like they do not already belong to the sea?

Fuck him.

You push back from the table angrily and fling your napkin on the ground.

If he thinks he can give and take that which is not his, was never his, so easily, then you'd like to see him try.

You are not so easily tamed.

And it was time he knew.

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"I've never seen him this happy."

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass as you take a sip of your drink, following Hera's gaze to Minho where he stands across the room, discussing something with his brothers.

He looks fucking delicious tonight-dressed smartly in a navy three piece suit, his thick, dark hair smoothed back, his sun kissed skin golden beneath the lights.

Maybe these parties aren't a complete waste of time after all.

"What can I say?" You muse as you let your gaze fall back to Hera beside you, a smile gracing your lips now. "I'm good for him."

She gives a little tinkling laugh, raising her glass to meet your own with a gentle clink of cheers.

"I'll drink to that."

You take another long sip of your drink, and when you look up once more, Minho's gaze catches your own from across the room.

You arch a brow in response and mouth silently to him, already knowing the answer, Having fun?

He gives a slight shake of his head with a roll of his eyes, and you grin.

He holds your gaze, and with a miniscule movement, tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows raising in a silent question, as a smirk curves his lips.

You turn to Hera, setting your now empty glass down beside hers on the table, and touching her arm lightly to draw her attention.

"I'm going to use the little goddesses room."

She nods, turning back to her conversation with Aphrodite, and you excuse yourself from the room, noting that Minho's already managed to slip away from his own conversation on the other side of the room.

He's nowhere in sight.

The sounds of the party fade away as you slip out of the gaudy ballroom and make your way down the quiet hallway.

You're just passing the large, glass doors that look outside onto the darkened veranda and sprawling garden, when he finds you, coming out from the shadows and startling you slightly, his hands going on either side of your head as he traps you against the wall.

"Jesus, Min." You breathe out, your muscles relaxing, as you try your best to glare up at him. "Give a girl some warning."

His teeth flash as he grins in response, the expression dangerous, his dark eyes meeting yours in a predatory fashion.

"Where's the fun in that?" He murmurs back, as he lifts a hand to play with a strand of your hair, his fingers brushing over the seashell comb you wear. "I like when your hair is down."

You tilt your head back against the wall and look up at him, a smirk flickering across your lips. "Should've thought of that before you RSVPed us to this stupid party." You tease in a low voice.

Minho lets out a sigh. "Yeah well, I have duties and so do you, but right now-" His eyes darken, his body pressing into yours, flattening you against the wall at your back. "-right now it's just you and I, sweetheart."

"And about a hundred other people just in the other room." You retort back, reaching up to straighten the shell broach pinned to his suit jacket.

"Fuck them." Minho growls, leaning forward to run his nose up your throat, and you tilt your head back to give him better access as he begins to suck kisses into the skin beneath your jaw. "They can miss us for a couple of minutes."

"Speaking of hair-" You breathe out, as he continues to litter your skin methodically with love bites, his teeth making your skin tingle and your breath catch.

You reach up and run your fingers through his dark tresses, loosening the gel and mussing the strands until they fall around his face. You let salt water coat your fingertips, dampening your skin and wetting his hair until it looks as if he's just been for a swim.

"-I like yours best when it's wet."

Minho pulls back to smirk at you, his brow arched, his eyes dark.

"I like you best when you're wet, sweetheart. Especially for me."

You hold his gaze, his words sending fire like heat skittering across every inch of your skin.

"Well, then you're going to love what you find between my thighs."

"Oh?" Minho's smirk grows, his pupils blowing at your words. He leans into your space, pressing you back against the wall once more, his knee going between your legs to nudge them apart. "Show me then."

You hold his gaze, reaching down to lift your dress to give him access. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward, and slides a hand between your upper thighs.

You let out a stuttered gasp when he touches you, and you can feel the way you instantly coat his fingers, and it crosses your mind that maybe you should be embarrassed at how worked up he's already gotten you without even touching you, but you can't be, not when Minho pulls his fingers back and studies the shiny, sticky skin like it's one of the seven wonders of the mortals' modern world.

"Beautiful." He murmurs beneath his breath, still watching the way your slick slides down his fingers as if entranced.

You admire him for a moment, admiring you, and then your lips curve upward into the start of an amused smile.

"I suppose I do not need to mention the irony of a Sea God being obsessed with fluids?"

Minho's dark eyes flick to you, his fingers still raised. He arches a brow.

"You do not." He replies back pointedly, and then, holding your gaze, bends his middle finger so that he can dip it between his lips, licking it clean of your juices with even, long strokes of his tongue.

You clench your thighs together, suddenly in desperate need of friction as you watch him slowly, methodically clean his fingers, all the while, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Although-" He muses, pinning you beneath his heated gaze, his lips curving up into the hint of a smirk as he sees the flush of your cheeks, the subtle movements of your legs. "-if given the choice, I would choose you over the sea any day."

You shake your head teasingly, as he backs you up a few steps further down the hallway, away from the party in the ballroom, stalking you like a big cat, his movements lithe and fluid.

"That's shocking, coming from you."

"It's true though." He insists in a low tone, before he cages you in once more, his hands coming down forcefully on either side of your head, making you jump. "Every word of it."

Without warning, he slides his hands down your body and palms your ass before he lifts you up, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

You give a little yelp, and cling to him, your arms going around his neck for support.

He looks up at you, his eyes the color of the sea before a storm, and the sudden hungry look on his sharp features makes you shiver.

