#because ... well... dance culture man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arachine · 1 year

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— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…”

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her.

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight.

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort.

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from.

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you.

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?”

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again.

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent.

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him.

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end.

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only.

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it.

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them.

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little.

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat).

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do.

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest.

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed.

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away.

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied.

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!”

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him.

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs.

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him.

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son.

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment.

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel.

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig.

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident.

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time.

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering.

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually).

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it.

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is.

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body.

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot).

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.”

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings.

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack.

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber.

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out.

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother.

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.”

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?”

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together.

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes.

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you!

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully.

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd.

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him?

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him.

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family.

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success.

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him.

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf.

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks.

“Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion.

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence.

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode.

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would.

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time.

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden.

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack.

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot.

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?”

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway.

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack.

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk.

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches.

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting.

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs.

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.”

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now?

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him?

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again.

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart.

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible.

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each.

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.”

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream.

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly.

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.”

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations.

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones.

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin.

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds.

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty.

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?”

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to.

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve.

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think.

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face.

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb.

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring.

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you.

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you.

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is.

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours?

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity.

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force.

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching.

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you.

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers.

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to.

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles.

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man.

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty.

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you.

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack.

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides.

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls.

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy.

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically.

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile.

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?”

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him.

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground.

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness.

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side.

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess.

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length.

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable.

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired.

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you.

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement.

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds.

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement.

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons.

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace.

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks.

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart.

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains.

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.”

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #awow #avatar smut #avatar the way of water smut

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koolades-world · 1 year

Text

Exclusive Mc Privileges: Side Character Edition

I don't know Raphael well enough to include him yet, so I'm sorry about that. To any Raphael fans out there, let me know how I can pay you back. I'm on lesson 41 right now lol

Diavolo

Sitting in his lap during important meetings and playing with his hair

Drawing on his arm and him displaying it proudly no matter what it is

Playing dress up in finery

Shopping sprees!

Becoming his royal hand holder <3

Cheering him on while he's doing paperwork and bringing him treats

Sneaking out together so he can show you his favorite spots in the Devildom

Having sleepovers weekly so he can learn more about "human culture"

Barbatos

Interrupting his castle duties with no consequences

Leaving you love notes for you to find throughout the day

Helping with your homework

Exchanging recipes

Brushing his hair!

Helping cook and getting as many tastes as you want

Freeing all the rats you find in the castle outside for him

Spending all his free time with you

Simeon

Helping him learn more about computers even if he's asked this question ten times already

Getting best massages in the three realms

Moonbathing

Helping him bake

Writing his scripts for him when his hands hurt

Getting to look at old concepts and manuscripts

Being his muse <3

Feeding him snacks

Solomon

Reorganizing his potions ingredients because it's always a mess

Dancing among the stars together

Attempting to teach him to cook (and failing)

Teaching him how to be hip and cool

Letting you admire his various pact marks and hearing the stories behind each one

Lets you style his hair differently just to see what he would look like

Forgiving you each and every time you set him on fire during lessons

Luke

Ruffling his hair

Tucking him into bed at night

Always being the first person to sample his desserts

Sharing concept ideas with you about new dessert ideas

Helping him deal with the brothers and their teasing

Ironing his clothes

Giving him piggy back rides and boosts to higher areas

Doing homework together that he's to afraid to ask a demon for help with

Thirteen

Braiding and styling her hair

Doing her makeup!

Throwing snacks and candy into each other's mouths

Getting sneak peaks into her latest pranks

Taking turns drawing on various sleeping people's faces to see who can do the most without waking them up

Having mini fashion shows that are mostly just her admiring you

Taking lots of pictures on your phone when you're not looking

Mephisto

Kidnapping and having free reign of his cane

Hitting him with the cane (lovingly)

Teasing him about Diavolo and Lucifer

Showing his affection for you in front of the brothers

Adding cute bows to his hair

Looking over drafts for the school paper

Learning how to horseback ride

Squishing his man titties

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles #obey me side characters #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon

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arainbowofchaos · 7 months

Text

Mentally Physically Weak

pair: Jungkook x reader

genre : smut with some plot

word count: 3,5k

summary: Jungkook is waiting for you outside your workplace, a cigarette in his mouth, and you can hardly believe your luck. Above all, you're acutely aware of how weak you are for him, and you want to savor this moment as if it were the last.

[A/N]: Yesterday brought a whirlwind of events, and I couldn't resist the urge to pour out my heart for Jungkook.

You've never felt like this before, you're sure of it. That gnawing feeling in your stomach, that palpable excitement coursing through your body, that occasional wave of nausea flooding you because you're experiencing so many emotions at once. And you can't deny that it's invigorating, even if sometimes it feels like you're losing control. Something is exciting about giving yourself completely to him.

You watch Jungkook casually leaning against the wall of the store across from where you work. This is your moment, something you can enjoy before he notices your presence. He smokes, enveloped in a cloud of smoke that he exhales into the night air after putting the cigarette between his lips. The sight makes your stomach turn, as it seems surreal. It's late and darkness covers the sky. You're not sure if you're shivering because the cold of October is setting in or because of the anticipation that this man is waiting for you.

At last, Jungkook sees you, and as you gaze into each other's eyes across the distance, his expression changes, and softens, and a broad smile spreads across his face. His eyes shine with excitement, and you can feel his joy at finding you again. He throws away his cigarette and extinguishes it, as if he had only used it to relieve boredom, before joining you.

A colleague who leaves after you wishes you a good evening, and you wave to him. You see his gaze fix on Jungkook for a moment, and you realize he's confused. It's amazing how readily people judge your personal life. He sees this tall, imposing, black-clad figure with the look of a bad boy waiting for you in the night and thinks, "What is she doing with a guy like that?" He doesn't see that behind the tattoos and piercings are the kindest heart in the world and the most comforting arms you've ever found.

You wait impatiently for the light to turn green, and when it finally does, Jungkook is the first to run across the crosswalk to reach you. He moves gracefully, his dark curls dancing in the wind. As he approaches you, he leans down slightly to meet you at eye level, his hand resting on your cheek, and just like that, he leans forward to place his cool lips on yours. Your body warms just from the contact of his palm with your face, his fingers run tenderly over your skin. The trembling intensifies, and you feel like you could burst into tears at any moment. Why does it feel so incredible to be in his presence, to have him so close?

"Hey baby, you okay? Tough day, huh?" His voice sounds concerned - it cuts through the air like a rocket, and you don't have time to answer his questions before he wraps you in a strong hug. You might as well pass out; you trust him to take care of your lifeless body. The day has been so long, you're exhausted, and you just want him to take care of you. You shake your head as your face is buried in his t-shirt. "My baby is tired, I can feel it. What if I take you home?" This time you nod, relieved that he understands without you having to express yourself.

You and Jungkook didn't speak the same language. You didn't have the same culture or the same kind of profession. He's younger than you are. You met him when you came to Busan for your job. He loves music, photography, and drawing. He's an artist who enjoys life by creating what he loves, and you admire him for it. You're a product of the corporate world you’ve worked in for the last six years, and although you love your job, you're often exhausted by the endless days and relentless pace. When you met Jungkook, you immediately fell in love with this boy for whom life was an adventure while you knew only constraints.

Jungkook takes your hand firmly in his, and your heart beats a little faster at the difference in size; yours is so much smaller that it gets lost in his. He's so much more than you - smarter, funnier, more attractive; he's everything you could dream of in a human being. And you're shocked at the depth of your feelings. It often happens that you imagine a world where he has left you - and you don't know what you'd do, how you could find joy in life after a man made you feel so alive.

Your parents don't appreciate him, even without having met him yet. They've seen photos of him on your social media, and they're disgusted to see you wasting your time with a punk. You reassure them by explaining that Jungkook is a good person and that his appearance is due to his creative side, but they view your relationship with disapproval. From their perspective, they're mainly concerned that you've found an anchor besides your work, which implies that you have no intention of returning to your homeland. They are selfish; they want to see their daughter come back.

As you walk hand in hand with Jungkook through the dimly lit streets of the approaching autumn, his thumb gently caresses your wrist simply because he can't resist, and you continue to melt under his touch. You observe Jungkook as he gazes up at the sky, smiling. You dream of being able to live in his imagination; you're certain it's a beautiful place where the two of you could be happy together without any obstacles getting in the way.

"You're very uh… quiet tonight, do you want to talk?" Jungkook's accent is something that melts your heart - the way he searches for his words for you, the efforts he puts in to get better to understand you even more. It's his way of showing you that he's there for you, that you can confide in him at any moment. He can’t give you grand speeches about anything; he just wants you to be able to relax in his presence. You feel like you should talk if only to reassure him.

"Sorry... I'm a bit overwhelmed right now," you manage to articulate, then add, with a big smile and starry eyes, as you do every time you look at him, "Thank you for coming to pick me up; I can't imagine a better way to end my day." Your voice is almost shy. You could laugh at yourself for it; you've never been the shy type, but this man has a hold on you.

"Aww, it's nothing. I just wanted to see you," he responds, singing it out, "The day isn't over yet, want to eat something?" he asks with a strong sense of enthusiasm.

"I'm really craving Indian food, what do you think?" you suggest, and he eagerly agrees before scooping you into his arms and shouting, "Yayy, cheese naan!!!" Passersby look at you with surprise; some are taken aback by the sudden burst of excitement, while others offer kind smiles. And you, you continue to melt, slowly, in his arms, losing yourself in his embrace and his intoxicating scent that leaves your head spinning… You can't help but be constantly charmed by his unwavering enthusiasm. He's up for any plan as long as it means you're together, and especially if he can fill his belly at the same time...

Half an hour later, you find yourself seated on the terrace of your favorite Indian restaurant. It's not overly upscale, and you've always had a mild uncertainty about its hygiene standards. However, the food is undeniably delicious, and you've never experienced any health issues, so that's what truly matters. As the meal arrives, Jungkook eagerly devours his dish, and you barely eat yours. Ever since you met him, you've struggled with eating as if your body no longer requires sustenance beyond his presence.

Jungkook playfully dips his naan into your palak paneer, and you feign outrage while he chuckles at his joke. His eyes light up so much that you can hardly see them, his dimples etched into his handsome face, and his smile is on full display. Your heart races when you witness his happiness, you can't help it. You lean in slightly from your chair to surprise him with a kiss, causing him to stop laughing. He reciprocates with a more serious, urgent kiss that leaves you slightly off balance. He gently bites your lip, signaling his intentions, and you can't help but release a soft moan in response.

"Let's finish up and head home, huh?" His mischievous look speaks volumes about his eagerness to return. You blush because you know exactly what he means, and you signal the waiter to request a takeout box for the remainder of your dish. You're no longer hungry for food, only for his touch.

It turns out that when Jungkook talks about home, he could just as easily be referring to your apartment or his - as long as it's just the two of you, it's your home. Since the Indian restaurant is closer to your place, you naturally head there after your meal. Upon entering your building, Jungkook nestles against your back, his hands gently encircling your hips, and his face finds solace in the curve of your neck as he plants tender kisses. You shiver, feeling your heart race in your chest. Even though you've been dating for months, you're still not entirely accustomed to this sensation; every time feels like the first.

You swiftly ascend the stairs, and with fervor, you open the door to your apartment, a tangible passion building up for the man still standing close behind you, ready to engulf you with affection.

"I want a dessert," Jungkook whispers against your lips with a quivering voice as you both find yourselves out of sight in the privacy of your living room. It becomes clear just how much your presence affects him.

"Go ahead and treat yourself," you innocently reply, pretending not to catch on to his intentions.

"Ah, that's what I had in mind," he retorts with a mischievous grin. At his words you feel Jungkook's hands move down to your ass and grip it, you moan softly as you can feel your body going weak in his hands.

Every time, it's the same old story – you feel like a toy in his skilled hands. Your legs can barely carry you to your room, so he lifts you, and you cling to him like a koala. In a hushed tone, you whisper that you love him. You told him after just a week, so you no longer have any reason to be ashamed of anything. The moment you laid eyes on him, you knew you were done for. Jungkook has always responded positively to your declarations, and even now, he's quick to reassure you with an "I love you too." But deep down, you understand that he may never experience emotions as intense and all-consuming as yours. The truth is, he could ask you for anything, and you would do it without a second thought. You'll never admit it to anyone, but the way he looks at you keeps you alive. When you don't see him for a few days, you can feel how your enthusiasm for life is waning. The only way to lift your spirits is to think of him and his beautiful, goofy smile.

He gently places you on the bed and then lies on top of you, cradling your head in his hands. With intense sincerity, he whispers, "You're so beautiful," and you plead with eyes that are practically begging, "Jungkook, please kiss me." His face descends to yours, and his lips find yours effortlessly. He kisses you passionately as if it were the last time and your heart races. You desire him like you've never desired anyone before. Hearing his voice and feeling his touch never grows old. Between kisses, you continue to implore, tears glistening in your eyes in the dim light, "Please, don't ever leave me."

You might come across as foolish, but that doesn't matter. When you become emotional, all you need is reassurance. It's your yearning for something absolute in a foreign land with a man who's not from your world. You want a forever happy ending, even though you know it's not possible, despite the promises of fidelity. In your case, you want him to be as free as he desires. It holds no value if he stays with you out of pity or because you ask him to. You'd like him to be just as consumed by his desire to be with you. And tonight, it seems to be the case, and that's enough for you.

“I’ll never leave you, baby,” he promises solemnly. You don’t want to think about the value of his promise as he undoes the buttons of your blouse to let your chest meet the cool air of the room and goosebumps appear on your skin. "You are cold." he observes “I’m going to make you hot.” and he smiles innocently, you think, he shouldn't have the right to be so angelic when he has just undone your bra with one hand behind your back without you even realizing it. Jungkook gets rid of your clothes that hinder his path to your breasts. He envelops your nipple in his mouth and does not neglect the other by enveloping it in his hand. Everything is hot and your head falls back on the bed as moans escape your lips. You feel the excitement spreading between your legs and you know that tonight again, it won't take you long to meet the stars.

You feel his tongue move expertly and like every time you continue to beg him for more “Jungkook, please, I want to feel you.” your hands are lost in his soft, raven-black hair and he lifts his head, your breast still in his mouth as he smiles, the same mischievous smile from earlier “And my dessert?” he asks, laughing. He knows the effect he has on you since he stops playing with you for a moment to come back to your face and place a kiss on the tip of your nose. “I’ll have my dessert and then you can feel me, okay baby?”

