#glimmer reader insert

[7s3ven]

jealous girl. cato hadley

( master list )

Cato Hadley x Female! District Two! Reader

This one shot is for a book I’m writing but enjoy this. Link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/336569852?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=riddlesbleachdrinker&wp_originator=lNYFXKoKSwZS%2FwkVU%2FVInkUksEX5fvHuroL2fOpLQzYw324EJ7uS7vH9NrK7EKz%2FtWuSTO96oj3SPi%2F%2F4Z9sCfk8um5LCzNHP2dloSxR2TYkqun4bDC2EUvFGW59AGeP (JEEZ THATS A BIG LINK, WTF)

“Cause I’m a jealous, jealous, jealous girl. If I can't have you, baby. If I can't have you, baby.” 

“Let the 74th Hunger Games commence. May the odds be ever in your favor.” 

The moment the countdown reached zero, Y/N jumped off her pedestal. She was racing towards the supplies before the other tributes even had time to process what was happening. 

The H/C-haired girl grabbed the first weapon she saw, which was a sword. Cato wouldn’t be happy about that. Y/N slashed at the other tributes, not caring who she hit as long as blood splattered across the fresh grass.

“You took my sword.” Cato muttered as he stabbed a young boy with a curved knife. Y/N only hummed and shrugged. 

“The District Twelve girl is getting away!” Glimmer shouted over the screams of terror coming from the tributes. 

“I got her!” Y/N replied, throwing the sword at Cato’s feet and picking up an axe as she sprinted after Katniss. “Well, if it isn’t the girl on fire.” Y/N sneered as she grabbed the raventte’s braid, pulling her back. “You escaped from Glimmer’s arrows but you can’t escape me.” Y/N choked Katniss with the handle of her axe, listening to the way she gagged. Katniss scratched at Y/N’s arms, picking off bits of flesh until she realized that would do no good. 

With a choked gasp, Katniss harshly head butted Y/N. The H/C-haired girl yelled out in pain as thick, red liquid dripped down her face. 

“My nose! You little shit! You hurt my face! You’ve ruined it!” Y/N punched Katniss, screaming over and over again. She was like a vicious beast sinking its teeth into its prey. 

Y/N slashed Katniss’ shoulder with her weapon, knocking her to the ground. The H/C-nette attempted to stab Katniss’ throat but she rolled to the side, getting a mouthful of dirt in return. Katniss kicked Y/N’s ankles, causing the latter to topple over. 

Suddenly, Katniss was on top of her with a dagger pressing into Y/N’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Cato was quick to react. He grabbed Katniss’ shirt, heaving the black-haired girl off Y/N.

Katniss quickly scrambled up, sprinting away. Cato was too focused on Y/N to care. 

“I thought you had it under control.” Cato grumbled as the pair walked back towards Glimmer and Marvel. The bloodbath was over, allowing the tributes to rest before the Careers picked them off one by one.

“I did until she tried to slit my damn throat.” Y/N lifted a hand to feel the small, slightly wincing. 

“How much supplies did we get?” Cato questioned. There was a large array of bags on the bloody grass, and one of them was bound to contain medical supplies. 

“We only got a few bags of food. Marvel and I can go find some more.” Glimmer offered. By ‘finding some more’ she meant stealing from other tributes. 

“We’ll guard the supplies then.” Cato uttered, “Don’t take too long.” The blond began to rummage through the bags, searching for anything he could use on Y/N’s injuries and her bloody nose.

“This isn’t needed, you know. My throat will be fine.” Y/N mumbled as Cato forced her to tilt her head back as he cleaned her wound. 

“Say that when it gets infected.” Cato fired back. Y/N lightly scoffed, the corners of her lips twitching into a small smile.

__

“Are you seeing this, Cladius?” Caesar grinned at his broadcasting partner. “It seems the District Two tributes have finally began showing affection to each other, starting with Cato saving Y/N.”

“Yes, yes. We all saw the lingering stares between the two during the tribute parade. However, we have two couples in the games now: Peeta and Katniss from District Twelve, and Cato and Y/N from District Two. How will that turn out?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

__  Y/N bit into a piece of bread, finally silencing her rumbling stomach. Cato was quick to snatch the food out of her hand, shoving it into her mouth. 

“Dude, seriously?” Y/N scowled, slapping his shoulder. Cato only laughed. “I was still eating that, you nitwit.” 

Night was beginning to fall, which only meant one thing for the Careers: hunting time. Peeta was with them too. Only so they could find Katniss, though.

“Fire alert.” Y/N muttered, pointing over at a dim light slightly concealed by the forest. Truly a stupid move. 

“Come on, let’s go.” Cato said.

With their backpacks fully stuffed and weapons in hand, the Careers went bounding into the forest in search of new targets. They followed the fire and found a girl warming her hands by it. She looked up, noticing the sadistic smirks on the Careers’ faces.

There was a loud scream and then a canon, signifying her death.

“Did you hear her shouting? Oh, please don’t kill me!” Glimmer loudly laughed as she imitated the girl’s plead. Cato chuckled, nudging her.

“Hey, that was a good impression.” He said, grinning from ear to ear.

Y/N, who was at the front of the pack, turned around. She saw Cato and Glimmer lagging behind, stuck in their own world. Y/N heaved a frustrated sigh.

She felt like her gut was being twisted. She clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the feeling. As Glimmer giggled again, Y/N’s grip on her axe tightened.

“Tribute, two o’clock!” Marvel announced, pointing at a boy who was sprinting through the greenery. He was making an awful lot of noise, which was the thing that led the Careers to him in the first place.

“I call dibs!” Y/N exclaimed, running after him. She threw her axe, hitting him square in the chest. It wasn’t long before another canon went off. Y/N ransacked his bag, grabbing everything she could and shoving them into her pockets and bag.

“Let’s set up camp.” Marvel uttered. It would do them no good if they were too tired to kill tomorrow. Cato, Marvel, and Glimmer lay on the ground while Y/N skilfully climbed up a tree. She liked climbing things. And turns out, it was a skill many Careers lacked.

Y/N swung her legs back and forth as she stared up at the artificial sky. She glanced down, staring as Glimmer cuddled into Cato’s side. He allowed her.

Y/N felt another strong pang in her chest as she absentmindedly played with a knife she found in her bag. She couldn’t sleep. The adrenaline and envy was keeping her awake.

“Are you ever going to come down?” Cato questioned. He slipped out of Glimmer’s arms and walked to stand underneath Y/N.

“I will.” She muttered, “Soon.” She wanted Cato to stay, but he simply shrugged.

“Alright. Don’t fall out of the tree.” He returned to his former sleeping spot, but kept his distance from Glimmer.

“Night, Y/N.” She heard him say.

“Night, Cato.”

__

It was another successful day for the Career pack. All of them, save for Peeta, were celebrating their latest kill. They walked out of the thick greenery, almost skipping with joy.

“Hey, look!” Y/N exclaimed, pointing at Katniss. She was wading in the shallow water of a river to relive the burn in her leg. As soon as she saw the Careers, her eyes widened and she bolted.

“Fish out of the pond!” Marvel yelled as they chased after her.

“She’s mine!” Glimmer playfully shouted.

Cato was at the front of the pack, Y/N not too far behind.

“Where you going, baby?!” Cato exclaimed, “There’s nowhere to run!”

Katniss resorted to climbing up a tall tree. She panted as she reached a high branch, looking down at the deadly pack.

“Get her, Cato!” Glimmer encouraged the blond as he began to scale up the trunk, jaw tightly clenched. However, he grabbed onto a frail stick and fell. He landed with a loud thud.

“Fine! I’ll shoot her!” But Glimmer overestimated her aim. She missed Katniss by a long shot. Cato angrily motioned for Glimmer to hand the bow and arrow over, trying for himself. He was just as bad.

“Maybe you should throw the sword.” Katniss sarcastically suggested.

“Or maybe you all should move aside and leave her to the one that can climb.” Y/N piped up, her arms folded over her chest.

The pack stepped aside, allowing Y/N to pass through. She held a dagger in between her teeth as she climbed the tree with surprising speed. Katniss scrambled away as Y/N stepped onto her branch.

“Hello again, girl on fire.”

Katniss pulled out a curved dagger, holding it in front of her. In such close range, her bow and arrows would be futile.

“You’re going to pay for ruining my face.” Y/N launched at Katniss, grabbing her by the shirt and throwing her back. Katniss hit the tree trunk and let out a strained wheeze. The Careers below cheered at Y/N stabbed the ravenette’s shoulder and kicked her burn so hard that Katniss screamed.

Katniss was skilled, but she was no match for Y/N, who was trained for this moment. Katniss heard a faint buzzing above her and she looked up to see some kind of wasp nest.

__

“Oooh, tracker jackers. If Katniss manages to knock it over, Y/N will be in a very dangerous position.” Claudius uttered to Caesar. The blue-haired man nodded in agreement.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Caesar said, “Tracker jackers are genetically engineered wasps. Their lethal stings can cause powerful hallucinations and, in some serious cases, death.”

__

Katniss clumsily jumped and sliced the nest off the tree. The tracker jackers emerged, buzzing around the two females. The Careers below were also affected.

Y/N fell out of the tree, screaming as she tried to swipe the wasps away. The pain was blinding her sense of sight as she scrambled to her feet.

“Y/N!” She faintly heard Cato yelling. Once Cato and Marvel realised neither of their District partners were behind them, the blond immediately ran back.

Glimmer and Y/N were both being attacked, trying desperately to run away from the wasps.

If Cato could save both of them, he would’ve. But time was running low and he had to choose. He chose Y/N without hesitation, leaving Glimmer behind to die.

“Shit! Y/N, come on. Wake up. Don’t leave me. Y/N!” Cato lay her on the ground and shook her shoulders, begging her to open her eyes.

“Cato?” She whispered, her cracked and bloody lips slightly parted.

“Yes. Yes. It’s me. It’s Cato.” He grabbed her face so Y/N could clearly see him.

“Why is Clove with you? She’s not meant to be here.” Y/N muttered, furrowing her eyebrows. “Clove, why are you here?”

“Y/N, Clove isn’t here.” Cato said, “But I am. Can you walk?” Y/N tried to stand up but she fell back down. Cato cushioned her fall.

“It hurts.” She whispered, lightly tugging his shirt.

“I know.” Cato gently uttered, stroking her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have let you go up there. I’m so sorry.” For a moment, Cato showed his vulnerability to the multiple cameras surrounding him. “You’re going to be okay, though. Just take it nice and slow.”

With Cato’s help, Y/N was able to stand up. She groaned, leaning against him.

“I’m going to kill her.” She muttered, referring to Katniss. She had gotten away from Y/N two times. It wouldn’t happen a third.

“You’ll get your chance. For now, relax.” Cato kissed the top of Y/N’s head, too distracted by her to notice the sponsor parachute. The small container hit him in the face and he clenched his jaw.

He opened the compartment, briefly reading the small note inside.

Nice romance, kids. Apply this to Y/N’s injuries. - E

Cato screwed open a round container, looking inside in confusion. “It’s, uh, melted oatmeal?”

“It’s ointment, you nitwit!” Y/N snapped, “For the stings!”

“Damn, the stings made her cranky. Here, let me help you.” Cato applied the ointment and Y/N sighed in relief as they finally stopped hurting.

“Thanks, Cato.” Y/N murmured, leaning against him.

“Any time, Y/N.”

#cato hadley #hunger games #clove kentwell #glimmer hunger games #marvel hunger games #hunger games x reader #x reader #reader insert #catching fire #mocking jay

[amyelevenn]

I Hate to Interrupt This Alternate Universe I've Wandered Into

c!Technoblade x gn!reader

add yourself to the taglist here!

series masterlist here!

main masterlist here!

Chapter 2 of my series Glimmer in the Eye of the Curious

PAIRING; c!Technoblade x gn!reader

SUMMARY; You and Technoblade have a bit of an...unwanted... reunion, but it's better than being dead

....well, is it?

WARNINGS/TAGS; nothing really - a bit of panic

A/N; so I realised I want this fic to feel like the song snowfall by Øneheart (you may know from tiktok) - sad, angsty undertones but still have happier, nostalgic vibes to it?? I don’t really know but I hope someone understands the vibe I’m tryna give

also -  i have some questions;

- do you guys like this chapter length? would you rather longer/shorter?

- do we want this to be angsty? cause if you have read any of my other stuff you know i am a sucker for angst, but i want it to appeal to you guys!!

1.8k words

A tired yawn emitted quietly from your lips, your eyes struggling to open. The first thing you felt was a weary, refreshing euphoria – the type you would feel after waking up from a much-needed midday nap, or after sleeping for 13 straight hours. However short-lived the warmth is, you bask in the intoxication as it slips through your fingers and moulds into an aching agony.

You should be dead.

With an alarming amount of effort, you open your eyes, groaning quietly as your whole body floods with aches and pains. You notice distantly that you are still caked in blood and mud, and still slightly damp from the snow. It takes a second to soak in your surroundings, and the fact that you don’t recognise one thing nearby – coming rather quickly to the conclusion that this isn’t somewhere you had been before, and that needed to change.

Maybe it was all a horrible nightmare, and you were really dead, and this was your version of limbo. Honestly, a win for everyone.

A voice clears its throat from across the room.

So, not limbo – not just yet.

Ignoring the soreness of your neck and the protest of almost every limb in your body, you snap your head to see a fairly large man leaning casually against his sink, sipping something out of a mug as if this was just a normal Monday – or whatever day it was now – for him.

And knowing Technoblade, this very well might be.

“How ya feelin’?” he asks, not moving from his place. “You weren’t out very long – woke up much earlier than I expected, actually.”

You hesitate, expression falling. No. No, no no no no no. Not here. Not now.

As subtly as you can manage you look for an escape route, a way you can get out fast and avoid trouble.

“There’s no point. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You weren’t stupid. With the condition you were in, there simply wasn’t a way of leaving without injuring yourself even further.

You go to reply to his first remark, but all the rasps out from your throat is a rough croak, sending a throb of pain through your head. Closing your eyes to help the hurt subside, you don’t even notice Techno sitting by your side, gently pulling your ankle onto his lap.

A cup of water was in your hand before you could fully register what was going on, but you had drank it all without so much as a second thought.

“Been better,” you finally manage, watching as he unravels a slightly blood-stained bandage from around your foot. “You’ve seen firsthand how bad of positions I can get myself in.”

“Your ankle is the worst you’ve done, everythin’ else will heal just fine,” Techno murmurs. You noted how calm and collected he was. Like how he always was.

You knew he knew how you got in situations you were unfamiliar with – you were skittish, panicked, like a deer in headlights. So he had to tread carefully, not wanting to scare you off (Gods knew he was good at that).

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you chuckle, trying to ignore the burning in your chest. “Thank you for helping me, even after… uh- everything.”

You don’t need to see him stiffen, you could literally sense how he unconsciously sits straighter, holding your ankle a little bit tighter than before. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

“I don’t – at least not now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump building in your throat.

“Alright,” he softly agrees, but is still tensed up as if you would attack at any moment – and you both know you have every right to.

But that wasn’t you – you weren’t a fighter like he was, and you both knew it.

Slowly, he unwraps the bandage on your ankle, letting you assess the damage for yourself. He seems almost zoned out as you look at the brilliant purples and greens that taint your skin, an ugly bruise dark and daunting.

“And my shoulder?”

“Just dislocated. Nothin’ a healin’ potion can’t fix.” The monotony in his voice is one you are all too familiar with.

You hum in agreeance, fingers on autopilot as they trace where a scar should be on your thigh from that skeleton’s arrow. There’s nothing there – no marks, no dents, no lumps – no trace of any injury in the first place apart from the bloodied tear in your pants.

“You always had the best stuff, didn’t you?” you snicker a little, letting yourself relax slightly.

If he wanted you dead, you would be by now – he wouldn’t have gone through all of this trouble to keep you alive if that was the opposite of what he wished. He wouldn’t have wasted so many precious resources to keep your heart beating if it wasn’t in his best interest.

Ignoring the dull ache moving caused, you ran your hands through your knotted and muddy hair, realising how dirty you must look.

The hybrid had to have read your mind, pointing lazily to a closed door. “Bathroom’s in there, use whatever you need. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

Limping over, you barely make it to the door before collapsing onto the side of the bathtub, the overwhelming pain shooting up your calf making your head spin in many different directions. Black dots violently painted your sight, bile slowly creeping up your throat. You push it away, not wanting to cause a scene.

Technoblade walks in, holding a pair of clean pants and a shirt. “Will you be alright to do it by yourself?” he asks, clearly wary of your ankle.

You give a curt nod, taking a deep breath through your nose.

He huffs, “Yell if you need anythin’, yeah?”

Closing the door behind him, you are left to peel the bloodied and snow-soaked clothes off your sore body, ditching them to lie forgotten on the floor. Your whole body was littered with scars, marks and bruises – some new, red and healing, others older, faded but still visible.

You couldn’t help but stare as you always did prompted with a mirror at the scar running from between your shoulder blades all the way down to the small of your back. It was a scar that never fully healed, physically and emotionally. The memory of how you got it made you want to vomit, especially since you were in his presence again.

The tub filled quicker than you had anticipated, and you wasted no time dipping into the warmth the water in the bath provided.

Almost instantly the water became a murky, rusty colour, yet it felt amazing as you scrubbed off the built-up grime off your arms and legs. You could feel the soreness in your muscles soften as it melted away with the heat. After a while of gently running your fingers through your hair, the tangles and dirt clumps are out, and the water ran cold.

Reluctantly stepping out, you dried yourself off with the first towel you could grab, shivering at the new lack of warmth. You weren’t overly excited at the prompt of wearing his clothes, but as of right now you didn’t have much of a choice.

Because of his sheer size, Technoblade’s clothes were way oversized on you, but you compromised with what you had. The pants barely stayed on your hips and were too long at the foot so you had to roll them up. The shirt came down past your thighs, sleeves much longer than your arms were.

Pure exhaustion clouded your vision, having to blink away the stars dancing across your eye line. Dizzy, you took multiple deep breaths to attempt to steady yourself, gripping the doorknob as if it was the source of all your problems.

You distracted yourself by thinking – thinking about leaving, going home, fixing yourself up there and never leaving again. Thinking about the closure you could finally get, the explanation you had dreamt of for many sleepless nights-

No.

You were going to go home, and never see this man again, just like you had planned in the first place.

Opening the bathroom door, you hardly manage to fight the wave of nausea that washes over you, and by some miracle, you had made it back to the couch you were on before.

Technoblade sat idly at his desk, trying his best to calm the voices – the same voices who screamed for blood, blood, blood at the slightest mention of your name. He made his hands work so he wouldn’t have to think, praying the tedium and repetition of it would quieten them down, at least for a moment so he could attempt to concentrate.

Your mask lay partially fixed between his fingers, the least he could do to try and rekindle what once was.

He sensed your presence immediately, turning to make sure you were okay. He watched your eyes flicker from his to your mask back to his, but ask no question.

Technoblade was the one to break the silence. “When was the last time you ate-?”

You immediately cut in, “I’m not staying.”

He ignores you. “Now would be a good time for food, and maybe another potion.”

You watch him stand and make his way to a cupboard, pull out a full glass bottle and make a piece of buttered toast.

He first hands you the brew of rich pinks and reds, waiting patiently as you waft the potion to ensure there is no foul play. It tastes of melons and light, yet recovery and safety. A soft sigh involuntarily escapes you as you relax into the warmth spreading through every part of you.

The toast finds its way into your hands and down your throat before you can really process anything, still too caught up in the soft exhilaration rush to think about things too hard.

“It’s late,” Techno finally murmurs, “and a snowstorm is on the way. Look, I’m not gonna make you stay, but I would strongly advise sleepin’ the night off and dealing with everythin’ when you wake up.”

There’s only one thing playing on repeat in your mind.

Two, if you count how pretty he looks in this lighting.

“Why’d you do it?” You whisper it with so much heartache, Technoblade can almost, almost feel it radiating off of you. “Why did you…why…”

“Go to sleep.” It’s quiet, barely there, but it does the job.

The piglin watches as you drift into a restless slumber, silently arguing with the voices about something he had no control over.

Sleep and you had a very delicate, fickle relationship – and yet tonight she decided to hold you dear and close, allowing you a long, overdue nights rest that was very much needed. If she was feeling up to it, she may even have given you a dream.

Or possibly show that dreaded nightmare you face every time you close your eyes.

Blood for the Blood God.

TAGLIST;

@raes-gay @howtobeamoth

#technoblade my beloved #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #dsmp #technoblade x reader #dream smp #technoblade #angst #ameswrites #fanfiction #glimmer in the eye of the curious #chapter two

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is one of your greatest fears and you’re his achilles’ heel.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, angst / word count: 4.1k

content/warnings: i love you i want us both to eat well T_T sigh. oc has abandonment issues pls protect at all costs + oc is worried bc jk is working so hard :( + a worm (???) cameo. ily protective and hopeless romantic iw!jk <3 the ending 🥲💔 this drabble literally goes 📈📉

> in which masterlist!

note: *insert my melody mugshot scene* me if planting puzzle pieces in my drabbles + making oc cry (IM SORRY) were a crime. this was sm fun writing <3 i cried and laughed they’re so precious </3

—

“jungkook, baby?”

your silky voice fills the quiet apartment as you pad across the floor. you’re carrying your heeled mary janes by its straps, leaving you only in your white socks.

“babe?”

you frown as the seconds pass and you receive no response from your lover. there’s no music playing, no rustling somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. the lights are dim like they usually are, but the vivid colors are absent.

him? asleep at 9pm? jeon jungkook? it can’t be, but you’d be delighted to finally see him resting early if it was real.

and so, spurred by that tiny glimmer of hope, you carefully crack the bedroom door open, as if you’re fifteen again and you just came back from sneaking out of the house.

but you’re grown now; you live in a building with complete strangers for neighbors. you just got home from work, and you’re no longer used to sleeping alone because you share the bed with another person.

you find it empty. devoid of any creases, sign of life. as neat as a hotel room’s make believe that no one lived there until two hours prior.

the disappointment weighs down on your shoulders, causing them to drop.

he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere else after practice, you think to yourself as your lips permanently shape into a pout. what happened to going out with you for dinner?

agreeing, your empty stomach grumbles angrily.

maybe he got caught up at work. maybe he’s on his way home. maybe he’s on his way to the restaurant and he’s about to text you to come over. maybe he forgot about your plans and he’s having dinner with somebody else.

whatever the reason is, you’re too lazy and tired to whip up something edible on your own. with or without him, you’re going out and you’re stuffing your mouth full with rice and meat. after all, autumn is here, your dear old friend.

in search for a coat that will accompany you in your late-night stroll, you enter the walk-in closet and flip on the lightswitch.

you can count them with just your fingers— the amount of times you’ve felt this type of fear. absent eyes, melting spine, chills running to the top of your head down to your fingertips, mind racing with an overload of thoughts (it appears as a blank page, the same way that white is the presence of all colors of visible light). this fear… you associate it with impulsive mistakes, fire, police and ambulance sirens, and… empty closets.

jungkook’s side of the closet is empty.

clothes. shoes. bucket hats. beanies. belts. everything. gone.

but the floor is scattered with random pieces of clothing that look like they accidentally fell while someone was in a rush to pack them all in a bag. so in a rush that they didn’t even bother to pick them up.

your weak knees almost give way, but you force yourself to stumble backwards until your back hits the doorframe— you refuse to let yourself look like you’ve been carelessly discarded too.

not again. not again. not this goddamn vicious curse you thought you’ve already broken out of. not. again.

you blink away the tears threatening to spill as you scramble to open the zipper of your bag, but they spill anyway when your shoes clatter to the floor. you flinch at the thunderous sound, clutching your phone tightly against your chest. you keep your eyes closed throughout the defeaning silence that comes after.

the empty space mocks you. it knows your intricate design was not meant to live in an empty home.

you guess nothing much has changed. you’re still afraid of jungkook and his power to take away the sun, just as he did before, and you deeply despise being afraid. you don’t like it when the walls are closing in on you, poisoning your mind into believing that you’re small when the heart inside your chest burns with a fire brighter than that of the damn sun.

anyone would be foolish to leave you; it’s only jungkook who could have you mourning the death of the garden you’ve given the past five years of your life to.

—

jungkook returns to the apartment half an hour later. despite the long, grueling hours of dance practice he nearly didn’t survive, the excitement vibrating through his body is manifested through the lightness of his movements. he’s finally seeing his lover for the first time today… awake.

when he brought his natural body warmth along with him to the bathroom this morning, you sunk yourself further into mattress, beneath the thick blankets and against the soft pillows. by the time he had to give you your obligatory goodbye kiss before he leaves for work (or else you’d sulk about it for the rest of the week), half of your face has been hidden from sight. he was only able to press a loving kiss on your forehead, and then your eyelids that were fluttering as you dreamt.

night time comes and he is still deprived of the sight of your beautiful face? he somberly wonders as he finds you slumped over the dining table; he swears that there is a dark rain cloud hovering above you. your arms are thrown over the hardwood as they serve as a makeshift pillow for your vessel— his little firefly curiously bleak.

“baby? are you sick?” he asks, voice dripping with concern as he tenderly rubs your back.

the legs of the chair screeches against the tiled floor, neglectedly pushed behind.

“kook?” you manage to choke out, frantically sitting up once your muddled brain registered the familiarity of his touch on your bare skin.

his heart drops to his stomach as your tear-stained face comes into view. this isn’t how he envisioned your greeting; it usually came in the form of a bright light not harsh as the sunlight, a softness that begs to be held.

“are you crying?!”

your reply only comes out as a pitiful whimper. he stumbles a step backwards when you unceremoniously jump into his embrace, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. he gets a whiff of your sweet perfume, and then it becomes the air that he breathes, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it.

“baby!”

he squeezes your waist taut against his body, affectionately nosing at your cheek before giving you a kiss. “did something happen? tell me- tell me.”

“jungkook,” your voice cracks as you utter his name, sounding almost like a plea, and then an endless string of heartbreaking sobs comes out muffled against his shirt. “where have you been?”

this sends him into a state of panic. seeing you in pain— it’s his biggest weakness. after all, you are his achilles’ heel.

“why? why, why, why?” you’re weak and pliant as he pulls your arms down, collapsing against his chest when he envelopes you in his embrace. he cradles your head in his palm, soothing you with gentle pats and shushes. “shh, shhh- it’s okay, i’m here now. everything’s okay, you hear me?”

his efforts prove to be fruitless, because you only seem to cry harder as he slowly rocks your bodies back and forth.

you shake your head, hands attempting to hold on to the back of his shirt to regain sensation in your limbs, but they miserably fail and fall on the sides of his hips.

“talk to me… please, mhmm?“ he hums quietly, pressing his soft lips to your temple. “tell me what’s wrong and your boyfriend will take care of it.”

from your sniffles to your hiccups, you remain unable to form any coherent response, and it leads his imagination to construct the worst possible scenarios. he feels his stomach turn with uneasiness, jaw clenching as he carefully pulls away to meet you eye-to-eye.

“did someone touch you? hurt you?” he spits out with urgency, and the unparalleled care he displays puts you in a daze, simply dumbfounded as he strokes your face. “huh, baby? just tell me and i’ll take care of the rest.”

now that you’re being reminded that jungkook could quite literally kill a person with his bare hands if they ever inflict harm on you, the fog is clearing up and you feel so incredibly… stupid.

but that’s more the reason why it’s difficult not to be sensitive when it comes to him; his absence proves to be lethal.

“shit, you’re scaring me.” he breathes out shakily as he taps your cheek lightly to bring you back to him, the distant look in your eyes triggering the emergency alarms in his head.

he unconsciously licks his lips and he tastes your tears; he doesn’t want anybody else to ever come this close.

“okay, okay- let’s put that aside for now. what do you need? should we go to bed and rest instead?”

“i thought you left,” you whisper as you hang your head in shame.

he blinks at you in confusion. “to where? my flight isn’t until next week, baby.”

fantastic! now you sound like the most dramatic, clingiest bitch to ever grace the planet. you bury your face in your hands to hide the battle zone between your heart and mind, but your boyfriend seizes your wrists because he can’t bear another second of it.

“is-is that why you’re upset…?” he asks with not a trace of malice or ridicule. he is only filled with guilt as it dawns on him then— how you’ve only gotten used to always having him around four years into your relationship, when he was taking a break from work.

the changes in his life are also changes in yours, but they still affect you in many different ways.

“then just come with me. i’ll make it work. maybe we can extend for a bit, spend an entire day by ourselves- there’s a lot of museu-”

“i thought you left,” you repeat yourself, exposed and vulnerable, vision swallowed by the darkness because you can’t make yourself look at him. “your clothes… they’re gone, and i was calling but you… you weren’t answering my calls so i thought…”

“my clothes?” he exclaims, eyes going wide as he realizes that they’ve accidentally slipped from his mind. “ahh, i thought about cleaning the closet while waiting for you so i moved everything to the other room!”

you open your mouth to speak, but much to your chagrin, no words come out. you purse your lips as your chin wobbles— the new wave of tears in your eyes mimic shiny crystals.

“____!”

and at the stern mention of your name, you know that you’re about to receive a (loving) scolding from your boyfriend. your lips curve into a frown before a sob inevitably escapes past them.

“why would you think that? why would i leave you? that doesn’t make sense at all, does it…?”

you shake your head, hugging him so tight, possibly tighter than you’ve ever done before. between your bodies, his heart is being unbearably wrung.

“i’m sorry, baby. seeing you cry like this breaks my heart…” he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, resting his cheek on the side of your head. “but why would that be the first thing you think of…? i must be doing something wrong, right? have i been too busy with work? am i neglecting you?”

you’re breathless, a little dizzy— bloodshot eyes meeting his that are now gleaming with sadness. “no, it’s not like that! i just panicked, i couldn’t think straight.”

“are you sure?”

he looks at you skeptically, scanning your face.