"Now. Be a good girl, sweetheart, and let me feel how wet you are for me from the inside."

He pushes your skirts aside, and hefts you a little higher into his arms.

You gasp when you realize for the first time as he shifts you, that your back is no longer pressed against the solidarity of the wall, no, your back is pressed against the cold pane of a window-the French doors to the garden.

"Minho." You hiss, struggling in his arms a little bit now. "Someone will see."

"Let them." He growls back, his voice sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine, before he bucks his hips and sheaths himself fully inside of you in one smooth motion.

You cry out, your back arching and your head falling back against the glass, safe to let your body react how it will in the strong embrace of Minho's arms.

"Fuck." You pant out, your hands tangling into his hair, as he continues to thrust in steady strokes.

"Oh gods-" He groans gutturally, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you in place. He looks up at you through dark strands of hair, his lips parted, as if he can't quite catch his breath, as if you're the most beautiful, wonderful thing he's ever seen.

When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, his words punctuated by harsh gasps that match his rhythm.

"Fuck, sweetheart. There's no one, no one-mortal or God-who can instantly make me lose every last shred of control like you can."

You tug on his hair to make him meet your eyes as both of your lips part in pleasure.

"Does that scare you?" You breathe out, your chest rising and falling as you heave for breath.

His lips curve upward into the start of a smile, and his voice takes on a tone of amused honesty that rings through your very being.

"Not anymore."

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

It fucking terrifies him.

This thing you possess that makes him lose his mind, his every last thought, his final shreds of dignity and willpower.

But he doesn't know how to control it-or himself-and that scares him. So instead, he's avoided you, and obsessed until his feelings have grown sour, and forced a wedge between you that might never break.

It's easier to deal with you as an enemy from afar than someone who has the power to destroy him right?

It's been eight weeks-two months-of silent dinners, but who's counting?

He glances at you down the table-a table much too big for two people-and notes the way your eyes scan the horizon, looking for the dolphins.

Stupid fucking dolphins.

You've never once looked at him the way you look at those creatures, but then again, has he ever really given you reason to?

He clears his throat, and before he can talk himself out of it, announces, setting aside his fork, "I have work that must be seen to. Enjoy your evening."

He stands, pushing back his chair, and turns to leave, but before he can escape, you say, without turning your head, "Stimulating dinner conversation as always, husband. I so enjoy our time together."

He freezes, and something akin to annoyance bubbles in his chest as he stares at you, refusing to look at him, your eyes fixed on the sea.

"To have a conversation with one another, wife, requires you to engage in one." He replies back coolly, watching you for your next reaction.

He's not disappointed.

You whirl to face him, eyes flashing with anger, hands going into fists on top of the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was unaware you wanted anything to do with me, and I certainly didn't know you wanted to speak with me."

Minho grinds his teeth, and he feels a muscle clench and flicker in his jaw as he regards you.

He shouldn't flame the fire, but he's intrigued by this side of you, this fight, and interacting is interacting, regardless of the tone of the words being said.

"Forgive me, but I am not one of your precious dolphins, so I merely assumed you would find my company boring and droll."

His tone is sharp, goading, seething.

You stand, shoving your chair back so forcefully that it tips over onto the cobblestone, and glare him down with the force of a thousand suns.

If he were not a God, Minho probably would've been dead.

"I hate you."

He feels his lips curve upward into the start of a taunting sneer as he leans over the table toward you, palms flat against the cloth.

"Oh? Do you? Careful there, sweetheart, the line between hate and love is no thicker than the edge of a sharpened dagger."

"Oh, there is no mistaking the feelings I have for you. I hate everything about you." You spit back, words sharp and pointed.

Minho settles back down into his seat casually, crossing his leg over his knee. He sees surprise flicker across your expression, before the fury takes over once more.

He motions for you to go on with a wave of his hand. "Go on then. Tell me all the things you hate about me. I do love a good discussion." He leans forward and makes a show of listening, his chin propped on his fist.

He sees the way it pisses you off, and it makes something inside of him lurch.

Your gaze is hard as you begin.

"I hate your arrogance. I hate the way that you just assume that everyone-mortal and god alike-want to fall at your feet."

Minho watches you, the way your chest heaves with impassioned breaths as you lean forward across the table toward him, the way your hair is falling loose from the carefully curated style he's sure your maids spent hours on that morning.

He prefers it down.

His cock pays attention to the way your breasts fall heavily when you lean, the open neck of the dress you wear gaping open, revealing the necklace of seashells dipping between your cleavage.

Focus.

You narrow your glare in on him, and Minho realizes you've begun speaking once more while he was distracted.

"I hate the fact that you make me come to these goddamn dinners every night, just so you can make me into a fool."

He arches a brow. "Well, I hate the fact that you agree to come to dinner, if you're simply not going to even try to engage in conversation with me."

Your expression grows murderous.

"You have never once shown any interest in speaking to or getting to know me! Not once!" You fire back, eyes flashing. "And that brings me to my next point-I hate that you dragged me here, away from my home, away from my family, just to lock yourself away in your office and not even have the honor or decency to show me even an ounce of kindness!"

Minho feels himself start to grow irritated as your voice rises in volume, and your anger flare.

He clenches his teeth and breathes out slowly, staring you down.

"Honor and decency?" He repeats back, his tone cold, his words firm. "Kindness? When has the world-or the Fates for that matter-ever been kind? I hate that you are so naive that you would think the world would be handed to you like a polished pearl within an oyster. This is not Naxos."