You nod eagerly because you know what he means. He stands up and unzips your skirt to remove it completely, leaving you in just your panties, lying vulnerable under his gaze. "You are beautiful," he repeats to make sure you heard correctly. Jungkook kneels on the ground in front of you, and his arms grab behind your thighs to drag you to him. You let out a cry of surprise at the force of his gesture, and he laughs tenderly at your reaction. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he says as if it were normal while you can barely breathe at the idea that he was even thinking about you. “I see you’re wet,” he says and you know he's praising you “Can I taste you?” he asks for permission, and you respond by removing your underwear for him, leaving your complete nudity in view. Jungkook licks his lips, playing with his piercing in the process, looking into your eyes, then his gaze returning between your legs “Gosh, so pretty.” and he fucking smiles.

You close your eyes when his face disappears between your legs and you feel his tongue playing with your clit, getting straight to the point. You can’t stop the moans that escape your throat, and soon you can’t think at all. His hands caress your hips while his mouth devours your most intimate area and you can do nothing but feel all the good he does to you. You need him; feeling him so close to you is never enough. “Jungkook… more please.” you plead and he pauses, lifting his head to look you in the eyes, his lips and chin covered in your juices “I like it when you… uh… when you beg me? That's right?" and you can't believe this is the time he chose for an English lesson. You nod and rephrase “I’m begging you Jungkook, please give me more.”

He laughs softly, proud to see you so needy for him and to improve his vocabulary in bed. His hand replaces where his face was a few seconds before, and his finger comes to caress your clit, before moving lower between your folds, a moment later and you feel two fingers inside you. You gasp, your breath hitching as he pushes his fingers inside you in a back-and-forth motion that makes you salivate. You've lost all logic and ability to think as you take what he gives you with incoherent moanings.

“I want you,” he says suddenly, sensing that you are ready for him. You come out of your trance to open your eyes and see that he is looking at you with a much darker gaze than before. That's where he finally gives you the show you've been waiting for, getting up to take off his black t-shirt, and leaving his bulging muscles and sleeve of tattoos in view for you to admire. He also takes off his cargo pants, his massive erection not very well hidden under his underwear “Do you like the view?” he asks with a smirk and you blush, unable to respond to his comment. He gets rid of his boxer and your eyes roll behind your eyelids at the sight of his length standing proudly in front of you. You feel weak for him—mentally and physically. You're acutely aware of what lies ahead, and every fiber of your being quivers with eager anticipation. Jungkook enters you effortlessly, as you are always ready for him, no matter the moment.

Often, nothing seems to make sense, but in moments like this, when he makes love to you and you can see the most profound adoration in his eyes, you feel genuinely ecstatic to be alive. You can hear his adorable grunt every time you clench around him, adding sensation, and it sends shivers down your spine. He exudes an irresistible charm effortlessly. You only feel complete in his presence, and you thank the universe for putting this luminous being on your path. Jungkook kisses you again, going back and forth, and you can barely respond to his kiss because of how full you feel. You moan nonsense and he speaks things that you can barely make out. Your tongues duel and it's dirty and messy and perfect. You tremble from head to toe, lost in his embrace.

He pulls out of you and orders you to turn around, which you do immediately. You lie down on your stomach and feel him position himself behind you, his cock at your entrance before coming back inside you deeply, a new angle allowing you to feel him even better. You scream, tears streaming down your cheeks as your head rests on the cool mattress. Jungkook continues to increase his pace, letting you chase your orgasm, the sweet melody of skin on skin echoes through the room before he seductively asks you, “Please cum for me, baby.” Tears of pleasure continue to stream as he taps against your sensitive and delicious spot, and you finally end up seeing the stars while shouting his name. “Jungkook” you exhale, delirious, as he continues a few more thrusts before cumming inside you as well.

When you come back to reality, he's lying on top of you - careful not to put his full weight on you either - he's reciting praises to you in Korean and your heart aches at the thought of him being comfortable enough to let go in his native language. He places kisses on your shoulder before pulling out. You feel him moving behind before he comes back to gently clean up the mess he made. After that, he lies down next to you, drawing you close into his embrace once more. The two of you remain there, locked in a tender hug, for a few precious minutes. And then, he utters those words that resonate deep within your heart, "I will never leave you." A warm, contented smile graces your face as you bury it into his sweaty, bare chest, finding solace and security in his unwavering promise.

What remains etched in your memory is the fact that you have this one more night with him, and in this fleeting moment, that's all that truly matters. The ability to revel in these stolen moments of intimacy with him fills you with profound gratitude. Wrapped in his loving embrace, the world beyond fades into insignificance – the desperate glances of your colleagues, the reproachful words of your parents – all become distant echoes.

Regardless of what anyone else thinks or what the uncertain future may hold, you banish those concerns from your mind. In this singular instant, you crave nothing more than to bask in the comforting cocoon of his embrace, to savor the warmth of his presence for one more night.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #my words #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fanfiction

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

Text

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight.

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life."

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other.

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you.

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs?

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist.

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too.

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you.

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh.

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke.

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves.

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books.

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat.

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand.

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain.

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over…

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh.

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure.

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle. "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine.

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs.

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?"

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips.

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't.

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good.

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you.

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks…

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to…

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck…

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time.

“Desperate for it?”

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?"

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership.

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…?

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body.

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled.

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench.

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees.

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you.

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet."

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want...

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined.

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him.

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is.

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat.

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic.

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves.

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable.

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch.

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong.

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two…

You never even kissed.

............................................

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

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bluessmutifyplaylist · 4 months

Note

(Horny Round 2!!!)

Reader is a burlesque dancer, cuz they got mouths to feed, and Old Man Lilia gives them a proposition: put on a show for him and his boys so they can learn how to best please their future lovers. Voyeurism, corruption kink, Daddy Lilia~

Characters are aged up!! I based it off of this YouTube video as well as a few pole-dancing videos.

Warnings: Reader is not Yuu, AFAB but with GN pronouns, corruption kink, voyeurism, pole dancing, strip teasing, lap dance, dry humping, foursome, penetrative (p in v) sex, corruption of the future king and his knights, jerking Sebek and Silver off, overstimulation, creampie(s), blowjob(s)

Diasomnia

There was a dancing troupe coming to the Briar Valley, and they came around annually in the summer because it gave the citizens something to look forward to. Well, it wasn’t just the dancing troupe. It was an entire fair, but the dancing was the main show. During the day, the dances were all child-friendly, and the children were even allowed to hop up on the stage sometimes to join the dancers.

However, after the clock struck 8:30 PM, the doors were closed for children, and the dancers went into their dressing rooms and brought out the more… provocative… outfits. This was a time for an adult audience, and maybe a few teenagers in the older margin who managed to sneak in somehow.

You were with your girls in the back, making sure that your red lipstick was applied pristinely. You had large feathered fans, and a rather revealing outfit that was covered up a bit with a tutu. Your fellow dancers were all hyping each other up, and you saw one of them slap another on the ass as she went on stage, saying go get ‘em, tiger! It made you laugh… until the matron of the troupe called your name.

Getting up from your seat, you walked over, fans in hand, nervous that you were going to get fired. This entire fair was your livelihood. If you were to be let go, not only would you suffer, but so would the family members you’ve been sending money to. Your heart was racing as you walked up to the matron, heels clacking against the floor.

“Y/N, someone has requested our best dancer for a large sum of money. I know the financial situation you are in and you are the first that came to mind. Plus, you are one of our finest dancers, so I am giving you the option, should you accept, to give our esteemed guests a private show.”

“Madame, I don’t mean to sound selfish or money-obsessed, but how-”

“They are offering 1 million thaumarks, and I have the check in this envelope right here,” She held up an envelope, emphasizing that this was real and not a joke. Then, she brought her arm back down, and extended it to you. “You don’t need to have sex with them, but the… leader?... of the group wanted for them to have an experience with something so informal as the fair.”

“Umm…” This was probably the biggest decision of your life. 1 million thaumarks?! There was no way that you were going to pass that up. So, you nodded your head, “Yes, I will do it.”

“Good! This is yours, then! They will be in Room 1 in about 45 minutes. Your routine should be fine, as the man said he wanted it to be ‘culturally enlightening’.” She then walked off, and you were left staring at the envelope now in your hands.