“baby-” his voice breaks, then he pauses with his gaze still trained on you. “okay, i’m sorry. i… should’ve thought about what cleaning the closet would look like.”

“i was just being stupid.” you give him a small smile, rubbing your eyes to chase away the burning sensation. “sorry for scaring you.”

“stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” he tuts, pushing your wrists aside to cup your face in his hands, much gentler in comparison to your own self. his thumbs draw shapes on your soft skin, and then out of the blue, he curiously squeezes one of the space buns on top of your head. “wow, this is so pretty?”

“huh…? oh, thanks.” you mumble, still feeling out of it.

“this, too.” the white silk ribbon wrapped prettily around your neck, he means, which he hooks a finger on to tug lightly. it matches the lace straps on your shoulders that falls across the underbust of your dress, tied together to form a ribbon in the middle of it. that makes two, so clasically you.

and while it may be partly true that he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere, he just can’t defy the urge to express his admiration for you, even in a situation like this. he’s perpetually love-drunk.

“thank you.” you nod, shyly looking away to sniffle. “but you’re the reason why my makeup is ruined… need to wash it off before we go.”

“you’re beautiful either way, baby.”

“i know.” you scoff. “would you date me for five years if i wasn’t?”

he releases a throaty chuckle, capturing your lips in his with a smile of endearment that he fails to subdue.

“you’re so fucking cute. i love you-” he says with merely an inch of distance between you.

he grunts in melodramatic anguish, overcome by the insensity of his affections overflowing past the brim of his very being, leaning so close that the edge of the table digs into your lower back, surely to leave a temporary mark.

and he carries on to kiss you so many times that you lose count; you can only melt as you collect them in that bottomless pocket located somewhere in your soul, where all the love you’ve received across lifetimes is recorded to prove i was once here.

“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you. i’m never leaving. you’re stuck with me and bam forever.”

if the time comes that the two of you break up, who would bam come home to? jungkook stubbornly refuses to have that conversation.

however, you still can’t let go of something, and you pout as you shove him lightly. unsurprisingly, his strong build doesn’t budge at all.

“but why didn’t you answer my calls?” at last, you gain enough energy to complain, but your face grows hot as the urge to cry returns. “i mean, what else was i supposed to think?!”

jungkook is struck by yet another lightning.

may the heavens have mercy, he’s been making you angry more than usual lately.

“shit, i forgot. i turned off my phone.” he mutters under his breath, feeling extremely regretful that he was not reachable when you needed him most to be. “i wanted to focus only on you tonight. what do they call it again…? leaving work at work?”

he winces guiltily.

“i’m sorry. maybe it wasn’t a smart idea.”

“no, i like that.” you almost interrupt him from talking because of how fast you are to brush off his apology.

he makes a mental note of it— the way you’re gripping at his shirt in small fists. you’re tense and overwhelmed; you need him to stay close.

“leave work at work. focus on me, and let me be your rest.”

unbeknownst to you, jungkook bites back his tears then. after all this time, he still gets mesmerized by the tenderness that naturally governs your every word and action; he thinks that he needs you more than you need him.

—

“just eat, baby. i’ll cook the meat for us.” jungkook coos at you as he cuts more meat into bite-sized pieces using a pair of kitchen shears.

“okay, then i’ll make sure that you eat.” you grin excitedly, dragging your chair closer to his.

you set down the tongs, grabbing your chopsticks to pick up a cooked piece of pork belly from the grill. you don’t forget to blow on it, mindful of burning his tongue.

of course, you don’t want to hurt him, but it would be especially painful for him as a singer.

“ahhh-” still busy with cooking, jungkook opens wide at your cue, catching the meat in between his teeth.

“rice,” he demands as he chews.

you scoop up rice from your bowl, and he devours it happily as he continues to flip the strips of pork belly lined up across the grill.

“mmhmm, it’s so delicious!” he dramatically says out loud. his eyebrows are knitted together and his legs are bouncing under the table, tell-tale signs of him enjoying the food.

witnessing this kind of reaction, any chef would be happy to slave away in the kitchen to serve him a meal. you recognize it in the smile of the owner after jungkook ordered more side dishes, and the way he dashed through the door to reduce the waiting time.

“yah, feed yourself, too!” jungkook chides you after you feed him meat three times in a row, but with an open palm that catches the juice that drips from the kimchi, you still tap your chopsticks against his lips. he spares it a glance before catching it using his tongue.

“i am!” you then rush to wrap a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dipping it into ssamjang before stuffing it into your mouth.

“good job, baby.” he grins in satisfaction, rubbing your back as praise. this makes you preen. “make sure to eat lots, got it?”

but then you’re back to spoiling him rotten, this time with an egg roll. so far, he has only touched his own chopsticks twice.

“i just told you to eat first!”

you glare at him, pouting. “but you worked so hard practicing today and you haven’t even eaten properly yet.”

he is too busy with work, and it’s not news that you’ve been worried sick about his health. it’s difficult to watch him work himself to the bone, but no one truly has the power to stop jungkook from doing what he wants, sometimes not even himself. and you find it impossible to fault him for it when you know that everything he does is done out of love. from the vigorous vocal and dance lessons, and to the deep cleaning of the apartment because his baby has been developing an allergy to dust.

“you need to make it up to your body. here, please?”

he loves being loved, jungkook thinks to himself as he eats the egg roll whole.

—

you were already prepared to go home after dinner, but your night owl for a boyfriend insisted on going on a walk at the park because he wanted to, and you quote, ‘see you awake for a little while longer,’ or whatever the hell he meant by that.

with his tattooed arm protectively swung over your shoulder, you’re engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. for the first two years of your relationship, before you started living together, you only met with each other at night, save for the very rare day-offs that he got. the only places that are still open after midnight are nightclubs, fastfood chains, convenience stores… and well, parks.

and he would always hold you close like this to make you feel safe, and the rest of you melts away while the side of your ribcage that he is pressed against remains to shelter your heart. on the contrary, you also remember how your bodies used to be so tense. you wanted to sacrifice more sleep and to walk to the other side of the park, of the street, to that other convenience store five blocks away because this one didn’t have the flavor of ice cream you wanted, anything… just… anything so you could be with each other ten minutes more.

and it was cold. it was always cold.

“what do you mean ‘it exploded’?”

“it seriously exploded! it was on fire! that’s why i went out to buy a new extension cord!”

“jungkook, it’s because you plug in too many things at once!” you cry out in frustration, your steps becoming heavy stomps. “i told you to stop doing that!”

“what do you mean? if it has six slots, doesn’t that mean six devices is the maximum?” he continues to stubbornly defend himself, and you can only hang your head in defeat. “otherwise, it’s a scam!”

“it is a scam! see…? they made you buy a ne-”

your sentence is cut short as your tongue gets paralyzed.

a dark and striped, long figure approaching ahead, slithering its across the grass.

your mind immediately registers it as the animal you fear most.

oh, no. no, no, no, no, no.

“jungkook,” you utter his name with a tremble.

the same fear you experienced only two hours ago holds you hostage once more, add all the hair in your body standing up and you’re as frightened as a cat.

“what’s wrong? yah! what are you doing?! baby, ba- fuck!” he sputters out as you forcefully pull him back along with you, displaying a type of strength and agility he doesn’t normally see.

the two of you continue to stumble backwards as you struggle to maintain balance, and somehow jungkook manages to switch your positions so that you’re the one who lands on top him instead of the other way around when you eventually end up as a heap on the soft earth.

he begins to feel his throat closing up at the sight of pure, genuine fear in your eyes.

“jungkook, snake- it’s small bu-”

you interrupt your own sentence with a high-pitched squeal, garnering looks from strangers moving and unmoving. in the blink of an eye, your boyfriend has swept you off your feet as if you’re light as a feather, driven by the instinct to protect the love of his life.

you cover your mouth in shock, your other arm coming up around his neck to keep yourself from falling.

you think you may have fallen for jungkook all over again.

“are you spiderman?”

he was too busy searching for the subject of your fear under dim lights, and so he looks at you in bewilderment to ask, “what was that?”

you shake your head with your wide eyes shining with faux innocence. you squeak. “nothing.”

he releases a sigh, followed by a chuckle of obvious relief and amusement as he squeezes your body closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. “aigoo, my ____! why are you so scared today? what am i going to do with you…? it’s just a worm.”

“are you sure? i swear i saw it raise its head!“

“i’m sure,” he lulls you. “i think worms can do that, too?”

your face twists in an expression of mixed bewilderment and distrust.

“that i’m not sure about, but it’s really just a worm! would i still be standing here if it wasn’t?” he clicks his tongue sharply. “we need to get your eyes rechecked.”

you roll your eyes with a huff. you’ve have had enough of his teasing before it even starts.

“uh?! i’m serious over here!”

this is new— you mean bickering with jungkook in a public place isn’t, but being carried by him like a bride while it happens definitely is.

“fine, i’ll go this weekend. happy?” you fake an obedient smile. “you can put me down now.”

he blinks, and then he adjusts the way he’s holding you to ensure that your dress won’t show what’s for his eyes only— for a split second, you were flying.

“i’ll go with you,”

“okay. now put me down.“ you tap his shoulder repeatedly to prompt him to heed your words. “babe, this is embarrassing!”

“nope,” he ignores your protest with nonchalance as he resumes to walk the path you’re on, evidently enjoying the attention he’s stealing and the way you’re curling yourself smaller to hide.

“oh my god! weren’t you just complaining about your body hurting?!”

“you were scared of me leaving,” he smiles, glancing down at you. “so now i’m gluing you to myself.”

that made you quiet for a while. inside your tote, the container of kimchi, wrapped in a plastic bag, rattles with his every stride. you noticed that jungkook loved it so much, so you ordered it to go when he went to the bathroom before you were to leave the restaurant.

“you know, we used to just hold hands,” you mumble with a childish pout. “like normal people?”

“this is very normal,” he argues.

the scenery becomes more familiar as he takes the long way home.

“some would even say romantic.”

a wave of nostalgia hits, and you visibly shiver.

you don’t know if he would remember, but he has said the same exact words once before.

you scrunch your nose, supposedly to give him a look of disgust, but a giddy smile betrays you. you are five years younger again, and the night ends with the moon bidding you an adieu.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

[kjmalfoy]

Vanilla Bourbon• 18+ Content

Warnings- Alcohol Use, Foreplay, Nipple-Play, Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Unprotected/Rough Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Praising, Choking, Authority Kink, Slight Cock-Warming, Dom/Sun Dynamic, Dumbification Kink, Very Slight Use of CNC, Pet Names (Babydoll, Doll, Dollface)

Summary- Two weeks after the office incident, James becomes very fond of you— making you his new personal assistant. After a long overdue meeting, James finally lets his desire win him over; nearly taking you on the countertops.

Pairings- MobBoss!Bucky x Assistant!Reader

Word Count- Roughly 4K

Authors Note- I SINCERELY apologize for the wait.. I must admit, I have lost my touch when it comes to writing smut :(( *insert tiny violin sounds*

My Masterlist <3

Part One- Filthy Criminal <3

Walking back into the estate you felt a rush of awkwardness consume your body, after just spending the last hour sandwiched between two buff men as James discussed business plans. The entire meeting, James would brush his foot along your legs; tossing you the occasionally flirtatious smirk.

Two weeks after the office incident, your body can still feel the sexual tension whenever James’ presence is in the room. Things have changed drastically since then, neither of you can go a day without touching each other. Whether it’s fucking you in his office, the empty parking garage after long meetings, or even the playful teasing during meetings.

James longed for you, more than he’d like to admit.

But for once, James had something slightly more sensual in mind. Opening the door for you, his eyes danced over your curves– those crystal blue eyes admiring the delicacy of your beauty, taking in every inch of your figure. “Hey, babydoll. Join me for a drink?” He offered, quickly catching your attention.

Looking over at James, you tilted your head slightly– giving him a questioning look. “Don’t you have paperwork to finish?” You held up the thick manila folder in your hand, waving it gently.

James chuckled, finding amusement in the serious expression plastered across your face. “Aw, come on. Boss’ orders, Doll.” He teased you, draping an arm around your shoulder as he guided you towards the bar.

You huffed in annoyance, glancing up at James. “Fine. One drink.” You spoke sternly.

Humming in victory, James nudged the door open with his foot; tangling his fingers around yours as the automatic lights flashed. Leading you towards the open bar, James stepped around the counter– looking down at you with a mischievous grin.

Without any warning, James latches his hands around your waist– hoisting your body onto the marble countertops. Hands still locked on the mid of your waist, he looked down at you; hungrily licking his lips. “My, my. Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” James taunted you, just barely brushing his lips against your ear.

Giggling girlishly, you swatted at James’ hands; prying yourself from his grip. “So, what about that drink you kindly offered?” You reminded, propping your arms behind your back– giving James a clear viewing.

James scoffed, rolling his tongue over the sharpness of his teeth. He didn’t move, keeping his body stiff and tense as he stared down at you; lust and desire glimmering through his thick eyelashes, his cheeky smile making you feel suffocated.

“Sure, Doll. What’s your drink?” He asked, turning his back and glancing at the dozens of bottles that populated the shelves.

You hummed silently, peering over the half-empty bottles James had on display. “Vanilla Bourbon, please.” You replied.

Nodding his head, James bent at his knees; reaching into one of the cabinets, pulling out the most expensive bottle he owned. Along with the bottle, he grabbed two empty glasses– balancing them between his fingers.

Watching James unscrew the bottle cap, he lifts the bottle to his lips– locking eyes with you as he poured a heavy sip of bourbon into his mouth, tiny droplets of alcohol trickling down the corners of his mouth. Using his thumbs, James wipes away the excess liquids– smudging them against your plush lips.

“Taste good?” He asked, smirking playfully as he watched your tongue roll across your lips.

You made a cringed face from the strength of the alcohol, the roof of your mouth burning from the strong flavoring. “Taste expensive.” You managed to mutter out as you wiped your lips clean.

James nodded at your response, slowly pouring the bourbon into the empty glasses– the chugging noise filling the atmosphere as the brown liquids clouded the clear cups. Grabbing both drinks, James nestled himself between your thighs and passed you the cup.

“Cheers to my best and prettiest assistant.” He toasted proudly, holding up the alcoholic drink– signaling for you to click glasses.

Chuckling at James’ flirtatious jokes, you reached for your glass– holding it up with pride. Clicking the edge of the glass against his, “Cheers to my favorite and most attractive boss.” You chimed playfully as you downed the glass of bourbon, taking it straight like a shot.

Gulping down his drink, James studies you– a dark, mysterious glimmer in the irises of his pupils. He sets the empty cup aside and places his palm around the stretch of your thigh. “You have a little something,” James mumbled, gently cupping your chin in his hand– using his thumbs to wipe the corner of your mouth, slowly tugging at your bottom lip.

A shocked expression washed over your face, all the blood and heat in your body was rushing to your face– you could feel your ears tingle as James’ eyes were fixated on your lips, just barely tapping his thumb against your pout. “Open up, Dollface.” He demanded with a sultry tone of voice, the name rolling off his tongue like velvet.

You gulped down, eyes widening slightly as you stared blankly at James. “Sorry, what?” You muttered out.

A lustful smirk cascades across his face, his eyes nearly sparking in joy at the innocence possessing your body. “Messy girls have to clean their messes, Doll.” He said, rubbing his thumb along your lips.

Shivering slightly, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. James hummed in satisfaction, eagerly pressing the pads of his thumbs against your warm tongue. Sealing your lips around his thumb, you hallowed out your cheeks– swirling your tongue around the thickness of his finger, enjoying the sensual taste of alcohol burning your taste buds.

James rolled his tongue over his teeth, blowing raspberries as he watched you suck on his thumb. Within seconds, James had both hands planted around your waist– hastily pulling you from the counter, and pinning you against the countertops.

Hunger sparkled in his eyes, a faint blush slightly smeared across his chiseled face. His face inched closer to your lips, “Go ahead, tell me what you want.” James whispered, almost acting as a demand.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, returning the same suggestive look with an alluring smirk on your rosy cheeks.

Releasing his grip around the stretch of your waist, James’ hands trickled up your figure; fingertips trailing along the fabric of your attire before stopping at the curve of your neck. “Aw, don't tell me that my pretty little doll forgot about her manners?” James taunted, as his calloused fingertips found themselves buried in your skin.

Whining softly, you looked up at James with a heavy pout on your lips; sweet puppy-dog eyes glossing over your face. “Please. Please, kiss me.” You pleaded with him, tilting your head in hopes of feeling your lips brush against his.

Hearing your desperate plea made James’ demeanor snap instantly, dominance flushed over his body; his grip around your throat only tightening as his lips collided with yours. The taste of his saliva was almost intoxicating, the leftover bourbon still smothered across his wet lips. Feeling your knees buckle, your hands eagerly scrambled across his chest; gripping the thin fabric of his shirt for stability.

Constricting his grasp around your throat, your movements were now stiffened– forcing your body to move along with his guidance. James kissed you slowly, almost tormenting you with the slowness of his movements, and the scarce touch of his hands. His fingers nimbly moved along your waist, curving as he reached the cup of your ass. “Fuck, Babydoll. You taste delicious.” He mumbled into the sloppy kiss.

Pushing your body into his chest, you could feel your body weaken as his hands roughly worked the flesh of your rear– skin nearly burning from the sensation of his fingertips gripping your asscheek. Your desperation was evident from the yearning claw marks you left scattered along his abdomen– your freshly done fingernails digging into his toned skin.

Reluctantly, James pulled away from the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connected to your lips. He wiped his thumb across your swollen lips, wiping away the drool that glossed over your pout. Without a signal, James roughly latched his fingers onto your cheeks– forcing you to pucker up while he stared down at you.

His unrelenting eyes bore into your soul, making your body drown with embarrassment. Squirming away from his gaze, you stared at the ground; your body oozing with submission and brattiness. James clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. “Ah, ah. Don’t look away from me. I want those pretty little eyes on me.” He said, giving a slight bob of the head.

A soft whimper slipped past your sweet lips, your eyes finally traveling to make contact with James. “Yes, sir.” You obeyed, those tender eyes glimmering in innocence as he smiled at you.

Tilting his head, he studied your expression– taking in the clear submission in your voice. “Countertop or bedroom, Doll?” He asked, speaking clearly as he watched your eyes widen, and lips start to quiver.

James’ question barely had the time to be processed in your mind, all you could do was blurt out the word “Bedroom.”

Nodding his head, James lifted you into his arms; letting you wrap your legs around his waist, being able to feel your thighs clench around him as he tucked his hands beneath your asscheeks. “Whatever you want, Dollface.” He spoke gently, walking away from the bar.

Your arms draped around his neck, nuzzling your face beneath his jawline; playfully kissing the sharp skin. “Mm, hurry up. I want to touch you already.” You mumbled, making the hairs on his neck standpoint.

Kicking the bedroom door open with his foot, James laughs at your eagerness. “So impatient, Doll. Only patient babydolls get rewards.” He cooed, placing you down on the mattress. James stood in front of you, those crystal blue eyes glimmering with desire.

He stared at you with devilish intent as those calloused hands moved up his chest. His thick fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, slowly revealing his abs. You followed after James, slowly pulling down the straps of your dress; revealing the apex of your cleavage. Your eyes never left his, watching intently as he pulled his shirt off his body— thirsting at the sight of his flexed abs.

James yanked the shirt from his arms, tossing it onto the ground. He pushed your shoulders back, forcing you to lay flat against his duvet. James crawled over the top of you, the thickness of his muscular thighs resting beside your own.

Grabbing a handful of your dress, James pulled it apart; ripping it directly down the middle. Your cheeks flushed as your body was now exposed to his eyes, nothing but your leopard-print panties covering your sex.

His tongue rolled over his lush lips, nose flaring sharply at the sight of your bare breast. “Such a beautiful thing, Babydoll.” James complimented sweetly, his hands kneading at your soft breast.

A sweet, delicate moan slipped through your lips; eyes nearly rolling back at James’ electrifying touch. Your chest heaved, breathing becoming shallow as his lips wrapped around your hardened nipple.

One hand threads at your waist, his thumb caressing the middle of your skin; feeling the goosebumps that tainted your body. James’ tongue swirled around your sensitive bud, making your chest buck further into his grip.

Latching your fingers onto his hair, gently tugging at the strands as James sucked on your supple skin, leaving fresh red marks along your sensitive breast. His lips left your nipple, letting his fingers pinch the abused bud— making your body squirm in pleasurable pain.

James looked up at you, smiling in delight as he watched your body react to his touch. “Does it feel good, Doll?” He taunted, now using both hands to abuse your nipples.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, frantically nodding as broken whimpers and whines continued to leave your mouth. “Ye-Yes!” You managed to choke out in between your gasps.

James hummed in response, burying his face in the crook of your neck; the alcohol-ridden breath trickling down your body. His lips brushed against your skin, the warmth of his mouth engulfing your body in flames.

Mouth wandering your neck, leaving playful nibbles and kisses along your sweet, sticky skin; just barely bruising the tender area. James steadily left a string of kisses down your neck, finally making contact with your collarbone; those playful nibbles became more aggressive. Your knuckles tightened around his hair, roughly pulling his face deeper into your body— desperately trying to feel more.

Eyes barely opened, you looked down at James; guiding him further down your body. James looked up at you with a taunting glimmer in his eyes, snickering at your desperation. “C’mon Babydoll, you know better. If you want something, I need you to use that pretty mouth of yours.” He instructed.

Licking your dried-out lips, you inhaled sharply; attempting to focus on his words. “Please, James. I need more, I want more.” You pleaded with him, feeling the heat steadily build up between your legs.

Earning a playful chuckle from James, he leaves a sloppy trail of kisses down to your belly button; his warm salvia making your skin shine under the dim lights. He hooked his thick fingers around the bed of your panties, glancing up at you with lustful eyes as he slowly tugged down the protective fabric.

You lifted your hips, helping James pull the printed fabric down your legs– watching him toss them aside. His hands immediately latched onto your thighs, spreading them apart– leaving your drenched pussy on full display. Laying flat on his stomach, James brought his face closer to your cunt– teasingly licking a wet stride against your folds.

Squirming in pleasure, your eyes glossed over as you inhaled deeply. James chuckled against your cunt, pushing your thighs against your chest; leaving you fully spread for his tongue. Slowly, his lips found themselves sucking on your clit; swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

He earned a sweet moan from you, the pleasure from his mouth making you squirt against his face– eagerly tugging at his hair, pulling him closer for more. “Oh, fuck. Mm, feels so good.” You moaned lazily between your heavy pleads and whimpers.

His eyes hooded, just barely looking up at you– a smug expression plastered across his wet face. “There ya go, Babydoll.” He mumbled against your sex. James focused on your clit, running his thick fingers along your sticky folds; smearing in your juices before pumping the pads of his fingers into your needy hole.

Another loud moan escapes your lips as you feel yourself being stretched out by his long; thick fingers. James mumbled in satisfaction, his raspy mumble sending vibrations throughout the entirety of your body. The sound of your juices filled the room, nearly overpowering your delicate moans as he finger-fucked you faster.

His tongue lapped at your clit, tracing circles around the overly sensitive bud; the feeling of his teeth grazing against the small bud made the muscles in your abdomen curl. Lazily, your mouth hung ajar; mind turning fuzzy from the overlapping pleasure as James toyed with your body.

Feeling the heavy knot in your core, the muscles in your legs started to spasm; hinting at your expected release. “Mm, fuck. Gonna cum!” You whined desperately, squeezing your thighs around his face; smothering him as he continued to work on your sex.

James hummed in disapproval, slyly using his arm to hook it around your thighs– prying your legs up again. “Keep 'em open, Doll.” He spoke in a low grumble, looking up at you with dangerous eyes.

Arching your back, that tight knot in your abdomen finally snapped– causing your entire body to tremble in ecstasy. Your toes curled up into the silk sheets, a thick orgasm washing over your body; spurs of incoherent moans loudly slipping from your tongue. James watched with a cocky grin, eyes focused on the way your hips bucked towards his face; only adding to the mess coating his scruffy beard.

As your body eased up, James slowly pulled his fingers from your spongy cunt– causing you to twitch from the lack of friction. He adjusted his body, leaning on his knees; keeping his eyes glued on your body. With a swift movement, he wiped his cum-coated fingers along your lips; “Be a doll, and clean your mess.” He spoke with a taunting tone; smirking smugly as you pried open your dried-out lips.

Wrapping your lips around his fingers, the taste of sweet release invaded your tongue; making you moan in response. Your lips tightened around his fingers, swirling your tongue over the pads of his fingertips; sucking off any flavor left of yourself. “There ya go, Babydoll.” James praised with a gravel tone.

James retracted his fingers from your mouth, smiling in satisfaction as they glistened with your saliva. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed, watching over you with a careful eye. His sticky fingers played with the diamond-studded belt buckle, “Would you like to go further?” He asked before taking off his belt.

Eagerly, you nodded your head; reaching for the loops of his jeans and pulling him closer. “Yes. Please, James.” You spoke sweetly, looking up at him with seductive eyes– not wanting to waste a single second.

Your eager response made him chuckle lowly, tossing his belt on the ground; tugging down his jeans and boxers. His hard cock sprung out of his underwear, the clear pre-cum dripping off the head of his cock. Using the pads of his fingertips, he smeared the pre-cum along his cock; gripping his shaft and palming himself. “Such an eager girl.” James licked his lips.

Your face flushes nervously as James climbs back into bed; he gives your thighs a gentle smack, signaling for you to spread them open again. He positions himself between you, grasping hold of your thigh and pressing it against your chest. Reaching for his cock, he slides it along your folds; smearing your juices on his sex before plunging it inside you.

The feeling of his cock stretching you out sends you into a state of euphoria; weak moans of pleasure dripping off your sinful tongue. Your fingernails entangle themselves with the sheets, gripping tightly as your walls clenched around him; trying to adjust to his girthy size. “Oh fuck, James.” You whined.

James groans in response, the feeling of your tight; warm walls wrapping around him made his entire world spin; drunk from the feeling of your soaping cunt. His fingers dig into the plush skin of your thigh, keeping your spread as he slowly starts thrusting; making sure to take his time with you, soaking up the sensation and memory of drilling into your pretty hole.

His teeth dig into his bottom lip, nostrils flaring with sexual hunger. James picked up the pace of his thrust, hips slamming roughly against the skin of your thighs; a burning sensation invading you with ease, bruises forming on the depths of your skin. His gravelly groans filled the room, small whispers of broken praises just barely skipping through his teeth. “Oh, babydoll. You take it so good.” He said, just barely above a whisper.

Burying your head into the pillows, you screwed your eyes shut; trying your best to contain the overwhelming pleasure he was sending throughout your overused body. You were drowning in the sensation of his touch; completely engrossed and intoxicated with James. “P..Please, I need more.” You begged him, your voice dry and hoarse, but still enough to send him over the edge.

With a swift movement, James had both your legs on his shoulders, lifting your body slightly so he had access to all the right places. His cock bottomed out inside you, lazily thrusting along your sweet spot. Your body reacted like wildfire; thighs trembling against James’ chest, fingertips frantically searching for something to grip onto, and incoherent moans dripping off your lips.

James leaned over, your knees coming into contact with your chest; nearly restricting your breathing from the tight confinement of the position. His wet sloppy lips made contact with your cheek, placing soft kisses and nibbles all over your heated skin; feeling your scorching temperature against his pink lips. “Fuck, you feel so good.” His breath trickled down your cheek; still managing to give you goosebumps.

His praise lights electricity through your entire body; a chain reaction spreading throughout every limb, the joints in your ankles tightening as your toes curl. With scrambled movements, your hands latched onto his shoulders, digging your acrylic nails into his pale skin. “Fuck, s’ too much!” You brokenly whimpered, looking up at James with flared eyes.

He chuckled sinfully, his hand pushing itself between your thighs, searching for that sensitive bud. “Yeah? C’mon, Doll. I know you can take it.” James taunted you, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit; making a circular motion against your bud.

The thin acrylics of your nails pulled at James’ skin, deep and irritated scratch marks inflamed into his skin. You felt it; hell, you felt everything– too much of it. Your body was overstimulated, James’ pleasing movements made your mind just numb; everything was hazed– truly being fucked stupid as his cock drilled into your throbbing pussy.

As the pleasure consumes your being, causing your body to tighten once more; a thick orgasm rapidly builds in the pit of your abdomen. Arching your back, you pushed yourself against James; eyes flaring wildly as he continued to mercilessly toy with your sensitive clit. “God, fuck. I-I can't take it anymore.” You pleaded with a voice coated with desperation.

The pathetic pleas only made James pound into you harder, his thumb working faster against your clit; forcing you to release once more. “Aw, c’mon. Be a doll, cum for me one more time.” He grunted out, a sweet; yet devilish smirk dripping from his cheeks. “You can do it for me, Babydoll.” His expression was nothing but taunting and condescending.

James’ praise ignited your body, an overwhelming sense of fulfillment trickling through you; causing the dense knot in your abdomen to explode. His words had you completely enchanted; acting as a command as the intense orgasm wiped through you once more. With rolled-back eyes, you felt yourself shaking; desperately shaking as James continued to fuck you through the tormenting orgasm.

With a low, gravelly groan James watched in awe; admiring the post-orgasmic glow decorating your skin. “That’s my good doll. Just like that, Babydoll.” He cooed, guiding you through the thick pleasure he was sending through you. His harsh movements slowed down, pushing deep; sensual thrust into your weeping sex.

As your body calmed down, you laid limply against the mattress; fingernails barely having the strength to grip onto James any longer. Your throat was dried out and scratchy, overused from the high-pitched moans that slipped past the tip of your tongue. With lidded eyes, you stared up at James; his thick brown hair sticking the sweat beads on his forehead; his nostrils flaring as he chased his own satisfaction.

A heavy hand cupped your face, feeling the heat of your cheeks rush through his palm; “You’re doing so good for me, Doll.” He grunted out, the protective pad of his thumb playfully tugging at your swollen lips.