"I hate the way you talk down to me, belittle me, as if I am a sheltered little girl who knows nothing." You retort back, staring him right back down. "I am a goddess of the sea, and now your queen, and you would do well to treat me as such."

He feels his lips twist upward into a humorless smile.

"Oh? Is that so? If you were a queen, you would not be addressing me in such a way, which in turn, proves my point that you indeed know nothing of the world."

"Bullshit." You hiss through clenched teeth. "Your views on life-and marriage-are dated and archaic."

Minho arches a brow. "Interesting. Do tell me more about my own views, sweetheart."

Minho watches the way you clench your hand into a fist, your knuckles whitening.

"I hate when you call me sweetheart."

"And I hate when you're contrary just for the sake of being contrary, sweetheart." Minho retorts right back.

You glare across the table at him.

"I'm not fucking doing this." You finally growl out, before you turn your back on him and head for the winding stairs that lead off the veranda, and down to the hidden cove below.

Minho follows you, his steps right behind yours.

When you reach the beach, you whirl on him, fury written across your features.

Minho stops, but he doesn't back down.

"What else?" He goads, watching you carefully.

You stare at him for a long, hard moment, and then he sees you take in a forceful breath.

"I hate the way you hold a fork. And that you decorated my room in jewel tones and that you've never even once asked me if I prefer my coffee with or without sugar. I hate the way the same exact muscle flickers in your jaw every single time when you're holding in your irritation about something."

Minho smirks. "Oh? Is that all?"

"No." You retort back immediately, holding his amused gaze. "I also hate the way your hair always looks like you've just come in off the sea-tousled and damp. I hate the fact that you wear white button down shirts so casually, and I hate that I've noticed that one of your cheeks dimples slightly when you smile."

Minho stares at you for a moment, caught off guard.

You take the opportunity to barrel on, stepping closer to him, your bare feet digging into the wet sand.

"I hate that I know that you prefer when I wear my hair down, because I've seen the way you look at me when it's not done, and I absolutely fucking hate that I care in the slightest what you think of me."

The sea crashes wave after wave behind you, as if agreeing with your tirade.

Minho stares at you some more, completely unsure of what to say.

"I hate-" You take in a deep, gulping breath, and your expression sobers a little, the fury ebbing slightly. "-more than anything, that you have an effect me, I hate the way my body betrays me when you're around, the way my heart pounds, the way I look for you in a room when I enter, even though I know you won't be there."

Minho swallows.

"I hate the way you say my name-not the name I was given as a goddess, but my name-and the sparks I feel dance across my skin when I hear it on your tongue."

You sigh, and glance down at the sand at your feet, your toes dug beneath.

"But do you want to know what I hate most of all?" You ask, in a quiet voice, as if you're not really asking Minho, more just putting it out into the universe.

So he doesn't answer, just watching you, waiting for you to continue.

The waves crash against the shore, and when you look at him, your eyes have darkened, no longer with anger, but with regret.

"I hate, more than anything, that I can't make myself hate you."

Minho stares, all the words he was preparing dying on his lips, his brain buzzing.

You don't-hate him?

Fuck, maybe, that means-

He doesn't allow himself to finish that thought.

Surging forward, like the impatient sea at high tide, Minho crashes his lips into yours, and you stumble with the surprise force of it, both of you tumbling down into the soft, wet sand.

Minho doesn't stop, pressing you backward into the shore, his lips like fire on your own.

You let out a soft little gasp of surprise against his mouth, but you don't push him away, and he experimentally dips his tongue between the part of your lips.

Your breath audibly hitches, and the sound goes straight to Minho's dick.

Fuck, you're just as responsive as he had imagined you would be.

Carefully, he lets his hand trace down the arch of your neck, the line of your shoulder, and he hesitates for a brief moment of unsurety, before he lets his palm cup the swell of your breast.

You arch your body up into his touch, and open your mouth wider for his tongue, letting out a little whine as he begins to massage your breast.

"Fuck." Minho breathes out against your mouth, pulling back slightly so he can stare down at you splayed beneath him on the sand, your hair loose, your lips raw.

Its the fucking most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

He lets his hand trace down the line of your hip, your thigh, to the material of your skirt, wet now with sea water, sticking to your skin.

He has the sudden crazy urge to slip a hand beneath the material and see just how wet you are for himself.

Instead, he glances up at you, watching him carefully, and murmurs in the form of some start of a question, "Can I-?"

You nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, and Minho wants to reach up and free the plump skin from its constraints.

He doesn't, because before he can move, you say softly, "You don't have to be gentle with me. I know what this entails."

He follows the length of your body back upward, until, he's straddling you again, his hands sinking into the wet sand on either side of your head.

He looks down at you and sees your nervousness in the way your forehead crinkles slightly, the way you obstinately suck on your bottom lip.

Fuck, maybe there's a few tiny things he's let himself notice about you too in the weeks he's done his due diligence of avoiding you.

"You've been prepared?" He asks, still watching you carefully.

You nod again. "Yes. Our governesses. They said-"

You hesitate, and Minho feels his heart leap into his throat.

"They said what?"

You glance away, avoiding his gaze, and pink rises in your cheeks.

Minho doesn't think he's ever seen you embarrassed before.

"They said it might hurt." You whisper back, still not looking at him, your eyes focused too intently on the way your fingers, stretched out at your side, dig into the sand in anxious movements.

Minho blows out a breath.

"It might." He admits quietly, and you flick your gaze up to his, and he sees determination still your features. "But, did they also tell you then, that if done right, it can be extremely pleasurable for you?"