“Holy fu-”

~~~~~~~~

In the aforementioned room, 4 men were sitting, discussing the plan for the evening. Three of them had no idea what was going to happen, while the ‘leader’ was explaining everything.

“Alright, boys. As you know, this is not a children’s show. However, I wanted you to learn something about the art of burlesque dancing. It’s quite sensual, but it gives power to the performer because they have the audience in their hands just with the way they move.”

“LILIA-SAMA, I AM GRATEFUL THAT YOU HAVE GIVEN US THIS EDUCATIONAL OPPORTUNITY, BUT I FAIL TO SEE WHY THIS WOULD BE IMPORTANT!” Sebek was immediately shushed, being told that he needed to keep the volume of his voice down.

“Well, it will teach-” Lilia was cut off by the room going dark. The thing about these rooms was that they were really smaller-scale tents behind the large one. In addition to that, the small tents had platforms in the middle of them for the dancer, along with a pole.

Spotlights came on, highlighting you and your large fans. You were wearing a bustier, corset, panties, and a tutu, and you were wearing bright red lipstick as well as elbow-length gloves. Your heels sparkled in the light. You bent down, one leg in front of the other, using one fan to cover your rear end and the other to point at your outstanding foot.

“Hello, boys~” Your voice said. Then, the music started up, and you started to dance. Sharply moving your hips up and down, making sure that your toes were always pointed so that your legs looked longer. You could feel their hungry gazes on you, and you smiled as you reached your hands behind you, going to untie the tutu.

Shimmying it down your waist, you could tell who the leader was. You know he had been at previous adult shows, as his pink hair was hard to miss. However, based on the reactions of the one with light green hair and the one with silver hair, you guessed that this was the first adult show they had been to. You were happy to be their first. As for the one with the horns, you could see that he was genuinely interested in the art as well as you.

Once it was off, you threw it like a frisbee to the man with green hair. You smiled and winked at him as his face was glowing an even brighter red. Truly, his face would put your red lipstick to shame.

You then turned to the silver-haired one and ushered him over to the stage. You turned around, making sure to bend over as much as you could, and then you asked if he could untie your corset. He nodded his head and went to untie it, struggling a little because his hands were shaking. You heard the ‘leader’ shout something.

“Let him take it off of you!”

Smiling, you looked at the man and he was also frozen in place. Did you really have that effect on men?

Whispering, you asked, “Would you like to help me take it off?” You giggled as he nodded, pulling at the strings pair by pair, and you worked on unclasping the front of it. Once it was off, you threw it to the horned man while placing a rather passionate kiss on the silver-haired man’s lips. Breaking apart, you saw that you left red lipstick on his lips, but you gently pushed him back in his seat.

Standing back up, you headed to the pole. You weren’t as advanced in pole dancing as some of your fellow dancers, but you did know how to do the basics. You grabbed the pole, pulling your body to it, slowly sliding down, placing your fans down on the ground. Once you were squatting down, you started grinding against the pole. You stood back up slowly, locking eyes with the leader, and then you sauntered over to him after picking up one of your fans.

Straddling him, you threw your arms around his neck and he placed his hands upon your hips gently, making sure you aren’t feeling pressured to do anything you don’t want to. You placed a kiss on his lips this time, making sure to rub your clothed regions against his growing boner. For him being a rather small man, you could tell that he definitely had a disproportionate size, but it just further served to arouse you.

This small group of men was different from others you have danced for. They appreciated your art, and they weren’t groping you in a way that made you uncomfortable. They allowed you to go to them first, and you loved it. You stood up, repositioning yourself in a reverse cowgirl position, and leaned back into him. He placed kisses upon the crook of your neck, and you used your fan to cover up the way you were grinding back down on him.

You can’t remember a time where you felt genuine pleasure from one of these dances, but you felt yourself growing wet as you continued your actions. You felt one of his hands slowly reach up to cup your bra-clad breast and one reach down to your panties, giving you a chance to stop him, but you didn’t. You instead tossed away your fan so that the other guys could see what was going on.

“Call me ‘Lilia’, love~” He whispered into your ear before using his fangs to bite into your neck. There was a bit of pain, but pleasure soon followed, and it wasn’t enough to draw blood anyway. Otherwise, you might have guessed he was a vampire.

“Call me ‘Y/N’,” You whispered back, letting out a gasp when he started rubbing your clit. His other hand went under your bra and he started fondling your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. You looked back at the other men and you were surprised to see them drawing closer.

“Alright, Y/N. I wanted you here because I want to teach these boys how to pleasure somebody. However, I need verbal consent,” He said louder, stopping what he was doing so that you could answer.

“You have my consent, Lilia,” Upon saying that, he immediately shoved a finger into your awaiting pussy, making you moan at the sudden intrusion. You could feel his finger curling and moving inside of you, and you simply wanted more.

As your hips rolled to try and get more friction, you ended up rubbing more and more against his erection, making him groan.

“So wet for me~” He snickered, looking at your little audience, “Boys, you never want to just go right ahead and stick your dick inside someone without a little bit of preparation and foreplay. After all, you want them to be aroused and participating.

That’s another thing: basic consent and participation. Depending on what you are into, all parties involved must be participating and making sure it is a pleasurable experience for those involved.

Please stand up, love.”

You followed his orders, saddened that he took his hands out of your bra and panties. Then, you heard his belt unbuckle and his pants slide down, and you felt your underwear slide down your legs. The cold air hits your exposed regions like a block of ice, making you shudder. It didn’t go unnoticed by anybody in the tent.

“Now you may sit back down,” Lining up your entrance with the tip of his cock, he put his hands on your hips to guide you. Feeling him fill you up finally could have made you cum alone, but his size made your eyes roll back in pleasure. You tried covering your mouth to block any moans from coming out, but his hand blocked yours. “Let those pretty noises out, dearie. These boys need to learn what pleasure sounds like.”

Nodding, you put your hand back down as he started to guide you up and down on his cock.

Oh, oh, ohhh’s enunciated each drop down, with an occasional fuckkkk. You didn’t even notice the silver and green-haired knights get close and right next to you, unbuckling their pants as well.

“Y/N, you wouldn’t mind giving these guys a bit of the pleasure you’re feeling, would you?” You looked to see them with their dicks out, and you quickly reached out your arms and hands to start jerking them off. The horned man continued watching you all, a smirk on his face.

Up, down, up, down, up, down. Your hips went up and down on Lilia’s member, your hands went up and down on the knights’ cocks, the horned man’s eyes went up and down following you. Every single time Lilia hit that special spot inside of you, you squeezed on the dicks in your hands, making the two men groan.

The man with bright green hair had already came, and now he was just a tad sensitive. You guessed he was at least part fae based on his fangs, so his durability had to be amazing. If you were being honest, you were not far behind, and you found your climax washing over you as you slumped, but your eyes snapped open when Lilia kept thrusting up into you.

“You didn’t think I was done… did you? Neither are any of these fine gentlemen. Tell me, Y/N, where do you want me to cum?”

“I-Inside… Please, please, please inside!” You cried, and you had felt another orgasm wash over you as he came inside of you. You were panting, feeling the warmth of his cum painting your walls white.

“I would be willing to have a turn with them, Lilia,” The horned man said, and his height intimidated you. The dick imprint that you could see against his pants intimidated you as well. However, you found yourself somehow getting aroused again, and, stumbling, you walked over to him.

With a snap of his fingers, you saw that his pants were off and folded neatly on the side. His size was unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. To be fair, it’s not like you slept around, but you have had a few flings here and there in the different places you performed. No beastmen could come close to comparing.

“I’m aware I’m… better endowed than most. If you wish, I could prepare you more-”

“That isn’t going to be necessary, sir. I think I’m ready.” You really need to think about what you say before you say it, but you just couldn’t wait to have that absolute monster inside of you. You decided that you would straddle him, cowgirl-style, so that you could work at your own pace.

However, he had other plans.

Placing his hands on your hips, he shoved you all the way down, and tears leaked from your eyes. You groaned in both pain and pleasure, burying your head in his shoulder, adjusting to his size.

“Tell me when you want to start moving.” It took a few moments, but you eventually nodded and he began moving you up and down again. Luckily, he had strength to do it for you entirely, as your legs gave up.

“Do you think you could bend backwards enough to suck this young man off?” Lilia asked. Being a dancer granted you a level of flexibility that actually allowed you to do this. You leaned back as far as you could, just to be met with the silver-haired man’s cock.

Oh, yeah… he hasn’t cum yet, you realized. Opening your mouth, he slid the tip in. It was quite unusual to be giving a blowjob in this position, but you were always down to be a bit more adventurous in such activities. His size was the smallest in this group of men, but it still wasn’t anything to laugh at.

“Oh, fuck…” The man muttered under his breath. What you couldn’t see was that as he was thrusting into your throat slowly, there was a bit of a bulge. Your mouth was so warm. You moaned around his dick, adding even more stimulation. On your left, Lilia and the green-haired man were each stroking themselves, watching you get absolutely railed by these two men.

Earlier that day, your matron said you didn’t have to have sex with them. Lilia even told you that you could tell them to stop. However, they were both wrong. You did have to have sex with them, and you couldn’t tell them to stop. If you turned this down, you might have to have yourself committed to a mental asylum because no one in their right mind would turn down an opportunity like this.

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soylikethedrink · 28 days

Text

Forbidden By Nature

A bird and dog shouldn't be together. You knew that. But you found it hard to resist against the handsome drinksmith at the bar. If people were to know about your secret relationship with him, it wouldn't look too good for you, a Halovian from the Oak Family. And it wouldn't be too good of news to your two siblings, Robin and especially Sunday, who strongly detested the 'despicable and wicked' dog.

⚠️ Tags & Warnings: GN Reader, Infidelity, Major and Minor Character Deaths.

⚠️ Note: Major spoilers from the 2.1 patch. This was also written before the release of 2.2 patch. I'm 100% cooked if Gallagher is actually a nice guy.

Sunday prided himself in his leadership. One could not deny that he was a man of many fortes. His great wit, and his erudition, and his unbreakable composure, these qualities made him worthy of being the head of the Oak family.

And then there was sweet-faced Robin. While Halovians were naturally born with an attractive aura, Robin could easily draw crowds and crowds of people from different planets with just her voice alone. It wasn't much of a wonder that she climbed her way up in stardom with little effort.

Unlike your siblings, you weren’t interested in the spotlight. Being in the center of the spotlight means that you must possess the voice that the people want to hear and listen to, you must have a face that is easily distinguishable among rows and rows of people, and you must have a heart that naturally desires to be adored. And frankly, none of these appealed much to you.

But one should not presume that your lack of interest in the world of celebrities implied that you weren’t promised for greatness.

You were well-versed in the world of business. Your social networking skills were of top-notch quality. Negotiation comes naturally to you. While Robin found joy dancing and singing on the shining stage, your happiness lied under stacks and stacks of wealth and luxuries. Your riches were forged by your own sweat, blood, and tears and most knew that.

Though some people would have assumed that greed would eventually have spoiled your heart to the rotten core, you would continually prove them wrong. As someone who knew the language and the culture of business, you decided to pass it all to Sunday. At young, he became well-acquainted with the mortal psyche. He knew about the worlds that they wanted to walk on, the lullabies that they wanted to hear of, and the lives that they wished they had. With the help of your connections, he easily made his way up. And before you even know it, he became the head of the Oak Family.

And this went the same for Robin. As you weren't very fond of the life of celebrities, you faced some obstacles in conditioning her up for success. But you disliked failures, hence why Robin managed to become a top star at a young age with your help, despite the disagreements and disputes that you faced by the people in your surroundings. You then received Sunday’s assistance, who helped his sister to adapt to the life of a star.

Because of you, the two of your siblings were well-known figures in Penacony.

Your achievements alone served as the evidence of your success, thus bringing some clarification towards your prestige in the world of the rich.

But you didn’t reach this elevated level of success overnight. You had some help here and there. Met a few people, some that you shouldn't even acknowledge.

“Gallagher?” Your voice was pitched with curiosity, as you swirled the drink inside the glass by the stem. “Gallagher, the member of the Bloodhound family?”

Your maid nodded her head in confirmation. “He shared with me that he would like to meet you soon, and asked when you will be free.”

The sip from the drink trickled down to your throat. But the sip could not muster a quick answer out of you. You thought deeply on how you should approach the situation. The kick from the aftertaste finally booted out a response out of you.

“There's no need for such a formal arrangement. We were close friends,” you said calmly. “He can meet me right now if he wants to.”

Your maid gave you a second nod, before walking around. As her hand rested around the doorknob, you loudly said, “Actually, he doesn’t need to see me. I will see him myself. It would have been easier for both parties.”

Your maid pinched her eyebrows together confusedly at your suggestion. “But what would they think about—”

Her question was interrupted by the clinking sound of the glass against the table. Raising from your seat, you gathered your purse in your hand. You reassured her, “Don’t fret about it.”

When the door opened, you swung your car keys between your fingers. “I’ll be home around 8 PM. You know what to do if I'm not home by then.”

Before your maid could even argue against your departure, the door behind you was already slammed shut.

You were an individual who marched forward with a well-strategized stride. It was an uncommon sight to see you standing still, feeling lost. You always knew what to say, when to act. It was almost as if living was natural for you.

But anyone who observed you from a distance, knew that there were rare moments where there was a crack in the facade you wore.

Heels clicked against the marble floor, turning the heads of the few customers in the bar. You sat at one of the empty seats, before placing your purse on the table. You wiggled yourself out of your coat, folding it neatly before placing it on the seat next to you.

Closing your eyes, you indulged in the noises and chatters of the bar. The bar didn’t have too many attendees. But you were hardly bugged by it, as a quiet bar had a greater appeal to you.

A glass was placed in front of you. It was filled to the brim with a pink juice, in which you suspected it to come from the finest of strawberries. Lemon slices were floating on the surface, with a sticker of the top-star celebrity of Penacony being plastered at the corner of the drink. The presentation of the drink was endearing, you would say. Especially given your background.

Strangers would have been confused by the strange gesture. But you were no stranger to this place.

“Aw, how sweet.” Your hand reached out for the drink, as the ice cubes clinked against the glass. Even by a simple glance, you could easily guess it. Rose In Rain.

Before you could even have a sip of it, you can already taste the flavors of the drink melting into your tongue. “It’s not a wonder that the bar has managed to retain its popularity among people of all classes.”

With a very composed air, the drinksmith pronounced his response, “This is simply a part of my job. There’s no need for such flattery.”

He grabbed a towel, as he began drying the newly-cleaned glasses.

“Surely, a part of your job does not include you offering such a special treatment to his customers,” You teased, as you brought the drink close to your lips. “And why, I wonder. Are you interested in me, Mr. Gallagher?”

He kept the towel away, and you noticed that the folds were rather uneven. His lack of verbal response might imply disinterest, but his body language was telling you a different story.

“Yes. Because no member from the Oak family, who are raised with wealth and riches, would spend the night in such a shabby, gloomy bar with moody bartenders. How could I not be interested when met with such abnormality?”