As you whined against his touch, James felt his own body go limp; a euphoric tremble at his knees. He felt his thigh tighten with cramps, his abs flexing at his long-awaited release slowly built up; causing the entirety of his body to tense with strained muscles. “Fuck, [Y/n]. You feel so fucking good.” He praised, those white teeth digging into the bottom of his lip.

James used the last bit of his strength, lazily bottoming out inside you; throwing his head back as your warm walls clenched around him. His cock twitched, balls pulsating as the warmth of your sex surrounded him; milking him for every drop. His warm; thick cum piled inside of you; stuffing completely with his seed. “God, Baby. Fuck, you’re amazing.” He groaned heavily, those icy eyes rolling back as you cock-warmed him.

The fuzzy feeling of his cock twitching made your head spin with sexual hunger, the sticky cum along the walls of your sex caused your pussy to throb needily. James reluctantly pulled his cock from your cunt, watching proudly as his white release dripped from your swollen lips.

Moaning weakly, his calloused fingers scooped up his cum, eagerly pumping it back inside your sticky hole. “Such a pretty little cumdoll.” He cocked an eyebrow, glaring at you with a condescending smirk.

thank you all for the patient wait! bucky barnes fics are back, and i hope you all missed them! please check out part one, and give my masterlist a look through! (all linked at the top of the post <3)

as always, reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated. BUT, please do not post or copy my work on any other social platform.

at this point, my request are currently closed as i’m working on a list of other fics for multiple different character.

#marvel fanfiction #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes smut #marvel fic #bucky smut #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #support your writers #bucky x reader

[fl4r3z]

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

(𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫?)

𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚 (乙骨 憂太) �� 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Yandere! Yuta Okkotsu, AFAB! Reader, smut MDNI!, Cheating, Cunnilingus, P in V, Jealousy, Stalking, Dark Themes, Somnophilia, Non-con, Dead body, Cum

𝐀/𝐍: Hi my super awesome babies :3 I'm back after dying and i wanna feed you all with a Yuta fic :3 didn't specify any looks for 'boyfriend' so you can insert a character or so!

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▯▯▯▯▯▯ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭? 𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐞𝐬.

Your eyes were gleaming under the moonlight, looking like beautiful pieces of glass. It had been a month since you and Yuta Okkotsu had broken up with each other. It was late into the relationship when you realized how possessive and manipulative of a man he was.

You and Okkotsu met under the terms of working together. You both engaged a wonderful team, leading to both of you sharing feelings with one another. Yuta was an absolute sweetheart, he'd do anything for you and your sake. He made sure that everything you want, you get. And of course, he gave you an absolute wonderful sex life.

You were blinded by his sweetness and innocent gaze that you didn't realize what troubles were waiting for you. You thought he was everything you had wished for your entire life.

But lately then, you had realized just how possessive he was. And by the means of that, meaning he scolds you for talking to a cashier of an opposite gender. It irritates him, saying only he should be able to look and speak to you. He wants to control everything you do. And that's where everything goes wrong.

Every day with Yuta Okkotsu felt like hours with him ranting about all of the people staring at you, it makes him so irritated. Only he was allowed to admire you. You eventually realized everything and talked to him into breaking up. You could've swore you saw tears streaming down his 'innocent' eyes. He was begging you not to leave him.

But you knew nothing could have changed your mind anymore, you knew you still loved him. But his actions make it so hard to continue your love for him. You hated it.

So then here you were in your apartments balcony, with your so called new 'boyfriend'. Yeah,— you love him, yes. But mostly of the reason was to forget Yuta. You met him when you first moved into your apartment.

But still,— a part of your mind lingers around Yuta. You still couldn't get your mind out of him despite it being a month, and you have a boyfriend already. Maybe you still love him, you've sometimes wondered if he'd already found someone else to manipulate. You often found yourself laying onto your bed often thinking about what Yuta was into right now.

You weren't mindful enough though, the way how Yuta would watch you from your windows, watching every step you make. It makes him sane, you make him sane. He watched you cook, sleep, shower and go so far to even watch you pleasure your self. It makes his cock ache.

Of course, Yuta takes lovely pictures of your body. It was the least he could do. He pastes it on his board, only to see it after waking up. Oh, it makes his cock ache so hard for you. He misses the way your soft walls hugs his desperate cock, because he knows only he could do it.

Yuta had memorized your routine for everyday, like how you act during the day, the time you leave, and even the sound of your floors creaking when you step on them. If people were to be asked about your house, Yuta would be able to answer all of them in less than a second or so.

He thinks watching you is on top of his priorities, he wastes no time when it comes to you.

And that's why he's infront of you, in your room. His eyes were glimmering into the dark room only lit by the moonlight from your windows. Your body was highlighted by tints of the Moon Shine, it was mermerizing, the way your body was so magestic even when done so fucking effortlessly.

He was examining you, and how sweet you seemed like with your body asleep. Oh, how he missed seeing this. He wanted to make you his once again. He wants you around his finger like a puppet. He promises to never let you go once he lays his hands on you again.

He grabs his camera carefully, trying not to wake you. He snaps a picture, adds it into his gallery, — '(Name) (Name) (Name)'. 2,429 photos. Oh if you only knew how much he admires you. You'd never want to leave his side ever again..

"I missed you." He muttered. "And i know you miss me too."

He was slowly approaching your bed, sitting at the edge, engaging your beautiful face. His hands found their way into your thighs, then your lower abdomen. He wants to feel you so, so much, he doesn't wanna hold back anymore.

He looks at you ever so intense with his eyes gleaming lust. He looks at your face, then at your clothed pussy. He moves towards your neck, giving it feather light kisses. Your eyes were fluttering, Yuta hopes that you were feeling him.

He moves towards your lower abdomen, lifting your shirt up, enough to reveal your stomach. He trails his lips against your abdomen, moving towards between your thighs.

Grabbing the hem of your shorts, he pulls it aside, revealing your pussy to him. Turning his face closer, he licks your cunt. He'll never get tired of your taste. Pulling away, he starts pulling your shorts carefully not to wake you up.

He noticed that your eyes were fluttering, he stops, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He slightly wants you to wake up with him between your legs just eating you out.

He starts gliding his tongue onto your cunt followed by feather light kisses. Hearing you gasp because of his actions makes him ache so hard. Trying his best to contain himself from cumming in his pants, he decides to unzip his pants.

Just the tip right? Atleast to pleasure himself. He unzips his pants, pulling his aching cock out and lines it against the entrance of your pussy. He strokes it a few times then pressing the tip inside.

He could hear you mewl and it makes him ache harder.

You started fluttering your eyes open and your gaze was set into Yuta. "Yuta?! What are you-" You were cut off with him slamming his hands on your mouth.— "Shh, (name) please be quiet.." Yuta mutters in your ears, " just, once please.. "

Yuta thrusted inside you fully, making you yelp muffled in his hands.— "please please let me feel you (name) " Yuta was pleading. But dear god, you were fantasizing about this, albeit having a boyfriend. You couldn't help but think about Yuta.

But of course you weren't going to tell that to Yuta straightly.

Yuta starts to move slowly, making you gasp for the sudden movements. All of his plans were all going accordingly. You'll finally be his again.— He starts gaining the pace, he was whimpering, not loud but enough to hear from the other room.

Yuta’s movements are almost desperate and your skin feels on fire when the pleasure races through you. you hear his own quiet moans, almost lost between smacks and skin slapping noises and your thighs tremble as your hips stutter. Every desperate thrust of his makes your cunt start squelching loudly.

Your back arches, lapping onto Okkotsu's chest. He takes the chance to mark your shoulders. Now they'll know you're his. He takes his hands away from your mouth so that he could hear your pretty voice.

"h-holy shit, Yuu.." your voice was trembling and you were stuttering.

“you sound so, so pretty..(Name)“ he hums before he’s deliberately thrusting on a much faster pace, like he’s trying to force more of those sweet sounds out of you, only for him. He keeps up the same pace and almost whining loudly. "you prefer me m-more than him now right? tell me yes pleaseplease.."

"yes, Yuu!" You could feel yourself about to orgasm sooner or later. It's just too good. Yuta could feel you clench on him so hard, he already knew you were close, so he started pounding faster.

"fuck.. m'close!"— He finishes inside, and you both finished together. He pulls out, and falls stomach flat into you.

"(name)— be mine again. Please!" His pleading was enough to convince you.

But what about your 'boyfriend'? You never knew. He never texted nor greeted you ever since that day. Maybe you felt guilty, but Yuta knows exactly what happened. He just wants to reassure you never find out, or you might stop loving him.

Oh how much Yuta loves you, give him everything he needs and he'll be on his knees, i promise.

©fl4r3z all projects belong to me.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #im going insane #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk yuta #jjk yuuta #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk okkotsu #yuta x y/n #yuta smut #yuta x you #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #jujutsu yuta #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fl4r3z #this is insane #jjk x y/n #Spotify

[hwaightme]

Safe and San

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR MOUNT'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🟡 pairing: san x afab!reader 🟡 genre: smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship 🟡 summary: in the coolness of an early morning, choi san reveals to you what it means to love in a quiet timelessness, where all that exists is you, him, and the sunrise. 🟡 wordcount: 5.3k 🟡 warnings/tags: fiance san, falling asleep in the living room reading together, sharing hoodies, just loving each other, summer season - yes it is spring but now it is summer because san said so, hoodie san, cuddles, hugs and kisses, sort of edited sort of not (lmk if there is intense chaos anywhere) 🟡 taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven 🟡 a/n: seriously idk where this came from, all I know is that I have been occasionally mindblanking and... here we are. Much love and all reblogs, comments, notes welcome <3

🟡 nsfw taglist: the petname content is intense in this one (sun, moon, stars, summer, honey, darling, love... nicknames...), all the praise, lazy sex, no protection (wrap before tap c'mon), cum inside, cockwarming, sex while in a state of semi-dress, fingering, the softest dom san, basically a service dom

The early morning haze entranced you. An ever-changing palette, the walls of your living room appeared to take on a different hue every time you languidly blinked, still fighting the heavy remnants of sleep. After having forgotten to completely draw the curtains, the luminescence of the cheerful, expectant sun crept across the cold wooden floor in a shy line, barely caressing the cream wall on the other side of the room, centimetres away from producing a kaleidoscopic scene by hitting the glass inserts of the shelving unit. The soft cushions that lined the l-shaped couch, and the woollen throw that hid you from the chill, were a cloud suspended in a tranquil bliss. You studied the familiar, adored surroundings as they metamorphosed from a lilac wonder to a glowing mandarin masterpiece, the brushstrokes of a pastel pink, coating the awakening sky, peeking from the other side of the window, capturing your bleary attention.

Not a sound, except for the level breathing of the man beside you. The man who had your love so fully, so deeply that you were not sure if the slow thudding in your chest was real, or was simply an echo, a comfortable illusion that you had agreed to settle for just so that you could give the heart away for him to keep. He would most definitely keep it safe. Find a neat little box for it, and, if you were lucky, find a place for it somewhere between the books and the video game DVDs, and admire it whenever he would walk past. Or perhaps he would be crafty enough to find a way of putting it in his pocket and carrying it around with him wherever he went – that way, you could miss him less than you normally did when you were apart. Shame you only had one heart, because you would give Choi San the universe if you could.

Your fiancé was like the grand starry expanse in the night, paving the way for explorers, lovers, and mystical creatures alike, and the radiant manifestation of Apollo in the day, bestowing upon the earth a hope, a heavenly brilliance, a magic the secret to which only he knew. With each moment that passed, you had come to understand that there was always more to San. Be it hidden in a sigh, in an enchanting glimmer in his eyes or in a simple gesture, he was an ethereal enigma that you were shocked, and infinitely grateful, existed.

Careful to not disturb him, which was a challenge in its own right considering that you had used his broad chest as your pillow, you lifted the throw ever so slightly and rose into a seated position. You gingerly adjusted the material back, and twisted yourself to be seated on the edge, and facing the literal sleeping beauty before you. You let your eyes travel across his resting face. From his forehead that was obscured by adorably ruffled onyx locks that poured out from underneath his grey hoodie. To his eyelids and lashes that showed the tiniest movement, making the soft light occupying the room land onto the little hairs and turn them to white gold. Down to the perfect line of his nose, the tip of which you liked to plant a quick peck on when you wanted to see your fiancé get flustered. And to his alluring lips which were parted ever so slightly. In the somnolent daze there was an angelic quality to him, a peace that you wanted to sink into and never depart from.

This was one of the first mornings in a while, that you had all the time in the world to keep on staring. For the most part, it was either you or San, or both of you having to get up and rush out of the door for work after having snoozed the alarm a ‘healthy’ number of times. Which is why it was surprising that you were even awake – five o’clock was not exactly your usual territory, and if not for the summer season blessing you with longer hours of sunshine, it was likely that you would not have distinguished between dream and reality, and dozed off lulled by the rise and fall that came with San’s every breath. But your wakefulness had its beauty: there was no stress spurring you on, and the sight of your love beside you, serenity written across his features, made you grateful for the surprising perkiness. For this short while, your personal heaven could be committed to memory, and serve as a transformation for every future when you would need to ‘rise and shine’.

You spotted San’s reading glasses lying, discarded, between his body and the back of the couch, inches from being squashed, while the books you and him had been reading were lying in awkward positions on the floor, much to your amusement. Careful not to damage the pages any more than they had been, you reached to pick the novels up, momentarily studying the covers before marking the pages with what turned out to be a folded receipt and a post-it with the glue segment torn off, and placing them on the coffee table. You settled back into a seated position, tucking one of your legs under you and pulling down the base of your oversized tee. A shiver passed down your back, reminding you of the fact that the air conditioner, your saving grace after the summer heat kicked in, rendering natural ventilation impossible if you wanted fresh air not laden with pollution and unbearable humidity, had been running at full power all night. Only now that you have removed yourself from the human radiator that was your fiancé did you realise this, and began to construct an escape plan that, hopefully, would not break San's peaceful slumber. If you were lucky, perhaps you could snatch and save his glasses.

These small troubles, trivialities of daily life were what brought a smile to your face. Endearing dilemmas that left you confident that what you were experiencing was a continuous blessing. Tongue between your teeth, poking ever so slightly out of your mouth, you concentrated on stalking towards the spectacles. Having stood up from the sofa, you were in a half crouch, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, with only the rumble of the air conditioner to accompany you. When you were already hovering above San's chest, arm out reached to fish out your target, your breath hitched as he shifted and smacked his lips, following the adorable gesture by placing his arm, which previously was your only line of defence against falling off the sofa, over his abdomen, which in turn made the glasses fall a little deeper, just out of your reach. You mouthed a 'now what', contemplating your next course of action - you were getting cold, but too stubborn to accept a so-called defeat in this miniature game of capture the metaphorical flag.

The only way out was to summon the powers of feline agility and hope that San decided to be a deep sleeper today. Knee sinking into the edge of the pillow, the stitching digging into your skin as you inched forward while trying to keep a toe still on the ground, a peculiar source of security for the case that a quick retreat might be needed. Fingers flittering across the material, reminiscent of the pitter patter of rain - every effort to blend into the dormant landscape, an accidental echo of a season recently culminated. Closer and closer, your leg was a mere few centimetres away from San's torso, and you were arched over him, checking for any sudden changes in his position. But he was still. Almost too still. You narrowed your eyes and scanned his face, but could not detect any difference, aside from his mouth now being pressed together, however he did that in his sleep on occasion, so you paid it no mind. Suppressing a shiver, what used to be careful manoeuvring turned into risk as you took one final look at what you determined to be the sleeping form beneath you, and made a reach for the glasses, quietly hissing out a congratulations to yourself as soon as you felt your fingers touch the frame. Just a little more and you would be able to go get a sweater. Or turn the air conditioning off. Perhaps, since you were still occasionally blinking away the remnants of dreamland, you would get a cup of morning brew ready, and properly greet the sunrise by lounging on the tiny, but nevertheless welcoming terrace encased in shimmering glass. Or so you had hoped, until, as you were making your so-called journey back, a strong pair of arms snaked around your waist, and sharply pulled you in, so you now found yourself pressed flush against your sleepyhead love.

“Hmm… where are you going?” San mumbled, voice deep and groggy, resonating right above you as you wiggled to nuzzle into his neck, triumphantly holding onto his specs with one hand, pleased with yourself for having accomplished your initial task.

“‘s cold, so I need something warm.” It always took some time for him to register what you would say to him as he was waking up – on a number of occasions, he had not been able to recollect a single thing. So you kept your words simple, but even that made him give an exasperated whine as he hugged you tighter and rubbed the side of his face against your head, resulting in his hood being pushed back to reveal more of the heavily ruffled locks of jet black hair.

“But you have me… Y/N…” while answering you, San had managed to kick away the blanket fully, so that it now formed a dark grey heap at the other end of the sofa.

“I didn’t want to wake you, love,” you whispered back, shutting your eyes and relishing in the sensation, “you looked so cute and so peaceful.”

“What?” the sudden question made you raise your head momentarily, only to find San squinting right at you, “Nah… no.”

“No? My Sannie isn’t cute?” you asked, voice tinged with playful disappointment as you let your head fall back down, and took a deep breath.

Much like the early morning light, the mixture of cotton and San’s cologne was unequivocally captivating. It was the scent of the lazy days, the moments when you would allow yourselves to fall asleep, much like today, on the living room couch, legs intertwined after having spent the entire evening reading. An aroma of an embrace, a slow dance and a humming of a tune that only you knew, the notes that carried with themselves the melody of sweetest memories. The interplay of hemlock and bergamot, accompanied by heliotrope and mimosa – when you had pestered San enough times, he had read the profile out for you, the brief paragraph now forever imprinted in your mind in his timeless timbre.

A hand travelled underneath your t-shirt, trailing up and down your spine a couple of times before settling on tracing random patterns on the small of your back. You stifled a gasp as your fiancé took to toying with the waistband of your tracksuit bottoms, and, still laden with sleep, grunted and uttered his short, gruff retort.

“Not when I’ve read what I’ve read… ‘m surprised I even fell asleep.”

“Oh? And what was it you read?” a soft grin settled on your face as you sank into the feeling of San’s hands moulding you to his heart’s content. Unable to settle for one place, they roamed your body, worshipping every curve.

“Mm… too sleepy to explain…” he leaned into you, and upon nudging you to lie down a little bit higher, trailed a series of kisses down from your jawline to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, “…but I could show you.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m more than interested.”

“Wake me up a little bit more and I’ll give you a spoiler.” One of his hands travelled to meet your chin, and tilt it forwards so that his dark, glowing pools of adoration could meet yours, pupils trained on every micro expression despite being cradled in a blur, contained by relaxed lids and wispy eyelashes.

“Such a tease, Sannie.” You whispered, and gave into San’s guidance towards his soft lips, closing the space between you.

The infinite gradient of the sky’s spectacular hues exploded in your vision, as love’s intimate caress ignited a radiance within. With every passing moment, just as the cherry blossoms twirled to the ground in a muted waltz, giving way to flamboyant hydrangeas and mystical lilies, you too, fell deeper and deeper only to bloom once again with a new evolved adoration. A love that grew day in, day out. A love that motivated you to go on until tomorrow, for you knew that you would love even more then, and come to understand the naïve emptiness that you had trusted to be infatuation in the past. Fuller and fuller the soul became. The fuelled up inner fire that contained and protected your safe haven and your eternal paradise. While lilac skies and lavender fields blended into a heavenly unity only for a season, gifting natural beauty for a fleeting appreciation of its temporary existence, the reality that you and San had crafted was evergreen. It was, of course, expected to waver, much like any flowers that were meant to bloom, but together, you would sway and intertwine, two lifetimes turned to one harmonious duet in an everchanging landscape.

New leaves and blossoms replacing those that wilted, but to inexperienced eyes, devoid of recognising the impeccable, intricate details of time, it meant continuity. It meant immortality and a youthfulness that did not know time. This was how life with San had been and will continue to be forevermore. Each tender gaze and caress, the sweetest sigh into your ear was a rekindling of something greater, and left you in an ecstatic daze. The invisible paths of his strong hands exploring every inch of skin left behind a budding desire as you thought back to the transforming garden of hues outside the apartment, now turned to a colourful prologue for the beginning of your hazy summer day.

“Tease… I’m very polite, I’ll have you know.” You giggled as San broke away from the kiss, revealing his lovable pout. Unable to resist, you pushed your free arm up and cupped one side of his face, running your thumb over the cheek, poking his nose with your own as you broke into a wide grin. The action had an effect on San as he moved and tightened his grip to your hips, not once breaking his gaze, while the expression changed entirely.

Like a traveller who had finally found their oasis after an eternity of roaming the scalding hot sands, persevering through madness, he revered you. An unfiltered, unabashed, quiet love that could only be felt amidst total tranquility emanated from him as he resisted the urge to never let go, instead relishing in the beautiful, fleeting instances that you could spend together. Timeliness had taught him to treat each moment with special attention, but with you, he need not try. You were the moment. You were the one who shared his rhythm. You were the meandering river that he would forever prefer and worship over a roaring, cacophonic ocean. Elegance, grace – an identity that could never be replicated. In the rolling tides of strangers, he would always search for where the river met the sea, and would marvel at just how quickly he gravitated towards you. His priceless love and life, the one with whom he wanted to see every sunrise and sunset.

“Well then, gentleman, care to warm me up? Since I have been so politely intercepted.” The attempt at a joke flew over San’s head, but nonetheless, your wish was rapidly granted as he propped up his left leg so it was bent at the knee and his foot was steadily positioned on the couch. Arms still wrapped around you, he gave you another peck and inquired, voice low:

“Y/N, may I… roll you over?”

“Yes, you may. See? Such a sweetheart.” Words of praise always found their way into your responses when it came to your fiancé. Sometimes to obtain his shyness – a breath of spring, or relief – to last the autumn and the biting winter, or, like now, to lie down, impressed at the evoking of the blazing, sultry summer.

He encouraged you to give up any balance you had, and with impressive care switched you places, so that you were now the one resting on a fabric pillow, enveloped between the echoes of San’s body heat on the material, and the man himself, who had one arm on either side of you, and a goofy, proud smile adorning his features. Unable to contain yourself under his intense scrutiny, you raised the glasses you had been securely keeping, and unfolded them to try place a barrier between San and you. But to no avail. Reading your intentions, what used to be a pure cheekiness suddenly gained a darker colour, that of an intimate dusk, and lifting a hand, he hooked the spectacles right out of your outstretched hands, and raised an eyebrow.

“I can see you pretty well, darling. I am more than awake and focused now.”

He tossed the glasses onto the coffee table, sighing in relief as he saw them stop their sliding journey right before the far edge, which earned him a rolling of the eyes from you.

“All these efforts to get them, and you are ready to throw them into oblivion, yeah?”

“No idea what you mean, all I see is that everything is how it’s meant to be.”

The strength of his glances as he brushed your hair out of your face was reminiscent of the sun at its zenith, while the kisses he peppered on your forehead, flushed cheeks and longing lips were the rays of sunshine that would trickle down from the skies through cloudy barriers. The contrast in his light touches and their intentions as he slid a hand under your t-shirt and found your bare breast was immersing you in your personal summer. Your head fell further back, and you let out a satisfied sigh as San took the opportunity immediately, searching for the sensitive spot on your neck.

Taking his time, San nipped at it, while sending your mind into a disarray once his hand pinched your nipple and began to rub languid circles over its very tip, sending an electrifying shock to your core. One kiss after another, he was soon sucking on the sweet flesh, proudly giving life to a garden of unbridled lust spurred by a desire to show closeness. San wanted to melt into you. Melt with you. No embrace was close enough when souls could be together, and so through intimacy and the approach of ‘a small death’ did he strive to express his adamantine devotion to you. Any evidence of your harmony was nothing but heavenly music for him, and it was with pride that he claimed you, and was elated when you claimed him, be it in gratitude, in bliss or in frustration for your yet to be released high.

Your hands snaked themselves around San's perfectly sculpted torso, pulling the hoodie and the black tee underneath, higher and higher, until you could slip beneath, and your cooler skin touched his. The action made San stop his teasing and chuckle against your neck, while his body reacted automatically to roll his hips against yours, member concealed by layers of clothing growing more prominent and pressing against the material of his bottoms.

"Cold." The comment, uttered hoarsely though holding nothing but excitement for what is to come encouraged you to tilt your head and kiss San’s jaw, preparing to return his little, colourful favour.

"Told you."

"Mm, I know a way to fix that." Alas, you were not fast enough, and he lifted himself off you, the loss of contact making you whine. To remind you of his proximity, one of his legs remained between your thighs, knee too close to your core for you to interpret his steps as unintentional, innocent, serene.

With one final smirk in your direction as he caught you eyeing his body voraciously, San took off his hoodie, and motioned for you to sit up – only for him to grab your hand, and cautiously pull you towards him, grinning once you understood his mission and raised your arms above your head. It did not matter – the design, the colour, the cut… any item of clothing that belonged to him, in his opinion, looked better on you for the simple reason that it could hug your form, be an extension of him if he was away and could not wrap you up in his arms. At times, when you were showering, he would purposefully replace your clothes with an item of his just so the scent of your favourite shampoo could linger, and your image would be even more easily imprinted in his mind. Not that it was much of a challenge in the first place, but having all of his senses being preoccupied only with perceiving you was a state he wished could turn into permanence.

“Ah, but there’s a catch, my love.”

“Come on…” you whined and fluttered your eyelashes.

“These,” he grabbed onto the waistband of your tracksuit pants, “off.”

“Yes sir.” As soon as you uttered the phrase you noticed a lustful darkness flash in your fiancé’s gaze, one which he, much to your surprise, suppressed and shook his head.

“Y/N don’t do this to me, or you will not get up ‘til sunset.”

“If that’s your plan, would I even be able to get up?”

“And that’s why I want to make love, Y/N. I want to love you quietly… lie down for me, darling?” he requested, interlacing his urge with the words of one of your favourite poets. A tenderness in his directing you, how he reduced the bottoms and panties he had hooked along with them to a mere accessory on the floor, and how he caressed your thighs, revering every detail, was leaving you breathless. But, just as he was approaching your exposed, aroused sex, you called out to him, reaching for the hand that was resting on your leg.

“Then look at me.”

“Hm?”

“I want to see your pretty face, love.”

The dimples that fell into his cheeks as he beamed at you, crawling up to be right by your side much like a cat would, and letting you roll over so that you were nose to nose, sharing hot breath, made you fall in love again. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say ‘rise’ in love, for when you were like this, vulnerable, and yet so totally safe, you felt like you were soaring.

San took no time in finding your lips, relishing in the stifled moan that escaped you as his fingers teased your moistened labia. A leg resting over his, you were enamoured with the gentleness of his worship of you. The tip of his tongue begged for entrance and elicited a muted sigh as it entered to explore you. With an approving hum, San curled his digits and let your walls clench around him, as he proceeded to set an unhurried pace, knowing you, knowing how to coax out every feeble mewl and build you up to an unforgettable ruin. You had the luxury of time, every worry replaced with the opportunity to connect and combine into one.

There was an added pleasure that came with the surpassing of the excitement of your relationship’s novelty. The intricate mapping of your fantasies had now taken on a new level of complexity, and the sequences transformed into a language only you and San shared. Delighted in the lewdness of sound that was produced by the relaxed pumping of his fingers into you, the gorgeous man further deepened your kiss by taking the strings of his hoodie, now adorning your frame, and drawing you in. Whatever illusion of space between was now entirely gone, and all that existed for you was San’s touch, San’s fragrance, San’s body heat, and the knot in your stomach that was getting tighter his thumb ran circles over your aroused clit.

There was no urgency in his movement as he unravelled you, even though, as you adjusted your positioning, you became aware his stiff erection. The sudden friction caused San to gasp, and, when you brushed your leg against his again, to test the waters, he pleaded, voice ragged and airy:

“Let me take care of you, honey.”

“But San-” you protested, hand palming his length, but denied as he kissed the response away from you.

“You’ll help me out with that later.”

“But I can get an early start.” A final attempt, only spurring San on to push his fingers deeper into you, massaging your pussy until he hit your most sensitive spot, earning a yelp and an approaching tender pulsation.

“Needy for this cock, huh?”

“Ah…What happened to… mfph… sentimental lover boy?” you joked through shallow breaths, choking out every word as you clung onto San’s t-shirt for support in your approaching high.

“I’m still here. Still here… You look beautiful, Y/N… taking my fingers so well, dressed up in my hoodie…” he praised, emphasising his role in your unwinding. Gazing at the love bites he had left on your soft skin through hooded, lust-filled fog, he was motivated to give you any satisfaction you could possibly desire.

“Sannie, please… ah that feels so good…”

“Please what, darling? Hm, tell me.”

Continuing to relentlessly abuse your g-spot, San sweetly took in your writhing form, enjoying the power that he had in this moment, while a ray of the morning sun crept across the floor towards you, traversing the territory of the living room like a foolishly courageous voyeur.

“Faster, please…”

“But it’s so early sweetheart, don’t you want to take it easy?” he inquired, knowing full well that you would not give him a well-structured response, intoxicated by the intensifying arousal, climbing closer and closer to a climax.

“Ah… please… Mm… I need…”

“Elaborate, or I cannot heed to your caprices.”

“I need you inside me.”

“Is that so? Well, I can’t deny you anything, my love.”

Reduced to a whimpering mess, you waited with bated breath as San shuffled to finally push down his trousers and reveal his throbbing member, now adorned with rivulets of pre-cum after having been left abandoned while his digits satisfied you. In a matter of seconds, you could feel its tip against your folds, gliding up and down the slick until you inadvertently bucked your hips towards him, unable to hold on for any longer without a stronger stimulation. Luckily, San was in a loving mood, and submitted to your silent begging. Soon enough, he began to drive into you, so agonisingly slow so as to not force how perfectly your pussy accepted him, and once his pelvis was flush against yours, embraced you. He strived to have you entirely, as if, even when you were with him, he missed you.