You cock your head, holding his gaze. "No. They said that you-"

"Fuck me." Minho immediately shakes his head, even though the words make his already unbearably hard cock ache.

He leans closer to you, his nose brushing yours. He can smell the salt water in your hair, see the way your pupils blow at his nearness.

He watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow, and brings his hand up to your cheek, stroking a fingertip along your jaw, glistening with sea water.

"I want to wring your body of every ounce of pleasure imaginable before I even think about satisfying myself."

Your lips part in surprise at his fervently uttered statement, and Minho smirks, staring down at you-the way your chest has started to heave with your breaths, the way you're squirming slightly beneath him.

Signs of arousal. Arousal for him.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, and holding your gaze, spits into his palm, wetting his fingers slowly, one by one, as you watch.

"You're wet." He remarks offhandedly, and he pointedly gazes down at your dress, the water puddling beneath your hips from the waves lapping at the shore.

You stare back at him and give a little hum of assent in your throat in reagards to his observation. "Mmm."

"Tell me, sweetheart-" He expects you to prickle at the nickname, but you don't, your eyes instead darkening at the way the syllables roll off his tongue. "-are you wet in other places?"

You inhale sharply, and Minho practically groans when your eyes flicker to his.

"Yes."

His lips curve into the start of a smirk. "I thought so."

He slides his hand down your body once more-the one he'd wet moments before-and moving slowly to give you a chance to change your mind, slips his fingers beneath the drenched material of your skirt.

When he touches the wet heat between your upper thighs, you both inhale sharply in tandem.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding." Minho groans, leaning forward on the one hand he still has planted in the sand, as he carefully begins to explore you with a finger at a time. "Wet enough to drown in."

"Minho-" You gasp out, arching your body up into his and putting delicious friction on his cock, as he cautiously works you open. "Fucking gods above. Shit."

Minho's lips curl up into an amused smirk as profanities continue to fall from your lips in an unending, pleasure driven stream.

"You know, for such a pretty little thing, you have an incredibly filthy mouth, sweetheart." He remarks, making you gasp and jolt as he curls a finger experimentally.

He wants to memorize the way you look up at him in this moment, your vision hazed with pleasure, your expression soft.

"I grew up in the presence of sailors." You reply back with a slight shrug, as Minho pauses, taking you in. "Does it bother you?"

He arches a brow, leaning forward to put his lips against your ear, and as he does so, he adds another finger, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.

"On the contrary, sweetheart. I could listen to you sing my praises in profanities for the rest of my immortal life."

"Minho, please-" You beg, your hands tracing up his body, your body writhing in the damp sand.

He stares down at you. "Please what?"

"Please, just give me more."

His lips curve, and his dick throbs at your desperate plea.

He would love nothing more.

"You and I are like the sea, sweetheart. The waves never cease. There is always more to give. And I swear to you, if I have to spend the rest of my eons exploring every single inch of you, I will gladly do so. Over, and over, and over again. Wave, after wave, after wave."

You bite back a smile as you stare up at him.

"I hate that you're so dedicated."

He smirks.

"And I, sweetheart, hate that I ever believed myself capable of staying away from you. I intend to remedy my mistake every single day from here on out."

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

You lean back against Minho's bare chest, admiring the way the sunset plays off of the waves, your mind quiet and your body content against the warmth of the sand.

You feel him press a kiss against the crown of your wet hair, and you glance up at him, arching a brow as you ask softly, "What was that for?"

He glances down at you, amusement in his dark eyes. "I have to have a reason to kiss my wife?"

You give a little shrug and bite back a smile. "No, I guess not."

He angles his head to press a kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment. You can taste the salt on his tongue, the sun warming his mouth.

He tastes like the sea.

He pulls back, and you grin at him. "I just find that you usually have a reason for everything."

Minho rolls his eyes. "I hate that you think I can't just be spontaneous."

"And I hate that you stopped kissing me." You quip back playfully, and he growls, leaning over to kiss you again, wrestling you back into his arms as you giggle and squirm against the sand.

"There. Happy?" He asks when you separate once more.

You glance up at him, and raise a hand, letting sea water coat your fingers as you push back his hair.

"Incredibly."

His expression softens, and he leans in to kiss you once more, hand tangling into your hair to tug you to him.

You'd worn it down. It was his favorite after all.

Out at sea, against the setting sun, a dolphin breaches.

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billybob598 · 9 months

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Scary Crashes (Katie McCabe x Reader)

2 fics in 1 day I'm literally so awesome. Also, sorry for the shit title I couldn't think of anything else sooo, just ignore that bit. Remember, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! As always, have fun reading!

Word Count: 1K (Kinda short but who cares)

“This is gonna be so much fun!” Katie exclaims as she walks alongside you in the paddock. You chuckle at her excitement.

“Yeah, it’s going to be great babe,” you say before stopping to take some photos with fans. You were a driver with Ferrari and while it had been a tough season, you were confident heading into Silverstone this weekend. What made it even better is that Katie, your girlfriend, was attending. She had come to a couple of races, but it always made you feel better to have her there.

The weekend had been tough, free practice had been okay and you were out-qualified by your teammate, Charles. Katie watched excitedly from the garage as the race got underway. The race had been terrible, Ferrari in complete Ferrari style had fucked up your strategy,

“No! Guys, we can’t keep doing this. Fuck! Mate, this has gone from bad to an absolute shithole of a race,” you say over the radio.