“Abnormality,” you repeated after him playfully. “How awful! I used to be addressed by such endearments, now I’m reduced to an abnormality. Do you detest me that much, Mr. Gallagher?”

You attempted to tease an answer out of him, as you slowly stroked his leg with the tips of your heels.

“And here I thought that you would have a change of character after successfully climbing up in the social hierarchy,” he commented flatly.

“Let me hear it.”

“Feisty, birdie,” he said in a voice that was tinged with slight amusement. With arms crossed against his chest, he asked in a huff, “Don’t say you come all the way here for that?”

“No,” you denied. “My maid came here telling me that you would like to discuss some matters. I just thought that it would be convenient to come here instead of the other way around.”

“Well, the discussion is not bar-friendly, I would say. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

An exasperated sigh came out of your mouth. “I’m assuming it involves Sunday.”

When your younger brother’s name rolled out of your tongue, there was a slight disdainful glance towards you. “Spot-on. Quite impressive, really.”

“Give him time.”

“And will time grow him out of tyranny?” asked Gallagher.

“Tyranny?” You repeated him again. But instead of uttering it in a playful chirp, your tone was raised in frustration. “You’re speaking nonsense. He is controlling and demanding, but none of that fits what people might consider a tyrant. You need to kill someone to become one. And I don’t recall my younger brother getting involved in a manslaughter case.”

You slowly pushed the drink away from your sight. You continued, “I come here with the intention to have some fun. Let’s not sour the mood with such hostile arguments.”

“Sunday is young, and inexperienced in this kind of position. But he’s fast-learner. With his wits and charms, it wouldn’t take that much time for him to grow and become a proper man,” you defended.

There was an unusual pause in the conversation. And for some reason, the hairs on your arms stood up from the freezing air around you. Too cold for your liking. Not only the air, but also the man in front of you. Too cold for your liking.

“A higher position comes with higher ambitions, and followed with a higher price,” your voice dropped at a lower note, while shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just the way it is.”

He hummed in response. “It comes naturally out of you.”

Your forehead wrinkled at his remark, but before you could question his comment, he cut you to it: “Almost as if you are speaking about yourself.”

“Funny,” you said, feigning amusement. You heaved out a sigh of exasperation, your gaze fallen on the shiny counter. Your tongue no longer longed for the sweet, pink juice that was served earlier. “Let’s settle this with civility. We don’t need to jab at each other’s faults and families. To be insulting and mocking one another relentlessly is very unprofessional of us, who are known as the people who oversee all of Penacony’s matters.”

“Ah, I see. We are colleagues now.”

You closed your eyes, as you swallowed the rising anger that nearly escaped from your throat. “Yes. What else would we be?”

“Old friends?”

“Stop,” you commanded. Though your lips curled into the sweet smile, the white feathers on your wings started slicking down out of fury.

“Stop?” He raised his eyebrows, amused at your attempt in concealing your anger. “I’m pointing out facts. There’s no need to get riled up over the truth. As someone who values honesty, I don’t understand why you are upset at the mention of our relationship.”

You exploded in fits of laughter at his provocation. The hand covering your mouth was an attempt in restoring your graceful image. And though the corner of your eyes wrinkled in delight, there was a mischief gleam shining in your eyes.

“Ah. I see it now. Well, forgive me for acting all uptight earlier. I seem to have forgotten that dogs need plays and treats in order to feel fulfilled in life,” you mocked.

“And where’s my treat?” he asked, playing along with you.

You grinned back at him, with your nose scrunched in slight repulse. “You will get your treats when you shut up about us. Alright, puppy?”

“No problem, birdie. As long as you could convince your bird friends that they wouldn't be chirping around about our reconciliation. ‘Don’t want to be on the bad side of your spouse. ‘Heard that they’re a scary person.”

“Fine,” the smile on your lips was now hanging loosely. “If that’s what you want the most.”

“Now, here’s where you are wrong. That’s not what I want the most.”

Your face scrunched into confusion, but how the corner of your lips twitched implied that you were not very happy with the way he was leading the game.

“Then?” you dared yourself to ask. “Tell me. What is it that you want?”

He took out the container of washed blueberries, tossing them in the blender.

“You,” he answered. It was such a plain reply that was pronounced in a flat tone but it had such a strong effect on you.

The chair that you were sitting in was very uncomfortable, you suddenly noticed.

“You are a little quiet. Bet your mouth dry,” he asked. He threw out the first drink that was served for you, as he replaced it with a new one. You observed the drink, as the radiant, yet somewhat gloomy, blue color of the juice was toned down by your shadow that loomed over it. “Drink up.”

“Do you mean it?” you asked. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“After all these years?” again, you asked. But this time, with the intention to confirm.

The toughest challenge in the world was no longer convincing the other four families that your brother was not a despicable, hellish being. But rather maintaining a simple eye contact with your first love at his bar.

He nodded his head. “How is that shocking to you?”

“It’s shocking to me because it has been so long. Was it like, 9— no, 12 years?”

“13 years,” he confirmed. “I waited for 13 years. For you.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” your wings tucked closely to your neck, as they hid in your hair. “Not only that, this seems like what? A poor attempt to lure me in your little trap? But this. This whole thing— it’s not something that you could blurt out so loudly. Especially in a bar where we have eyes everywhere. What would my spouse think about this, what would Sunday and Robin think that their older sibling is out fraternizing with the drinksmith while their spouse is waiting for them at home?”

“You already spelled it all out. There’s not much for your ‘baby brother Sunday’ to figure out why this reunion was such a big deal,” Gallagher teased. With a shrug, he corrected you, “You got one part wrong though.”

This man.

“Mind telling me?” You were greatly exasperated at this point.

“I don’t like how the drinksmith sounds. How about your ex-boyfriend?”

Your hand reached out for your purse, and then the coat that you threw over on the next seat. In a hurry, you rose from your seat. “If this is what we are doing, then I’m leaving.”

As you turned your back against him, he walked around the counter as he chased after you. “Hey,” he called. “Don’t get all pissy about it. Teasing used to be our language. Remember?”

At the corner of your eyes, you took notice that one of the bartenders immediately took over Gallagher’s job. You had a hunch that they had been observing you two in a while. Even guessing what they could have heard gave you a headache.

But the man who was following you from behind was ticking you off even more. Even when you were both outside of the bar, he was still trailing you behind like a puppy.

Finally, you spun around, now facing him. Baring your gritted teeth, you hissed, “I’m not going to lose my dignity tonight just because you—” You pointed your finger towards him, “—couldn’t move on from the past. I have a reputation, Gallagher. So do you. But unlike you, I care deeply about my image. So, let’s just bid our farewells. It’s for the best of us.”

He seemed to be taken aback by your fierce statement. With his hands placed on his hips, he dramatically tapped his foot against the ground a few times before shaking his head, “Wow. People weren’t lying at all. You changed.”

“So?”

Your jeer was barely registered into his head. With his chin slightly tilted upward, he continued, “You really did lose yourself to the riches and fame.”

The feathers of your wings hackled in anger. “And you changed too. It’s hard to believe that the lone wolf of Bloodhound family has now decided to be gossipy, and the first thing that he did is to believe some moronic rumors. Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“Did your partner teach you that?”

“Teach me what?”

“Teach you to curse,” he said, as he pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his pants. “Because I’m tellin’ you right now, they’re doing a poor job.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You huffed, “Why are you so against my marriage? Do you hate to see me happy, is that it?”

With nonchalance, he nodded his head in confirmation. “Yes. I’m unhappy that you are with them.”

“And so? Do you want me to toss my future away with them just because of what?” You gestured towards him angrily, “Some man?”

“Now it’s some man. Back then, you used to call me cuter names than that,” he teased. “Actually, it sounded even better when you moaned it out in bed,” a muffled groan escaped from his lips as he thought of all the good times you two shared. Well, it was all funny memories now.

“Should I list it all down right now, birdie?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “How would you prefer me to do it? Should I yell it out so that the whole world knows about your secret scandal with the drinksmith from the Bloodhound family?”

You leaned forward towards him, as he pretended to flinch. Your wings flipped angrily, messing up your hair. “Cut it, dog.”

“Oh, I will,” he agreed, with the tone of his voice now lowered. “But only if you tell me why you left me for that stupid chicken you married to.”

“They’re Halovian, not a chicken,” you exasperatedly corrected him.

You look at a distance, as you wrung your brain out for an appropriate answer. While you thought deeply on what to say, Gallagher caught a glimpse of the wedding band around your ring finger.

“Are they wealthy?” he risked another jab. “Old money, or new money?”

“Old,” you answered flatly while rolling your eyes.

He hummed. “So I guessed it right.”

Gallagher pulled out the cigarette out of the box, before putting it between his lips. He patted on his pockets for his lighter.

But you were quicker. You pulled out the lighter from your purse, as you lit it up the end of the cigarette. The light from the fire shone on your face.

And out of sudden, his intense hatred towards you slowly burned away along with the ashes from the cigarette he was smoking.

You were annoying, that was for the first fact. While the second fact, you were dangerously beautiful.

“Maybe if I wasn’t much of a social climber, I wouldn’t leave you,” you suddenly confessed. “But I wanted all the fame and the wealth. Because I have a family to support. If I were to run off and marry the guy I actually liked, there’s no such thing as Sunday the Allegedly Tyrannical Leader of the Oak Family or A-List Celebrity Robin in the news and other media outlets. They were out there, taking jobs of some rich pigs. Not living comfortably as today.”

Now, his mouth felt dry. And the air around him felt hot, making him sweaty and uncomfortable.

With your arms crossed and your wings slightly droopy, you continued, “I saw the ring in your pocket when I was cleaning the house before we broke up.”

Gray smoke escaped from his cracked lips. “You did?”

By the tone, it was clear that it wasn’t your confirmation that he needed. Rather, he wanted your clarification on why you decided to ditch him out of nowhere.

“You never told me that you wanted to be more than just that,” you said.

“Sucks to know that you hate surprises right now.”

Even in moments of a heated dispute, Gallagher would try to twist it into a comedy.

“I wanted to make a name for myself in the Penaconian society. And the only way for me to do so was to make myself seen by these prominent people. At the banquet, at the ball, at the party, or at the bar,” you explained.

“I didn’t want to be a nobody. I wanted to become somebody. In that way, my siblings can live an easy life, without some rich snobs telling them what to do, and what to say. How to dress and when to speak. I lived that life. That was how I realized how irksome it was, and how I refused to let it happen to my siblings.”

You looked down to your feet, as your shoes reflected your face. All the treatments you received to retain your youthful beauty, but yet you hardly felt that your younger self was with you. Your younger self wouldn’t make that many excuses. They weren’t avoidant — they faced all obstacles head first with a feisty spirit. But nowadays, even a confrontation from a past lover can get you this upset.

“It wasn’t a part of my plan to be pinned down by marriage. I was just taken aback by the sudden shift of our relationship, so I left. I worked for a few more years, then I received a marriage proposal from them. Old money, goal-oriented, business-minded. I knew two things when I saw them. That marrying them means that I could finally retire from all that social-climbing and establish myself among the elites. And marrying them means that my siblings have a greater chance to become successful. It would be a great investment, really,” you explained.

“But I didn’t like them that much.” you reassured him. “They were good, but only enough to make me feel wanted. To them, I was just an accessory for him to flaunt off to his rich friends. They lie sometimes, even to me. I can see it right through them,” you admitted. “They lie to feel respected and liked. To fit in, sometimes. And I guess whatever they say about marriage is true. You will slowly become them, whether you like it or not.”

“So let me get this straight. He didn’t teach you to curse, but he did teach you to lie so you could look better than everyone?” Gallagher joked bitterly. He looked at you up and down, “Yeah, I see it now.”

You decided to ignore him.

“I liked you because unlike other people I have met, you were truthful. You didn’t treat me like a sweet candy meant to be tasted, or an object that was meant to be possessed. You were honest and you were genuine. I knew it by the first time we just met, when you dissed me about my drink order,” you laughed a bit. “What was it? My first order? Oh, dearest Xipe, I think I forgot about it.”

“Mungbean Soda. With that distressed look on your face, I knew that a few shots of Stellar Champagne was all you needed to keep yourself composed while dealing with those aristocrats,” he answered.

“So then I decided to take your recommendation.”

“Which was Rose In Rain. A classy and sweet choice, but strong enough to make you forget all your miseries for the night.”

“And it was delicious. That tipsiness made me realize how kissable you were, especially under that dimmed, yellow light,” you finished your sentence.

“Am I still kissable now?” he teased, as he blew the smoke from his mouth. When he took notice of your irked glare, he raised your hands up in defense. “Hey, ‘just confirming.”

“Annoyingly kissable,” you replied.

You watched the direction of his eyes fall to your lips. And just by a simple stare, you could feel all the blood from your feet and legs go up to your face, making your cheeks and neck feel hot.

When he removed the cigarette from his lip, he slowly leaned forward. Your breath hitched up in response, he noticed. So he stopped.

What filled in the air was the strange silence, the acrid smoke and your guilt.

“What’s stopping you, then?” he asked softly.

Honestly, it was a difficult question to answer. Could it be that it had been an hour past eight. Or it could have been the wedding ring around your finger. Or it could have been because the way your stomach churned at the bitter smell of his cigarette reminded you of why you left Gallagher that day.

“I don’t know,” but your eyes told a different story.

His hand reached out for you, and as he interlocked your fingers with him, he played with the ring, twisting and turning it. But he knew what was your answer when your fingers curled in your palm, suggesting that you refused to let go of the ring.

“Oh, but I think I know,” he answered.

A worried sigh came out of your mouth. “I can’t leave all of this behind. I climbed too high, I’m not sure how to get down. If I choose to go down with you now, the fall would be too painful. And I don’t even know if I could survive through it.”

There was too much running in his head. His thoughts fly from one extreme to another. It was impressive that you could easily turn a decisive, composed man into such a mess: where he struggled to feel pity for you or just kill you off on the spot.

“Why didn’t you want to be with me?” he asked, losing the childish accents in his voice.

“Marrying you was a choice, marrying them, however, was a necessity,” you answered. The softness in your voice felt like a sharp piercing through his heart. “A bird can’t be with a dog. That’s unnatural.”

Quietude witnessed the way you looked at each other longingly. While your heart weighed with guilt and shame, his mind was congested with frustration and anger. But yet, both secretly longed for each other.

“But I refuse to accept it as the truth. No, not when I keep on missing you for all these years.”

Before he could come up with a cheeky reply, you shushed him from his sarcastic remarks by resting your hand on his cheek, bringing his face to yours. Your soft lips pressed against his bloodless and dry ones. The heat from a sinful kiss engulfed the two of you closely, burning the part of your skin on your back that he gently touched. His hand rested on your lower back, bringing you closer to him. You could feel his beard tickling your chin, and he could smell your perfume in his nostrils. The bitter taste of his alcohol that he downed melted in your tongue, causing you to groan in delight.

The kiss lasted a few minutes, but you wished it could go on for hours.

“For the last time,” you reminded him, your thumb rubbing his cheek in circles. “There will be no longer us after this.”

You stepped away from him, as your wings shyly closed your mouth while you were cleaning off your lips with the back of your hands.

“You sure?” he asked breathily, his pale lips now stained with a crimson-colored lipstick. He might have to lie to everyone that he was drinking too many bottles in the Soulglad in the past few days (though Soulglad was clearly orange.)