Overwhelmed by the fullness your head tilted forward, your forehead meeting San’s as he barely withdrew his cock, and re-entered you, mumbling fuzzy words of praise at how well you were taking him, and just how heavenly your soaked cunt was as he went deeper, rocking his hips upwards to drown himself in your heat.

The world on fire, skin lapping against skin like waves of a mountainous current, painting the landscape in the hues of a blazing sunrise, much like how hedonistic desire washed over you. It grew at an alarming speed until it was threatening to bloom, a crimson rose of undying attraction and adoration for the man who was offering himself to you as your cunt clamped around him. San was entranced by you, and wanted more than what ‘more’ could signify, lifting your leg and throwing it over his to bring you to your sensual demise. Your grasp of his tee tightened as the pounding became hungrier, and you dropped the act of being able to contain a portion of your moans, letting the salacious melodies go right by San’s ears, interlaced with expletives and your beloved’s name.

With every affirmation to roll off your tongue that he had only recently confronted with his own, he would grind harder into you with ease, now that you were propped up just how he wanted you. San could never get enough of your flushed cheeks as the ripples of pleasure ran through you, with his cock rendering you speechless, muscles tightening in anticipation of a crashing orgasm. Only feeble, high-pitched gasps bounced around the walls of the living room, blending into the warm ambiance as your climax hit you – a monsoon, the season controlled by none other than your fiancé, who kept up his flow, mumbling barely coherent phrases:

“So gorgeous, my love, that’s right. Come for me, come over my cock-”

It was not long after your orgasm that his thrusts lost their steadiness, San’s grip on your thigh grew unbelievably tight and he dived to find stability in the dip between your shoulder and neck, leaving feathery kisses and biting the area to suppress his low grunts, now turned to helpless moans that served to prolong your own high.

The erratic motions of his hips culminated in a series of deeper thrusts as he buried his dick as deep as he could inside you, groaning as ropes of cum painted your still-pulsating walls, that seemed to be pleading for more, greedily taking every drop. You rolled your lower half a couple of times, ecstatic from the dizzying fullness that his cock and thick release provided, causing some of the cum to ooze out, threatening to coat your inner thighs. San had no plans on moving, at least not until mist lifted from his consciousness, and he could conjure up at least one thought that did not relate to having you again.

While his dick twitched inside you, you attempted to remain as still as possible, regaining San’s attention by whispering his name. Through half-lidded eyes he gazed back, sending you a shy smile so endearing, and so much brighter than every star, contrasting the remnants of earlier intimacy in the form of a bead of sweat that concealed itself under the hair that fell over his face, and the reddened, plump lips.

“San?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d say I’m very warm now.” He chuckled, making you bashfully glance off to the side, catching the reflection of the sky in the coffee table. The simple ability to hear San’s husky voice as he drifted with you in post-coital bliss, an arm lazily resting on your waist, was a blessing.

“Anytime, my love.” He matched your lightheartedness and squeezed your side.

Your precious sun and moon. The one with whom your heart beat in unison, the one who had read you like a novel, front to back, back to front until he could recount every detail better than you ever could. Time stood still as you lied there, on the couch, sharing addictive nectar and basking in the afterglow. The day only beginning, the room decorated in a light gold hue. Unwilling to part just yet, you shared another kiss with San, in adoration for how the early morning haze entranced you.

#ateezlovenet #kflixnet #k-labels #san x reader #choi san x reader #san x you #choi san x you #san x y/n #choi san x y/n #ateez san x reader #ateez san x y/n #ateez san x you #choi san smut #san smut #ateez san smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez fluff #choi san fluff #san fluff #ateez san #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez imagine #kpop imagine #kpop writers #kpop writing

[emsvertigo]

Let The Light In

image not mine, found on pinterest

summary & genre — fluff & nsfw. it’s a hot day and you & seb are relaxing in your shared bed. (not fully smut)

warnings — sexual references, seb touches you a lot (i got a bit carried away), can’t think of anything cause this is actually tooth rotting.

character & pairing — sebastian wilder x fem!reader (la la land. 2016)

word count — 1.5k

a/n — i arise with a tooth rotting self insert. this came about because ever since i watched ‘la la land’ i can’t stop thinking about ryan. i’ve also been religiously listening to lana del rey’s new album so ofc this fic was written when i was listening to ‘let the light in’. anyway if anyone reads this i love you cause there’s actually no fics for ryan, let alone seb, and you understand what i’m going through. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

find my old fics here! ✿

His hand ran slowly up and down your thigh, an effort to trace every single blemish on your skin. The warmth of his fingertips danced, coating your skin in a layer of sprinkled love, tickling his way along your freckles. Golden pools of light spilt into the room, painting the space in an amber aura of tranquillity; reaching to the crevices of the ceiling and plunging to the floor like a waterfall. Occasionally silence was broken by cars speeding past, or the harmony of birdsong in their melodic major key. You hummed, content with the pleasure and peace experienced at the moment.

The heat had forced you to bare your legs, curling towards you as the bedcovers drooped over your figure, your feet barely covered by the white duvet. Your head settled against the pillow, blissful in the comfort you had created. You stared at the dancing dust glimmering around his hair, coating it in a haze which painted his hair blond. The shimmering light drowned his face, illuminating his cheekbones, and causing his shadows to become softer, a soft fuzzy glow radiated from his face. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as he stared down at the book lingering softly in his hand.

You’d tell him religiously, like a preacher reciting a mass, all the ways in which he had made you come undone. How in the gorgeous light, he looked otherworldly, godly, like he was dripping with nectar. His bare chest was smothered in gold and small beads of sweat, a little patch of hair growing across his chest which was tanned with the Californian sun. The pink blush flushed against his cheeks absentmindedly decorated his bone structure. You could’ve stared for decades, letting your imagination run wild as his teeth caught his bottom lip, slowly biting at the soft flesh.

“Quit looking at me.” He laughed, turning a page of his book, not paying any mind to your form slowly inching closer to him. His eyes darted along the page, soaking in the information.

You hummed in response, reaching up and moving a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it back into place. He sighed, his eyelashes flickering and dropping the book into his lap, no longer interested in the contents it held. You smiled wildly, teeth grinning.

“Was the book not interesting?” You inquired, moving to place your hand under your chin and balance the other against the sheets. Seb smiled down at you, eyes sapphire in the blinding light.

“Too political.” He whispered, his eyes growing wide in a joking fashion. His hand had now removed itself from your thigh and was tiptoeing its way up to your waist. Your tummy was bare, the top you wore hugging as little of your frame as possible. The heat was incredible, and looking adequate was the least of your worries.

The silence returned as you both gazed into each other's eyes. A dog barked in the distance, the only thing shattering your peaceful moment. You licked your lips as Seb’s hands caressed your midriff, his touch tickling your warm skin. His eyelashes were heavy, and hair fell into his eyes once again, framing his face with curls. Stubble littered his face, a subtle hint that summer was here and his want to shave had disappeared.

“I love the way you look.” You exhaled, soaking in his features like an anaesthetic lulling you to sleep.

“That’s a strange way of saying you love me.” He laughed, his fingers still tracing the outline of your belly button absentmindedly. You rolled your eyes, wanting to smack his chest but deciding against it.

His head leaned down, planting a peck of a kiss onto your forehead. Lingering for a few seconds to breathe your scent in.

“I'm joking.” He mumbled into your hair, eyes fluttering closed. His hand coming further up your front, laying flat against your stomach.

His head returned to its original position, but in the newfound proximity, your breaths became one. Wavering for a moment, he let himself gaze in awe at your complexion. Drinking in every ounce of perfection, which dripped off of you.

“Now who's the one that's staring.” You breathed, his mouth swallowing your thought in a kiss. Your posture tipped towards his frame, a hand finding its way to rest gracefully at the side of his face. Stubble close to your fingertips.

His lips pressed flush against yours, causing his nose to meet your face. Tongues interweaving in dance, lips interlocking with passion. Your breath hitched in your throat as he pulled you towards him, hand now on the small of your back. His palm dragged its way up, and underneath your top.

A groan emerged from his lips as you parted from the bond. Leaving his lips pouted and flushed, eyelashes still closed against his pink cheeks. His hand still lazing on your back, drawing circles in impatience.

You swung your hips around, now sitting up on the bed facing him. He obliged without remark and sat the same way, pulling you in further with his other hand. Your hand had fallen to his chest and now rested flush against him, head raising to bathe in the golden sunlight filtering through the blinds. His eyes winked shut once again as he came forward to lock your lips with his.

“Seb.” You moaned into his mouth, gasping when his lips moved at a sensual pace, coating your mouth in his love. Your prayer was answered by a low hum, as his hands both felt their way around your torso. Your own hands wrapped themselves around his neck, desperate to pull him even closer to you. With your quickened movements, his book was left discarded on the wooden floor, pages open and ruined.

He swallowed every moan that dared to drip off your tongue in sweet praise, letting out a gasp when he let his fingers dance around the edges of your breasts. Your hands locked tightly into his hair, curling strands in between your fingers. Nails scratched down his scalp, allowing soft sounds to escape his throat like honey. Two bodies became one in a haze of cloudy lust.

His hands outlined your breast, almost frightened to touch you in case you shattered into millions of pieces. His tongue traced your teeth, as he attempted to consume every inch of you. His fingertips faltered, resting his thumbs against your chest, narrowly missing what he wanted to touch most. A slow hum erupted from your throat, threatening to break out into a moan, attempting to communicate your genuine need for him. Yet he still faltered.

You considered the fact his tongue was down your throat, yet he wouldn’t let his hands cup your breasts.

“Touch me.” You moaned in between kisses, acknowledging his hunger to feel you. Interlinking your souls together with a simple intimate touch.

Immediately his hands shifted into place, palms pressed flush against you. A strained noise choked in his throat at the action, a sound that sent an electric current running down to your core.

His hands began to work at a steady pace, moulding you like clay. His long fingers were covered by the cloth dividing him from the real world. Kneading you slowly like dough or putty, causing you to moan with every squeeze. You shifted positions so your heel sat in between your legs, desperately hoping for some friction against you.

He suddenly broke free from the kiss, panting into the air still coated in sun. His glistening face glowed in ecstasy and light, sunbeams bouncing onto his skin. His eyes worked their way down your front to meet with his hands beneath your top, the outline squeezing flesh. Your eyelids drooped at the sight of his features glimpsing your body.

Your hands released from his neck, and found their way to the hem of your shirt, tugging the fabric to pull it over your head. Once it was tossed at the side of the bed, you thanked God that you hadn't worn a bra that day. Your hands, gripped into his shoulders tightly.

Seb’s hands stopped for a second with the newfound sense of freedom, loosening their grip for a moment. You let your head lull backwards, gazing up at the ceiling and closing your eyes as his hands resumed their routine. A curse trickled from your lips in a stolen breath as your over-sensitive skin was pleasured.

“Oh, my God.” You uttered, repeating it like it was your last word on Earth. As though Sebastian was keeping you afloat along a river of satisfaction.

You couldn't see his face, but you knew he was smirking. Enjoying the way your brows furrowed with every movement of his hands. His head came up to meet your exposed neck in open-mouthed kisses, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“You’re perfect.” He declared in between kisses, sucking sensitive spots on your skin and provoking loud groans from both of you.

As his fingers worked pinching your skin and nipples every so often, you wondered how you got so lucky. To be located in the city of dreams, and wrapped in a musician's arms, with his piano-player fingers working overtime to please you.

You couldn’t be happier.

#ryan gosling #la la land #sebastian wilder #damian chazelle #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling fanfic #ryan gosling fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #emma stone #hioreh fanfictions #sebastian wilder x reader #sebastian wilder fanfiction #sebastian wilder fanfic

[moremaybank]

SPARKS FLY — r.c

day two the very first night with rafe cameron

pairing hockey player!rafe cameron x fem!flight attendant!reader

summary your first day on the job as one of the flight attendants for the obx thunder proves to be a challenge when you encounter rafe cameron, the team captain who is known for his playboy ways.

warnings kind of suggestive but not too much

author's note inspired by mile high by liz tomforde, and now i kinda wanna make it into a mini series (oh lord). also, i don't know why i chose kendall jenner, she was just the first person to come to mind LOL sorry

obx week ‘23 masterlist ;; series masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

The private jet's engines roared to life as the OBX Thunder prepared to take off for their first away game of the season. Rafe Cameron, the team's captain and undoubtedly most popular member swaggered onto the plane with his signature devilish grin and glimmer in his blue eyes. He was ready to take home another win, ready to hear the crowd cheer his name loudly from the stands and be tackled by his teammates in celebration.

What he wasn't ready for, however, was meeting you.

There you stood at the entrance of the jet, greeting each player with a bright smile. The lights casted a glow onto your dewy skin, catching the high points of your face and illuminating you beautifully. Your hair was perfectly in place, and your uniform hugged your curves so tightly that it made Rafe wonder what they looked like bare.

He strolled in, and was instantly unable to resist making a move when he came face to face with you.

"Well, well," he drawled, peering down at you due to your substantial height difference. "A gorgeous face to make this flight more enjoyable. Lucky me."

Rafe extended his hand. "Rafe Cameron. Team captain."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his antics. You ignore the hand in front of you as you speak. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cameron. If you would kindly take your seat, we can get things moving. I'm not here to entertain."

"No need to be so serious, sweetheart. Let's make this flight memorable," he chuckled, his charm practically oozing from his pores. He offered you a playful smirk when you glared at him, and then he was gone, doing as he was told.

As you watched him walk toward his seat, your eyes couldn't help but linger on his large frame. He was handsome. You weren't blind. His buzzed hair, playful eyes and roguish charm. Muscles bulging from beneath his Nike Tech zip up. Grey sweatpants accentuating a feature you had to force yourself not to acknowledge. His attractive features were hard not to notice. But you were also well aware of the headlines constantly circling him.

Rafe Cameron seen exiting the Sapphire Club with four girls on his arms. Rafe Cameron spotted on his yacht getting intimate with model and reality TV star, Kendall Jenner. Rafe Cameron breaks things off with Kendall Jenner at the Grammy's after party and leaves with an unknown woman.

You definitely were not interested in inserting yourself into that situation. You refused to be just another one of his meaningless flings. And though ignoring him might have proved to be difficult, you were up to the task.

As the flight took off, Rafe couldn't help himself. He needed your eyes on him again. He needed to speak to you, charm you into liking him. He was curious about how long you'd deny that spark between you two. So, he raised his hand and pushed the call button above him.

There you came, strolling out and down the walkway to attend to whatever he needed. "How can I help you, Mr. Cameron?"

"Well, you can start by calling me Rafe. Mr. Cameron is way too formal," he grins.

You let out a sigh, pushing away the instinct to roll your eyes at him. "How can I help you, Rafe?"

He closed his eyes, humming contently as he leaned back into his seat. "Hm. I love the way you say my name. Sounds pretty on those lips."

You tried to deny it, but that statement made your heart flutter, and made another part of you flutter as well. Don't fall for it, you reminded yourself.

"Like I said earlier, I'm here to work, not to entertain. So if you're just going to waste my time, I'm gonna head back."

Rafe's hand gently latched onto your wrist, halting you from leaving. "A challenge, huh? I like that. Usually it's the other way around."

You removed yourself from his hold, and leaned in real close. Your voice dropped a few octaves, and you offered him a sultry look. You could tell he was excited. You had him right where you wanted him; believing that you were going to take the bait and give in.

"Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Cameron. We're going to be spending a lot of time together during your season. But just know..." you inched even closer, "I'm here because I have to be. Not because I want to be. So you can forget about trying to win me over. I'm not one of your little obsessed fans."

You turned around, strutting away with a hypnotizing shake of your hips that had Rafe biting at his hooked finger. His knuckle grew red at the force of him physically trying to restrain himself.

"I'm going to get you to like me! You'll see!" He called after you.

His determination was endearing, so you smiled to yourself, shaking your head as you walked away. "Not likely, Cameron!"

The thing was, you weren't sure if those words would end up being true.

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[marleyybluu]

Just Sit On It

Spooky x f!reader

Warnings: 18+. bit of fluff and flirting, bit of cockwarming, very much self-insert (inspired by yesterdays events), no use of y/n

Word count: 980

A/N: I had to give this to my favourite boy🤷🏾‍♀️

(Not my gif.)

"You want me to just sit on it?" You ask with fake annoyance in your voice and a quirk in your brow. Spooky chuckled and nodded, a little glimmer in his eye as he looked at you. You two had just finished... whatever round of sex that was, you'd lost count after a while. Both of you high as fuck and missing each other after months of no physical contact, chuck it up to being adults with busy schedules. Sucked.

You were done, out of it and tired— growing a bit sore from how he handled you, not like you'd complain anyway you liked it. You thought he was done too, when you attempted to bait him into one last round he'd respectfully hit you with, "Nah I'm tired for real."

You shrugged and put your shirt back on, chilling in the comfortable silence aside from your music softly playing in the background. You hated a quiet room, especially during sex. But it only took a few minutes for his shirt to come back off claiming to be hot... well it was hot, summer was approaching a lot quicker than it usually did and it was the type of heat to make you angry and irritated with any and everything.

As he lay on his stomach you smiled gazing at his back, how smooth and muscular it was, clean and free of tattoos, unlike the rest of his body. He felt your eyes and asked what was up. You told him you wanted to sit on his back and he let you, you drew faint art on his beautiful skin, and ran your finger down his deep spine. Oof, you loved a deep spine, something about the depth of it was so sexy.

Soon he mentioned he wanted to take off his pants. Again, he was "hot." So you got off and he took off more than just his pants, he nodded over for you to come back and you say there. "I thought you said you were good?"

"I am."

"So why would I just sit on it if you're good?" You challenged with a smirk on your face. Spooky wasn't about to have this back and forth, actions were louder so he sat up and reached over for you, cupping your meaty thigh in his large hand and pulling you on top of him. You gasped feeling him against your sore and yet aching clit.

"Just sit." He shrugged. "And this is comfortable for you?"

He nodded reaching for your hands, interlocking your fingers with his. God, he was just so fucking cute sometimes. You looked down at him as he looked up at you, nothing was said and that's what you liked about your dynamic, you two could just sit like this. Naked or half naked talking about whatever was on your mind or not talking at all.

Adorn by Miguel had come on and you began to hum and absentmindedly move around, for a brief moment forgetting you were both naked on your lower halves. Spooky smiled it was always nice to see you comfortable around him considering when you first met you were so shy you wouldn't even look at him.

He let go of your hands and rested his warm palms on your hips. "Come here."

You beamed and with no hesitation leaned over to meet his lips. Your hands rested on either side of his neck, your lips moving in sync— you could kiss that man all day if it was possible. You felt the bottom of your shirt hike up and pool over your lower back, his hands on your bare ass once again. His favourite part to grab.

One last peck and you pulled back. Spooky noticed the look on your face, a look he was too familiar with— when you wanted to say something but you were too chickenshit to say it, still a bit reserved with your thoughts even though it was clear you could be open and honest with him. "Say it. I could see it in your face." 

You sighed all this temptation was getting to you. "You wanna put it in?" He asked. You bit your lip and nodded, silently thanking God that he was a mind reader at times. You leaned forward reaching between your bodies you gently wrapped your hand around his girth and slowly sunk down on him, he always stretched you out so nicely. 

And that was it, you just sat on it and it was nice (?) and warm... really warm and slick. You actually did not want to move but he did, pushing his hips up into yours, you placed your hand on his chest saying, "Wait, don't move." 

He stopped his actions and resumed holding hands with you. "You're so pretty." He complimented, you blushed looking to the side so he wouldn't notice how embarrassing it was that you couldn't take compliments, especially from him. Your slight distraction was cut short when you felt him move, you giggled turning to him. "Stop..." 

He did it again. "Stop what?" 

"Spooky... I can feel it- ouu, stop." 

He rested his hands under his head and let out a hearty laugh at how flustered you were until he was now feeling something, with your hands planted on his chest you looked down at him with a knowing look. He let out a shaky moan when you did it again. "You stop." 

"Stop what?" 

"Baby, shit, I can feel you tightening around me." You were easily flexing your walls around him in retaliation. He pushed his hips up into you causing you to moan and fall forward, he did it again, carefully thrusting in and out of you-- your pretty love faces like artwork, his favourite thing to watch. You sucked your teeth in realization. 

"Did you just bait me into another round?" 

"Always." 

Slick motherfucker.

Y’all… oof I had to. I’m still reminiscing. I miss my man😭

If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Peace and love🤞🏾

🏷️ : @skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit

#marleywrites #marleysfanfictions #spooky #fluff #spooky fanfic #on my block fanfic #spooky x reader #spooky fanfiction #smut #spooky x fem!reader #spooky smut

[lolahauri]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ It's Been a Secret for the Longest Time

Ship: Hoodie/Reader

Type: Smut, One-shot, F/M, Reader Insert.

Contains: Unaware voyeurism, afab reader/female anatomy, multiple o's, masturbation, oral (f receiving), breeding, creampie, no plot, size kink if you squint.

Words: 2.7k

Request?: Kind of.

Hoodie was standing outside your room, peeking through the near-microscopic crack in the door. It was opened just enough to see the show going on inside. He didn’t even remember what he was coming to tell you, but it didn’t matter anymore. There were more important things going on now. 

-

“Hah- oh fuck!” you hissed under your breathe, slowly swiping a pink vibrator over your throbbing clit, two soaked fingers sliding in-and-out of your pussy, working perfectly in sync with the toy. Completely nude, long strands of hair framing your glistening chest as you inhaled sharply. And as focused as you were on reaching your climax, the main thought occupying your mind was Hoodie. He was all you thought about during your private sessions, longing to feel his big strong hands tease your sensitive areas while holding you down and telling you who you belong to. 

Broken whimpers poured from your plump lips, now imagining what his cock looked like, what’d it feel like inside you. You wonder if he’d be willing to cum in you. Is he more rough or gentle? Not that you would care either way, you’ve fantasized about every possible scenario. 

You were obsessed with him, but you’d never tell him. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship you two had built, or make working together uncomfortable. There was just to much at risk. As much as you loved and lusted him, you’d continue to try your best at keeping these feelings to yourself. 

Unbeknownst to you though, you were about to find out he thought the exact same way of you. 

-

Brian continued to watch the pornographic scene in front of him, he was stuck in a trance almost, watching intently through his black mask. His eyes slowly worked down your entire body, starting with your mouth. He watched as your lips parted, letting out another angelic whine. Your face was dusted with a light rosy tint. Your entire body glimmered from the light droplets of sweat building up over your smooth skin, the room was hot and smelled of sex. He fucking loved it. 

Eyes trailing further south, he reached the real show. Your soft, small hands toying with your slick, wet pussy. The sounds of your soaked fingers, moans, and vibrations were like a symphony to him. This was everything he’s ever dreamed of, the kind of sight he’d imagine when he’s pleasuring himself. It was almost too good to be true.

- 

He was suddenly snapped out of his daze by the throbbing twitches of his cock. Becoming aware of his own body and desires now, he palmed his hard on through his pants, trying to relief some of the aching arousal he felt. Deep down he knows this is wrong, it’s creepy, you’d hate him for thinking this way of you, for watching you like this. But he can’t think straight right now, he felt dizzy from the way your undressed body hypnotized him. 

The way you’re drawing him in could only be compared to a siren luring a lustful man to his demise, using nothing but her beautiful voice and enchanting figure. Quietly unzipping his pants, he kept rubbing his hardened cock as he stared right at your tits. Every movement making them bounce ever so slightly, for a moment he thinks he might’ve actually died and gone to heaven. He imagines what it’d feel like to knead and caress them, sucking on one nipple and rolling the other between his fingers. He so badly wants to hear you whimper his name while he teases you, grinding his length against your exposed heat. 

Brian moved his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring out, sucking in a sharp breathe as it hit the cool air of the hallway. His gloved hand slowly circled his throbbing tip, smearing precum that had already begun dripping out. Slowly stroking himself, he pretended it was your hand jerking him off, imagining you on your knees in front of him, your soft tongue teasing the head as you pumped your hands up and down his long shaft. He was only a few seconds in and already his cock was threatening to spill it's seed onto the floor. 

It’s insane to him, you haven’t even touched him and he’s already about to cum for you and cry your name out while he does it. His movements slowed down abruptly, trying to savor this moment for as long as he could. His attention never left your body, jolts of electricity shot through him every time you made a sudden action or sound. 

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he picked up speed again, moving in rhythm with your hands. The thrill and anxiety of possibly getting caught, mixed with the beautiful sight before him was getting too much to handle. He wishes so badly he could just walk into the room, pull your fingers out and replace them with his cock. He dreams of pumping you full of cum, watching it pour down your thighs and mix with your own juices. 

He’s huffing quietly as he comes to a stop yet again, working himself up far too quickly for his liking. But you look like you’re getting close, he wants to cum with you. He watched as you picked up speed, moans flowing consistently. Fuck yes, you’re about to cum. He begins to aggressively pump his cock, not caring anymore if he’s being too loud, he needs to cum with you now. 

-

Squeezing your tits, you pick up speed on rubbing yourself off. Moaning and whining becoming out of control, but you’re confident you’re alone, you don’t care what sounds you’re making anymore.

“Mmph, ah, oh god, fuck” the pressure in your lower stomach erupts into an earth shattering orgasm “fuck- Brian!” you scream his name as your reach your peak, whispering it a few more times as you come down from the high.

-

Just as he’s about to cum, Hoodie stops in his tracks when he hears you yelling his name out. A cold rush shoots through every vein in his body, there’s no way he heard that right, right? But his confusion is confirmed when he hears you whimper it a few more times. You were actually thinking of him while you played with yourself. His brain short circuits momentarily, realizing all this time, you must’ve felt the exact same way as him. A fog casts over his mind, he’s not thinking clearly again. 

“Fuck it” - he thinks to himself “ now or never, i guess. ”

He pushes your door open with one hand, watching as you jump in shock, covering your tits with your arms while your eyes grow wide, face becoming red hot.

“What the- Brian!” embarrassment and confusion clear in your voice “what the hell are you doing here?” 

He doesn’t say anything as he takes off his mask and walks up to the edge of your bed, not breaking eye contact. You were about to tell him to get the fuck out, that was until… 

“Oh my god…” you whispered to yourself as you gasped, shock turning to pure lust as you finally spotted it. His hard, twitching cock was out, fully on display. 

Wait, has he been here the whole time? Oh well, who cares, your fantasy is about to become reality. You’ll tell him off for spying on you later. Just enjoy the moment for now. 

Brian crawls on top of you, sliding his bent leg up at an angle, his knee forcing your left leg to spread open* You gasp when you feel his erection press up against you, but you're quickly distracted when he pry's your arms off your chest, pinning them to the side of your head as he lowers his face to yours. He’s smirking as you gaze up into his eyes, “ so fucking cute” he thinks to himself.

Slowly, he brings his lips down to yours, immediately bringing you into a heated make-out session. You both close your eyes into the kiss, lips moving in perfect harmony, maybe it’s the lust talking, but it almost feels as though your lips were made for each other, like two puzzle pieces clicking together. 

The kiss turns more heated as you wrap your free leg around his waist, beckoning him to get some friction going. He knows exactly what you trying to do as he quickly begins to roll his hips into yours, his cock getting coated in your previous orgasm. You’re both moaning into each other's mouths while he moves a hand down to squeeze your tit, rubbing his thumb over your sensitive bud. 

The sensations are sending you to Nirvana. His tip is perfectly rubbing right against your clit with every forward motion. You’re panting now, locking your legs tighter around him as a silent way to beg him to just fuck you already. He’s been waiting for this for a long time though, and he knows the second he slips inside he won’t be lasting too long, he wants to drag this out as far as he can. 

You whine as he slowly pulls away from you, leaving you dazed and needy for his touch. 

“Don’t worry, i’ll give you what you want.” his voice is soft, but husky.

Before you could even ask what he’s doing, he moves back, just enough for him to lay down and rest his head between your trembling thighs. He moves his arms underneath you, his shoulders pressed close to your plush bottom, two strong hands reached up to hold your waist down. He breathes against your heat, sending a cold shiver up your spine. 

“Brian… please do something.” your voice was breathy and light, already so high on sex you could hardly get the sentence out. He loved it though, if he wasn’t so pent up himself, he’d tease you till your crying and screaming for more. Next time. 

He chuckled a bit and gave an experimental lick up your pussy, going in for more when he heard you gasp and felt your thighs twitch around him. His tongue darted up and down your folds like a zipper, swiping against your aching clit each time it went back up. He savored each little sound you made, relishing in the feeling of your thighs gently squeezing the sides of his head. 

You let out a high pitched moan as he suddenly began to focus on your clit. Sucking lightly between each circular swirl of his tongue. The more you squirmed and twitched, the harder he pressed his hands into your waist, pinning you down harshly as to not mess with his rhythm. He sucked your bud a few more times before dipping back down, sliding the entire length of his long tongue into your pussy. 

“Oh holy shit! You gasped loudly at the sudden penetration, squeezing tighter around his head. Instinctively, you brought a hand down to his hair, pushing his face in to your heat just a little more. Hoodie eagerly took this as a sign to continue, and so he did. He repeatedly fucked his tongue in and out of you, curving upwards to rub at the spongy spot on the top of your pussy. 

“Brian…” your voice and breathing was shaky “I’m- i’m gonna cum, jesus!” 

He instantly moved a gloved hand downwards to toy with your clit while he continued to abuse your g-spot. He couldn’t stop grinding on the bed for some sort of relief, almost reaching his own climax when he felt yours begin. The familiar pressure of a nearing orgasm slowly dissipated as a wave of pure euphoria crashed over you. He groaned at the feeling of your juices soaking his mouth, thighs still wrapped around his head and shoulder. He really never wants this to end. 

You’re senses momentarily heighted afterwards, becoming hyperaware of what was happening. But that didn’t last long, your brain was once again clouded with arousal as Hoodie suddenly crawled back up to you, bringing you into a harsh kiss. His cock was back to sliding between your folds, prepping for what was about to come.