As it gets closer and closer to the chequered flag, you try your very best to make some places back up. After your pit stop you came out P13, but you were able to crawl back up to P8. You tried multiple times to get past Pierre Gasly’s Alpine in P7 but to no avail. You were starting to get frustrated,

“He’s driving a bit dangerously, no? Did you see him do the double move on the straight?”

“Yep, we saw it. Just keep focused Y/N, you’ll get him,” your engineer says back to you.

On the next lap, you get a good exit out of Woodcote and use the slipstream to your advantage as you guys head into Copse. Gasly defends the inside so, you decide to try around the outside. Katie holds her breath as she watches on the TV. One second you’re thinking you’ve got him on the outside, the next you’re spinning around as gravel spills into the cockpit. At first, you think you’ve just span out and that you’re probably beached in the gravel trap. That is until you smash into the tyre barrier at over 200km/h. All the air gets pressed out of your lungs when you hit the wall with over 50G’s. Immediately after you hit, you black out.

Everyone inside the Ferrari garage is scrambling, trying to see if you’re okay or not. Your engineer is getting no response over the radio. All the cameras on the car had been broken. Katie was full-on panicking. As the team tried to see if you were okay, Katie couldn’t help but fear for the worst, especially when the ambulance had to come.

You wake up when someone starts to shake your shoulders. Your eyes adjust to the light and when you look up you see a marshal standing over you asking if you’re okay. You give him a nod and thumbs up, before switching on the radio,

“You okay? Y/N, are you okay?” The engineer keeps repeating.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Ahhhhh fuck, everything kinda hurts though,” you answer.

“Yeah, just stay where you are, marshals are coming and so are some paramedics,”

“Okay, copy,”

It takes a couple of minutes for the marshals to get you out, but when they do you are met with thunderous applause from the crowds. Waving a hand to let them know you’re okay, Katie breathes a sigh of relief. She gets informed by your assistant that you are heading to the hospital for a check-up because it was quite the impact. Katie drives to the hospital as quickly as possible. She knows you’re more or less okay considering you were able to walk out of the car, but she needed to see you with her own eyes. The Irish woman asks the receptionist where you are quite urgently, maybe a little rudely, but she’s Katie McCabe what do you expect from her? When she’s shown to your room she’s informed that you are sleeping. So, she quietly tip-toes into the room and sees you laying there with a couple of machines hooked up to you. Deciding you should keep sleeping, she goes and asks the doctor about how you are. The doctor says that for the most part, you’re okay, your only injury being bruised ribs. He tells her that you're only going to be hooked up to the oxygen machine for a little bit, they just didn’t want to take any chances.

It’s a couple hours before you wake up and when you do you’re met with your girlfriend looking anxious. She has no idea you’re awake yet, so you slowly reach out for her hand and slip her fingers in between yours. Her head jerks up.

“Oh my God, Y/N. Jesus Christ you had me so scared there,” she says quickly. You point in the direction of the door, silently asking for her to go get the doctor so he could take the oxygen mask off. “Oh yeah, right of course. I’ll go get him.”

The doctor does a quick check-up on you before ultimately deciding that you were good to go. He releases you from the hospital, much to your happiness and Katie’s worry. When you guys get back to the hotel, Katie carries all your bags inside, even though you did offer multiple times. All night, Katie won’t let you do anything. Water? Brings multiple glasses of it. Hungry? Don’t worry, she’s got a plate stacked sky-high with food. In pain? She’ll force multiple painkillers down your throat. Some might find it overbearing, but you on the other hand found it endearing. Katie usually acted tough, but it was in moments like these that she shows just how caring and thoughtful she can be.

“Are you good? Do you need anything else?” Katie asks.

“Nah, babe. I think I’m all good. Thank you for everything today,” you say gratefully.

“Of course, you scared me there Y/N,” she says the last part quietly. You drag her beside you on the bed.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say scratching the back of your neck.

“Never again Y/N, never again,” she says sternly. She grins at you before kissing you.

As you fall asleep you can’t believe how lucky you are to have a girlfriend as awesome as yours.

#katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso x f1 reader

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k20spock · 5 months

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Birds and Trees in Slay the Princess

I saw a few people talking about this, and I’m having thoughts.

So in Slay the Princess, birds and trees are used as symbols of the outside world. Asking the narrator what the end of the world really means has him telling you that there will be no more birds and no more trees. The Razor, when speaking of what she’d like to do in the outside world, says she wants to look at a bird or touch a tree, a desire the Voice of the Hero empathizes with.

These two things, the bird and the tree, symbolize the player and the princess respectively.

The bird is easy. The protagonist is literally a bird creature, and various forms of the princess refers to you as a bird throughout the course of the game. The narrator tells you you’ll be able to look at a bird later, and he’s right: you later get to look at yourself in the mirror.

The princess is the tree. Tree-related imagery is used in several routes. The Witch’s control over the roots of the cabin, The Wild being represented as a network of roots, The Wounded Wild being an open ribcage fused to the trunk of a tree, uprooted trees swirling around The Apotheosis as she ascends, The Thorn trapped in root-like vines, The Beast hiding amongst the trees of the jungle.

The Shifting Mound’s final form resembles a tree visually. The central body as the trunk, the writhing bodies beneath her as the roots, the outstretched arms as the branches.

More than visually, the player and the princess embody the concept of the bird and the tree. In the construct, the narrator gives you a choice and the princess a role to play. The princess is static, something to be acted upon. She has a role in the story, and she has little choice in fulfilling it. You, however, are a creature with free will, the ability to make the decisions. Any change on the princess’s part is a reaction to your actions.