“Yes,” you confirmed. You took a few steps backwards. With your hands gathered together, you gracefully bowed your head towards him. An act of courtesy which also served to restore your damaged dignity as a married person from an honorable family.

“Goodnight, Gallagher.”

You waited for his response, but all he did was stare at you. The light from the lamp above you started flickering, before it completely went out.

Was it longing on his face? It was difficult to make out his expression, especially when the shadow covered him.

You guessed that it was hard to bid goodbyes after such a kiss.

But for some reason, you felt shivers running down your spine. Beads of sweat were forming on your neck from the cold. Your mind was sending rapid signals to your legs: alerting it to run immediately.

Though your sudden instinct to run was scaring you, you calmed down your nerves by guessing that it could have been because of the kiss.

Your thoughts were quietened when you saw the shadow of Gallagher rolling his thumb against the metal wheel of his lighter that he pulled out of his pocket.

Yes, yes. It must have been the kiss.

You were scared of your partner leaving you. Or Sunday being humiliated at his work because of his older sibling’s infidelity with some member from the Bloodhound family. And it could be because that person happened to be his colleague who kept on riling him up at work. Or maybe you were afraid that your scandal could create a blemish on Robin’s reputation as a celebrity. Now the whole world assumed that she was a dirty popstar.

But it didn’t seem that your body was agreeing with any of those guesses.

Gallagher’s frustrated grunt at the stubborn lighter shushed your thoughts again.

You came to notice that your white wings were quickering badly.

There was too much happening at the moment. You were so overwhelmed by the urge to flight, that you felt that you could vomit on the spot.

Suddenly, a thought came to you.

His cigarette was already lit up. So what could be the reason why he pulled out his lighter?

The flame from the lighter brought some light to his face, but the sight of the man you used to love led to you gasping in horror. It was gloomy with burning hatred, the glare alone could almost kill you on the spot.

But before you could ask, a mysterious sound of ringing pierced through your eardrums. It belonged to no other but Memory Zone Meme, a secret from The Family that were kept away from you. You could feel it slowly spread its wings, which resembled the terrible noise of bone-cracking.

You gathered the courage to turn around. But it perceived the sudden movement of its prey as an attempted fight. Feeling threatened, it stabbed its stingers through your body. The ground was splattered with a mysterious blue liquid, followed by the sound of your wedding ring rolling and spinning in circles.

Your purse that was hanging around your arm was now on the other side of the ground.

The outside of the dark bar that was filled with heated arguments and sweet confessions earlier died out, with only silence remaining.

Well, only for a few minutes.

A melodious voice of Robin was heard, muffled by the zipped purse. Your phone rang a few times, playing the same music. It appeared that the caller was worried. Or angry.

Gallagher crouched down, unzipping your purse. He groaned in repulse when the blue liquid stuck to his skin, as he wiped it down on his pants. He took out your phone, as the name of your spouse filled his vision.

Your phone was flooded with notifications of your worried partner, asking about your whereabouts.

Ah, you were supposed to be home by 8 PM. He looked at the time, it was already 9:30 PM.

In your defense, he would also be sneaking around to kiss a drinksmith at the bar if he had an overbearing partner like yours.

He thought of sharing the news of your infidelity.

But then, he scrapped the thought. He wanted to respect your wishes. Something about how the story of tonight was going to destroy Sunday and Robin’s image. Or something similar to that. He didn’t remember much because he hardly cared about your siblings.

It was not like all your siblings had the time to process your death, especially when they were next in line.

So he came up with a different plan. Your password was easy to guess. It wasn’t difficult with the help of your maid who used to work under him.

A flash from the camera was heard. The phone captured the scene of a mysterious liquid splattered across the ground, with the gold-colored wedding ring shining brightly under the light, with some being covered by the puddle of your remains.

Along with the picture, he texted, “Not coming home tonight, sorry.”

He later pressed the send button, before tossing the crushed phone into the trash.

The plan was to kill you off in your house. But you made it easy for him instead. He was amused, really.

But his amusement was short-lived. He was disgusted at the sight of your wedding ring, which stared back at him menacingly. He kicked the ring into the trash as well. He wasn’t an expert in the art of interior designing, but he hated the ring being near his bar. It was ugly, hardly matched the aesthetics of his business.

But your finger wouldn’t be too lonely without the ring. Not when he still had the same wedding band from 13 years ago in his pocket right now. What was left for him was to wear it around your finger in the real world, then he could truly move on from his past. Just as you asked him to.

And just like that, his mission was done.

#gallagher x reader #gallagher x gn reader #gallagher hsr #honkai: star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gn reader #halovian reader

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afictionaladventure16 · 23 days

Text

Safe & Sound (Tim Bradford x Adopted!Teen!Reader)

The Rookie Masterlist

Summary: While Tim and Lucy are on their first date, Y/N and Tamara face some challenges that ends with the realization that Y/N's past has come back to her new life.

Author's Note: I know Tamara technically doesn't find out that Tim and Lucy are dating until later on but uhhh this is fiction so yee. All requests are open!

Warnings: Mentions of fights and stabbing

Word Count: 4,630

You watched from the distance as your dad tried on different dress shirts in his bedroom. You had seen your father go on many first dates… maybe ‘many’ is an exaggeration, but that was beside the point, the point was that you had never seen him this nervous. He looked like a girl trying to find the right dress for the school dance, you couldn’t help but smile. He was in love.

You pulled out your phone, sending a quick text to Tamara

He’s a mess, you sent.

A few seconds later your phone buzzed in your hands,

So is she lol.

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, “What’s so funny?” Your dad asked as he gave you a quick glance.

You shook your head, “you guys have no idea how nervous you both are.”

He sighed, “Should I call her?” You gave him a nod. Tim gave you a smile, “First, what do you think?” he raised up a dark grey shirt next to a light gray one.

You rolled your eyes, “Does it even matter?”

“What if it clashes with her outfit?” He asked. After the two years you had lived with the man, this was the first time you had heard him say that phrase.

“I think all that matters is that you both are enjoying the date,” you suggested.

Tim looked at you with a smile on his face. After Isobel, he felt so lost within himself and somehow he found himself becoming a foster father to a young ten-year-old. It was only a year later that he began the adoption process. It was a long one, especially with the history with Isobel, he had waited a year and a half until the adoption was finalized. It was the best day of his life and he knows that there will be other days in his future that will try to complete, but he will always hold that day close to his heart. It was the day he learned how to be himself again, the day he learned that family didn’t always have to be by blood.

Now you were fourteen, looking forward to your fifteenth birthday coming up soon. A day that Angela was so busy preparing for because she knew as a Latina that you had to have a quinceanera, and Tim always tried his best to help you grow within your culture. It was one of the main reasons why he learned Spanish.

He let out a sigh as he reached for his phone, “do you-”

“If you don’t call her right now, I will call her myself, but I will video call her so she can see-”

“Alright, alright!” Tim chuckled as he dialed Lucy’s number.

You walked out of the room, sending Tamara another text.

I’m assuming you’re coming over with pizza? You sent.

You know me too well.

Ever since you met Tamara, she has been like an older sister. Maybe it was because the two of you were in the system and bonded over the traumatic shit both went through. Or because you both lived with cops that took you in and, although Chen is technically just her roommate, they were now your family.

Tim walked out of his room minutes later, “Alright, I am just a phone call away. Don’t forget to let Kojo out and please tell Tamara I said hi. Um- Am I forgetting anything?” He asked as he began patting his pants pockets.

“Keys and they’re in the key bowl by the door,” you stated as you scrolled through Netflix, Tim walked over to the key bowl, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his keys, “Bold of you to assume Tamara is coming over.”

“Is she not?” He asked.

“No, she is,” you smiled.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed, “Don’t open the door for anyone but Tamara. You know the drill, make sure it’s her before you even op-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Can you go already so we can get this whole Lucy and Tim being continuously nervous over with?”

Tim took in a small breath, he couldn’t help but catch that you had called him by his first name. It had been two years already and you were still calling him Tim. Of course, he didn’t know how to tell you that calling him dad was okay with him and he didn’t want you to feel pressured to do so; but just hearing it would mean everything to him.

He gave you a small nod, “Call me if anything, alright? And make sure to turn on the alarm when I leave.”

“Yes, sir,” you watched as he walked out of the house, you waited for the sound of the lock before turning back around to continue your scrolling.

Twenty minutes later, you heard the doorbell ring, which was then followed by a phone call.

You quickly answered, “I assume you’re outside,” you said as you got up from the couch.

“Your assumptions are correct,” Tamara said. You opened the door to let Tamara in. She had been carrying a bag, of what you assumed is junk food, along with a box of pizza. “Alright, so I found this new candy that you just have to try!”

You locked the door behind Tamara, “Alright, but first I need a slice of pizza because I am starving!” You followed Tamara as she walked into the kitchen to put down the box of pizza. You instantly opened it and grabbed a slice, “I can’t believe I watched Tim go through every single nice shirt in his closet like he didn’t even do that on his first date with Asley!”

“Oh, you think that’s bad? Lucy’s whole closet is now on her bed,” Tamara commented as she unpacked the bag of junk food. “Do you guys have sodas?”

“Yeah, in the fridge,” you gestured towards the fridge. Tamara helped herself, as she always does when she comes over, and she came over quite a bit. “Why do you call your dad by your first name?” Tamara blurted out.

You shrugged, “I dunno, I guess… I guess I just feel like I am not allowed to call him dad.”

“But he adopted you”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. I’ve wanted to, I just feel like I lost the moment to do so since it’s been two years since the adoption.” Tamara opened the box for a slice of pizza, “Has he talked to you about it? Or Lucy?”

Tamara looked down, “I know Lucy’s mentioned it. Something about he feels like he’s doing something wrong.”

You sighed, “What do you think?”

“I’m the last person you want to ask that.” You gave her a pleading look, and she let out a sigh, “Look, if it were me, the timing wouldn’t matter. He gave you a family, a home, he made you feel loved after everything you had been through in life… in a way, he gave you a second chance that not a lot of us get.”

She was right and you knew that. It had meant a lot coming from Tamara since she never got the opportunity to get this chance. She would argue that she did when Lucy took her in, but in a way it was different.

“Should I just do it randomly? Like just ‘Good morning, dad,’ just nonchalant about it?” You asked.

“Something like that,” Tamara smiled, “You’ll know how to do it when you feel ready and I think you know that you are.”

The two of you ate pizza and watched Game of Thrones for the next hour. At some point, you had gotten up and let Kojo out to the backyard, he had been whining by the door for a while. Tamara had taken that opportunity to get up to grab some snacks when all the lights went out, you looked over at Tamara.

“Whoa,” She exclaimed.

“This is fine,” you stated as you got up from the couch. “Tim usually keeps a flashlight in a drawer in the kitchen,” you walked over to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers. It didn’t take you long to find the flashlight. You shined it at Tamara who had her phone flashlight on.

Tamara sighed as she walked over to the window, “That’s weird.”

“What?” you walked over to her. You were quick to notice that the houses across the street still had power.

“Looks like the neighbors next door also have power,” Tamara pointed out. You looked over at the neighbors to your left, she was right, “Did Tim forget to pay something?”

You scoffed, “No, he’s pretty good at paying the bills on time.”

The sound of the floorboard creaking caused the two of you to quickly turn your heads, “I didn’t move,” Tamara whispered.

“Neither did I,” you whispered back. You felt your heart leap into your throat, “Maybe I should call Tim,” you whispered as you took your phone out of your pocket. As soon as you had unlocked it you noticed the no bar signal on the top right corner. “Fuck,” you whispered. Kojo was scratching at the door, whining to get back in.

“What?”

You showed her your phone, “I have no signal.”

“W-what? How?”

You looked around for something to use as a weapon, “I’ve heard Tim mentioned this before. Some people use jammers in order to block a phone’s signal.”

“You think someone is-” You held up your finger, Tamara stopped talking. The two of you fell silent, listening to the floorboards creaking increasingly.

“We need to get out of here,” you whispered. You glanced over at the door, “I’m gonna grab kojo-”

“No, if Tim were here he’d want you out, Kojo can fend for himself,” Tamara stated. Tamara quietly walked over to the kitchen grabbing a pan that was on the stove. You slowly walked through the living room, you knew Tim had a bat lying around somewhere for emergencies.

What happened next was a blur. One second you were looking over at Tamara as she inched closer to the front door and the next you were on the ground and you heard yelling. You fought back as the person who was attacking you pulled out a knife. You were trying your best to use the techniques Tim had shown you, but this man was tougher than you had ever imagined. You knew that it wasn’t an excuse, that even if he was tougher and bigger than you, you had to find a way to defend yourself.

“I got the other one,” you heard another voice yell out. You hadn’t realized there were two of them.

You looked over at where Tamara was, “Tamara, run!” You yelled out. You could see the hesitation in her, “Go!”

Tamara felt like running would be the biggest mistake, but she knew there was no way of getting help by staying here. The second man inched closer to her, she swung the pan that she had in her hands, hitting the man in the head, it was enough to stun him so she could get a running start. She ran out of the house and into the neighbor's front yard, running up to the door; she began banging on it, “Help!”

You, on the other hand, were trying to get out of the man's grip. You sucked in a breath knowing that you had to do something you never wanted to do. You opened your mouth and bit the man's arm as hard as you could, he let out a loud yell and let go of you.

“You bitch!” he yelled out as he lunged towards you with his knife.

You lunged away from him, trying to dodge the knife, but he was bigger than you and still quicker than you. You felt a sharp pain in your side, “What the fuck did you do, Rick?!” The other guy asked as he came back inside. “Do you have any idea what he’ll do to us if we bring her in like this?” You reached down to where you felt the pain coming from, feeling something sticky. The more you touched it, the more pain you felt. Your knees buckled and you fell to the ground.

“Fuck,” the man named Rick, looked at the knife and then at you. “I-I can fix this.”

“No! Forget it! It’s been compromised! We have to go, the other girl ratted us out!” The man began to make his way to the back door. “Let’s go!” he yelled out again. You lay on the ground, watching as the blurry image of them ran out of the house.

Tim couldn’t help but look towards the door every other second. Was part of him worried someone from the station would see him? Yes. But also, he had a habit of looking at the door every time someone walked in, especially when he was nervous.

“Are you worried someone from the station is gonna walk in?” Lucy asked.

“What?”

“You are,” Lucy said in disbelief.

“No, I-”

“Wow.”

“What are the odds?”

Lucy rolled her eyes, “It’s likely.” She cleared her throat, she didn’t want to have this discussion right now. “So, Y/N’s quince is coming up, how is that coming?”

“Good, good. I um probably going to be in debt for the next year so you can expect a nice Christmas card from us rather than nothing but emptiness inside.”

Lucy chuckled, “Angela is running you dry with this quince.”

“That she is. Anything Y/N wants, she gets. I swear she spoils her like she's her own kid.”

Lucy smiled, “I’ve noticed.” Lucy’s phone began to ring, she took it out, letting out a small chuckle at the sight of the name. “It’s Tamara, the girls are probably trying to check in on us,” she rolled her eyes. “Should I let it go to voicemail?”

Tim wanted to say yes let it go to voicemail, but there was a voice in the back of his head telling him not to. “Answer it,” he smiled, “Two can play this game,” he teased.

Lucy placed the phone on speaker, “Before you even ask, yes we are still at the restaurant and no I am not bringing you leftovers, I know you guys had pizza,” Lucy said with a hint of laughter behind her voice.