“Is this okay?” Brian asked quietly as he reached behind you, grabbing a pillow to prop your hips up.

“God, yes. Please, just fuck me already.” you were gripping his clothed shoulders tightly as you lifted your hips, allowing him to slide the pillow underneath you. 

“Fuck.” he huffed as he bent down a bit, allowing his hips to align with yours. He almost couldn’t believe it, he’d been fantasizing of this moment since he laid eyes on you, and it was really happening now. He slowly pushed the head of his cock into you, both of you threw your head back and signed in unison.

“Shit” he hissed at the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him, he’d barely gotten the first inch in and nearly got close to cumming, you must be some kind of demon the way you get him going. He starts burying himself in further, inch by inch, not giving you much time to adjust. Though, you're so wet and turned on he didn't get much resistance anyway. 

Brian snapped his hips forward, adding the last three inches and fully bottoming out inside you. Gripping his shoulders tightly, you cried out from both the pleasure and the slight tinge of pain. He had to have been at least 8 inches, and it’d been so long since you’d been fucked last, it was a lot to take in no matter how prepped you were. 

He gave you just a second to adjust before he leaned forward a bit, setting a quick pace with his thrusting. About half his length would be taken out, before he quickly slammed back into you, the sexual frustration being clearly communicated through his movements. He wanted to take his time with you, he really did, but you just felt too good. The way you were squeezing him so tight and screaming his name drove him fucking crazy. 

The aggression only ramped up the more you dug your nails into him and begged for more. His thrusts became more harsh and quick, brutally slamming his cock into you in an almost primal, animalistic way. 

“Oh Jesus Christ!” you screamed out as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, somehow hitting deeper when you didn’t think that was even possible. Hoodie grabbed your other leg and propped it up on his hip, pushing forward and repeatedly knocking into that sweet spot yet again. 

You were quickly being brought to your third orgasm tonight. Brian was breathing heavily above you, trying so hard to last as long as he could. An uncomfortable ache was starting to build in your abdomen, overstimulation had finally begun to set in. Your back was involuntarily arching off of the mattress, your legs were caging in the man above you dangerously tight.

“Mmph… Brian.” you whined out, trying to let him know you’re getting close again.

“I know, i know. Go ahead, cum for me.” And that was all it took. You were seeing stars as you reached your high, screaming his name and grabbing onto his shoulders for stability.

He wasn’t far behind you, the feeling of your pussy clenching on him and coating his dick with your fluids sent him over the edge. He was grunting hard as he thrusted in a few more times, filling you to the brim with his load. Your legs dropped down to the bed as you both nearly went limp from exhaustion. He hovered above you for a minute longer, both of you panting and trying to ground yourselves back into yours bodies. 

Hoodie slowly pulled his cock out of you, watching as his cum instantly started to pour out of you and onto the bed. He’ll definitely be adding that image to the bank.

He was laying beside you now, studying your body and face as you calmed down more. “Wow, that was -” you paused and turned to look at him, still a bit in shock from what just happened “- incredible” 

He smiled pulled you close to him, holding your head in his chest and laying a blanket across the two of you. “Next time will be even better.”

“Next time?” you let out a breathy laugh as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

All he did was hum in response, reaching over to turn off the lamp beside your bed. You can talk about this with him tomorrow, for now, he just wants to sleep with you.

#creepypasta #x reader #smut #hoodie #hoodie x reader #marble hornets #brian thomas #i did this in one go tbh #6 hours straight of writing #need to sleep now holy shit #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #hoodie x reader smut #marble hornets smut

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

https://www.tumblr.com/iamyourdailydoseofbi/749511641793757184/hello-dear-will-you-pray-for-me-will-have-a?source=share

Thank you dear!! I didn't think you'd post the second part so quickly. if your willing to write a part three can you please insert some spicy in it? 🎀❤️

WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader ) FINAL PART.

AUTHOR NOTE! I've never done smut before. But, we'll give it a try. Also, if you like this, you will probably like my fic 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. [ Yes that is me shamelessly promoting it AGAIN. Check out the link for it in my previous posts. ] <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon intends on securing your place as his. What better way than to spoil you for other men, than with bedding you. word count: 1, 298+ words

Staring at the wall of his bedchambers, you dreaded what was to come, or what could possibly come. It was clear that Aegon was planning something, he said so himself that he wished for you to tend to his wounds. Though, it was not clear if he genuinely wished for you to tend to his wounds or if he wanted you to ‘tend to his wounds’. He seemed lewd like that. Hearing the handmaiden’s leave the bedchambers, you turn around just as the last one leaves, a look of pity on the handmaiden’s face. They knew. They knew what awaited you. 

No. No. Please don’t leave. Stay. Stay.

Gulping as you are now left alone with Aegon, you turn your head away to stare at the wall. A tiny twisted part of you hoping that if you stay still and quiet long enough Aegon would forget you were there. Feeling a hand slowly trailing up your back, you involuntarily tense up at the feeling, calloused fingertips tugging at laces at the back of your dress. 

You didn’t need to turn around, you knew who it was, Aegon. Holding back the tears that threatened to fall, you gather your bearings the best that you could, not wanting him to get the satisfaction of seeing your misery. Feeling the laces of her dress loosen up, you hold up the dress with your hands, trying to stop before your chemise is revealed. 

“I thought of you, whilst I am in Rook’s Rest.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “Of you waiting for me to come home, to come back to you.” 

“Please don’t.” You whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, tis’ my right. As your betrothed, as King, to take what I wish from you.” 

“Aegon..” You try, hoping that you could somehow get through to him. 

Keeping your head turned away from him, he pulls out the clip in your hair, letting your hair fall loose from the pinned back hairstyle. A mix of fear and humiliation bubbles inside of you as he slowly undresses you. He was slow, almost as if he was taking his time. It was odd, not like what you had expected. Feeling his hand gently tug your dress free of your hands, you shift your eyes from the wall to his, a lust filled expression on his face. 

“Say it again.” He whispers, a slight need in his voice.

“What?”

“My name. Please, say it.” He whispers, “You make it sound like I am worthy of being named after my ancestor.” 

Staring deeply into his hypnotic amethyst eyes, you could see an odd glimmer in his eyes, not one of lust or something sinister. More like a plea of some kind of reciprocation of affection. Feeling the tiniest bit of pity for him, you try to turn your head away, but he gently turns your head back to face him. In this light, he could almost be considered handsome, maybe even ethereal. 

Without those big puppy dog eyes of his, his lips pulled into a soft pout of desperation. The thick white bandages on him, just adding to the wounded puppy look to him. Chewing on your bottom lip, you couldn’t find your voice in that moment, even if you could speak up, what would you say to him? Something witty? Something hurtful? Or just give into his demand?

“Please.” He begs, “I will get down to my knees if that is what it takes to hear you say it again.”

Had he gone mad?

Almost as if he didn’t think you believed him, he slowly kneels down in front of you. Letting out a shaky breath as he kneels in front of you, he slowly tilts his head up to meet your gaze, his hands gripping softly onto the skirt of your chemise. He looked like he was praying, and you were his item of worship. 

Any other woman would have enjoyed the sight, the King of the Seven Kingdoms kneeling before them. But, you just felt a mix of confusion and uncertainty. Should you enjoy this, savor just how much power you had over him? Should you not, for selfishness was a sin against the ideals instilled upon you by your parents?

“Please, just say my name once more. I will⎯”

“Aegon..” You whisper, a little fearful that he would escalate to something more drastic.

“You make it sound so desirable, so worthy.” He mumbles, a lovesick look on his face.

“Aegon, please..” You beg, not liking his reaction.

The way he just seemed to spiral for your affection was unnerving, like if you stopped recuperating he would do something drastic. You weren’t entirely sure if it would be towards you or himself, and that was what was the most unnerving part of it. Taking a step back from him, he grabs the hem of your chemise, slowly pushing it up. Going deadly still at the action, you watch like a watch as he pushes up your chemise. 

Keeping eye contact with him, he pushes your chemise up to reveal your linen thigh-high stockings. Flushing a bright pink at the way his eyes darken, you couldn’t seem to push him away, a twisted part of you wanting to see how far he would go. No man had ever touched you before, not like this. You had always been told that the only man who should ever touch you or see you in such a state was your Lord Husband. 

“Let me worship you in the way you deserve to be.” He whispers, just waiting.

Was he…Was he waiting for you to give your approval?

“Aegon..” You whisper, a little unsure. 

“Let me.” He whispers, slowly pulling down the linen thigh-high stocking. 

Chewing on your bottom lip hard, you open your mouth to protest, but the words quickly die on your tongue. Watching him place a soft kiss onto your ankle, you flush at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin. Blushing a deeper scarlet, he slowly kisses his way up your leg, stopping just short of your inner thigh. Slowly trailing kisses down your leg once more, you could feel his hot breath, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. He was so gentle, more so than you had thought, and a twisted part of you was actually enjoying all of this. 

“Will you pray for me?” He asks, “For my soul to be saved as I take your maidenhead?”

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

#house of dragons x reader #house of dragons #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #house of the dragon x reader #aegon the second #king aegon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd aegon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd smut #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader

[iridescentprose]

Try again - Luca x reader insert [The Bear]

summary; in which you catch the chef smiling at you.

author's note; short but sweet fic about Luca. Just fluff. Please enjoy!

"Worse. Try again."

"Yes, chef."

It was 5:36am.

The numbers of the digital clock above you weren't moving any faster. You had been here for less than an hour and already you were being critiqued on how to properly layer strawberries on top of a crème brûlée custard.

Whatever plans you had of pleasing the chef next to you were slowly diminishing. Your hands shook with self doubt as you pricked at the red fruit, angling it so the mandala spirals could continue. You stepped back, overall pleased with what you had done.

"Better."

It was all you were going to get for now, you knew. But you took his response with pride. After all, you had made significant progress in the past week. Your shoulders relaxed, though your victory was short-lived.

"But."

You lifted a brow. "But?"

He shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm brushing up against yours, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes remained downward, concentrated on the different doodles that littered his skin. You wondered what each stroke of ink meant and if they were drawn with intent or if they happened to be the result of a reckless decision.

Or decisions.

"You lack confidence," he said. Even though his eyes were focused on the custard, you could tell he was doing this on purpose—teasing you. The furrowed brow, the slightly scrunched up nose, and the craned neck. What gave away his concentrated act was the corner of his lips, tugged in a meaningful, if not, arrogant fashion.

Despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you didn't take his criticism to heart. It was true. After all, Carmy set this all up for a reason. You needed the extra practice to hone in on your skill before the upcoming opening. But opening day was weeks away and you already felt too far behind to make a good impression.

"I'm exhausted," You said without thinking. It wasn't the best excuse for your lack of confidence or skill, but it was all you could muster in response. You dropped the miniature metal tongs and braced your hands on the edge of the silver cooking island.

You could hear him chuckle but you didn't bother lifting your gaze to defend yourself. A week of private training wasn't enough to increase your knowledge as quickly as you had hoped. You wanted to be good—better than good. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and you wanted others to experience that through your desserts.

"Good," he said, as you kept your gaze downwards, fixed on his shoes that were inching closer to yours. "For a second I was worried you weren't." He smirked. "Here, try again."

You lifted your head and straightened your posture as he reached across the table for the metal tongs. He handed them to you and you took them into your hand automatically, prying a strawberry that happened to be cut in half, from a small bowl.

Slowly you guided it towards the custard, though it didn't make it's final destination without a little help. In a ghostly fashion, Luca's hand loomed over yours. His rough palm settled over your knuckles — which happened to be stained with flour and vanilla extract.

He did most of the heavy lifting, using a method of confident concentration that you had been trying to master all week. Your hand shook as the strawberry reached its destination, overlaying the endless spiral masterfully.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled, his breath fanning your cheek. He gently squeezed your fingers prompting the metal tongs let go of the red fruit. "Consistency is key."

The pads of his fingertips brushed over your knuckles as he let go of your shaking hand. Smudges of strawberry paste lingered on your skin as he pulled away.

"Understand?"

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. He looked relaxed, if not intrigued by your bravery. A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, though it vanished before you could capture it in your mind. You shook your head free from whatever trance you were under.

"Yes, chef."

With a nod, he swiftly reached for the towel that hung off his shoulder and tossed it to you. You took it, swiping the remnants of sweet ingredients he left on your fingers from his demonstration.

You turned to look over your shoulder, finding him leaning against the metal cabinent, arms crossed and muscles tight.

He met your gaze quickly, almost as if he had been caught watching you. His slight smile diminished, and you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement.

"Again, chef?" You asked.

Testing his reflexes, you tossed the towel and he flinched, but caught it with ease as it hit his chest. A shade of red - the same pigment that stained the towel you had used to wipe your hands - was visible in his cheeks. His lips flickered upwards as he fought the playful smirk flirting with his mouth.

"Yes, chef," he mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking his spot next to you. Naturally, his arm brushed up against yours again as he began cutting up more strawberries. "Again."

#luca x reader #luca x you #luca the bear #luca the bear x you #the bear x reader insert #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #will poulter #will poulter luca #luca x y/n #luca reader insert

[thegreatwicked]

Padawan

Padawan

May I proudly present....! My first reader insert, I wrote this for all you lovelies who follow/like/reblog/comment on my stuff. This is for you! Obi-Wan/You/Reader Insert. Master/Padawan, SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. That is all. Or is it? Should I write more???