The relationship between different living organisms existing together long-term and the effect they have on each other is called symbiosis. Symbiosis is often incorrectly described as being a relationship between organisms where both benefit. The actual word for that is a specific kind of symbiosis called mutualism. Symbiosis doesn’t haven’t told benefit both parties and indeed, it often doesn’t.

The bird feeds on what the tree provides. The bird spreads the seeds of the tree, allowing it to reproduce and continue its existence. The bird finds shelter in the tree’s branches, and the tree could care less. The bird bores holes into the tree, leaving it vulnerable to disease. The bird consumes and knocks down fruit before it has a chance to ripen, destroying the possibility for new life. The bird keeps the tree free of insects, keeping it safe. The bird perches on new branches not yet strong enough to support them, stunting growth. The bird nests in the corpse of what was once a tree.

Yet no matter what, it is all natural, and all leads to something new eventually. There are no wrong answers.

No matter what, she asks that I tell you to remember her.

#Hi I think I’m going insane #slay the princess

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fillinforlater · 1 year

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Eleven to One: Needy Bold Confession

Male Reader x Ahn Yujin

Length: 2888 words

Tags: ROUGH SEX, brat taming, nah fuck it, brat breaking, borderline hate sex, cursing, degredation, humiliation, spiting, spanking, slaps, pussy slaps, hardcore sex, mating press, squirting, creampie, tears, queefing, overstimulation, mutual anger, emotional stuff, FUCKED UP kinks mentioned at the end, family issues? ultimate_brat!Yujin / ultimate_brat-breaker!you

TW: ^^ (srsly, read the tags and beware of the end kekw)

Inspiration: the ending has been in planning for months, the rest is literally BFH fueled by Yujin's inability not to look insanely good and fuckable.

Credit: @sooyadelicacies, my beloved co-writer!

(A/N: yo, 100 fics. Thanks for reading!)

"Oh, now you're back."

You haven't even fully entered your apartment yet, but a venomous, annoyed shout already flies your way. You can feel Yujin tremble in rage and disgust—and she is still out of your sight, in another room.

"Yuj—"

"Did you have fun with those Unnies? Did you enjoy breeding them?"

Yujin's voice drips with deadly sarcasm, increasing both in volume and viciousness. You lay down the keys and look through the floor, into the rooms. They're all dark, not a single artificial light turned on. It's quite normal for you to return late, exhausted, either by the stress of work or the constant pounding of pussies.

Yujin's brattiness increased to a toxic level. It’s probably because of her latest comeback, the hectic promotions and an obvious lack of attention by you. Partially your fault, the breeding had to come first, but you are still the Daddy in this, your house. With deadly coldness you speak into the dark living room:

"How dare you, Yuji—"

"Fine!" she snarls back and you hear the steps of strong leather boots behind you. "If you can hook up all the time with the others, maybe I can find someone else too!"

Eyes wide in disbelief, in unbridled rage, you slowly turn to look at your girlfriend. In the faint light of the moon falling into the apartment, you see the alluring, perfectly sculpted body of Yujin. Her pale skin and a tiny white crop top reflect some of the grayish rays, but the leather jacket on her shoulders and the tiny, miniscule mini skirt fit in perfectly with the darkness. They suck in the light and your gaze, which also shifts to her full thighs and the knees-high boots of a slut that could also kick ass.

Yujin is glaring, not as the usual bratty, Daddy defying girl, no, as a woman determined to convey you had fucked around and now would suffer the consequences, while also looking like temptation personified.

"Ahn Yujin, what the fuck do you think you're doing, wearing, saying? Someone else?

“You. Fucking. Belong. To. Me."

You emphasize each word like an arrow fired straight at her. Yujin sways in place for a second. She isn't playing, even your threatening finger, pointed at her face like the barrel of a gun doesn't faze her. She steps to the side, ready to walk past you.

"I can wear what I want," she snarks and places a hand on her hip. "I can wear what I want, I can fuck who I want. And You. Don't. Own. Me."

The two of you lock eyes. Not a word is said, not a single sound made, yet the tension makes it feel like a billion voices burst out in screams of fear, anger, lust. Your fingers ball into a fist.

"Bitch," you grunt through gritted teeth. "You're mine, bitch. Yujin, you will not go out there."

Yujin reaches past you, doorknob firmly in hand, devilish smirk on her features. She applies pressure.

"What if I just do?"

The door swings open, and it swings open faster when you pin Yujin against it. You stare down at her, trapped in between both of your arms on each side of her head. Yujin bites her lip for a second, but then avoids your eyes and tries to break free from your makeshift cage.

"Is that all that you got?"

Dig your fingers into her straight hair and twist, twist, twist with each second she doesn't beg for mercy for her foolish words. Yujin's face contorts in pain, but it does not lead to her breaking, instead she opens her mouth wide to moan impossibly loud.

"Harder, Daddy!"

"Are you—"

Pull her back into the apartment by her hair and close the door.

"—fucking out of your mind? Moaning in the hallway—you have gone insane!"

"You can't even talk properly," Yujin responds, her attempts at hiding her winces futile. Her knees finally go weak when you pull her hair down. Unfortunately, you lose your grip on the straight darkness and Yujin frees herself with a quick step backwards.

"Seriously, and you want to be my Daddy. I get someone to take me hard—"

Your hand is like the claw of a falcon in dive, grabbing its helpless victim before finishing it off. In this case, Yujin. She struggles to get a breath out as your digits tighten around her throat. Without relent you push her backwards, her fierceness and the grip on her boots no match for your anger. Somewhere in your large living room, she gives up.