“Lucy,” Tamara cried out.

Lucy and Tim’s facial expressions changed, “Tamara, what’s wrong?” Tim spoke up.

“It all happened so quickly,” Tamara began.

“Just take a deep breath, Tamara,” Lucy began, “What happened?”

Tamara let out a soft sob, “Someone broke in the house. They cut the power and we had no way to call anyone. I-I ran to the neighbors for help, but Y/N was still inside, I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t get to her.”

Tim felt his chest tightened, suddenly this world no longer felt safe. In all his years working as an officer, he never imagined this to happen. Yes, he was prepared for it, or so he thought he was, but now, this world was more of a menacing place than he had realized.

Tim wanted to tell Tamara that it was okay, but he couldn’t, because to him, nothing was okay at the moment. He had failed the one promise he had kept to himself the day he took you in and that was to keep you safe. Now the one day he decided to be vulnerable and comfortable, it all came crashing down.

Tim got up from his seat, “Where are you?” Lucy asked.

“St. Vincents,” He heard Tamara say as he left a few bills on the table and began walking away. Lucy told Tamara that they’d be there in a few before catching up with Tim.

“Tim,” Lucy began, you could hear the pain within her voice. “Tim,” Lucy pleaded. Tim quickly turned around as they got outside. “I’m driving,” Lucy stated as the exited the restaurant.

“No-”

“No,” Lucy exclaimed as she got in front of Tim, “you’re not in the right mindset to be driving right now.” Tim opened his mouth to argue with her, “I’m driving.”

Tim closed his mouth and gave her a nod. They got into Lucy’s car and drove off to the hospital. Lucy broke a few laws that day, but Tim probably would’ve broken a hundred just to get there sooner. Tim didn’t wait for the car to be fully parked to hop out, he was already inside the emergency room making his way to the receptionist when Lucy made her way into the hospital.

“My daughter was just brought in, her name is-”

“Tim,” Lucy choked out, her eyes had landed on a horrific sight in front of her.

“Lucy!” Tamara called out, Tim turned around just in time to see Tamara running over to Lucy. He looked around for you, hoping to see you running up to him, but his heart sank deeper every second that passed. He walked over to the girls, his eyes landed on what Lucy was focusing on.

“Oh God,” he let out a shaky breath, as he watched nurses surrounding work on your wounds. He ran up to you, one hand grabbing yours and the other brushing the hair out of your face. “Y/N, sweetie, it’s me,” Tim began, “I'm here, okay?” he brought your hand up to his lips and placed a small kiss on them. He felt the tears begin to stream down his cheeks. “Is she going to be okay?”

One of the nurses let out a deep sigh, “The stab wound barely missed one of her aorta’s by an inch, it did knick her one of her lungs causing her to loose a significant amount of blood.” one of the other nurses began to lift the handles on the side.

“We’ll be needing to take her up to surgery now, to repair the damages,” another nurse said.

Tim couldn’t find the strength to let go, but he knew he had to. “Tim,” Lucy began, “they need to take her.” She placed a loving hand on his shoulder.

Tim felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, he placed a small kiss on your forehead, “We’ll get through this okay? You can’t leave me.”

Lucy felt like the villain as she pulled Tim away from you, but she knew he wouldn’t have been able to do it on his own.

Tim looked over at Tamara, “What happened?”

Tamara let out a small sob, “I-I don’t know. One second we were watching Game of Thrones and the next the power goes off.” She took in a deep breath, “We decided it was safer to be outside of the house once we realized we had no signal, she wanted to get Kojo but I told her to just leave him outside and that’s when they attacked her. I should’ve stayed with her,” she looked at Tim with remorseful eyes, “I’m so sorry, she told me to run, but I should’ve stayed.”

Tim shook his head, “No, you got help, if it weren’t for you, you both would’ve probably been worse off.”

“Tim,” Lucy called as she spotted Sgt. Grey walks towards them.

“Sir,” Tim began.

“I came as fast as I could, How is she?” he asked.

Tim sighed, shaking his head, “She’s in surgery, the stab wound hit one of her lungs.”

Sgt. Grey shook his head, before turning to Tamara, “We’re going to need your statement if you’re up to it, if not we can always wait for tomorrow.”

“I think after all they’ve been through, I think it’s best if we wait for tomorrow,” Lucy chimed in.

Tamara gave him a nod, “Tomorrow it is.” Sgt. Grey stated. He looked over at Tim, he noticed he hadn’t said much. His eyes were focused on the double doors where they had just wheeled you through. He walked closer to Tim as Lucy and Tamara walked over to some nearby chairs to sit down. “How are you holding up?” Sgt. Grey asked.

Tim shook his head, “I wasn’t there.”

“And you won’t always be there,” Sgt. Grey confirmed. “You can’t always be there, it’s one of the things we have to get used to when being a parent. We have to hope we raise them with enough knowledge so they know what to do in situations like this.” He let out a sigh, “trust me, it isn’t easy.”

Tim nodded, “I’ve noticed.”

“You let me know if you need anything,” Sgt. Grey gave Tim a soft smile before walking over to the nurse's station. Tim walked over to Lucy, sitting down beside her. No words were exchanged and somehow he preferred it this way. Lucy held his hand, squeezing it every once in a while as if she were checking in on him and he would squeeze back.

Tim felt like he had been waiting for days when in reality it had only been an hour. His eyes never left the double doors that were ahead of them, his body would jump every time someone would walk through them.

Eventually, a man in scrubs walked through them, his eyes scanning the lobby of people waiting to be seen or waiting for a patient. “Family of Y/N Bradford?” He called out.

Tim quickly got up from his seat, “I’m her father,” he quickly stated as he walked up to the man. “How is she?”

“Hello, I’m Dr. Avery, I was the lead surgeon. I am happy to say that the surgery was a success,” Tim let out a relieved sigh. “We’ll need to keep her for a few days for observation of course, but she’ll be good to go home after.”

Tim smiled at the man, “Thank you, when can I see her?”

“She’s in recovery right now, I can only allow one visitor,” The doctor stated.

Tim looked at Lucy, “Go, we’ll come back in the morning,” Lucy said.

“Do you mind stopping by my place and picking up Kojo? I think Y/N would kill me if she knew he stayed the night outside.”

Lucy let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, we’ll pick him up.”

“I’ll have you follow me,” the doctor gestured for Tim to follow him.

Tim followed Dr. Avery to the recovery room, he knew this hospital too well to know where he was going, but he never thought he would have to be here for a reason like this and he never wanted to be in this hospital again unless it was for work. Once he got to the room, the doctor left to finish up some paperwork.

Tim sat beside the bed, he gently held your hand. You looked so fragile to him as if you were a newborn, he was scared that one wrong move would hurt you. He waited by your bedside throughout the night. The morning sunlight began to peak through the windows, causing him to wake up. He gave you a small glance, sighing once he realized you were still asleep.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes once again, hoping to get some extra sleep.

You began to stir, you could feel the pain in your abdomen and you heard beeping. Slowly opening your eyes, beginning to realize that you were now in the hospital, the last thing you remember was watching the two men run out of the house. “Dad?” you called out with panic in your voice.

Tim’s eyes darted open, “Hey,” he said as he sat up in his chair. He grabbed your hand, he was overjoyed that you were awake, but also overjoyed of the fact that you had just called him dad for the first time. Although he was trying to hide his excitement because he didn’t know how to react to it, he had been waiting for this moment for so long and now it was here but the situation was overshadowing it.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Like shit,” you stated.

You winced as you tried to sit up, “Let’s try not to do that for now, alright? I know you’re uncomfortable, but I can get the nurses in-”

You waved your hand to stop him, “No, I’m fine.”

“You want to talk about what happened?” He asked.

You shrugged, “It all happened so quickly. The lights went out and Tamara noticed that the neighbors had electricity and that’s when we tried to call you, but our phones had no signal.”

“Looks like they used a jammer,” Tim speculated.

“That’s what I thought, we decided to leave but I wanted to get Kojo-”

“Kojo can take care of himself,” he stated.

“Tamara said you would say that, but someone attacked me as I got into the living room. Tamra was already at the door and she hit the other guy with a pan before running to the neighbors. I used all the techniques you taught me,” you felt tears well up in your eyes, “I tried-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You fought back and you’re alive. That’s what matters right now,�� Tim placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I remember one more thing,” you began. “When the guy that attacked me stabbed me, the other guy got mad. He said ‘Do you have any idea what he’ll do to us if we bring her in like this?’ in those exact words.”

Tim felt the panic rush through his body, if his gut was right, he knew what these men were talking about. “Do you think they were planning on taking me?” You asked.

Tim didn’t want you panicking, he didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t be safe because someone was looking for you. “I don’t think so,” he began, “But Angela is on the case, you’ll tell her what you told me and we’ll get this straightened out.” You nodded, “Now, how about we talk about the elephant in the room.”

You looked at him with a confused expression “What elephant?”

“You called me dad,” he smiled.

You rolled your eyes, “I can go back to calling you Tim.”

He chuckled, “No, no, it’s about time you called me dad. I was starting to worry you weren’t going to.”

“I felt like I lost my chance to do so,” you confessed.

“Honestly, if you had waited twenty years to call me dad, I would probably be sad that you waited twenty years but, overjoyed that you did,” he smiled.

“Be honest with me,” You began. “There isn’t anyone from my past that’s looking for me right?” You hadn’t spoken about your past in a few years, it was something you wanted to leave behind. “The last thing I need is these fantasmas (ghosts) coming back,” you added.

Tim sighed, “I don’t know, but you have me there and I can promise that from here on out–”

You shook your head, “You can promise to keep me safe but let’s face it, you’re not there with me when I’m at school or when you’re at work.”

“You’re right, I’m not. But I’m a cop. I have my ways and I know you too well.”

You smiled, “Yeah, I think you do.”

“Plus, if anyone does kidnap you, they’ll return you in two minutes.”

Your face turned into shock, “Wh-what?”

“Trust me, I don’t think they’ll be able to stand the twenty questions they’ll be getting from you or even the karaoke. I give them two minutes before they return you,” you let out a small laugh before you winced in pain. Tim sighed, he knew no matter what that he was going to protect you, and if he failed to do so, he was going to do everything he possibly could do, to get you back.

#The rookie fanfic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #the rookie #tim bradford x teen!reader #tim bradford x adopted #tim bradford angs #tim bradford angst #tim bradford x adopted!teen!reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x lucy chen #tim bradfor x you #tim bradford #dad!tim bradford x teen!reader #tim bradford x teen!reader angst #tim bradford the rookie

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leonw4nter · 1 month

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could you do a fic for re4 leon where he and fem!reader are in a relationship (secret bc they can’t let the agency find out) they are on the spain mission together and luis starts flirting with her and its taking everything in leon for for him to not say “thats my girlfriend” or something like that?

sorry if this is specific i just thought of it in the middle of class

Music For Two People in A Secret Relationship

RE4R!Leon x F!Agent!Reader

Leon is a stickler for the rules. Well, he was– he made sure that he followed the rules he was made to obey, even when he didn’t exactly agree with them. One fine training day, you lunged at him with a combat knife, a deadly fire in your eyes and he felt the ground beneath him shift. He had to move and dodge away from the next offense, even if he wanted to give himself time to admire you. You moved like a panther, your gaze much more penetrating than the blade you held in a reverse saber grip; you embodied one too, light footfalls as you circled him before pouncing with your claws out towards the man in front of you. If giving in to the calling of his heart is a crime then he’d gladly be an outlaw.

Here he is now, dancing around the rules in order to be your boyfriend; twisting, bending, and extending his will to resist the temptation to hold your hand in the walls of the USSTRATCOM headquarters, proudly referring to you as “his” and for him to hear you call him “yours” towards colleagues and higher-ups. He had to settle for the tension-filled stares across the briefing room, the kinds of looks that set off sparks in his chest, and the electric accidental brushes of his finger against yours as he reaches for something.

Although Valdelobos is everything but idyllic, he’s thankful for the opportunity to be with you despite this decrepit village being another reminder of Raccoon City; he wouldn’t want to relive Raccoon City again but it’s less triggering for him because he’s with you … and a certain Spanish gentleman with a penchant of flirting with his girlfriend; he didn’t trust the man one bit but what choice did he have? The man held vital information regarding the villagers and Umbrella; a former scientist, Luis claimed. Despite him being a little different from the usual scientists behind BOWs, he seemed to know a lot regarding the cult and the parasite– Las Plagas. Charming and charismatic too, the perfect man all in all. He also served as the brains behind the group, oddly familiar with the puzzle mechanisms that the Los Illuminados employed.

Now, all of you were stuck in this misty baroque ballroom somewhere in Salazar’s palace. As soon as everyone was inside the room, the big wooden doors closed and several locks were heard clicking in place. Silence followed, Ashley huddled in the middle by you, Leon, and Luis’ bodies as you formed a protective circle. The fact that silence followed and not the groans and cultic chanting unsettled everyone, unused to this odd peace. After a few moments of guns being out, Luis’ Red 9 is holstered back into its brown leather confines.

“Do you smell that,” he softly whispers. “The rusty air. This ballroom was an old bastion for the Los Illuminados, held their sacrifices here but albeit more… morbid. Sacrifices were released like bulls in a bullpen, they all tried to escape while trying not to die on the way– had to escape booby traps and avoid stepping on the wrong tiles. There’s a lot more with the trap system they set up and they’re all elaborate.”

The atmosphere that hung over everyone was heavy and miserable now that Luis had to point out the history behind the room. No one stepped foot away from where they were standing, afraid to trigger something to fly out and impale someone.

“What ballroom is this,” Ashley asks.

“The Birdcage,” Luis responds. “La Jaula de Pájaros.”

“I’ve read somewhere about certain macabre ballrooms being connected to cult hide-outs and traps and usually, the ways to beat those traps is somehow connected to culture like dances and poems,” she begins to explain. “Basically, we might need to dance or make music to make it out alive for this one. Just like… just like a bird. Wait– this place’s name is ‘birdcage’ so we have to escape like birds by means of making music and moving around like how birds chirp and fly!”

“Make music? How exactly,” you ask.

“Rhythmic tapping might be one of them,” Luis suggests.

You look at the people around you, eyebrows meeting in the middle as their foreheads crease in focus and worry. Leon bent down and observed the ground, calloused fingers grazing over the cracked tiles. With each lengthy swipe of his finger, he noticed that the imprints on the ground had a pattern. He leaned closer to the ground and observed what looked like musical notes; he turned to the ground Ashley stood on and noted the same patterns of notes and symbols used.

“There’s musical notations on the ground, maybe we can use that for the rhythm of our tapping,” Leon informs the group. “Who here can read music–”

“I can,” you interrupt. You bend down, fingers skimming over the etching. After a few seconds of remembering which notes sounded a certain way, you get back up and relay the information you just got. You get everyone’s attention and start humming the tune before softly stomping your boots on the ground, asking everyone else to follow along to make sure that they remember the beat.

“Uh guys,” Ashley speaks up. “We have to start soon.”

She points to the ceiling, several ganados kept in cages dangling overhead. The ceilings may be high from where you all stood, but there was nothing separating your group and them. With a determined yet wary nod, you nod to Luis. He approaches you and bows, to which you respond with. He slowly places his hand on your waist, the other gently holding your gloved hand. You glance at Leon, seeing him do the same with Ashley with the placements of his hand in areas that don't make Ashley feel uncomfortable. You give Leon another nod, signifying the start of the dance. Your pair and Leon’s slowly drift to opposite parts of the room, dancing a fierce tango with rhythmic footfalls. You could dance but not in this way and you were lucky that Luis was there to guide you. In the drop of the beat, he spun you and for a quick moment you saw Leon glance at your direction before turning his gaze back to Ashley and making sure he doesn’t mess up his part and involve Ashley in whatever fuck-up he might make. You wouldn’t admit this to Luis but you wished that it was Leon who was spinning and dipping you, that it was the large hand of Leon’s that was perched on your waist. Maybe you’d like to go dancing with Leon once this shit is all over, maybe invite Luis too but you’ll spend most of the evening slow dancing with Leon when you’ve both had one too many drinks. You knew that Leon felt the same based on the gawking Leon unintentionally does, those types of gawks that once you blink, you’d miss and assume that you were just seeing things differently. As much as Leon admitted that Luis was a gifted dancer to his standards, he wished that he could just swoop in and swing you around, to feel your hand around his neck and for you to gaze up dreamily at you when he dips your body. It doesn’t take long for you to get into the dance, the twirls and spins along with the echo of the taps of shoes helping you get into the feel of dancing even though this dance could very much determine whether or not everyone will make it out of this ballroom.