Summary: After disappearing from your Master for thirteen years, the Clone Wars has brought you back to the same planet and a brush with death back into each other's lives. But you’re not his Padawan anymore, you’re a knight, right? No, you’ll always be his Padawan, and he, your Master.

~~~

He wasn't a fool; he had sensed your presence the moment you set foot on the planet, like a blinding light or the ring of a bell only he could hear. Of course, he could feel you—how could he not? At least, he could feel you for a while, long enough for him to be certain that he didn’t imagine it in a post-battle haze. You were here.

The first time your force signature vanished, his heart skipped a beat, and a cold rush of panic coursed through his veins and a horrible cold weight settled in his stomach, making him feel like he may be sick. Determined and distracted, he abandoned his conversation in a mad sprint. Searching. He tracked down anyone who had been alongside you on the battlefield, questioning them relentlessly, not caring how he came off as slightly unhinged as opposed to his normal calm and stoic manner, but each inquiry was met with disappointment and vacant glances. 

It wasn't until he caught sight of the familiar sight of a blue and white lekku of Ahsoka that a glimmer of hope ignited within him, brighter than any lightsaber. Ahsoka, Anakin’s padawan. She was seemingly unaffected and greeted him with a smile as though she were seeing a dear friend or distant relative, and that in itself was calming. If Ahsoka wasn't distressed, it meant one of two things: either she hadn't heard of your demise, or, more optimistically, you were still alive.

A wave of relief washed over Obi-Wan as Ahsoka confirmed that you were indeed unharmed and engaged in another mission, your paths had briefly crossed long enough for friendly banter involving drinks later. You were not only alive but also hailed as a hero. Your proficiency with the light your orange, lightsaber had garnered admiration, and the news of your success spread across the battlefield.

As he processed this new information, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the questions that haunted him since the day you disappeared, thirteen years ago. What happened? Where had you been? Why had you left without a word? 

Had he been too strict, too distant? He paced in his quarters, the weight of uncertainty pressing on his shoulders. Thirteen years of silence, and now he learned you were not only alive but thriving in the chaos of war. Had he been oblivious to your struggles and triumphs as a padawan? Had he overlooked something crucial?

His distress and confusion fueled his determination to find you, to understand the reasons behind your disappearance. The bond between Padawan and Master was meant to endure, but his had been severed without warning or explanation. The quest for answers became a relentless pursuit, driven by a mix of concern, guilt, and an unyielding desire to reconnect with the one he had lost.

Ilum's gift had bestowed upon you a most unique kyber crystal, weaving the essence of the Force into your arsenal—a radiant burnt orange lightsaber. Obi-Wan swelled with pride, recognizing that your exceptional skills not only ensured your safety but also turned the tide amid battle.

Sharing the tale with Ahsoka, Obi-Wan recounted the moments of uncertainty, the fear that gripped him when the disturbance in the Force signaled potential danger. Ahsoka responded with a knowing smile and a playful eye roll, acknowledging your tendency to dive headfirst into peril and emerge victorious as if it was the only possible outcome. Relief washed over Obi-Wan, mirrored by a grateful grin exchanged with Ahsoka, reassured that you navigated the challenges in your own distinctive way.

“She’s gotten quite good at cloaking, hasn’t she?” And with those words, all his nervous energy fell away.

The reality settled, Obi-Wan marveled at the intricacy of your Force signature concealment. Your mastery of the technique was so impeccable that it eluded even his well-honed Jedi senses. In moments of deep meditation, he attempted to reach out, seeking the familiar touch of your intangible presence, only to encounter a mysterious void. Your cloak, flawlessly executed, had transformed you into a Ghost—a moniker that, suddenly, filled him with pride for your evolving abilities.

Days melted into an endless procession of battles, the smoke of war shrouding the fates of those who entered its domain. Unable to locate you through the Force, Obi-Wan sought solace in updates from Ahsoka and the soldiers who served under your command, the Echo Squadron they were called. 'The Ghost,' a symbol of your evasive prowess, deepened his admiration for the padawan who had become an elusive figure amid the chaos of war.

Despite the promising news, Obi-Wan Kenobi's frustration deepened. Thirteen years had passed since he last saw you, his once-promising Padawan and the silence surrounding your disappearance gnawed at him. Pacing his quarters, he questioned the events that had led to this point. You had excelled in your Jedi trials, proving yourself worthy of knighthood, and yet, without a word, you vanished from his life.

The lack of closure weighed heavily on him. Had he failed you as a master? The memories of your training together, the countless missions you undertook side by side, haunted him. Had he missed something? Obi-Wan couldn't fathom why you chose to sever ties so abruptly and so completely. The bond between a Padawan and a master was meant to transcend time and distance even the Force itself.

His mind danced through potential reasons. Perhaps he had been too stern, too demanding, but he couldn't recall any unresolved conflicts or bitter disagreements. It fueled his restless pacing, so much he thought he might wear a hole in the floor. The war had claimed many, and the unpredictability of life in those times made such disappearances common. Yet, the absence of a farewell, a simple goodbye, perplexed him.

Obi-Wan stopped, staring at the transmission device on his desk. He contemplated reaching out through the Force, attempting to sense your presence, but a lingering doubt held him back. If you wished to remain hidden, he knew the Force would not easily reveal your location.

With a heavy sigh, he admitted to himself that he needed answers. The Jedi Master reluctantly accepted that, without your cooperation, he might never unravel the mystery of your departure. The internal conflict played across his features as he grappled with the uncertainty, the pain of an unanswered question tugging at his Jedi calm. ~~~

 Obi-Wan flickered back into his senses, and he’d had enough, your Force signature, elusive and soft, presented a challenge to pinpoint. Yet, now seemed as opportune a moment as any to seek you out. He anticipated that the moment he reached out, you would sense it, and the possibility lingered that you might vanish as swiftly as you'd appeared. Despite the odds, he had to try.

For days, throughout his search, panic clawed at him as your signature exhibited erratic behavior—flickering, softening, going dim and occasionally blazing intensely. Unsettled, he worried about your well-being. Had something happened with your men or yourself? When news of Echo Squadron’s return came across his com, he decided on a more direct approach. The uncertainty fueled his urgency as he raced through the compound's halls, drawing closer to potential answers.

The revelations unfolded when the heavy blast doors swung open, and a chill gripped Obi-Wan's heart revealing a fractured company of clone troopers stumbling in, wearied from the throes of war.

Amidst the chaos, Obi-Wan's voice cut through the clamor, a determined command in battle's aftermath. 

"You! Where is your Commander?" he bellowed to the nearest trooper. The man, a walking testament to the horrors he'd witnessed, appeared as if he had traversed through realms of death and fire. His gaze held the weight of someone who had glimpsed into the abyss, far beyond the immediate surroundings.

Obi-Wan called to the trooper, attempting to shake him from his trance, but it was evident that shock had claimed the soldier, rendering him useless for any immediate assistance. A surge of frustration gripped Obi-Wan, that familiar icy sensation taking root within him, he could stand it no more. 

"Where is she?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes of combat. Heads turned in response, and a battle-worn trooper, fatigue etched on his face, stepped forward.

"General Kenobi," the trooper addressed him with a weary acknowledgment, capturing Obi-Wan's attention. With practiced discipline, the trooper began to relay the grim news that had been haunting his thoughts.

A surprise attack, swift and ruthless, caught the entire company off guard, unleashing chaos and claiming numerous lives. Amidst the chaos, your unwavering courage emerged as the linchpin that prevented even greater losses. The trooper, his voice tinged with awe, spoke your name with a reverence that echoed through the hushed murmurs of your fellow soldiers. Their expressions carried profound respect, acknowledging the pivotal role you played in turning the tide of the ambush.

The trooper went on to reveal a tale of resilience and determination. The men who managed to return from the battleground owed their lives to you. Your strategic prowess, coupled with an indomitable will, had become the catalyst for the survival of those under your command. The atmosphere grew heavy with gratitude and admiration as the trooper unfolded the narrative, and the unspoken bond between soldiers resonated with the unyielding spirit that defined your leadership.

“Injured?” Obi-wan breathed not wanting to believe it, “How badly?”

The trooper wore a solemn look before explaining; three. You had been hit by three blaster bolts and thrown back in an explosion that you had only barely managed to contain with your force shield, Obi-wan felt as though the breath had been punched out of his lungs. Murmurs of agreement sounded with troopers calling you a hero, and they would go into battle with you any day. 

The trooper initiated the playback of the security holo, and the room was enveloped in the eerie glow of the holographic display. The flickering images revealed a chaotic battlefield, where your orange lightsaber danced in a brilliant display of skill, deflecting blaster bolts and cutting through the air. The scene, however, took a grim turn as the explosion unfolded.

The trooper's narration painted a vivid picture of your unwavering determination. Your face, illuminated by the glow of the lightsaber, displayed a fierce concentration as you called upon the Force. The protective barrier you conjured was a testament to the immense power you harnessed. Smoke, flames, and debris relentlessly assaulted the shield, crashing against it with an intensity that seemed insurmountable.

As the holographic depiction continued, the strain on your shield became evident. Each impact pushed you back, a slow and relentless retreat under the overwhelming assault. The trooper's commentary reflected the increasing tension in the room, capturing the collective breaths held by those witnessing the event. Finally, with a heart-wrenching collapse, the protective barrier gave way, and your motionless form was violently thrown backward by the force of the explosion, resembling a discarded puppet.

The disturbing imagery etched itself into the minds of those present, leaving a haunting impression of the sacrifice you had made for your comrades. The room fell silent as the holographic display faded, and the gravity of the moment lingered in the air.

“Where is she?” Obi-Wan’s voice a hoarse whisper.

The troopers exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions shifting from a state of surprise to one of guarded curiosity. Why did General Kenobi, the renowned Jedi leader, express such concern about the whereabouts of a single Jedi, especially one who hadn't reported directly to him? The very nature of Jedi loyalty was well-known, but this level of interest seemed unusual, especially considering General Kenobi had never spoken your name and had no prior connection with your company.

In the austere world of warrior monks, emotional attachments were often deemed a distraction, a sentiment echoed by the Jedi Code. The troopers, accustomed to the stoic and disciplined demeanor of their Jedi commanders, found it perplexing that General Kenobi, known for his wisdom and strategic brilliance, was showing a level of personal investment that transcended the typical chain of command.

As the trooper spoke, the realization hit Obi-Wan like a sudden gust of cold wind. The men, once indifferent, now wore expressions of awe and respect. He had been the mentor to their leader, the padawan of the legendary General Kenobi, and none of them had been aware. It was a revelation that changed the dynamics within the group.

“I apologize, General Kenobi, we didn’t know.”

Obi-Wan's confusion deepened. How was it possible that you had never spoken of your training under him? He couldn't fathom why you would erase any mention of your master, especially considering the strong bonds that typically formed between Jedi and their mentors.

“What do you mean? Has she never spoken of it?”

The trooper shook his head solemnly. His name had never left your lips. There was no connection with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and your silence regarding your master left him perplexed and troubled. What had transpired to make you erase the very existence of your training and relationship with him from your history? It was a mystery that left him with an unsettling sense of guilt and regret.

Dread settled over Obi-Wan as the clone recounted the events in the medical wing. The last remnants of the company had made it back, battered and bruised, their fallen comrades in tow. However, you were conspicuously absent, having been transported to the medical wing for intensive care due to the injuries you sustained. Without a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan set his sights on the medical facilities.

In his urgency to find you, Obi-Wan maneuvered through the bustling corridors, barely sparing a glance for those he unintentionally bumped into. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low hum of medical machinery. The chaos within the medical wing mirrored the turmoil in Obi-Wan's mind as he scanned the rows of occupied beds and the busy healers tending to the wounded.

He sought your name among the patients but found no trace. Panic tightened its grip on him, as each unoccupied bed intensified his worry. In the organized chaos, Obi-Wan grappled with the fear that he might be too late, that he had lost you in the vast sea of casualties.

"She’s alright. She was moved out of intensive treatment yesterday; she’s recuperating in private quarters on deck five."

Obi-wan's tension eased at Ahsoka's reassurance. The weight that had settled on his shoulders lifted as he absorbed the news. Ahsoka's brief but impactful update became a lifeline, giving him direction in the chaos. Gratitude filled his eyes as he nodded, silently expressing his thanks. The urgency to find you intensified, but now armed with information, he promptly set off towards the turbo-lift, leaving Ahsoka with the unspoken promise that he would find you.

Inside the lift, the monotonous hum did little to alleviate his restlessness, in fact, it made them worse. The usually swift elevators felt unusually slow on this particular day, and he entertained the thought that taking the stairs might have been a faster option. As he impatiently waited unconsciously tapping his boot, the seconds felt like an eternity. When the doors finally opened on the desired floor, he bolted out, the urgency in his steps reflecting as he raced down the corridor. This was the most cardio he’d had in days. His eyes darted around erratically, scanning the room names, and he eventually found yours. 

Adorned next to the door like a beacon, and with a mix of hope and trepidation, he pressed the call button, but only silence answered back. He pushed it again. Then again. And each time the ominous silence was his only response. Mad with anxiety he pushed to override the security lock, a move usually foreign to his respectful nature. 

The door slid open, and his heart stilled, there you were on a sofa bathed in daylight from the small window close to the ceiling. Relief surged through him, but it was fleeting; his heart remained uneasy and it would until he saw some indication that you were truly alive. Striding purposefully, he crossed the room, the force signature around you echoing your weakened condition like a medical monitoring device would communicate a pulse or heartbeat.

The aftermath of battle left its gritty mark across your features—bacta patches firmly affixed your shoulder and upper arm worked to make you whole though the tendrils of bruising could be seen around the borders. The marks on your skin were like a gritty painting, telling the vivid story of explosions, blaster fire, and flying debris. Scratches added rough brushstrokes to your face, tracing the chaotic path of the battlefield. Minor burns left fiery imprints on your neck, marking close encounters with searing heat. Bruises, like somber echoes, formed a mosaic on your arms and hands, narrating the intense dance with projectile-like debris. 

Despite this, you lay in peaceful repose on your side, facing him, eyes closed in sleep; an elusive serenity amidst the chaos of war. Your head was cradled in your arms, one leg casually folded beneath you while the other stretched out, a blanket loosely entwined around your legs and gathered at your waist. As he crouched down to study you, he sought the familiar essence of the padawan he remembered. The passing of thirteen years had left its mark in the longer strands of hair and the refined, soft features that shaped you into a woman, a stark departure from the Padawan he once guided. No longer bound by the apprentice title, you had evolved into a Jedi Knight—a seasoned warrior.

A close call with death, all for the sake of your men who deeply admired you, almost snuffed out your light. But, your command and growing mastery of the Force made him prouder than ever at that moment.

A subtle shift in your sleep saw a strand of your hair falling gently over your face, just over your nose each little breath lifting it slightly, It brought a smile to his face, and for the first time in days, he felt a sense of tranquility, his pulse calming in the warmth of that precious moment. The chaos of the war outside felt distant within the confines of the cozy room.

Unbeknownst to him, his hand had instinctively reached out, delicately brushing the strand of hair away from your face, inadvertently prompting you to stir in your sleep, accompanied by a soft, sleepy groan.

Wakefulness pulled you from the warm embrace of sleep and instinctively you stretched, a grimace of pain crossed your lips as you moved, prompting you to recoil slightly into a ball once more. Then your eyelashes fluttered open gradually met by crystal blue eyes, quickly filling with a storm of fatigue, confusion, and curiosity. 

"Hello, young one," he uttered, his voice a gentle murmur rich with affection, and his smile extended to the corners of his eyes, creating subtle crinkles.

"Obi-Wan?" 

"Yes, it's Obi-Wan."

Was this a dream? It didn't feel like one. You scanned the room, casting a questioning glance at your surroundings and the unfolding reality. Your expression wasn't one of pleasure upon seeing him; instead, it bore confusion and distance, as if you were looking at a stranger. He couldn't ignore the palpable sense of disconnect. Hoping for a misunderstanding, that perhaps you had maintained secrecy for a mission, he observed the passing seconds, realizing it wasn't as simple as that.

"What day is it?" 

Not the question he had expected, but he was so relieved to hear your voice, that it didn’t matter.

"Primday. You've been in medical for two days, released from the intensive treatment wing just yesterday."

Thirteen years melted away, and those familiar, brilliant blue eyes, so kind and warm. Nostalgia washed over you, and you couldn't deny the yearning for the comforting presence of your former master. 

However, as the waves of reminiscence subsided, the reality you'd been avoiding for thirteen years resurfaced. Obi-Wan's knowledge about your condition, coupled with his intense worry, unsettled you, you had to get away from him. Sitting up was a struggle, and as you finally managed to rise, the blanket slipped away, laying bare the toll of battle on your body—a sight that triggered anger, and concern in Obi-Wan's eyes.

A large portion of your left thigh was concealed beneath a sizable bacta patch, and the same superficial injuries that littered the rest of your body continued, it seemed no part of you had been spared, your less-than-optimal state caught him off guard. 

“You should be in a bacta tank! They released you like this?” Obi-Wan was flabbergasted, the worry etched on his face evident. “Come, I’m taking you back to the medical wing.”

“Absolutely not!” Your bold assertion caught him off guard and he stopped, there had only been a handful of times where you had defied your master. You adjusted your tone to a more calm and measured cadence before adding, “The bacta tanks are at capacity, and there are far more injured than I. –I’m fine. Just scratches.”

He blinked rapidly, his concern escalating. “Scratches? These are NOT scratches.” Oblivious to your state of undress, he gestured to your leg. “You were nearly killed! I saw the holo myself!”

Feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, you searched for any excuse to put more space between you and your master. Ignoring his pleas for you to stay put, you tried to stand again, driven by your stubborn nature. It wasn't until Obi-Wan physically stepped in, restraining you, that you finally came to a stop.

“You can't go back like this,” he insisted, “You're in terrible shape, you need time to recover.”

You made a final attempt to push past him, but Obi-Wan wasn't having it. A firm but considerate hand on your chest gently pushed you back, and a wave of discomfort washed over you as the dull throb of your muscles crying out caught up with your exertions. Glancing to the side table, he spotted a hypo syringe, and without hesitation, he reached for it, eager to bring an end to your pain. However, you extended your hand and vehemently shook your head, intensifying his disbelief as you refused pain medication despite the evident discomfort you were in.

“I don’t need it,” you insisted, defiantly rejecting any relief for your pain. Obi-Wan couldn't fathom your refusal, considering the severity of your injuries.

“You were hit by three blaster bolts and blown up, and you refuse pain medicine?” His voice rose unintentionally, a mix of concern and frustration evident. He shook his head in disbelief, disappointed by your seemingly stubborn choices. He set the syringe down and rose turning away from you, hands on his hips trying to make sense of you but you’d never made it easy on him.

“And you expected to make it down the hall, into the turbo life through the halls, and into the squad bay like this?” He gestured vaguely to you and huffed out a breath The internal conflict of caring for someone who refused care etched across his face and he shut his eyes in exasperation. “What am I to do with you?”

The room settled into a calm stillness, and he could feel the Force flowing gently, like a quiet river moving past him. Eager to offer support, he laid a comforting hand on your shoulder, connecting his own Force presence with yours. A tranquil hush filled the space as you both embraced the ancient practice, seeking solace for the aches and pains that lingered.

The room filled with the soothing hum of the Force, a brief moment of relief washing over you like waves tickling at your toes, easing the discomfort. The pain began to melt away, replaced by a comforting warmth. Yet, as soon as you felt his added touch, your eyes snapped open, and you jerked back abruptly cutting off both the Force connection and the physical contact. It was as if you pulled back as if the sensation burned you. Confusion widened his eyes, hurt creasing his handsome features. He lowered his head into his hands, his voice tinged with a tremor of pain as he grappled with the mystery of your sudden distance and coldness toward him.

"What have I done to you?" 

His eyes closed in unbearable agony, and his head bowed forward, hair cascading over his face. 

"How have I wronged you? In what way did I hurt you so profoundly that my own padawan refrains from uttering my name to her company, or anyone else? That she remains a secret, that no one knows she was mine?" 

His?

An ocean of hurt filled those beautiful blue eyes as he looked up, and for the first time, he saw you gaze back at him and actually see him.

"Nothing, you did nothing. Obi-Wan I–" 

Shaking your head, you reached out to him, but this time it was he who recoiled, taking several steps back, attempting to regain control over his faltering composure. Pain welled up within you, the knowledge that you tried to follow what you believed was right, what you were taught was right, and still it had caused harm.

"I must have done something to you for you to treat me this way." His voice carried a hint of indignation now. "Was I too harsh? Unjust? A cruel master? What did I do to make you harbor such hatred towards me?" Hate? 

No, no, no. This was all wrong. What had you done?

"I don't hate you," You pleaded, your voice carrying the weight of regret. "I could never hate you, Obi-Wan."

"Oh? What else am I left to believe? One moment I'm watching you being knighted, the youngest of your clan, my heart swelling with pride at knowing the galaxy will never see another Jedi like you. And the next, you're just gone! No goodbye, no farewells, no communications, nothing. As if the years I trained you were of no consequence, as if the bond that follows a Padawan and Master throughout life meant nothing."

Your heart hurt, and you weren't sure which was more painful: the idea that he thought he had wronged you so much that you hated him, or the realization that you had hurt him and continued to do so.

"That's not what it was." 

Your voice was meek, and you struggled to explain but it felt useless, the damage had ben done, by your hand. You had hoped to avoid this conversation, knowing there was only one inevitable outcome: the loss of your relationship with your master, forever. Yet fate seemed determined to unfold it now.

“Then what? What, padawan?”

As he closed the distance between you, your internal turmoil heightened. You clutched the blanket tighter around yourself, a feeble attempt to shield not just your body but the vulnerability you felt at that moment. 

"Please, don't call me that."

You sank into the protection of the blanket, avoiding the term that carried memories of a time when things were simpler, a time you desperately wanted to distance yourself from. The weight of the past lingered in the air, leaving you exposed and uncertain about the path this conversation would take.

He seemed both confused and offended now. How could such an important name hold such bitterness for you?

“Padawan,” You flinched at hearing him speak the word in what felt like spite, each syllable caressed by his thick Coruscatnti accent.

“Look at me, padawan.” His commanding presence made it difficult to resist, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, you just couldn’t. The last threads of resistance faded when he spoke as he had whenever you were in trouble, “You will obey your Master’s command,” 

Of course, you would. You always would when he called, as instinctive a reaction to you as breathing. Painfully slowly, you looked up eyes still fighting it the whole time hoping he would understand without any further explanation, but stubbornness and snark was something the Great Negotiator was famed for, and he would not be denied any longer. 

As your eyes locked with his, an unexpected vulnerability washed over you, and you felt more naked than you were. It had been more than a decade since you looked into those eyes, yet the magnetic pull was just as potent now as it had been thirteen years ago. You subtly shook your head, silently pleading.

As the seconds passed, realization dawned on him. Your face, colored by shades of shame and embarrassment, betrayed the unspoken truths. The hand reaching up to your temple was the final revelation, leaving you with nothing to do but let him see.

In the jumble of thoughts racing through your interconnected minds, fragments of him surged to the forefront. His deep blue eyes, the warmth of his smile, the soft touch of his hands—all tangled memories, causing a storm within. He saw the moment you grappled with the painful truth: the man you desired could never be truly yours, shackled by the rigid Jedi code and Obi-Wan's unwavering commitment. Faced with this agony, disappearing into the void seemed like the only refuge, a self-imposed exile to shield both of you from inevitable heartache. So, when you had heard Master Yoda speaking of a mission on the other side of the galaxy, you seized the opportunity. Leaving right away? Perfect. Despite hating the choice, it felt like the only way. You’d have done anything to protect him from yourself. 

He understood now, that whenever he uttered "Padawan" the word brought you pain because it was as close as you could ever be. The pain reverberated, and he, peering into your thoughts, could sense it all. As he withdrew, his eyes conveyed not disappointment but a poignant sadness, leaving a lingering ache that cut deeper than any vibroblade could.

The emptiness he left in your thoughts was unbearable. Your head sank into your hands as you whispered apologies—apologies for keeping secrets, for causing him pain, for leaving him, for unintentionally making him believe you were angry or had betrayed him with these unspoken thoughts. The weight of it all overwhelmed you, and grief started to take hold.

"You ran away, for my benefit?" the weight of his words hung heavily in the air. 

With a single nod, you admitted the harsh truth. And what good did it do? The heartbreak you'd been dodging finally caught up with you, but you’d given it one hell of a run.

You could hear him taking a cautious step back as if you were a dangerous threat to him, but then again, weren’t you? The impending void that would stretch between you two loomed now, and it would stretch for far longer than the span of a few years. This was exactly what you'd hoped to avoid—the door opening, him walking away, and leaving behind an emptiness that nothing could fill.

In the aftermath, you'd head back to your company, join your men, skillfully avoid their questions, and bury the sound of his name so deep it might never resurface. No more uttering it, not even in the quiet corners of your mind. The once-warm memories of your kind master guiding you in the Jedi ways would become bittersweet relics, stained by your own choices.

A profound hopelessness settled in as you rested your head against your hands, hair falling like a curtain. You braced for the tears, waiting for the sound of the doors to open and close one final time before you’d let them fall, shutting your eyes tightly to keep them in. Any second now.

However, the doors remained sealed, he was still there. Was he about to scold you? To make you feel more the foolish girl who should have had better control over her stupid emotions? Guess every wound needed a little salt, though, didn’t it? The situation seemed to only get worse and you found yourself wishing that the blast you struggled to hold back might have killed you instead, that you might be spared this pain.

His voice was almost a whisper, prompting you to glance up. "You don’t hate me?"

You shook your head vigorously, "How could I?"

Was there a chance to salvage this? In any way? You struggled to get back on your feet, your movements thwarted by a shooting persistent pain that would sooner see you fail in your attempt to reach him. And stumble you did, barely managing a few steps before you failed, but your master was right there, catching you before you could hit the ground. With his support, you managed to stand, though he still towered over you. His arm wrapped around you, a reassurance that you were safe. This shouldn't be happening, and he should have left, but he stayed. Why? Would this be it? It had to be. 

Giving in to a momentary desire, you let yourself enjoy a small gesture—your fingers slipping through the back of his neck, remembering the softness of his hair. It was shorter now, and although it suited him, you couldn't help but miss the longer locks that used to invite such thoughts.

“What am I to do with you, padawan?”

His choice of words sent a shiver down your spine, but not in the way it used to. There was a strange undertone in his voice, something you hadn't heard before. You had no answers to his question, but it seemed like responses didn't much matter to him. Then, out of the blue, he stooped down and picked you up in his arms, something you'd only dared dream about.

"What're you doing?"

"Taking you to bed, where I can take you properly." 

You froze. What did he say? Could he really mean what you thought he did? There had to be some misunderstanding. Your love-struck brain must be playing tricks on you. Your master wouldn't actually give in to those desires, right? Your blood raced, your heart thundered and your skin tingled as he effortlessly carried you, making your weight seem inconsequential.

The bed, though not exceptionally soft, transformed into the most comforting spot in the galaxy as he tenderly placed you upon it. Kneeling beside you the mattress dipping to accommodate him as well, he cradled your face in his hands, prompting a shaky "Wha-?" from your trembling voice.

"Stubborn girl," his words hung in the air, accompanied by that unforgettable tone, yes, it was slightly critical but there was something else to it. "You're not leaving this bed until you're fully recovered. Understand, Padawan?" Confusion swirled in your mind at hearing his command, but you managed a small nod. "You will obey your master's commands, won't you?" The authoritative tone was unfamiliar, prompting another slow nod from you. "Say it."

"Yes, Master."

"Good girl," he affirmed, drawing closer, and his lips met yours in an unexpectedly ferocious kiss. 

His mouth quickly took control of yours, leaving no room for confusion about what his intentions were when he said ‘take you properly’. It felt like a tempest, threatening to engulf you, carrying you to the darkest depths but after thirteen years of wanting, and needing, the storm could do as it wanted, if he was the storm.

He smelled like blaster fire, adrenaline, smoke, and lightning—the aftermath of the battlefield sticking to him. Mingling with his scent, like the promise of rain, held traces of incense, taking you back to moments meditating in temples and deserts during your years of travel together. It was a smell that whispered safety and felt like home, a unique cologne you'd spend countless credits on. Something you wanted to drown in.

In countless dreams, you'd imagined moments where your master sought you out after hard battles, dangerous missions, or late at night, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you two. You dreamed of clandestine rendezvous with his hand covering your mouth urging you to be quiet. 

Now, it wasn't just a fantasy; it was real. His lips moving against yours, licking at your lips, sucking on the tip of your own tongue, fueled by hunger as intense as that of a starving man, confirmed the reality of the moment.

During your trials, he had worn his beard and mustache, and it had long sparked your carnal curiosity about the sensations they might bring – a persistent tickle or a pleasurable burn? It turned out to be both, exquisitely and painfully so, surpassing the allure of any narcotic. The intensity of his mouth against yours was relentless, lips brushing yours before his tongue entered the equation. It delved into your mouth, leaving your usually sharp mind in a state of struggle, accompanied by shaky moans. Yet, none of it mattered. The moment he pressed himself between your legs, seizing the hem of your shirt, all rational thought vanished. Your hungry mind could only process the overwhelming realization that your master was kissing you, his tongue licking at your mouth, and he was pawing at you, undressing you like your clothes were an unforgivable offense. 

His hands, leaving trails of smoldering embers, intensified the moment, but the euphoria came at a cost. When you moved to discard your shirt, a sharp pain shot through your shoulder, stealing a cry from your lips. Clutching your wound, you fought back the urge to cry.

The sudden sound shattered the enchantment, and his eyes snapped open. He pulled away abruptly, looking as if he were shocked to find himself in this situation with you. Clarity returned to his gaze, and a heavy feeling settled in your stomach as he stepped back, his features clouded with alarm, shaking his head.

"No, we can't," he uttered, releasing you abruptly. In an instant, it was over. A desperate breath escaped you as you reached out, but he vanished.

The urge to scream, cry, or tear down the walls clawed at you, but none of it could change what had just happened. Flopping back on the bed, your shoulder met the mattress with a wince. Anger pulsed through your core, fueled by both the recovering blaster wound and the missed opportunity.

He'd kissed you, and touched you, and just when the promise of something more seemed within reach, it slipped away, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment. The thought of his bare skin against yours, a tantalizing dream, now felt elusive. Despair settled in, but the sudden sound of hurried steps shattered the silence—Obi-Wan's unexpected return.

Before you could fully rise, he gently pressed you back down, his body covering you. His lips sought yours again in a softer, slower kiss, dispelling confusion but introducing a new layer of uncertainty.

He hadn’t left. "Master?" You could barely get the word out before his lips crashed into yours again, a hungry, intense kiss that made you forget about everything—the sudden exit, the unexplained return—all vanished in the heat of the moment. A sharp sting in your arm brought you back, and you pulled away with a surprised 'Ow!' Glancing down, you noticed the hypo-syringe in his hand and the red mark on your arm. "Wha-?"

He came back for another kiss, a hungry and urgent embrace that left you breathless. His tongue teased at your lips, an intrusion you found hard to be angry about. During this heated exchange, he murmured, "I'm sorry," between breathless kisses, his hand entangled in your hair, adding an electrifying thrill to the encounter.

His voice, heavy with sincerity and restraint, trailed down your neck as he continued the assault of hungry kisses. “I don’t want to hurt you,” The tingling sensation from the hypo spread through your body, replacing pain with a welcomed numbness. Now his words made sense – he had injected you with an anesthetic, he wasn’t going anywhere.

"But being gentle is not an option right now," he confessed against your skin, his lips sending shivers down your spine. "And I can't wait any longer."

And neither could you.

His presence enveloped you, a promise to soothe the ache that had haunted you. Rational thoughts and hesitations melted in the passionate exchange, leaving behind an urgent desire for his tongue to dance with yours, to savor the taste of you.

The pain became a distant murmur, overshadowed by the seductive cadence of his armor shedding away. The unmistakable sound of metal parts cascading to the floor filled the air, a harmonious unveiling that played like a haunting melody, laced with the promise of imminent closeness. Each metallic clink and rustle, orchestrated with practiced finesse, blended seamlessly with the mounting heat, composing a sensual symphony that underscored the unfolding intimacy.

"Padawan-” He sounded so full of need. “Have you waited this whole time to touch me, only to just lay there?"

No, you hadn't. Your senses snapped back into focus, and the relentless ache demanded action. Rising up with fiery determination, you seized his lip between your teeth, fingers tangled in his tousled locks. Leg wrapped around his waist, you provocatively thrust your hips into his, stirring a primal hunger. A low, appreciative groan escaped him, and the remaining shreds of restraint evaporated in the scorching intensity of the moment.

“Very good, padawan,” he whispered between searing kisses "Now, tell me what you want. Tell me every craving, every ache you've hidden from your master."

The legendary negotiator, renowned for his poise, eloquence, grace, and dignity in the heat of battle or the midst of a debate, was always portrayed as a polished and composed figure. However, the General Kenobi before you was a stark departure from that image—a persona that sensually grazed your neck with his lips, tenderly explored the curves of your breasts with his hands and moved his hips in a rhythm that ignited an intense passion. This wasn't just the great negotiator; it was the manifestation of a double life—a formidable lover hidden beneath the veneer of a respected leader.

His shorter locks proved to be the perfect handhold, their soft strands entwining with your fingers. The subtle roughness of his beard intensified the already electric atmosphere, adding an extra layer of intensity to the moment. 

In the fiery dance of passion and longing, he'd always preached the power of actions over words. Guided by that intimate lesson, you eagerly set out to unravel the layers of his robes, with a gentle push, he rose back up to stand while you sat on the bed, your hands moving with a fervor fueled by desire. The belt surrendered first, dropping to the ground with a soft thud, the lightsaber noticeably absent, carefully stowed away. Urgently, the ties of his loose robe followed suit in the passionate race to undress him. The linen shirt glided away from his broad shoulders, gracefully descending to the floor, revealing the lush expanse of his bare chest. With unwavering determination, you committed every inch of your master's body to the canvas of your memory, each touch a sensual exploration of his lean, muscled skin, a sensory feast that ignited the flames of desire.

"This." 

Your fingers traced the shape of his already hard length beneath the fabric of his trousers, coaxing a low moan from Obi-Wan against your neck. "Master, I want this." A firm squeeze elicited a shudder, coursing through him as you continued to tease through his clothing. "I want it in my mouth." His breath hitched, and his hips responded eagerly. Slowly untying the laces of his trousers, your hand slipped inside, embracing his him. The guttural groan that escaped him sent warmth rippling through your body. "Between my legs."

Your master's throbbing cock pulsed in your hands, radiating heat against your skin—hard and demanding. Each stroke elicited untamed pleasure, breaking through the disciplined walls the Jedi Order had meticulously built over the decades. The symphony of his responses played out in sensual notes: the quivers across his skin, the ragged gasps, and the vulnerable moans, all orchestrated by your skilled touch. Hypnotized by the power you held over him, you savored every moment, captivated by the way his body reacted to your every movement. How his hips surged forward in a hungry plea as your hand teased and retreated, and then faltered when you squeezed him with deliberate, unhurried strokes. An irresistible urge surged within you, a yearning to fulfill the fantasies that had simmered within your soul for a decade.

“Master, your padawan wants your cock.” 

His hips faltered again at the sheer filth that you spoke of, the way your voice caressed such dirty thoughts, he twitched in your hand and you tried not to moan. Like a siren call you began to dip your head forward, desperate to satisfy the curiosity of how he tasted, your goal so close, a breath away from your lips when it was cruelly ripped away from you. His hand wrapped gently but assertively around your throat giving the softest squeeze that prompted you to rub your thighs together to still the full body shudder. 

“My padawan will learn patience. I asked you to tell me your thoughts, not to carry them out.” 

You wanted to cry, maybe he expected a submissive little padawan.

“Up, further on the bed.” 

He let you go, and you followed his command, scooting back towards the middle of the bed. The intensity of his gaze made it challenging not to tremble. The sight of your master, shirtless, messy hair, swollen lips, and trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips, carried the knowledge that his hard arousal had been in your hands. Knowing you had driven him to that point made obeying his commands a fierce internal struggle. The difficulty only intensified as he knelt on the bed, crawling toward you like a predator closing in on its prey. His eyes held an unfamiliar, burning intensity, setting your own desires ablaze. How was it possible for blue eyes to burn?

His voice, low and commanding, demanded you to lie back, leaving no room for protest. The once-lacy barrier of your panties and bra felt like an unnecessary formality as he leaned over, his arms creating a delicious trap against the bed. Escape wasn't even a consideration, not that you wanted it. He peered at your shoulder, voice holding a hint of soft concern as he asked, "Are you in any pain?" With a shake of your head, A wolfish grin played on his handsome face. "Good. Though, you might when I'm done with you." Oh, stars. Denying you a proper kiss, his tongue traced the trail of desire from your lips down your jaw and neck.

“Going to have to punish you a bit for abandoning your master,” 

What? He was going to punish you? Your heart threatened to burst as his lips drifted down your chest, lavishing every imperfection marring your skin with a sweep of his tongue and a caress of his hands.

Despite having command of the force all your life, the very notion that it may be used against you, that it could be unseen hands acting on Obi-Wan’s will, tearing the rest of your clothes off thrilled you. But he surprised you, it seemed he was more hands-on, the bra you wore was quickly gone and that hot mouth of his found its way to your nipples delicately teasing. Slow and purposeful swipes of his tongue coupled with the soft seal of his lips and the gentle scrape of his teeth made you arch wantonly into his waiting mouth with a whimper. 

Was this what he’d meant about punishment? 

He quickly answered that for you, the gentle vibrations of his moan passing through your teased nipples as he switched from one to treat the other to equal pleasure. 