"Ple-please, Daddy, ca-can't breathe."

Yujin falls to her knees and you loosen your grip a little. Just as she takes in new oxygen, you make her take a harsh slap to her face. Tears jump into her eyes, the hit has her flashbanged for a moment—a moment which you use to tear open the slutty mini skirt.

"You have been bad." Your voice is deep, booming straight to Yujin's glowing face with its faint imprint of your hand. "Worse than ever before. Take your punishment!"

Rinse and spit down at her. Bangs stick to her forehead as your saliva runs down her fearful face. From her throat, a hand snakes down into her top until you find a nipple. Pinch it, twist it while doing the same to her cheek.

"You want hard?" you ask, your voice indicating that you don't accept any answer, that her response is unwanted. "Then I'll show you hard."

In a terrible shrill sound, Yujin's crop top tears open. The shocked, panicking idol tries to keep herself upright on your legs, but you kick her hands away. The only stability for her are your hands that attack her body and its beautiful, sensitive spots.

Lips, nipples, tits, they all get resounding smacks that color them in a strong red. Yujin screams, whines and finally moans, but the thought of her experiencing pleasure before you enrages you even more. Slap her flushed cheek to send a wave of numbness and paleness over them before red pain follows in the imprint of your merciless fingers.

"D-Daddy, I'm so—"

"Apology declined." Spit at her again. "You don't mean it and you're far from understanding any of this."

Twist both nipples at the same time. Your constant pulls at them might have stretched out Yujin's tits a bit more. At least they look larger. Or is it just that the image of Eunbi with her enormous bosom is still burned into your mind?

Yujin throws her head back. She arches backwards and her leather jacket finally slides down her shoulders. For the first time, you go on eye level with her—just to immediately bite into her shoulder. This time, her loud, screeching voice is stuck in the back of her throat. Will she ever get her mind back after this?

"You are mine, Yujin, you are fucking mine. You are my whore, a stupid one at that. You don't think I know exactly what I did? I fucking bred Hyewon. I'd do it again. I bred Eunbi and I'd do it again. But you, you aren't ready to be bred!"

Interrupt your rant to give Yujin more slaps across her baffled, horny, pained face.

"You're a brat! You think if I dumped my seed inside you, if I got you pregnant, you would be ready to raise a child? Hyewon, Eunbi, they are ready. You will be fucking bred when I deem it time. You don't make demands, and you don't get someone else's attention. Yujin

"I have marked you!"

"Sorry, D-Daddy, I'm so-sorry."

The first tears start to roll down, straight from Yujin's ducts over her sore cheeks until they touch your fingers at her jaw. Make her stare up through blurry eyes at your almost hateful expression. You might allow yourself to go mad, but you're tapping into feelings you shouldn't. She is still Yujin, still your girlfriend.

"You might be a confident, independent idol," you growl into her ear, forcing her down until she is laying on the floor and you can drag her skirt away from her crotch. "But you are mine, mine alone. Don't ever do this again, because we both know there is no one else for you.

"Just look at how wet you are, you kinky pain slut."

Yujin's skirt rests at her knees, legs stretched out as best as she can. Your hand rubs her crotch, slick with her juices. Her pink panties are soaked, every inch a darker color than when she bought them. Squeeze the fabric in your fist, like you would wring out a sponge, and juice runs through your fingers.

"This is insane, you're such a needy slut."

"I-I missed you, D-Daddy, I need your touch so bad."

"And still you threaten me with finding someone else, someone who could never satisfy you."

"I��ah, Daddy!"

Get rid of the skirt and give her pussy a harsh slap, shutting down her excuses instantly. Your girlfriend starts to twist and turn on the ground, her breath heavy, her tears heavier as they find the floor.

"You need to be punished, Yujin," you bluntly say with new found calmness. "I know I can make you cum with just slaps, but not tonight. Tonight you will beg me to stop, but I'll only stop when I see fit."

Another slap, on her folds, a millimeter away from her clit. Yujin yelps.

"Do you understand, whore?"

"Y-yes, Daddy," Yujin stutters and looks at you with wide, submissive eyes. "I deserve this punishment."

She bites her lips, her eyes squeeze shut. Sensually, you drag your palm gradually over her labia before you take a swing.

A wet slap when you hit the drenched panties. Yujin buckles her hips towards the punishing hand and hisses. She is keeping her voice, her reaction down... a crucial mistake.

The smacks don't stop coming. Like a merciless bombing you make the covered lips turn a painful red. Yujin breaks, screams, cries, until her voice spills all of her sins before you:

"Daddy! I'm so-sorry! Your bitch, ha-has been re-really desperate, envious—a needy toy that needs your co-cock and cum!"

Push her panties into the twitching hole a bit and urge her to continue.

"I-I love Daddy, I wa-want him first, for me, bu-but—that wo-would not be fa-fair.

"Daddy needs to breed more."

You lean down to the disheveled face and pull away a couple of dark strands that have landed in Yujin's mouth and in her eyes. You stop her murmurs with a peck on her lips, but your sweetness is short lived. Push her legs apart and fish out your cock. Rub it over her clit and interrupt her hearty moans.

"You are right. You said it yourself. My good girl was never against it, but now you decided to react like this? Ts, what a bitch!"

"I'm so-so-sorry, Daddy."

Your cockhead twitches as you push aside the wet fabric and see the sore, burning mess of Yujin's gorgeous folds. Pretend to tease her, then fill her up without warning.