After a few minutes of dancing, all of you finish the beat and you hear a faint click. The eyes and mouth of a tarnished Tarasca statue moves, its neck opening to reveal an ornate conical capsule. Hastily, you run to the statue and take the capsule and twist it open. An intricate copper key falls out.

“We might be able to get out of this,” Leon points out. Hurriedly, he runs to the doors and inserts the piece of metal to the keyhole.

“Careful, Sancho. This thing is brittle,” Luis reminds him. “All that dancing will be for nothing if the key snaps while it’s inside!”

“I know what I’m doing,” your partner seethes.

The faint sound of the door lock’s mechanisms clicking to unlock causes everyone to breathe a sigh of relief, Leon pushing the doors open to let everyone out before himself. You mouth a small thank you to him, to which he responds with a small smile. He finally gets out and urges everyone to run, since the cages holding the ganados were being lowered. After a few minutes, everyone is now out of the palace. All of you stop by the ruins of an old stone house, sinking to the ground to catch your breath.

“Hah… D-didn’t know… hah… you looked lovely in pink,” Luis points out with a tired yet smug smirk bringing a finger up to motion to the flush in your cheeks. “Etérea.”

The Spaniard doesn’t miss the way the blond’s gaze slightly darkens, moving to you as he places a hand on your back as you still catch your breath. You look at Leon as he asks if you’re okay, to which you give him a small smile and a thumbs-up. Leon withdraws his hand from your back to radio back to Hunnigan, giving her information on where you just came from and how everyone’s doing. Since you managed to catch your breath, you check on Ashley who’s doing a lot better now. You offer her the remaining water in your flask, to which she gulped down audibly.

“Water never tasted so divine, holy crap,” she exclaimed as she handed you your flask back.

───────────────────────────────────────────��─────────

Since you and Leon were unsure of the safety of the area, you decided that it would be best for you to start moving somewhere less dangerous. Ashley was growing tired, grumbling about her feet hurting but she was still soldering on, walking without breaks. Luis’ chatter made the trip less boring, occasionally talking to Ashley and then flirting with you. After seeing Leon’s subtle reaction to him complimenting your flushed cheeks after running, the cheeky side of Luis decided to flirt with you some more to see how far he can push the reserved and stoic man.

“Hey,” Luis begins. “After all this, what do you say to a little Spanish countryside getaway? You and me.”

“Sounds nice,” you say. “But I’ve got a little night out scheduled with someone when I get back.”

“You aren’t exactly saying ‘no’.”

“I’m going to have to confirm this with my boyfriend. You’re a chill man but I still have to let my man know.”

Luis simply chuckles, his steps slowing down so he’ll fall in step with Leon who is busy craning his head here and there, trying to spot any threat before a possible threat spots you. Well, this is only half true. As soon as he heard Luis proposing the future prospect of him showing off the Spanish countryside to you, he forced himself to pay attention to something else other than the fact that you’re smiling and laughing softly at the Spaniard. The agent brushes whatever he heard off, knowing that his girlfriend loves him and only him but the fact that he can’t do much, especially that their relationship isn’t exactly encouraged at their agency and the fact that they’re both at work; he’s relieved that you aren’t returning his flirting. All he can afford to do is to ask if you’re fine by masking it behind the simple concern for a coworker and nothing more.

“How’re you holding up, Sancho Panza,” Luis whispers to which Leon responds with silence.

“Ah, I think I know why you’re silent,” the chatty man beside him observes. “It’s because… you like her!”

Leon stops in his tracks and looks at Luis with a slightly baffled expression, head tilted with his eyes slightly squinted before proceeding to walk again, the squelch of his boots against mud resuming again.

“I know just the remedy to this, Leon,” Luis excitedly begins, lowering his voice just before he continues the rest of his sentence. “Y’know, I know a nice bar somewhere in Madrid. Good drinks, good music. I’m sure she’d love it there.”

Leon stays silent again but mentally notes the ‘good drinks, good music’. It would be nice to take her somewhere upbeat.

“But if that’s getting a bit too ahead of our current predicament then you can offer to tend to her wounds, best done in the evening when the night is cold and the fire is the only thing keeping us warm. It’s a sincere tender moment, just imagine it: you, her, and the rustling of trees. She–”

“She’s my girlfriend. I’ve done plenty of that and more so she’d go out with me,” Leon interrupts.

Luis freezes on the spot, eyes the size of golf balls, with his mouth ajar. Leon simply smirks and scoffs at the sight, trudging on. After a few moments, Luis comes rushing back to him. Luis is just staring at him, going off at him in Spanish while he just continues walking and tries to hide a smug grin. Luis wraps up on whatever he was saying, now staring back and forth at you and him before walking a little faster to join you and Ashley several steps ahead. The usual cocky expression makes its way back to Luis’ face, shooting you and Leon a knowing look now before chuckling along. Moments later, Leon decides to speed up walking to be able to catch up with everyone. He hears Ashley and Luis exchanging jokes with you occasionally laughing and butting in with your own. Out of the blue, Leon nonchalantly wraps an arm around your waist, much to Luis and Ashley’s shock.

“Ash, don’t tell HQ about this,” you whisper with a wicked grin before getting on your tiptoes and planting a kiss on Leon's cheek.

NOTE - Thanks to the lovely anon that requested this, I hope you enjoyed reading this :) I had a lot more fun writing this since I had to think a little more than I usually do when I write (if it makes sense), especially for the ballroom part of the fic. I'll try to write for other versions of Leon soon since I mostly write about RE2 Leon. Also, does anyone know the manga 'Veil' ?? I've recently (yesterday) got into it and now I'm hoping that physical copies are being sold where I live... Aleksander is cute I'll say that (I NEED AN ALEKSANDER IN MY LIFE IM SO ALONE AND SINGLE RIGHT NOW- SINGLE SINCE BIRTH EVEN). Anyways, that's it and thank you soo much for reading my fics!! I <3333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The dividers are made by @benkeibear , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #fluff #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #re2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil x reader #biohazard #resident evil 4 remake #re4make #re4 remake #re4r

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her-stargirl · 4 months

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Unknown Dances

Mizu x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Mizu has culture shock while also having to attempt to fit in, however she ends up making a friend at a noble ball.

authors note: I literally researched about 17th century court dancing for this guys (I already knew a little from my intro to dance class but not nearly enough)

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The cultural differences between Japan and London were so striking to Mizu that it took her two days to to understand a small bit of it. From what she had heard a ball of noblemen was being held and she thought that would be just the place she could find her next target.

She used Fowler as her way in since she assumed he was probably quite well respected among white people.

Mizu scanned over the party, she felt, strange wearing such an odd English outfit however to stay discreet she needed to look the part.

There's a band in the corner about to start a new song and the way people are locking eyes it feels as though they all know what song will be next. They begin finding partners and Mizu feels a tap on her shoulder.

A girl with her hair tied back into a beautiful updo, wearing a yellow ballgown is standing there. "I'm sorry I couldn't help but notice you look lost..have you never seen this dance before?" The girl seems nice. "Here follow me I'll help you," she gently takes Mizu by the hand and pulls her over to the two lines already forming. One of women and one of men.

Mizu was dropped off in the middle of the line of men, she didn't like this, she needed to get back on track. She had no idea was she was doing and-

The music starts.

She looks down at the feet of the man in front of her and follows as the man circles in front of his parter and back to his spot, then waits as her partner, the unnamed girl in the yellow dress, circles around her. One arm holding out her skirt, the other close to her chest.

This is all to stressful, she looks at the girl with a worried expression, however the gaze is not reciprocated because the girl is having the time of her life, smiling, laughing.

Mizu thinks the girl might laugh herself to death however the music stops and the girl turns to Mizu, "That was fun wasn't it?" Mizu is bright red with embarrassment? anxiety? she didn't quite know.

"Ah, you look ill come with me," the girl tries to grab Mizu's hand again. "No! I don't know you and yet you keep dragging me around, I demand at least a name!"

The girl looked surprised for a minute, a look of 'oh! a foreigner maybe that's why they were so confused!' but she soon snapped out of it "Goodness I'm sorry, my name is y/n..I'm also sorry for dragging you into something you don't know well people usually catch on quicker than you did."

Mizu felt her body destress a bit however she kept her gaze sharp, "Its..a pleasure to meet you y/n.." Mizu said, still quite unsure.

"Likewise" y/n says smiling patiently.

"Well y/n if you'll excuse me I have some um..important business to attend to," Mizu turns to walk away, face still red from embarrassment.

"Alright..um..I'll see you later then," y/n says in a somewhat upset voice, she hoped that this wouldn't be the last time they see each other.

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Mizu's plan was beginning to prove unsuccessful, everyone she had talked to had little to no info. She found herself back in the large ballroom.

She stared out at the crowd of people, and there she was, the girl in the yellow dress. Still dancing, still smiling. Mizu was envious.

She felt, compelled to that girl, as if she was out loud saying 'Mizu, come over here and dance! you're wound so tight!'

Before Mizu even thought about it she was already out on the floor taking y/n's hand, "May I dance with you?" she asks in a calm yet alluring voice.

Y/n just smiles politely and nods, taking Mizu's hand and swaying softly, "I'm sorry for coming off so," y/n pauses trying to find the right word, "strongly earlier" She gives Mizu an awkward gaze.

"I'm just not used to people taking a strong liking so fast," Mizu says, attempting to hold eye contact however she's fairly bad at it because she's focused on how her feet are moving.

The song comes to an end and people disperse, this time Mizu is the one to pull y/n. The two walk down the hall to a quieter spot. Mizu was acting so fast she didn't quite know what she was even doing she-

"I'm sorry I don't know why I pulled you off to the side, you can go back if you'd like," the words come out however she doesn't want them to.

"No its ok, I'll stay here," y/n says, "I need a minute away from the action" she lets out a soft chuckle.

Its quiet for only a minute but feels like forever before the silence is broken, "I'm going to be painfully honest I was drawn to you because of your eyes...not because you looked lost," y/n says "they're just so unique and such a beautiful color."

Mizu felt her cheeks flush hot and fast, "thank you...? wait um, you're welcome? no that's not right eith-" y/n cuts Mizu off with a loud, joy filled laugh. "I know what you meant don't worry."

Mizu inhales sharply, "That color..yellow, it's beautiful on you" Mizu rushes the words out, she's never felt like this.

"Thank you," y/n says with a polite and delicate smile.

Another song is beginning back in the main ballroom, "This is my favorite!! lets go!" y/n says looping her arm around Mizu's. Once again dragging her off to dance.

#mizu fanfic #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x fem!reader #mizu x y/n

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daegutowns · 3 months

Text

pookie (yjh)

tags: husband jeonghan, girl dad jeonghan, gn!reader, refers to reader as his wife, he is a clutch dad, very playful dad, the daughter is just like him, yoon genes run deep

girl dad jeonghan who is just kind of a silly individual who loves other people who are silly…. like his best friends are seungcheol (old man silly), joshua (crazy silly), and dokyeom (just a deeply silly individual). he had told you that the reason he liked hanging out with them was because they were always so entertaining and willing to laugh with him. life is too short to not be laughing whenever you can!

girl dad jeonghan who laughs at the same thing your toddler kid does. not gonna lie… his humor probably fits around little kids. he laughs at fart jokes and likes teasing. this is probably why jeonghan gets along with your daughter so well.

girl dad jeonghan who has a good eye for cute things, so he likes dressing up your daughter. ever since she was a baby, he has always liked staying up just a little later to coordinate her outfits with you. you hadn’t expected him to be this invested in this part of your baby’s life.

girl dad jeonghan who likes doing your daughter’s hair before school. since he also had long hair in the past and grows his hair out into a pookalicious bob every now and then, he is someone who knows hair. he braids your daughter’s hair and lets her learn how to do it on his hair. sometimes they both come up to you and ask you to do a matching hairstyle on them. of course… you have to join in on the fun too.

girl dad jeonghan who doesn’t have a problem with playing along with your daughter’s tea parties. she wants a tea party? then let there be teacakes. he always goes the full mile for her. you often wonder how he has the stamina to keep up with her, but he takes naps at the same time she does. you have a lot of those photos in your camera roll.

girl dad jeonghan whose favorite school day is bring your father to school day. they wear matching outfits, just to flex on the other dads in your daughter’s class. he prints out the picture they take together every year, and you two keep it in an album in your bedroom.

girl dad jeonghan who doesn’t know pop culture or new artists that well but still learns the dances to your daughter’s favorite kpop songs so he can teach her too. her favorite thing is learning dances from her dad and seeing him perform. when she was old enough to dance, you’d bring her along to times that you watched seventeen’s practices.

girl dad jeonghan who laughs when she picks up phrases from him or tries to copy him. he sometimes sees her just carrying around a plastic spoon or falling asleep with it in her hand. when she gets scared, she has a three pitch whine that makes him wonder where he’s heard it form while you wonder how both of them got to be so similar.

girl dad jeonghan whose daughter calls him pookie, because that’s what you used to call him when she was a baby. he never corrected her until later. (“not pookie but dad!” “pookie!”) honestly, he doesn’t mind and finds it funny anyways. his members tease him and call him pookie too, but he’s not as forgiving to them as he is with his daughter.

girl dad jeonghan who melts at your daughter’s aegyo. he always asks you how she’s so good at it, especially when she wants something. but, you know better. everything she’s used is all learned from him. he just doesn’t know his own trick are being used against him! he always encourages your daughter to do aegyo on seungcheol so he can buy her snacks, though. (and it works every time…)

girl dad jeonghan who is protective of his daughter. he asks his group members to back up when you visit with her so that she doesn’t get overwhelmed. one at a time! gently hold her! support her neck! don’t spit on her mingyu! his group members always joke around that he brags about his daughter all the time but only nags when they get to actually see her in person.

girl dad jeonghan who loves seeing his daughter get along with her kpop idol uncles. she’s charmed all the members of seventeen and has them wrapped around her precious little finger. even his hyungwon hyung thinks she’s the cutest gem ever. as they should. that’s his daughter.

finally, girl dad jeonghan who finds himself lucky to be able to love your daughter and you.

#daegutowns #svt x reader #svt x y/n #svt x you #svt fluff #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #jeonghan x y/n #jeonghan is so pookie #girl dad jeonghan

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calisources · 1 month

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𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.

All of these sentences are mostly taking by my own mind and i'm not joking. It was hard finding material quotes regarding tournaments in historical or fantasy setting. Some are from shows or media but eighty percent is all from my own mind, please give credit if use these. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit. All of these involve the medieval event of a tournament and what happens around them.

I fear I am already bending far too many rules just by taking you, my young princess.