“Your punishment can wait though,” That eloquently talented tongue of his drew sensual circles that brought a choked sob past your lips. “First, I’m going to take care of my padawan. Make her come for me in all the ways she’s ever dreamed, so she’ll never leave me again,” Your heart skipped a beat, several in fact, “Till her body shakes and she can no longer bear not having my cock in her.” 

He finally released your aching nipples moving down the soft flat expanse of your stomach tongue dipping into your navel. “My powerful,” he kissed your hip, “beautiful,” he sucked on the skin as his fingers tucked into your panties “Sensitive,” and pulled them down your legs. “Neglected,” His breath ghosted over your thigh, tossing the garment aside. “Padawan.” 

Never again would the word Padawan cause you pain, never again would it represent ache and loss and missed opportunities. Your chest rose in shallow breaths and you were fairly certain you were going to have a heart attack. Your eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling before fluttering closed completely, listening to your master's voice, feeling his hot breath on your most delicate body parts. And for a few terrible moments he let you sit there feeling his breath, the occasional brush of his beard on your skin, the anticipation more horrible than a thousand lonely nights with only your fantasies and touch. 

“Master.” You wished you hadn’t sounded so pitiful, so needy and pathetic but you were and you couldn’t help it. Naked on a bed with your master’s breath teasing you between your legs, you were ready to beg. 

“Padawan,” 

The word whispered, barely audible a fraction of eternity passed before you felt the sweetly sinful furnace of his mouth on your lips before his tongue swept past them to taste you. A shrill and sudden intake of breath shattered the stillness of the room, and your hips canted up against his mouth and you cried out in a drawn-out moan. Not in any pain but the desperate tens of thousands of lonely nights where you cried his name in your mind each time you came against your hand. 

His strokes were sweet and slow and left no part of you untouched. You’re lungs seized up momentarily and your brain misfired too many impulses, the instinct to jump away upon the startling contact with his mouth warred the desire to watch him, which also struggled against the urge to seize his hair and beg him to take you right then and there.

All impulses crashed into one another with each broad stroke of his tongue against your pussy, you lay back practically panting desperately trying to remember how to breathe properly, but with every flick of his tongue saw to it that you forgot whatever it was you were trying to remember. 

Your toes curled slightly in shameless pleasure when you felt his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you with the promise of sublime ecstasy to be had if he would only use his fingers. The very ones calloused from years of wielding a lightsaber now brought blistering pleasure with every touch. The sounds of his breathing intermingled with deep groans as he lapped at you like he was dying of thirst, only adding to the symphony of sex you would play over and over in your head until the end of your days. 

As you lay there losing your mind in the velvet embrace of your master’s mouth, Obi-Wan was studying you, learning your pleasure through each taste, stroke, and flick of the tongue. Committing to memory how you reacted when he licked hard or sucked softly the cadence of your breathing and the buck of your hips, what drew sweet whimpers or unabashed moans. He found a rhythm, long, slow broad strokes, that made you gasp each time no matter how often he did it, you could never get used to it. Followed by the quick teasing flutter of his tongue on your clit, fingers sweeping gently along the length of your lips throwing fuel to the fire he that was beginning to rage out of control. The hot lazy hunger of his mouth was better than anything you’d ever felt and it was impossible to keep your eyes open for any length of time, it just felt so good, as if your brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening it would occasionally rapid-fire messages to you as though you were unaware of exactly what was going on.

‘Master’s mouth is between my legs.’

‘Stars! He’s licking me.’

‘He’s going to make me come!’

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the soft sound of a deep and throaty chuckle, the reverberations stole your breath and sidetracked your thoughts.

‘Yes, padawan, you will come for me. Until I grow weary of the noises you make.’

The words played out in your mind as if they came from everywhere echoing off the walls of your thoughts, but when you glanced down, Obi-Wan was focused on you. Not even a teasing expression, his eyes seemed closed in rapture as though he were enjoying an exquisite, delicacy catered to his palette only. And enjoying it thoroughly.

When not dancing teasing touches to your entrance, his hands stroked the inside of your thighs opening your legs further each time, mindful not to agitate your wounds, his touch so delicate that it made your skin tingle with sensitivity. 

It was unbelievable how quickly he’d gotten you so close to cumming but then his voice in your head tell you the most wicked thoughts aided in that considerably. 

Never before did you ever think such a thing would happen, your master hungrily feasting on your pussy. It had to be a dream, it was too good, any moment when you were nearly ready for the rolling torrent of orgasm to crash upon you, you would wake up and cling to the remnants of this dream while hurriedly bringing yourself to climax while muffling any sounds into your pillow.

“No, my padawan, this is no dream. I’m going to make you come for me now.”

His mouth found your clit again, giving it a series of slow licks and gentle, open-mouthed kisses before spreading your lips open giving you no reprieve from that masterful mouth of his. Then he truly went to work on you, stimulating that little bundle of nerves by flicking the tip of his tongue over and over increasing in speed until you could scarcely breathe and your body was writhing on the bed, the moans tumbling from your mouth. Your wails combined with your desperate pleas carried through the room with lick, swirl, and suckle. 

Obi-wan’s voice continued calling to you whispering so many salacious things to you; that he loved how you tasted so sweet to him, “My darling, padawan, your taste is divine, so sweet.” 

That your moans were what he would play in his head when he stroked himself if he couldn’t have you, “Yes, sing for me, tell me how good I’m making you feel,” 

How he knew you were going to strangle his cock when he finally let you have it, “S’going to feel so good when I bury my cock in you, isn’t it? Going to strangle me, aren’t you?” 

How gorgeous you looked like this for him and it was only for him, “So, beautiful all laid out for me, only for me, aren’t you?”

And for each whispered thought in your mind you moaned a ragged “Yes, master! Yes! Yes!”

This was it, he was going to kill you, this was how you would join the living Force, wildly in the throws of orgasm. You couldn’t even manage his name, barely able to utter the first syllable, voice raising in pitch, your body growing rigid as it all culminated towards an exquisite peak. It was the sound of Obi-wan’s half breath, half moan, and the demanding cadence of his order sounding in your mind rising above all other words; the command to come for him, and you did. The thick throaty satisfied moan of a man who wanted to be no other place than between your legs, reverberating through your flesh and raced up your core.

Waves of fire, hotter than any star, more molten than any lightsaber, radiated from your thoroughly stimulated pussy overtaking your body as his mouth worked you over slowly teasing out every ounce of pleasure he could, wringing it from you like water from a rag. 

Repeating the word "Master" like a mantra, a symphony of desire and surrender as you writhed against him. No longer in control, you became a willing captive to the relentless pulses dictated by Obi-Wan. The euphoric journey continued an unending cascade of sensations and shared ecstasy. And it didn’t stop, like a fire it grew more and more intense, shocking you, never before had you experienced sensations like what he was giving you. You just kept coming.

Would it ever stop? The overwhelming wave of pleasure seemed boundless. It was intoxicating, almost too much. As the peak of ecstasy subsided, it left behind little electric shocks of overstimulation with each additional stroke of Obi-Wan's tongue, trying to coax out a little more. The intensity lingered, a sensation that bordered on both pleasure and sweet torment.

The sweet agony of pleasure mixed with the sting of overstimulation was a cruelty of human physiology. You wanted more, a hungry desire pushing him to give you everything. But your body rebelled, aching for a momentary escape from the relentless assault. Your hips wriggled and began to buck trying to throw him off in a wordless plea for him to ease the intensity. Yet, he pressed on, undeterred, as you grappled with the conflicting sensations, lost in the dizzying dance of pleasure and pain.

“Master! Please! No more– I-I can’t!” The way your words sounded so weak and your voice nearly broken seemed to finally reach him and he slowed to a stop, depositing one final deep kiss and drawing an unadulterated moan from you before he finally released your overworked, quivering flesh. 

Your body shivered as he moved up the bed to kiss your lips. The lingering scent and taste of your orgasm clung to his mouth—a mix of sweat and satisfaction, intensified by the unique aroma coming from him. It was potent enough to make you teeter on the brink of another climax, a fortunate secret he remained unaware of.

For some reason you felt like you needed to thank him, which was ridiculous, thank him for what? For giving you the most amazing orgasm you’d ever had? It seemed a bit awkward and out of place but somehow given this new dominant side of your master, he might enjoy that.

He breathed in deeply as if savoring the aftermath of a fulfilling workout. But the look on his face spoke of more than just exertion; it was a blend of delight and contentment.

You, on the other hand, felt a bit like you'd had one too many drinks. The air seemed to swirl around you, and his disheveled hair falling over his face only added to the effect. His smile was downright criminal, it seemed almost unnatural for a man to look so good wearing nothing but a smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled, the word sounding feeble even to your own ears, but Obi-Wan's pleased expression suggested he appreciated the sentiment.

“Did you enjoy that, my little padawan?” The endearment sent a shiver down your spine, and all you could manage was a nod. As his lips met yours once more, a wave of euphoria washed over you. Soft, powerful, firm—his kisses were everything you'd hoped for, stirring desire in every part of your being, and the knowledge that he’s just used that mouth on you made your heart race and your cunt ache.

“Tell me, before I take you, how many?” The question hung between you, a mix of desire and curiosity in Obi-Wan's voice. You were a bit baffled, trying to figure out the context of his question. Orgasms? It wasn’t something you kept tabs on. Sensing your confusion, he clarified, “Men. Lovers. How many?”

An awkward lump formed in your throat as you replied, “None.”

His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. There was a momentary flicker in his expression that could almost be mistaken for anger, but his subsequent fervent return to kissing dispelled that notion. “None? How is that possible? That I am the first to ever touch you like this?”

“The first man.” He froze, his expression shifting to shock at your admission. The truth was, you couldn’t bring yourself to be with a man when the one you desired was out of reach. Women, however...

“I’ve had lovers, just not any men; I didn’t want them.”

“You’ve taken female lovers?” he asked. You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t disapprove. His grin returned, now carrying a wolfish quality, and his mouth found its way back to your breast. His kiss turned fierce, hungry—a prelude to the kind of passion that precedes throwing someone onto a bed and ravishing them.  “Naughty thing,” he murmured. Relief flooded through you, quickly followed by euphoria. “Did you enjoy that? Letting other women touch you?”

"Sometimes." He appeared puzzled, and you nonchalantly shrugged, steering clear of his penetrating gaze. The notion of accepting disappointment felt like a subtle form of judgment.

"Women can be selfish lovers too." The idea of your satisfaction not being guaranteed seemed to trouble him. He shook his head slowly, 'tsking' you, as though imparting guidance on what was and wasn't acceptable.

"That won't do at all," he declared, lowering his lips to yours in a kiss that sent electric shivers down your spine. "I’m going to erase every memory of anyone who’s ever touched you." His tongue danced over your nipple again, barely tasting it and he stopped to savor your little breath. “Going to fuck you until you cry out my name, going to make sure you’re never left wanting again.” With a flick of his tongue, his hand started massaging your other breast, “Would you like that, padawan, for your master to make you feel good?”

“Yes! Please, Master! Please!”

“So respectful when you’ve had your cunt devoured, aren't you?” 

Those words, oh, they hit you in all the right places. You never thought he had it in him—the raw, unfiltered sexuality. Suddenly, you weren't just yearning for his touch; you wanted to be the one to make him quiver and groan, to do to him, what he did to you. To see how your words and caresses could unravel the composed Jedi Master. It wasn't just about fulfilling your own cravings; it was about sharing a dance of passion and exploring uncharted realms of desire together.

Strength surged within you, not the physical kind, but a potent force you had at your command. Calling upon the Force was as natural as breathing, and with a graceful wave of your hand, Obi-Wan found himself unceremoniously tossed onto his back, a look of astonishment etched across his features as if captivated by an unexpected dance. Yes, you had just harnessed the Force against your master.

The sight of your master supine, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath, hair tousled in disarray, trousers precariously low on his hips, and all because you had put him there. His eyes held a mesmerizing blend of surprise and desire, mirroring the emotions flickering within yourself. Seizing the moment before he could recover, you took a daring leap and went in to lay siege.

Obi-Wan, caught off guard by your bold moves, sank into the softness of the bed. Your fingers danced through his hair and beard, jerking his head back to expose his neck, ensuring he wouldn't forget this moment. A low, appreciative purr escaped his chest, silently praising your audacity. With each kiss and playful nip, he seemed to yield to your lead, responding with soft sounds of approval.

You savored the blissful aftermath of victory, those suspended seconds lingering in the air. In that fleeting time, your senses buzzed with playful thoughts, tempting fantasies, and desires long confined. He might have allowed the moment to stretch a bit more, but then came your teasing nips, tracing the spots that made him flinch with delightful sensitivity.

“Want to taste you,” You muttered, fairly certain you hadn’t imagined that little ‘oh.’

"Padawan..." His voice, a touch hoarse, accompanied the journey of your fingers down his ribs and along his toned stomach. Moving closer to the tantalizing waistband of his trousers where your prize awaited you, the desire to feel him in your hand became almost unbearable. Yet, you found justification for a bit more teasing. Fingers dipped just inside the band of his trousers, close enough to feel him twitch and buck at your almost-touches, it was too delicious to only do once.

Perhaps you shouldn't have pushed your luck.

Because, like the fabric of Jedi robes, his patience wore thin. It was then that your Master's restraint snapped, like a stretched cord finally giving way.

In an instant, he grabbed your waist, executing a swift and aggressive flip that left him looming above you, pinning you down on the bed. His body pressed into yours, and a sly grin hinted that the game was about to get a lot more daring. The air hummed with anticipation as he shook his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that left you breathless.

"What were you thinking, Padawan?" His voice, low and husky, carried a thick layer of desire, each word steeped in need. His intense gaze locked onto yours, silently questioning.

"Touching your master without permission?" 

Stunned. You struggled to form a response, your lips moved, and no words broke free. Was he serious? After the intoxicating dance of his mouth had just brought you to an unparalleled climax, he expected you to ask permission to touch him? It felt absurd.

Questions raced through your mind. Was this some kind of test? A dominance play? Your stomach dropped. Maybe this was the punishment he’d spoken of, an exercise in humility? Searching his cerulean eyes for a hint of jest, the intense atmosphere from before remained, now layered with a different kind of tension. He simply shook his head slightly. The weight of his expectation hung in the room, leaving you torn between the impulse to surrender and the desire to meet his challenge with your own fiery response.

 "Yes, I do. I expect my padawan to remain obedient and respectful, no matter how she hungers." 

His fingers lingered just above your cheek, a subtle reminder of his ability to pluck your thoughts effortlessly, like plucking a flower from the grass. However, you had long since outgrown the status of a padawan, having ascended to the rank of Jedi Knight. If he expected pleading or begging, he was in for disappointment. A steely determination cast a shadow across your features. With narrowed eyes, you threw down a challenge. If he sought access to your mind, you were prepared to offer more than he had bargained for.

A coy smile danced on your lips, causing his own smile to falter ever so slightly. That mischievous glint in your eyes was a familiar precursor to something daring, and you had no intention of disappointing your master in this unexplored realm. Shutting your eyes, you tilted your head, letting his fingers brush against your face, shifting the battleground from the physical to the unseen.

Instead of engaging him through physical means, you chose to confront him on the mental plane, projecting your thoughts with an intensity that demanded attention. He took a sharp breath, caught off guard by the rush of images, thoughts, and sounds hitting him like a brisk breeze. The unexpected depth of your mental communication briefly disrupted the seamless flow of the physical connection.

This wasn't just a subtle act of rebellion; it was a declaration that you were no longer the Padawan he once trained. As a Jedi Knight, you wielded more than just a lightsaber—you possessed a will of your own, armed with a bag of tricks beyond anyone's expectations.

Though he could still address you as Padawan to elicit a reaction, you were so much more. Long-concealed thoughts, years hidden in secrecy, surged forth, intertwining with stolen glances and intimate moments—all now laid bare before Obi-Wan.

A mosaic of self-indulgent pleasures unfolded—whispered calls of his name amid moments of personal bliss. Stolen encounters, and lingering desires, all painted a picture of your yearning. The once-private fantasies, meant for the sanctuary of your thoughts, now exposed—a checklist of desires you had secretly harbored for him.

Breathless, he found himself caught in the private corners of your mind, imagined scenes unfolded, that saw you in a passionate dance, bodies entwined, covered in sweat, exploring countless positions. An insatiable hunger for him, even if he lay prone and exhausted, pleading with him for more.

The many ways you wanted to touch him, to pleasure him, and hear him echo your name as you had cried his— to render him powerless and explore his body until he succumbed to climax after climax and could give no more. 

He shivered with excitement, lost in the fantasy of the intense bliss you painted in his mind. Those throaty moans of pleasure felt so real, almost like he could taste them. Surprised by the raw intensity of your craving to taste him and drink him, he moaned your name in the tangled passion, every drop of his essence landing on your eager tongue as he lay back lost of the haze of sex and stimulation.

It wasn't merely about satisfying him; your desire surpassed that. There was an unquenchable hunger for him to seize control, to witness him unrestrained and consumed by passion and dominance. Whether he threw you onto the bed or pressed you against the wall, positions that brought a delightful twinge of discomfort on your end, all aimed at bringing him ecstasy, standing unassisted became an impossible task. The profound intensity of your yearning unfurled like a revelation, taking him by surprise.

The cat was out of the bag; the secret lay bare. Now, with an untamed glint in his eyes, it seemed you might have ventured into territory beyond your expectations.

"Padawan, my sweet, sinful, Padawan," His lips dipped to your ear, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine. "Perhaps I should enlighten you with some of MY thoughts."

Composure became a fleeting notion as he placed his hand firmly on your temple and a rush of sensations overwhelmed you, powerful enough that the right touch might send you into another blinding climax, akin to a torrent of whitewater tossing a stick of dry driftwood.

His unfiltered thoughts surged into your mind, a river of forbidden fantasies and suppressed desires. In the shared space of his consciousness, visions unfurled like an intimate tapestry—a clandestine gallery of how he yearned for you, each scene a seductive exploration of passion.

In one vivid fantasy more powerful than your own, you found yourself pressed against the cold metal of a ship's wall, arms held captive overhead by an unseen force naked while he still wore his full robes. Your leg draped over his shoulder, he knelt before you, entirely at the mercy of his desires, and he had none. He skillfully coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your quivering form, every touch and caress hearing you cry out and wail his name until you were hoarse. Overwhelmed by the sensations, until you were rendered speechless, too weak to utter the word "Master" as pleasure consumed your senses.

Then the landscape shifted with your master now behind you, his hands exploring your body with practiced skill. Fingers danced between your legs, teasing your aching clit, perfectly synchronized with the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips. In the shared intimacy, he praised you, “Such a good girl” and admiring your patience in holding back on coming until he granted permission. His voice, a velvety whisper, encouraged you to hang on, promising to reward your patience but only after he had cum inside you, again.

“You think your desires are greater and darker than my own? So innocent of you…” 

His words hit you like a revelation, unraveling a new side of Obi-Wan Kenobi that forever changed the way you saw him.

Another shift of vision saw you in the High Council Chamber, he sat naked in his seat, his strong thighs spread wide, and there you knelt before him. His hand gripped your hair, guiding his cock down your throat, and you obediently swallowed it all. With a gritty grunt, he demanded you not waste a drop, telling you to swallow all of it, praising your beauty as you served your master on your knees.

Your body pulsed and throbbed with each vision he gave you until the sights, sounds, and sensations grew so powerful all it took was the gentle stroke of his fingers between your legs to set you off. You threw your head back into the bed and moaned as the strength of your orgasm was amplified by your connection to your master as his most private thoughts continued playing in your head.

As he let you go, the fantasies slowly faded, and you found yourself returning to the tangible present. It was like your vision was coming back to focus, bit by bit, from the edges to the center. The room's immediate surroundings started to replace the lingering echoes of those intense daydreams.

In that moment, it was clear—he had won. The sly grin on his face revealed a man who knew he was about to get what he wanted. It was the look of someone who had conquered and was eagerly anticipating claiming their prize.

“Tell me, Padawan, are you ready to ask your master if you can touch him?” 

But there you were, a flicker of fight still dancing in your eyes. Trying to push against him to sit up, that burning desire to kiss him ignited, fueled by a longing to make him yearn for you. You wanted to kindle the flames of passion until he begged for your touch. Yet, your Master had other plans. Suddenly your body refused to cooperate, stubbornly resisting your every attempt. Even the simplest tasks, like wiggling your toes, proved to be impossible.

As your efforts were thwarted, Obi-Wan's grin grew, taking on a dark intensity. His stormy eyes promised something profound, something that transcended the physical. His gaze seemed to revel in the power he held over your immobilized form, piercing through the struggle within.

“Use the Force on your master to tease him, will you? Let us see how you like it?” His lips ghosted over your breast, barely warming your nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. “You will ask permission, Padawan. I can wait.” His mouth enclosed over the hard bud lazily stroking, teeth occasionally grazing as your pathetic little whimpers danced in the air. 

He seemed perfectly content in his torturous teasing, but he had to be aching himself. Had to want to fuck you as badly as you wanted him to fuck you. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair!

"Life is never fair, padawan," he murmured, as if reading the turmoil in your mind. "I had a very different plan for you until you chose to utilize the Force on your master. Now, you'll beg for the privilege to touch me."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and as he continued his fervent exploration, his hands tracing paths on your body that bordered on pain due to the lingering sensitivity from previous climaxes, you couldn't fathom how he remained so composed. The dichotomy of your desperation and his controlled demeanor only added to the maddening allure of the moment.

“You have no idea how much I want to sink my cock into this tight, perfect cunt,” His fingers grazed your lips and you were powerless to stop him, you could barely tremble at his touch. “How badly I want to feel you squeeze my cock, but I’ve not achieved the rank of master without considerable discipline.” 

He returned to your breast sucking harder, as his fingers employed a more delicate touch between your legs, which you were powerless to close, soft, sweet strokes on your thighs, and your lips but cruelly or mercifully avoiding your clit. Your lips trembled at the delicate touch, and in that moment, the unfairness of it all struck you like a tidal wave. 

For years, he had been your mentor, teaching you the art of patience and urging you to play the long game. "Be patient," he would say, "gauge your opponent."

But in the whirlwind of your desires, the very lessons he drilled into you seemed to crumble. Impatience surged, a desperate yearning for instant gratification that clashed with the wise teachings of your master. He offered to fulfill your every desire, promising pleasures beyond imagination. Yet, in your haste to assert newfound power, eager to prove you were more than just his padawan, you discovered there were still lessons for him to teach, more wisdom to share.

Your urgency led to a clash of power dynamics, revealing your master still held the upper hand. A soft sob of frustration escaped, breaking his focused demeanor. His once passionate cerulean eyes now held a glimmer of concern and curiosity as he paused.

"Say the words, padawan," His voice entreated gently, a soft call laced with a plea that tugged at the strings of your stubborn pride. You might have resisted longer if not for the unsaid words that reverberated in the echoes of your mind. "Padawan, please!"

Your eyes shot open, scanning the room for any hint that the desperation in Obi-Wan Kenobi's gaze was just a figment of your imagination. Yet, there it was—a pleading look that intertwined compassion and desire in a delicate dance across his face.

At that moment, it dawned on you: you had won. The silent struggle between you and your former master, the unspoken battle of wills, had reached its conclusion. The walls you'd built around your emotions had crumbled in the face of that unspoken plea. It wasn't about conquest; it was a surrender, and the victory was yours. 

You might be the first to say the words but he was the first to beg.

"Please, Master," Your voice, a sweet melody of desire, reached into the core of his being. His gaze narrowed, and he froze, the invisible bonds around you weakening, his resistance giving way. "Let me touch you, Master," You pleaded sweetly, your words dripping with need. "I want you," You added, turning up the heat until the bonds snapped completely. “Let me taste you, let me have you.”

With their release, he was on your lips again, kissing you with a desperate hunger, untamed and wild. Yet, despite your newfound freedom, you lay still beneath him, a silent presence he couldn't resist. 

"Padawan! Are you going to touch me or not?" 

His outrage was amusing. A playful grin toyed with the corners of your lips, hinting at your delight. 

Feigning innocence, you shot back, "You haven’t given me permission to touch you."

His eyes widened in surprise, a jolt of anticipation coursing through him as a deep, appreciative groan escaped him, acknowledging your skillful play as his Padawan. 

"Darling, please, touch your master," 

With a surge of passion, you seized the moment, fingers seizing his hair with purpose, jerking hard enough that he cried out, a pull that danced on the edge of sweet pain. 

Defying the limits of control, you launched a fervent attack on his lips, reclaiming the kiss with an intensity that screamed desire. Your tongue demanded entry, a forceful and unapologetic dive into the depths of his mouth. A low grunt slipped from him, a mix of surprise and a hint of surrender, adding fuel to the blaze sparking between you. The dance of your intertwined tongues became a symphony of passion, a primal declaration signaling the end of any lingering boundaries.

Your hips rolled into a painfully hard erection, and any trace of Obi-Wan's usual witty banter vanished into the charged air. The playful banter was replaced by a more primal language.

Pushing him onto his back was effortless now; he offered no resistance. Finally. The tension that had once held him captive had melted away into bliss. His half-lidded eyes, lost in a dreamy state, promised memories that would keep you warm for days to come. 

With deliberate intent, you explored every inch of his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. His deep breathing echoed in the room, accompanied by the subtle sounds of contentment that escaped his lips. As your journey continued downward, tracing the path of pleasure, you encountered the nearly pained expression that adorned his face. His chest heaved with anticipation as you approached his trousers, the memory of how close you had been to having him earlier playing in your mind. A grin danced on your lips, fueled by the sharp gasps escaping him, as you mouthed his cock through the fabric.

You couldn't wait to have him, the urgency taking over. The waistband tugged down in a hurry, your mouth watering in anticipation. Your hand wrapped around him, and he stuttered at the touch. His cock, just as perfect as you'd imagined—long, thick, and undeniably eager to be touched—and positively leaking. It felt like the room might collapse when your tongue licked at the pearlescent precum gathering from his weeping cock, you swept around his swollen head, savoring every delicious drop. His hands shook, gripping the bed in an immediate white-knuckled hold. As you kissed it and slowly swallowed the crown of his cock, he howled in ecstasy. The salty taste of him filled your mouth and he wept at the exquisite, wet heat. Jolting with every swirl of your tongue, each lick, and suckle, the delightful vibrations echoing from the back of your throat to his cock.

“Yes!”

His body arched, his signature flickering wildly, and then you truly went to work on him. Wanting to show him exactly how much you had thought of this moment. With each eager motion, you took more of him, brushing off the impending jaw ache. Your master was sprawled on your bed, fervently chanting your name, but coherent words were out of reach. He tasted just perfect, filling your mouth just right. You traced the veins on his cock like an old familiar map, committing every detail to memory. As you slid over his head sucking gently like one would enjoy a sweet treat, his hips surged, and he let out another wild moan of pleasure. 

“Padawan! Padwan! Padawan!” 

But you had more, oh so much more to give him, but you wouldn’t tease him as he had you, you gripped firmly what you couldn’t swallow, and aided by the slickness of your own saliva you stroked and twisted his length in your hand. And your other hand? It didn’t sit idle, no, it reached into his trousers to offer gentle almost tickling caresses to his neglected balls. Lesireuly massaging and softly squeezing. Surely, someone must have heard the moan that tore from his chest, it was primal and almost powerful enough to make you come again. 

The flood of sensations overwhelmed him, a storm of desire and vulnerability that left him at a loss for words. Normally eloquent, his tongue now stumbled in this unfamiliar territory. His disciplined mind, usually a stronghold of wisdom, faltered under the onslaught of passion. Every muscle rebelled against his rational commands, caught in a moment of indecision the muscles of his stomach flexed and contracted wildly. The composed master was briefly overshadowed by raw, primal forces, his tense muscles reflecting the battle of a man surrendering control to overwhelming desire. He became a disheveled mess, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and then tightly shut, breath hitching in short, irregular gasps as if he kept forgetting how to breathe smoothly. His lips clumsily grazed the edge of words, catching and then losing them amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

“Oh! Maker!”

Oh, another word? Impressive. His disciplined nature must be paying off. Using the last bit of strength he had, he propped himself up on his elbows, determined not to miss the spectacle. There you were, between his legs, your lips wrapped around his cock, all slick with your saliva, disappearing into your mouth. It hit the back of your throat in a way that made him shudder from head to toe. He could watch you do that for as long as the stars lit up the sky. It was something else—beautiful, the way you handled his cock like his pleasure belonged to you.

You were determined to extract every ounce of pleasure from him, poised to take him to the brink, so close to tasting him completely, but your mission hit a pause when his hand gently grasped your jaw, urging you to meet his gaze. His needy “Please,” didn’t go unnoticed either. A slender strand of saliva linked your lips to his throbbing length, and the disbelief in his eyes was palpable. It was as if he couldn't fathom witnessing what lay before him. A ragged breath escaped him, followed by a hard swallow. Redirecting your attention from his pulsating, slick arousal, he steered you into a deep, passionate kiss, one you didn't resist.

“Darling, enough foreplay. I need to feel you on my cock. Tell me that’s what you want.” 

His eyes sparkled when you whispered, "I want it, Master," with desire glowing in your own. It made you wonder if anyone had ever been so upfront with him, if anyone had looked into those captivating eyes and just said, "I want you." Had he ever known how it felt to be so openly desired before?

"Good girl, now, up you get." 

He effortlessly lifted you onto his lap, surprising you even more because he didn't employ the Force; it was the strength of his own muscles at play. Observing them flex and shift beneath his skin was nearly as gratifying as witnessing him in the throes of pleasure. He held you over his lap for a moment, lips tangling with yours, muttering against them. 

“Look at me, want to see you properly.”

How could you ignore a request like that? Oh, no, you couldn’t. And with a nod from you, he began to release you.

Never had anything felt as exquisite as the moment his cock slid effortlessly into your pussy. The sensation of that satisfying first stretch surpassed any pleasure you had ever known—far superior to the touch of your own fingers, toys, or any previous lover. As gravity took its course, guiding you down onto him, there was nothing left to say or do. Your head rolled back and you moaned his name. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, every ounce of strength dedicated to maintaining control. Surprisingly, his energy remained entirely serene.

The experience was a symphony of wetness, heat, tightness, and perfect slickness. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close, mirroring the way you squeezed his cock. It was perfect. You would ache for this later, he was right, you’d be sore to the touch everywhere he’d touched you but it would be worth it for the exquisite ecstasy you felt right now.

Damn the code, to hell with forbidden attachments; the High Council could go up in flames for all you cared. In this moment, he belonged to you—every inch of him. His response to your body defied description. He was unequivocally yours.

He uttered your name, his mouth tracing up your neck in search of your lips. "Darling, kiss me."

Not padawan, not master. He called you by your name.

Your lips met his, as he’d asked, sweetly, gently as lovers did. The high of shoving your tongue into hi mouth was wonderful but not so wonderful as this simple brushing of lips the added heat and girth of his cock buried in you, there were no more barriers. You kissed him like that for a few minutes until your cunt throbbed demanding more, then you shifted, rising up savoring the way his lips parted in shock before sliding back down slow enough you could see his eyelashes flutter. “Again,” His voice was so full of need and heat, how could you deny him? The warmth of his breath against your skin was like a balm, soothing every ache, alleviating every burden, and imparting tranquility to long-standing wounds.

As his arms encircled your legs, lifting you up to help you along, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. The dichotomy of wanting to sing or cry left you unable to suppress the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His name escaped your lips again.

His arms held you securely, and he buried his face in your neck, releasing a deeply contented breath. With deliberate slowness, he began to thrust upward. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him up for another smoldering kiss, swallowing his moan.

Passion surged like wildfire between you and the man you had yearned for over the years. The connection between your bodies was intense, each thrust an urgent proclamation of desire. The air was thick with the mingling of hot breaths, punctuated by the sound of lewdly slapping skin and fervent kisses exchanged in the throes of lust.

His movements were powerful and rhythmic, and left you gasping for more, all you could do was hang on. With every thrust, he hit that perfect angle that sent shivers through your entire body. The sensation was electric, a tantalizing dance on the precipice of pleasure.

As your breaths intertwined, the shared rhythm hinted at the imminent climax, drawing you both closer to the edge. 

In the throes of passion, your murmurs of his name reverberated against his lips as he quickened the pace, both of you on the precipice of an imminent release. The urgency in your voice only fueled his desire, and he nodded in approval as you moaned: 

"Obi-Wan…"

Encouraged by your compliance, he implored you for more, his hunger evident. "Again, darling, say it again!"

In a cascade of breathless utterances, you willingly complied, chanting his name with increasing fervor. 

"Obi-wan! Obi-wan! Obi-wan!"

With a fluid blend of strength, grace, and skill, he effortlessly tipped you onto your back. The swift change momentarily took you by surprise, but before the disorientation settled, he surged back into you with newfound intensity. Each movement reached deeper, and he committed his entire weight to each forceful thrust, immersing both of you in a realm of heightened pleasure.

His frame shook with each thrust, and with every motion, he felt a piece of himself slipping away, lost in the fervor of the moment. Desperation marked his every move as he teetered on the precipice of oblivion, but determined to hold off just a little longer. The urgency in his actions spoke of a desire to witness you unraveling in the throes of pleasure, to experience the cascade of ecstasy like a tidal wave crashing over him.

His fingers laced with yours, holding a connection that transcended the physical, while his kisses conveyed a hunger that mirrored the intensity of the act. Amid groans and the forceful snap of his hips, he dropped his lips to your ear, breathing hot against your skin.

"Come, darling, come for me!" He moved with an increasingly wild and intense rhythm, his passion reaching new heights. The affectionate term "Padawan" slipped from his lips like a whispered plea, an irresistible command, urging you to surrender to the pleasure he was offering, to climax for your master.

And you did, your body arching in response to the unrelenting intensity, hips bucking wildly against his, meeting his every thrust. Lips locked with his, you welcomed the furious pace he set each time he bottomed out, your bodies entwined in a dance without inhibitions. He threw his weight behind every motion, determined to make you feel every bit of him, to give you everything he had.

His desperate cries of "Padawan!" grew louder in the heated air, a mantra underscoring the intimacy of the moment. The repetition of the endearing term only served to heighten the exquisite pleasure, acknowledging a connection that surpassed the physical act. As he reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, a shudder ran through his entire body, and a helplessly primal howl escaped his lips. The heat of his seed spilling deep within you was the final catalyst, triggering a powerful climax of your own that rocked your entire body.

The Obi-Wan Kenobi you knew, with all his composure and eloquence, had vanished into thin air. In his place was a man, wild and satisfied, fucking you senseless, thrusting his erupting cock hurriedly back into your cunt as though he might die if he stopped. It just kept coming, he thrust harder with each rope you pulled from him until his body had nothing left to give and he began to still after one final hard thrust.

His breaths slowed, and he fought to stay upright. The only thing keeping him from melting into the mattress and pulling you into him entirely was the awareness of your injuries. Thankfully, the pain that had plagued you earlier had quieted down during your passionate love-making, granting a brief moment of relief. His cerulean eyes shifted from the storm of passion to their usual cool and compassionate state. The aftermath unfolded a scene of vulnerability—echoes of shared passion and lingering concerns for your well-being.

He wrapped his arm around you, drawing you close, and skillfully rolled both of you onto your sides. With his arm firmly around your waist, he stayed seated, still in your warmth, unwilling to leave it just yet.

In the ensuing silence, the room was filled only with the sounds of your shared and labored breathing. 

"Are you alright?" His voice returned to its soft and warm timbre, the familiar hum that felt like a safe, warm home. When you remained silent, he shifted slightly, concern lacing his words, "Darling, is your leg in any pain?" Despite his own exhaustion, his concern for your well-being was touching. The way he called you darling further added to your sated state, and it made you smile.

"What leg?" 

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, a comforting warmth you hadn't felt in ages. Shifting to a more serious tone, he inquired again about your injuries, but the light-hearted demeanor lingered.

"I don’t care. Ask me in the morning," You replied unbothered, arms wrapping around his neck. Nestling into the comforting warmth of his chest, you threw a leg around his hips, pulling him closer. His gasp of pleasure, maybe mixed with a hint of overstimulation, brought a satisfied smile to your face, ignoring the subtle throb echoing through your body. It was worth it—the pains, the frustrations—just to lie in your master's arms, his cock still buried in you basking in warmth, safety, and a newfound satisfaction.

"Mmm, Master?" You murmured, your voice laced with the weight of drowsiness.

He chuckled bashfully, "Darling, you don't have to call me Master, anymore."

"Just trying to be an obedient padawan," you teased, planting a kiss on the sensitive spot on his neck, earning a delightful twitch from his cock.

"Careful, darling. I still owe you a punishment for abandoning me," He playfully reminded, his words hanging in the air. "What was your question?"

"If I abandon you again, and you happened to find me. Would you follow through with your 'punishment' against the wall on a ship?" 

The recollection of that fantasy, coupled with the echo of his playful threat, coaxed a deep groan from him, as both of you relived those shared fantasies. "Please, Master?" You breathed against his neck, your request underscored by a subtle roll of your hips.

His arm wrapped possessively around you, the warmth of his breath tingling against your ear. A soft growl slipped past his lips, melding with the restrained rhythm of his hips, you could feel him driving into you once more wringing out a moan from your lips. His voice, tinged with both amusement and authority, whispered,

"It seems my Padawan still needs a bit of instruction."

Why, yes, there's more...