"Daddy! Ah, fuck!"

Press her knees a bit further apart. Her body is ready for the taking, her insides need to get stimulated, but Yujin knows that she can't deal with your length for long. Her orgasm is certain, right around the corner. It's only natural after weeks without your cock.

"Slo-slow, please," she whimpers, fingers searching for a grip on the smooth floor. "Sen-sen-sensit—hng!"

Yujin chokes. No need to squeeze her throat this time, just give her hard thrusts into the desperate pussy. Pain on the outer lips, followed by overstimulation inside are the catalysts for an earthquake in Yujin's body. Random babbles come through drooling lips as you pump into her recklessly.

"I can't believe you came from just this!" you say with fake shock, never stopping to move your hips. Throughout you make sure that your pelvis hits the outside of her pussy, to make her cry some more.

Yujin is beyond the point of begging, hell, she doesn't even know what to beg for. It's so bad, it's good—painful punishment and absolute, undeserved, sinful bliss every second, every thrust.

Before she loses her sense of when an orgasm starts and another ends, you go slower. Yujin writhes and twitches, the high fading slowly, until you restart it with fingers violently rubbing her clit.

"Daddy-ahh!"

"Cum, baby," you growl, sweat soaking your suit from the inside. "Don't stop cumming."

More and more slickness. Juice coming out as squirt is just lube getting fucked back into her. Yujin's walls ripple, her thighs as well when you press and fold her.

Pin her arms down with yours right above the mess that was her styled hair. Pin her face down on the ground with yours, tongue fucking her numb mouth. Pin her hips down with yours and force another orgasm out of her.

"Who else can fuck your pink hole until you cum, until it's loose, until it's stuffed?"

"Daddy, only Daddy!"

Strain her muscles more, the mating press now the ultimate position to suck all the energy out of the young brat. The wet slaps of crotch on crotch are now queefs, loud, but not as loud as Yujin's guttural moans. Viciously, you press your palm on her mouth and make her hear the embarrassing, lewd sounds that come from her pussy.

"You dumb slut," you laugh in between heavy breaths, your own strength gradually declining as you near your own orgasm. "Anything you want to say?"

Yujin's eyes are glassy, filled more with lust than life. She sobs into your ear, snort running down her cheeks.

"I wa-want to be-be Daddy's number one.

"In our family. Please, Daddy! I only wan-want this. Please, I beg you!"

"Family?"

You groan out in shock. As you piston your load in massive spurts into Yujin's clenching heat, the craziest thoughts flood your mind. A family, yes, but the most immoral one imaginable.

A mommy in Eunbi, a caring leader. She knows everyone inside out and never hesitates to help. Hyewon is a different type of mommy, the one who'd like to carry a lot of children, who is submissive to the male of the house, but also smart and successful.

Minju is the beautiful, gullible sister. A klutz that everyone loves, someone who could never harm a fly. Last but not least, Yujin, the center piece, the insanely talented bratty girlfriend of yours and "sister" to Minju.

Yujin's walls get stretched by the abundance of cum you dump inside of her pussy. Your mind stretches too, comes up with even crazier thoughts. What about an ex coming into your family life, a maid to clean your apartment, a pet to play with, a neighbor to distract, or maybe more realatives? People to fill your absurd family—you're starting to lose it.

Collapse onto your girlfriend, only your elbows saving her from being painfully squashed by your tired, sweaty body. The two of you breathe heavily to find fresh oxygen in this living room now smelling of sex and sex alone.

"Are you serious about this family?" you ask after a while. Yujin dries off the last remnants of her tears and gives you obedient puppy eyes. You continue. "Like, with Eunbi and Hyewon and Minju—it's crazy. I guess we are used to crazy, but this is taking it to a whole new level."

Yujin hesitates for a second. She reaches for your face and strokes your cheekbone down to your chin with her wet fingers. Her features contort as if she is about to cry again. You try to heal her—she's cried enough tonight—and press your lips on hers. Just a peek, but Yujin sighs in relief, the last remnants of tension leaving her nude body.

"Y-yes, Daddy," Yujin whispers, "I want that. I want to be together with them, and want to be sure that I won't lose them to you and you to them. Nothing should stand in between us, I-I'll be a good girl in the family, I'll do anything for you. Daddy, please, I'm sorry, don't leav—"

Plant another kiss on the girl below you. The tremble in her voice is like a hot bath for your cold heart, like a tea in winter. It's melting you, breaks the shell that you so attentively keep up around her.

Maybe you went too far. Yujin literally looks broken, the character of the girl, no, your girl, in danger of dissolving and disappearing. Swallow your pride, God dammit.

"Yujin, Yujin, I'm at fault here. No matter how much I hated the thought of you going out in that outfit and meeting another guy, I should not have gone this far. After all…

"You're mine, Yujin. My one and only girlfriend. We'll only do and continue pursuing this family if you are okay with it. Don't change, pl-please, but also, never attempt something like this again."

You kiss Yujin's hand gently. This you can do; it's better than saying this damn word starting with 'p' and ending with 'lease'. She smiles, weakly at first, but the longer you keep eye contact, the more of her bright, mesmerizing smile appears.

She kisses the back of your hand as well, her eyes in clear devotion, her voice honest and strong.

"I'm yours, Daddy."

(A/N2: Yujin bruh 😳☠️😳)

#kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #ive smut #izone smut #ive yujin smut #ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin #male reader insert #male reader smut #eleven to one universe

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