Show me your hands, you will have blisters soon.

Lady Eglantine doesn’t believe in love, only lust.

In the world of competition, only the strongest shall prevail.

A true champion is not defined by their victories, but by the obstacles they've overcome.

Victory is sweetest when it's earned through sweat, hard work, and determination.

Will you not participate in the tourney, my lord?

May I have the honor of wearing your favor today, my lady?

Good luck to you, my Prince.

The tournament is not just a test of skill, but a test of character as well.

Is it always this bloody? Will those poor men die? Someone must see them.

I want him to wear my favor. Only him.

If he wins, the knight has the right to name his Queen of Love and Beauty. And at the feast, they shall dance.

Be careful. A tourney is a grand place for courtly love, but also, for blood to rise and affairs to appear.

Call me what you like, say I'm without honor, I don't care. I'm not getting on any more horses to whack you people with a stick.

Kings may be chosen by God, but they still make the mistakes of men.

When even those who rule can sink this low, it is not possible to change anything.

It's my lucky charm, be sure to bring it back to me.

My favorite blue ribbon. Take it.

It will bring you good fortune and you will return from joust unharmed.

I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor.

How about a kiss, for luck?

Courtly love was the culture around the performance of love at court.

And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly boorish mating ritual.

The knights take on the duties of shadows with pride.

Whoever wins the tournament, shall become the prince/princess’ new betrothed.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

Petyr survived only because I begged Brandon not to kill him.

When Petyr heard of my engagement, he challenged Brandon to a duel.

You do qualify to marry my daughter.

What matters most is who she will give her favor to.

Her face is one that can create dynasties or crumble empires.

I was hoping for a word before you rode on the tourney, my Prince.

My brother is the one competing against you, please be gentle with him.

The games are done for the day, please, feast and drink as you wish.

You have been staring all day, my lord. I was beginning to wonder if I had something in my face.

Any damsel that's in distress - she'll be out of that dress when she meets Jim West.

Great men do not seek power... they have power thrust upon them.

My daughter seems. . .infatuated with you. I have yet to see why.

The princess is naive and thinks any man who is kind means well. A tournament will only show her the reality of life.

You honor the arena with your combat. May your swords and shield preserve the peace.

In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.

I will be brave for Princess Pea.

As a squire, your first duty is to your knight’s armor. Your knight’s armor is more important than your own life.

You will be knighted and you will have earned your knighthood.

You are hurt. At least let me tend to your wound.

The men laugh and fight and the ladies search for husbands.

Nothing like a good tournament to find a husband, or a companion for the night.

Rumors are always spread with ease in these.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?

You say I'll never get your blessing till the day I die.

We're married now, but we still haven't told your dad. This is the right time.

Are you promised to someone?

My sister's getting married. It's a love match. A rare thing. I’m not so lucky. My husband is to be chosen by who can hold a sword the longer.

Why can’t women participate in the games?

There are games for the ladies, Your Grace. But they are less. . .gruesome. And of course, the dancing.

Princes and Princess all over the realm and across the sea are coming for this event. You must shine brighter.

Let me help you with your armor. It appears loose.

As I promised, I return your favor to you, my lady.

The Prince never loses a joust. He will crown his queen and then all will be well.

I do not understand the appeal of this.

I spend days making these favors, let me stay a little longer.

My lady, I do not need your favor to win, but perhaps, a kiss of good faith.

I do not care who wins these games, your hand is already arranged for another.

Men are scoundrel, specially when blood runs hot after a good battle, stray away from them.

These games are done in honor of the king’s heir.

The lord’s daughter is said to have bloomed, and the man chooses to announce it like this.

A tournament is for men to boost their strength, fathers sell their daughters like mares and for affairs to happen.

I saw you on the stands today, my lord. But you did not participate on the games.

My brother wishes to dance with you, my lady. He is all too shy to ask himself.

You were injured. Have you allowed someone to heal them or are you too stubborn to let them?

Princess, you must not stray too far away.

Mother is too drunk and annoyed to care, she won’t mind.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #medieval meme #tournament meme #tourney meme

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stupid-sloot-headcanons · 4 months

Note

Can I please request an HC with a Foreigner Darling with Nanami from JJK, Captain from Hellsing and Byakuya Kuchiki from Bleach?

Nanami's got some knowledge of foreign cultures, but he doesn't speak English that well and if you speak any other language, he doesn't understand. So conversations will be in either simple Japanese or English, or he'll use a translator app. He tries to learn about your culture and incorporate it so you don't get too homesick. He also teaches you Japanese if you struggle with it and is a much more patient and kind teacher than how he is with the kids at Jujutsu High lol. He likes the idea of marrying you, but he leaves what kind of wedding he'd have up to you: Japanese traditional wedding at a shrine, a Western style wedding, etc. He just wants you to be his wifey/househusband, the ceremony itself is less important to him. Ideally he wants a more private ceremony though, just because he hates big parties with a bunch of guests...or one particular guest named Gojo who he knows would make a special day much more annoying. The Captain has little conception of cultures outside of what he knows of Milennium's German roots and hazy memories of Werewolf culture with his own people. And because he doesn't speak, you would think he doesn't understand language; in reality, he understands many languages but just doesn't speak them. So he can understand what you say even if he doesn't ever respond. He tries to give you little trinkets or items to remind you of your home, like books or food. He isn't sure how you're supposed to treat a mate, especially one that is a human. But doing things like this is probably good, right? Byakuya would be a bit angsty about it, because he's a noble and he knows firsthand how much pushback he got for marrying a lower-class woman like Hisana. Despite his love for her and for you, he knows that a foreigner would be borderline unacceptable to marry. So he would try to resign himself to pining from afar and keeping a distance, but that makes his obsession worse lol. He would eventually decide to court you anyway and damn the consequences or criticism from the other nobles in and out of the Kuchiki family. But he would also insist on training you in everything a Shinigami nobleman's wife would need to know: calligraphy, flower arrangement, tea ceremony, wearing kimono, dancing and playing instruments, etc. He wouldn't force you to assimilate and abandon your own culture or anything, but he would press the issue that being his bride (even if you didn't even ask for that) has responsibilities. But he trusts you to do them and loves you regardless. He tries to learn about and participate in your culture, too. Ie. if you're Mexican, he wants to make an ofrenda next to the family altar for Dia de los Muertos. If you're Black he refuses to do anything with your hair that you don't want, and he snaps at anyone who comments about it; he's very quick to remind them that for all his faults, Kaname Tosen was a very refined man who never looked "sloppy" or "unkempt" with his hair worn in dreadlocks. He learns about matryoshka from a Russian Darling and makes a new line of Ambassador Seaweed nesting dolls.

#.bleach #.byakuya #.jjk #.nanami #.hellsing #.captain #yandere bleach #yandere byakuya #yandere jjk #yandere nanami #yandere hellsing #yandere captain #foreign darling #.myshit

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luminoustarlight · 6 months

Text

"Slut!" | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

a miss americana and the heartbreak prince story

(modern!au / high school!au)

High school culture in this series is extremely dramatized and fictionalized. As mentioned in the series masterlist, the characters are 18 years old. Padmé is very out of character in this series as well. There are lots of nods to Taylor Swift lyrics in this, too. So it's really fun for swifties and star war babes.

Slut

noun

a woman who has many casual sexual partners.

The definition of “slut” more accurately describes Anakin rather than you. Afterall, he is the Heartbreak Prince of Lucas High School. But men never pay the price for sleeping around. They’re awarded a higher social status. Or in Anakin Skywalker’s case, you become the Senior every Freshman boy wants to be.

Anakin Skywalker used to be a player. Anakin Skywalker used to go through girls faster than the news could spread around school. He had no qualms with one night stands or taking a girl’s virginity because she asked him to. He was honored to be a girls’ first time.

He dated Padmé Amidala exclusively from January until June. When the new school year began, everyone wondered who would be the next one to get their heart broken by Anakin. Nobody could’ve guessed it would be Miss Americana.

The crowd at the Homecoming game nearly quieted when Anakin spun you around in the middle of the field. When he nuzzled his sweaty face into your neck, kissing your warm skin as if it was a greater reward than winning the football game. It took you by surprise, to say the least. You’ve only been seeing each other for about a month and had yet to interact or show affection at school. It was quite the announcement. And the message was loud and clear. Anakin had a new girl and she’s nothing like his ex.

Padmé had watched you and Anakin with a fire fueled by jealousy in her stomach. You had a stupid, naïve smile on your face as you walked off of the field with Anakin’s varsity jacket draped over your shoulders. That should be me. Maybe it’s all an act to make me jealous.

So that’s how the whispers began at the Homecoming dance. Padmé had rallied her cheerleading friends to start spreading rumors. By the time you walked through the gymnasium doors attached to Anakin’s arm, everyone had made up their mind about you. You’re nothing but a slut and a man-stealer.

It’s unnerving having so many eyes on you at once. It’s like they all have a radar when Anakin walks into a room. He’s just that magnetic of a man. And he’s used to it. But it makes you uncomfortable and Anakin can sense it.

“Are you alright?”

You swallow and plaster on an unconvincing smile. “‘M fine.”

“Hey,” Anakin says gently. He cups your elbows and rubs his thumbs over your arms. “We’re all dressed up, you look stunning and I’m having a particularly great hair day. They might as well look at us. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger thrumming in your ears makes it difficult to think or to argue. Anakin is right. You didn’t spend $120 on an aquamarine dress for nothing. “Fine,” you concede. “But if I hear people talking about me, can we leave and go to Denny’s?”

“They’re going to talk about you, angel,” Anakin kisses you on the cheek. “It’s just how it is. But none of it means a thing. C’mon, let’s dance.”

You dance for about twenty minutes before needing to get something to drink. Of course it’s the same time Anakin meets up with his football friends, leaving you at the snack table with a target on your back. Serena and Molly, Padmé’s closest friends slither up next to you.

“Hey, Slut,” Serena jeers. That insult was bound to reach your ears sooner or later. It’s by no means true or accurate but they don’t care. They’re not about to bad mouth Anakin.

“So… you and Anakin, huh?” Molly begins. “He’s a bit out of your league, isn’t he?”

“Don’t worry, Mol. She’s just his rebound. He’s gonna get back with Padmé when he realizes what a loser she is. No offense,” Serena adds insincerely.

“That definitely felt like something you wanted me to take offense to,” you say. You scan the gym for Anakin, hoping he’ll see the situation you’re in and rescue you. But when you put it like that, you sound so pathetic. You can get out of this yourself. “And I’m not his rebound.”

“No?” Molly puts her hands on his hips. “That’s not what I heard…”

No, you tell yourself. Don’t indulge her. Whatever she has to say isn’t true.

Serena laughs at you. “You don’t honestly think Anakin actually likes you, do you? He’s just using you to make Padmé jealous. You’re all part of his plan to get her back.”

Even though you know Serena is lying, her words still manage to plant seeds of doubt in you. But they don’t know anything about you and Anakin. There is something special kindling between the two of you. Anakin cares about you. It’s in the way he drops off a Dirty Chai latte on your porch before going to school. It’s written in the notes he stealthily slips into your locker when he says he’s going to the bathroom in the middle of class. It’s the sweatshirts he lets you borrow and the sleepless movie nights eating buttery popcorn and stale Red Vines over the last two weekends.

“You’re wrong,” you say with a slight quiver in your lip. You hate how Serena has made you question everything with Anakin. If it’s all just for show then why does he kiss you when no one is watching? Why did he insist on keeping your new relationship private if not to nurture your budding romance without prying eyes?

He’s ashamed of you.

Then why did he ask you to the dance?

To humiliate you in front of the whole school.

This is just a game to him. Your embarrassment is the prize.

“Aw, I think we hurt Little Miss Americana’s feelings,” Molly feigns a sad face, dragging her finger down her cheek as if it’s a fallen tear. “I hate to make it worse but it looks like he and Padmé might be making up right now.”

Molly and Serena point in Anakin’s direction, where he is indeed speaking with Padmé. It’s the first time you’ve seen her all night and she looks breathtaking. Her chocolate hair is curled to perfection, bouncy locks cascading over her shoulders. A plunging neckline draws your eyes down her chest and seriously, she was allowed to wear this to a high school dance?

She’s throwing her head back dramatically, as if Anakin just told her the joke of the year. And then— dear God, you want to throw up— he’s hugging her. You count the seconds. 1…2…3… you can’t watch it anymore. You turn away from Serena and Juliette abruptly and make your way out of the gymnasium.

“So long, slut,” Serena waves.

The brisk October air assaults your skin and invades your lungs, but it’s welcomed compared to the betrayal you feel coursing through your veins. Is this the end of Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince? You’ve only had a month with him but you want a dozen more. You’ve barely had time to discover what your relationship could become.

Perfect pearls of salt begin falling down your cheeks. How could you have been so lovelorn? How could you have gotten it all wrong? You were too blinded by Anakin’s charm to see that it was always meant to be temporary.

“Y/N!” Anakin calls for you. He spots you sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.

A little piece of him crumbles. Someone has hurt you. Little does he know it was him who did.

He rushes over to you and lays his arm over your back as he sits down. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You let yourself relish in the feeling of having his protective arm around you. It might be the last time. “Go back inside.”

“No,” Anakin replies, tilting your face toward him with a finger beneath your chin. “You’ve been crying.”

“What an astute observation, Anakin.”

Okay, so apparently you’re going back to the days when you hated each other. Right. Great. Why?

“You’re… mad at me…?” Anakin thinks out loud.

“I’m-” you stand abruptly, making you dizzy as all of the blood rushes out of your head. You wait until you can see clearly before continuing to speak. “I’m confused, Anakin! I’m angry at myself for falling for you, I’m angry at myself for being so naïve in thinking this was as real for you as it was for me. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid-”

Anakin stands as well. Clearly, something happened in the gymnasium. Someone said something to you. Or you saw something that wasn’t what it seemed. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Padmé.”

“Are over,” Anakin emphasizes.

“But…” you close your eyes, replaying the scene you saw before you. Padmé laughing, Anakin bringing her in for a hug… it was all so friendly.

“But you saw us hug?” Anakin asks calmly. You nod. “But you didn’t hear me?”

“No,” you reply shamefully.

“I told her that I don’t want to get back together with her. My relationship with her was the first real one I’ve had and it taught me a lot, but it is not what I want. It’s not what I need. She is not who I want or who I need.”

“Ani…”

Anakin shakes his head. “I’m not done. Look, I know we’re only 18 and I know we have our whole lives ahead of us but let’s not think about that. Think about right now,” Anakin grabs your hands. “This is real for me. You’re my favorite person to spend time with. I’m so fucking excited that everyone at this fucking school knows we’re together because now I can kiss you whenever I want. I can push you up against the lockers and make out with you until we get yelled at by Mr. Windu.”

That makes you giggle. You can totally hear Mr. Windu telling you to get off of each other before he gives you both detention.

“I don’t have to be so fucking sneaky with putting notes in your locker. You can wear my Varsity jacket at games. We can actually go out to a restaurant and go on a date. Don’t give up on us, baby. We’ve only just begun.”

It’s not a proclamation of love or anything, but it’s enough. Everyone wants Anakin Skywalker and that seems to be your crime. You stole him before anyone else had the chance.

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