~~~

If you would like to see more stuff like this (reader inserts) let me know and let me know if you'd like to join the tag list! For my faithful Obi-Wan content readers! @split-spectrum (you helped inspire this!), @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle @decembermidnight

Alright! I need a cigarette!

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #star wars #obiwan kenobi smut #general kenobi #obiwan x reader #obi wan x reader #reader insert #x reader #obi-wan x you #sweet smut #master x padawan #master kink #Dom obi-wan #master kenobi #clone wars #needy obi-wan #wounded reader #all the smut

[suguru-getos]

| Aftermath | Keigo Takami x f!TherapistReader |

-> chapter one

summary: hawks who has just lost his quirk in the war & coping with his life as a quirkless man, decides to finally listen to his own self & seek therapy. why did he choose a quirkless therapist? maybe to seek solidarity— or maybe, he hoped you’d not judge him.

warnings: therapy, childhood!trauma, bnha!spoilers, mentions of inner child healing, keigo talks about his childhood, mentions of toxic!parenting, cocky!kei as always.

a/n: don't mind me giving my comfort character and my loml some healing lmaooo <33 i had sm fun writing this istg it made my heart warm. this is a slow burn fic, and the reader is a self-insert on some points because i can get self indulgent tehee!!

You wandered aimlessly, looking around the suite-like cabin and then down the skyline. Tokyo was always beautiful, even now when winters had just started to greet. There was a foggy blanket of clouds covering the labyrinth of buildings and you could never get over it. With your next client, it was obvious your thoughts were along the lines of… an Angel flying out in the skies keeping everyone safe, now reduced to someone without wings. Still an Angel though, but that's what you think. Maybe he doesn't.

You grimly sighed when your eyes wandered at the clock, there were still 30 minutes to your appointment, normally… someone like you would never get the opportunity to deal with heroes so popular. Hawks was a no show after the war, people thought he had died. People thought he left Japan for good. Though a faint glimmer of hope always made you want to believe he's still around. To your surprise when he was your client, you felt a knot on your stomach churn with anticipation and excitement.

You sat on your velvety chair, the lights dim and comfortable to the modernized architecture of your office. You gulped, opening his file and looking at the passport photograph of him. The scar he got in one of the fights in which a villain named Dabi publicized his kill was there, siren eyes staring into your very soul were there. How could you even try to open up someone who looks so ethereal and so threatening at the same time. You feel just as nervous as your first time, the personality that Hawks carries eating away at you slowly. You shook your head, jerking the thoughts away. Be professional, he is a client and you're doing your job.

If you hadn't been so dazed by your favorite hero and your crush; you were quite a number yourself. Cut-throat, not afraid to walk the talk, stern, fierce, kind and disciplined. People respect you and you command it when they don't. Not afraid to force someone to bend the knee if they indulge in animosity with you. It's just… Hawks was someone you admired oh-so-much! You had his merch and posters after all. Not that he would get to know that, oh no. That'd never happen.

Takami Keigo, 26, Born on December 28th. Blood group B+, MBTI-> ENTP, Schooling and training and everything was blank. Difficult, this would be a difficult case to deal with.

How did you fangirl over him? Well, that's perhaps for another day.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. He's here." Your assistant opened the door with a knock and you felt your stomach sink, biting your lip nervously and clearing your throat to gain composure.

"Hey there doc!" there he was, with his magical grin and long palms raised up to his eye level as he waved. Wearing denims and a loose fitted white T-Shirt. Casual, cute, confident.

"Oh hello Hawks!" You manifested the same energy, greeting him respectfully by standing up and bowing a little. "Jeez, can't get rid of the name yet huh?" He chuckles, though your mind has already starting to process if it was a fake one, the carefully crafted hero chuckle or was he genuinely this chill.

"I don't think so, whether or not you do hero work, you own the name." you responded with a smile, ushering him to take his seat. Oh he manspreads, leaning back and getting comfortable. Makes you wonder if he can see through the cracks of your personality just as you're trying to see in his. Who will unfold who first…

You closed the client book you had, looking into the beautiful goldens of his eyes and making eye contact. "So, I know the first session is usually the most awkward one. People try to get to know their shrink before letting themselves to open up." You glanced, and Hawks looked like he would devour you whole. He looked invested in your words, not in a faking concentration way… in a 'I will listen to what you have to say' way.

"Allow me to share some stuff about myself then, my name is Y/N. I am a therapist good morning. Apart from that, I like to participate in various hobbies like kickboxing, journalling, playing games, spending time with my cat, yada yada. I am an INTJ, I think MBTI has started taking the same wavelength in Japan as Korea huh? Everyone's obsessed with em' I think."

"Well" Hawks clicked his tongue, clearly unamused by your introduction, it was brief and curt. Not a fair deal for someone who will unravel him… then again, you are his therapist, not vice versa.

"I think so too, do you know, a lot of the fans pretend to be INTJs because they tend to be compatible with ENTPs?" He chuckled, rolling his eyes. God he does know everything… there was a whole article about this. "We could do the quiz together if you have your concerns." "Shyeah- no, I don't. Just sharin' yknow?" he winked, noticing how you nervously pressed your legs together. He was wearing Killian's Angel Share, and Bad Boy… one of your favorite scents & the effects were almost affecting you almost at a subconscious level.

"Mkay, gotcha! So, anyways… I don't want to force you to open up, take your time in it. Let's start simple. How are you?" You asked Hawks, and for a moment, the barest of seconds, you could see his eyes turn to a void. "Yeah, good, never been better you know? Vacationing now that I have a sick ton of money with practically nothin' to do. Ain't gonna waste it otherwise by being depressed."

You clicked your tongue, oh he would not open up huh? Well, not that you expected this to be an easy ride either. "Yeah, of course. Money does help… helps everyone. At the end of the day I'm sitting on this chair to be paid a hefty by you." You hum, crossing your legs and getting comfortable too. This would be a fierce mental war already. From the determination of a hero and from a healer who's been sought out by the same hero.

"Then again, it isn't everything."

Oh except if you could tell that to childhood Hawks, it was… it was everything. His eyes pale with the answer a little. "Led a very comfortable life haven't you?" He smirked, giving you a miniscule opening.

"Yeah, luckily." You responded, smiling… "Clearly you haven't."

Hawks stood silent at that, and that was an answer enough.

"You were a rich kid since you started your agency, was this your teens or childhood?" Before Hawks could decipher, the session had already begun.

"Well, I was the viral news subject after they found out I was Thief Takami's son." He raised a brow, and you nodded. "Shitty murderer dad, mum?" You felt bad on being so professional, but you also felt Hawks would push you away if you were too kind. Some people have stopped treating him as a person ever since All for One had taken his quirk away.

"Mum was well, absent, mentally." He responded, and shrugged. "Dad was abusive, used to beat me up as a child and mum was too engrossed in her own shit I suppose. Happy for her that she has a new life with a new husband and new kids." It was amusing how Hawks didn't sound salty about it… it could only mean detachment to the finest. A befitting coping mechanism.

"You didn't have to go through that, I'm guessing if I needed to ever, talk to baby Hawks, I can't have a childhood photograph?" You glanced hopefully. "Nah, not a single childhood photograph. Dad was too paranoid of things and mum didn't care."

"We usually uh, have this exercise you know? That you'd keep a picture of your childhood self at your bathroom mirror and remember who you're talking about whenever you feel self-doubt." You smiled, looking into his eyes with empathy but no pity.

"Well, too bad." He chuckled, embarrassed and definitely not liking this emotion.

"Who cares at the end of the day, it's just the first few years of your life." He responded again balming his own thoughts more so than talking to you.

"Yeah, but every phase of our life is important. When your father abused you, hit you, didn't you feel enraged? Or scared? Or both?" You bit your lip, trying to mentally detach as much as possible.

"I felt nothing. I just wanted to not end up like them. If I was as angry as him, then I would become like him. Even my childhood self knew I'm better than that." There was pride in his eyes when he said so.

"True, yes, however… no expectations from your mum to save you?" Hawks shook his head no, shrugging. "She'd get beaten up too."

You nodded, not writing anything down on the paper just yet.

"Alright, I want you to do something for me." He raised a brow when you said that, "I don't want us to traverse further until you try doing this, mkay?" You grinned, "Imagine someone coming to your home, breaking the door at the moment of your abuse, that someone is you. The big, pro hero, you. Then, I'd like you to hold little Keigo's hand, and take him out. How about that?"

Hawks gave you an expression which was a mixture of 'How absurd' and 'Interesting'.

"Do that for me, and do that as many times and in as many scenarios you feel like you needed to be protected. You needed to be healed from." You coo softly… meanwhile Hawks' brain lagged at you saying 'Little Keigo'. So far he thought you didn't know his name… despite it being telecasted worldwide. No, you just refer to old Keigo as Hawks, but little Keigo isn't Hawks… he's just Keigo.

Was he reading too much into this? Would you soon bridge the gap between little Keigo and Hawks? Would you call him Keigo too?

The alarm clock chimed, time was over. You glanced at it and then back at him. "Well, guess you wouldn't be bored anymore, of me." "Hey, give yourself some credit little Shrink." he winked, smirking, "You're really good at this, can't wait to see you next time." "Don't come until you don't do what I asked." "Sure thing jeez."

With that, he left, and you could almost kill yourself at the way you tried to imagine little Hawks in pain. No, attaching to clients is the biggest NO. Yet, you can't help but feel positive tingles at the thought of him doing that little exercise and telling you about it.

Until next time, Keigo Takami.

#hawks #hawks bnha #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha angst #hawks bnha angst #bnha spoilers #keigo takami #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #hawks x reader angst #bnha comfort #mha comfort #mha x reader angst #mha x reader comfort #aftermath hawks #hawks x f! reader #keigo takami x reader

[honestsycrets]

HELLO, HELLO! Okay, so this drabble prompt/idea is kinda sorta in the vein of Querido (I only think about Old Western Miguel now I cannot help it pls forgive me head empty only man and hörse), so pls skip if you're not inspired or in the mood for more in this genre!

Still, I offer you this: Sheriff Miguel.

He's someone all the women have their eyes on, and he'd have his eyes on them, too, if he were younger. But he has a baby girl to worry about, a runaway wife to forget, and a town to keep an eye on, especially when a woman from the big city pays the little down a visit.

He meets her when he loses Gabriella in the market's crowd, only to find her tugging on a fine dress belonging to a fine woman.

(P.S. reading your writing has inspired me to get back into writing my own reader insert stuff 💖 really love your work, keep it up!!)

bumblebee | sheriff!miguel x dressmaker!reader

❛ pairing | sheriff-singleparent!miguel o'hara x dressmaker!reader

❛ type | extended drabble, not-explicit, wc: 2600ish

❛ summary | miguel loses his daughter-- and finds a part of himself he thought was long past dead.

❛ tags | self-edited, querido au, f!reader, sheriff!miguel, dressmaker!reader, implied parental abandonment, some mention of thievery, widowed!reader, mostly fluff, some mention of death, spanish not translated.

❛ sy's notes | i intended this to be a drabble but... it's quite a bit longer. anon, i hope you end up writing to your heart's content.

Miguel ain’t the kinda man women really need. He’s the kinda man they think they want. A big man with a big name, sure, but he’s saddled with what their fathers colloquially call baggage. A little three-year-old girl with ambitions of rolling on out of this little town by rolling on out of his fingertips. 

“Oye, Gwen,” he catches the arm of his deputy. She’s out on the town just as he was, making rounds about the grassy plain where the market was booming. With too few stalls, the marketgoers visit full wooden wagons chock-full of goods. This year, there were new boxes of small circular chocolates. Once every year, his quiet little town became a bustling fuck fest with foreigners running a muck of it all. As sheriff, he just had to deal with it. 

“What’s it, sheriff?” she asks. “Something wrong?” 

“You seen my littlin anywhere? Swore she was right here.”

This is his penance for fooling around with the hearts of pretty women: chasing him his own little girl and minding the crowd. His long, slicked-back hair was all kinds of out of place, whirling over his wrinkled forehead. He shoves a strand of grey hair back in place out of his dark eyes and scans his little town. She could’ve slipped into any creaky old building that wasn't locked up or hitched a ride on a wagon she didn’t belong on. Or, alternatively…

“Miguel! Rio saw her by the sweets.” Former Sherriff Morales tells him, standing by his son’s stall of sweet roasted corn. Ordinarily, he’d give it a begrudging visit. Miguel whirls around on his muddy leather boots, throwing him a nod of thanks with Gwen short on his tail. 

“Sounds promisin’,” she says. “Could be searchin’ for Lyla or Peter.” 

“Thank you for the help, Sheriff,” he grumbled, shoving his way past a sea of cream, brown, and black dresses. Gwen could spider her way through the groups of people with her comparatively slender frame. As a consequence of Miguel’s hulking frame, he’s markedly slower in his search.

“Ain’t here either,” Gwen hops back to his side. “You sure she wandered off?” 

"She had to."

The alternative was… well, he didn't want to think about it. Out of his periphery, he caught the glimmer of polished metal. He spots his daughter’s peachy dress, bundled up with a fat white bow complete with a bell. He put the thing on thinking that, ideally, his little girl would jingle up some hell of noise if she got lost. Some good that bell did. 

“You lost mi amor?” 

Lost. The word stands out to him first, all dressed up in a sugar cube of a voice. His Gabriella tugs on a stranger’s long gown, eyes pricked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Of all the people-- she couldn’t just pick on someone she knew? Head to Rio’s hostel, find Deputy Gwen stalking around, or even Hobie’s bum ass strumming a tune on the old stage. No, she’s with a strange woman. 

“Now don’t you cry,” you dab away the stray tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll find you home.” 

You’re not from here because you’re all done up like a buttercup in spring when the women here only broke out color for church. Corset sucking in the finest assets, a buttercream bustle underneath that buttercup yellow skirt. Hair up in a waterfall of curls and covered by a small slouched hat of flowers. You held a parasol for the evening sun, keeping it off your tanned skin. 

“There,” Miguel set his hands on his hips, catching his head in a shake. Gwen leans over on the ball of her feet and stares straight down the barrel of a path. 

“My my,” she says. “Ain’t she a looker. Why are you-- You look good, Miguel.” 

She’s caught on his frantic fiddling. The way Miguel straightens his tie into his waistcoat and checks the chain that drapes along his side. He checks the time on his cracked pocketwatch and spins it between his fingers. Gwen leans up to flick a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“Think so?” 

“Entirely presentable.” 

"¿De veras?" Miguel clears his throat, “Best be on my way to get her.” Miguel loops his fingers on his fine leather belt and waltzes right on up to your stall of hand-sewn dresses. 

For once in his life, he feels underdressed. A man sets some coins in your hand, plucking up a small communion dress for his daughter. With ruffles, lace, and the occasional ribbon. He’s not sure how much luck you’d have selling more than scraps of ribbon in this little town. You set the coins aside, turning your attention back to his daughter who-- somehow, got a brand new ribbon bundled in her ponytail between his fiddling and the walk over.

“Buenas tardes,” he clears his throat, whipping out his metal badge. “I’m Sherriff O’Hara.” 

“Encantada, Sheriff O’Hara. You’re looking as pretty as a penny this fine afternoon. Can’t be wanting any of my dresses. My name is… well, how can I help you?” 

“Papa,” Gabriella coos as if this whole mess wasn’t on her tiny little shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, not yet.

“Yes, mami, Sheriff O’Hara. Do you know old Sheriff O’Hara?” Miguel suppresses his delight as you lift her up onto your hip. Most days, he didn’t notice his own melancholy. Coming home to his little girl soothed all that like a good helping of booze after a bad wound. “She likes you.” 

You sure talk pretty. He clears his throat, pulling on the sloppy tie that feels a whole lot hotter all of a sudden. He shouldn't be acting like this. Has it really been that long since he’s been with a girl? He couldn't go to the saloon and pick any one of those lovesick girls. The town wouldn’t continually elect a loose man. Miguel’s eyes catch the flickering gold of a bumblebee locket on your chest. He traces the curve of its wings, wrapping around a crusted gem.

“‘Course she does, she’s my girl. I lost Gabi up in the crowd flow.” 

“You lost her? You can’t tell me you’re the kinda man that does it all. Where is your wife?”

Where is your wife? The question tormented him. He could do it all. Managing the sloppy, slow thieves and putting down the occasional drunken brawl. At the end of the night, he came home to his empty home and saw his little girl. Miguel’s gaze danced along the puffy clouds in the sky. The fluffy clouds drift the same as usual, the same old slow draw, unknowledgeable about the change in his life. He suppresses the distant melancholy in his voice in surfacing old memories. 

“Ain’t got a wife. She ran off on me with some wolf. Usually, I got a sitter for my girl but, she came down with a fever.”

“A wolf?” you repeat after him, “Why, you mean a gentleman?” 

A gentleman, he scoffs under his breath.

“If you wanna call him that. He was an outlaw.” 

“I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff.”  You looked at the little girl in your arms. Gabriella’s small fingers fiddle with the glimmering gold pendant on your chest. He throws her a look-- behave. She’s not paying attention one bit. You set your parasol down, freeing the necklace and setting it in her tiny fist. “I’m a whole widow myself. Lost my man in the war and never got the chance to have one’a my own.” 

“You don’t say. You on the market?”

“On the market like cattle?” you teased. If he’s not mistaken, that shy smile of yours was all his. Maybe you like him. It's a signal that he could keep going. 

“Coño, no. You’re too fine for that,” the words are buttery smooth, but upon discovering how the words may come off, he realizes he might be sliding into a trap on the back of those words. Your lips are slightly agape, half in shock. “Pretty. You’re too pretty.” 

“Oh, Sheriff, don’t worry your head,” you adjust Gabriella on your hip, swaying in place like it was natural. “I ain’t one to take offense to pretty words. Suppose you want your niña back?” 

There went his chance.

"That'd be best," he slides his hands underneath Gabriella’s tiny arms to pick her up. The pendant she held clattered free from her grip, nestled in the deep grass. You were about to pick it up when a scrawny thing of a man swiped it from the grass. For an instant, Miguel thought it might be Pavi, who loved to be helpful in the most annoying ways. Catching doors even when it's men, dropping his scarf on mud for girls, a charming and shy kid. It isn’t, though, it’s that weasel he seems to be throwing in the pin every damn week, bolting off in a full-on run. 

“Ay, not my locket!” you gasped, plucking your skirts over your boots. 

“Maldito niño--” Miguel stops you, sliding Gabriella back into your arms. Not that she was complaining, tiny hands slapping together in a rendition of applause as Miguel darted after him, his booming steps beating the ground. “Get back here, kid!”  

“Dios, you sure have a busy papa. I'm sure he’ll back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” You looked between the little girl nestled comfortably in your arms and the parting sea of the crowd. Gwen zooms past, eliciting another round of jovial laughter from Gabriella O’Hara. She does love a good game.

It ain’t that Miguel wants to leave his girl with any old fool that waltzed on into his town. But he knows his community, knows they’d not leave him out to dry, and knows that taking his daughter on a town-wide chase with a skinny little weasel around town is not the move. Especially not if he has a gun, which he did, because of course he did. Now, the man has a jail cell and Miguel has a crook in his neck from where the buffoon fell through the crooked second floor of the post office.

He works the sore muscle the whole way back to your wagon. It’s high time for eating. His stomach was raging after the scent of someone’s pulled pork, the roasted sweetness of corn. If we wanted to be presentable then, he sure wasn’t now. Dust was a second skin on his pants and aged boots. He walks past the platform where Hobie plays a tune with his banda. Most vendors were wrapping right on up for some proper debauchery.

He finds you there, swaying to the beat of the music with Gabriella hanging in your arms. Her tiny hands were around an ear of elote already. Guess she extorted a snack out of you. 

“One gold locket,” Miguel heaves out the words as he digs in his pocket, whirling the golden chain into your small hand. You flip it over once, then twice, examining it for any defects. “Better to keep that tucked away out here. Puts a target on your back right quick.”

“Muchísimas gracias, sheriff. You're a sweetheart,” you reach out, grazing his scratchy cheek with your supple lips. Gabriella is flatly squished between his sweaty chest and yours. She’s fallen asleep flat against your chest. “You don’t know how much this necklace means to me.” 

There are whispers from the women he’s turned down. The viejitas who have been trying to set him up for a full-on year now, those who told him he needed to find a girl as soon as possible to marry. He didn’t want to. Not unless it made sense. 

“Yes, well, you could tell me,” Miguel finally picks his daughter from your arms. She’s out like a light. “If you want.” 

“It was my mami's, once upon a time. She gave it to me on my wedding day," you explain. "It's all I got left of her. I wonder what she'd think of me these days, travelin' town to town like I got secrets."

"You ever think of settlin' down again?" He turns his gaze past Hobie’s banda, to the yellowing sky. The sun is setting out over the horizon, casting warm orange and soft pink into the air. The road is full of wagons. The clip-clop of horses running their way to the next town, some checked in to the hostel.

"A veces," you explain. "If it feels right, I think I will."

"Yeah?" He settles on the bed of your wagon. The dresses were packaged and kept in locked chests, kept away from the bed of the wagon where your blanket was. Most of the foreigners have left, but you. He doesn’t have to guess to know that it was his fault. “You off to Rio’s hostel?” 

“‘fraid I’m out of town,” you smiled at him. “She ain’t got any rooms. Next city over might.” 

“Stay with me,” he says. “The night. Bit too late to get robbed on the road with all them pretty dresses you make. Wouldn’t be right to be sheriff and let a young thing out there without company. Some'a them outlaws take wives that way, y'know.” 

“Oh, Sheriff O’Hara, ain’t no one care about widows on the road,” your hand finds your chest. It’s said with a laugh, as though someone, somewhere, made you feel less than. It wasn’t going to be Miguel.

"Ain't a widow if you're carried off." He reclines, watching the figures of couples dancing to whatever the hell Hobie was playing on his guitar. His eyes track over Hobie’s gloved fingers that prance across the strings, waiting for you to walk back on that stupid comment. You do, snapping out a fan in the waist of your heavy dress to fan yourself.

“You really sure? I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sure you got better to do than take care of company.” 

“You took care of my girl. Least I could do. Long as you go to church in the morning.” 

“Oh, now he’s askin’ me to church. When’s the wedding, Sherriff?” 

“Miguel. Soon as you want it,” he returns, half a smile pulling at a normally closed-off face. Miguel turns to set his Gabi down on your blanket, throwing you a look for permission. You nod, watching her roll on the wool thing, setting her hands under her cheek until she gets into a position that isn’t as bad as laying on her back. He tucks her hair back over the shell of her ear, exhaling a breath. Somewhere between his ex-wife’s flight from the town and today, she began to look more and more like him. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t need more memories of her. Only needed to get through each day, and make the next better than the one before.

“She’s tuckered out,” you lean down, just by his face. “All that escapin’ papa work.” 

“Si,” Miguel hums as he massages his sore shoulder. “Tell me about it. I’m getting too old for this.” 

He lifts his head from his daughter’s tiny body, reminded of all the times someone told him to get married. If not the women chasing him around his jail at all hours of the day, then the women at church who, at the moment, were gossiping away. He could hear the prattle already: sheriff likes rich girls. The type to have a golden locket and French silk. The luxury of hopping from town to town like some no-good woman. He’d wager, your husband ain’t had the money to take care of you but for these light luxuries. Traveling town to town wasn't no small feat.

Tch. He’d deal with it tomorrow when he took you to church. Scandalous as that was.

“Fancy a dance?” he offered up his hand. 

You remove your gloves, skin is soft and supple against his, only marred by the pricks of a needle. Your gloved fingers grazed his scarred palm, tracing the long strike that marred his open palm. There’s a thought there, just behind the reach of your playful eyes. He couldn’t quite reach it. 

“I’d love to, Miguel.” 

Something tells him he has time to.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miggy x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara drabble #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman 2099 x reader

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (8)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Whether or not this is a story, does it really matter if characters are living fleshed out lives in their own perception of the world? This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-writes @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2

You walk next to Jade along the beach, feet sinking into the sand. Your shoes dangle from their tied laces in your hand. The feeling of the grains shifting around your feet, the sound of waves lapping on the shore, they feel soothing in a way. Even though the winds are stronger today and there are dangers you can’t see lurking beneath the waves, you don’t worry because you have Jade beside you. Reliable, constant, safe. You can’t even be sure how long you’ve been thinking of him this way anymore.

An hour earlier, you were in a meeting with Walrus about the dead assassin’s body. Apparently, there are multiple layers of magic shrouding it that require some time to break. Nothing conclusive yet, but at least there’s a glimmer of hope. You wonder if Walrus is dragging out the process on purpose so that she can ensure the cooperation of the Leech Mafia lasts throughout her coup.

“In a way,” you say, “Walrus reminds me of you.”

“How so?” Jade is so very fond of playing dumb. It takes one to know one, and he knows. You can tell from his perfectly unreadable smile throughout that meeting that his guard is always up around her.

“She’s a gluttonous schemer who pretends to be kind and harmless, but secretly plots to gain the most out of anyone.”

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

Of course. It is just like him to take it as a compliment. Jade takes your shoes from you and you let him carry them for you as though he’s just your pack mule instead of the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. The setting sun casts an orange glow over the beach, turning the frothy tips of the waters into flames and Jade’s irises into molten gold. You catch his gaze and you smile into the eye contact.

“I like that about you.”

His eyes soften, molten gold shining with slightly mismatched hues and matching depth. You can’t look away. Not when he returns your smile with eyes like that.

“What part of it do you like? The scheming? The gluttony?”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“But of course. I need to know what you like best about me.”

“Why?”

Jade chuckles. “The more information I have on any topic, the better prepared I will be for any situation, don’t you agree? In my position, ignorance is a sin.”

You certainly agree. The more you know, the better. But in this case, what is he even preparing for? He could probably cook up some sort of blackmail against you with the most innocuous tidbit of information.

You shake those thoughts away. You made him a promise. What was it that he said? At least promise me this. Even if I turn on the entire world, promise you will trust that I will not betray you.

He made you a promise, too. The promise that he would never lie to you again echoes in your heart. Even if those words were a lie and he said all that to lower your guard, you’ve decided to cross that bridge when you come to it. No point in fretting about something that may not come to pass. You have a thousand other things to worry about, and you’ve decided to trust Jade enough that this will not be on the list. If you end up in a sticky situation, you will sit and think of a solution, just as you have always done.

“Honestly,” you say, gazing out at the white-tipped waves, “I like it all. Your cunning, your lies and half-truths. It’s admirable. These intangible things have been forged into your weapons and armour. I only complain when it inconveniences me.”

It’s the truth. As much as you suspect and are wary of him, Jade is someone you admire and respect. Besides, if you truly disliked him, you would not be walking along the beach alone with him at sunset. You would not have stuck with him for fifteen years. You would not have kept on bringing pebbles and plants and fungi and bugs and any other number of curious things to the shore in your preteen years no matter how much money he offered.

“I would listen to all your complaints,” he says with nothing but sincerity in his voice.

“No promises not to inconvenience me, huh.”

“I promised not to lie to you. It is a bit of creative omission on my part.”

You chuckle. Silence settles on your shoulders like a blanket, comfortable and familiar. It’s nice to have a moment like this where you aren’t thinking too hard about everything. A reprieve filled with the ambience of waves washing up on shore and Jade’s presence.

“Do you,” he breaks the silence with a softly uttered question, “really believe that manuscript is a reflection of things that will certainly come to pass?”

This is the third time he’s asked you this. It must really be a sore spot for him. Jade isn’t the type to repeat himself. If he doesn’t get his way with one method, he’ll find twenty other ways. You don’t understand why he keeps asking with the same words and phrasing.

“I still can’t be sure. But you know, the Leech Mafia gaining influence because another syndicate fell is actually mentioned in the manuscript. I’d say things are still going according to the story.”

“No details appear as to how that was achieved. Perhaps this is not how things went behind the scenes in the original story.” He stops walking and faces you fully. “Your caution and your persistence in tying loose ends led to the investigation of mages within the Carpenter Mafia, which in turn led to Walrus revealing herself. I have yet to thank you for that.”

“You don’t need to. She would’ve revealed herself sooner or later to make her deal with you.”

Jade hums thoughtfully. “I doubt it. She likely planned on staying as the head of security in my home as long as possible. There are many benefits to being undercover in a place so close to me. She would have concealed her appearance or prepared a proxy to meet and make a deal with me. That is what I gathered from her personality.”

“It takes one to know one.”

“As the saying goes.” He admits it, his lips lifting in a smile to reveal his sharp teeth. “That aside, there is another piece of evidence that shows discrepancy between real life and the story. Floyd.”

Of course, out of everyone, Floyd would be the one who tears the plot points of the original story into shreds and stomps on their remains. He hates being constrained, arguably even more than Jade. He would never follow that story to the letter, and you know this, so you compromised by letting him do the bare minimum to fulfill the requirements of the story.

“What has he done?” You can’t be there to watch any of his interactions with (Y/N), so you don’t know the specifics.

“Don’t worry, he’s been following the dialogue and actions from the manuscript for the most part. The discrepancy arises where the story says (Y/N) becomes something of a mood stabilizer for him, keeping him in a constant state of happiness.” Jade places a hand on his chest, a fond gleam in his eye. “There are a few times I had to intervene so that his mood did not noticeably sour.”

You’re actually surprised that there were no major incidents. Floyd’s mood changes like the wind, ranging from a hair-trigger, volatile temper to a cheerful disposition that rivals the sun. That is not something a person can fix just because he likes them. In the first place, Floyd is not a project that needs to be fixed.

“I like Floyd the way he is,” you say, thinking about the times his flipping mood has caused your sense of schadenfreude to take center stage in your mind. “It’s not easy to schedule around, but it’s refreshing in a way when things don’t go exactly to plan.”

“I agree.” Jade places a hand over his chest. “He has made my life boundlessly interesting.”

“Right? It’s best to like Floyd in his entirety. But I’m sure (Y/N) would like him even if he isn’t sunshine and rainbows all the time.”

“You have great praise for her character.”

“She’s wonderful.” You smile fondly. At the same time, something still nags at you. It should be the result you want, right? But you’re hesitant to ask. “Are you sure you haven’t fallen for her after spending so much time with her?”

“I’m certain.” There is no hesitation in his response. “She is a decent person, but I do not think she deserves the compliments you rain upon her.”

A strange sense of relief washes over you. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s literally perfect.”

“I would disagree. She is hardly a saint.” Jade’s expression settles into something more serious. “Don’t you think it’s strange that she has not contacted you after all this time?”

That’s still a mystery. “She doesn’t remember me, allegedly. You’re the one who told me that.”

“Yes, but surely you have left traces of yourself in her life. Have you ever given her anything? Taken pictures with her?”

He raises a good point. You’ve given her many things that she wanted but didn’t have enough money to buy. Usually trivial things like mugs with cat designs or pretty hair clips. Now that you think about it, there are polaroids of the two of you on her nightstand. Has that not raised any questions? Does she not wonder about the person in those photos that she allegedly cannot remember?

Furthermore, what Jade said strikes you as strange. “Wait, you didn’t see my pictures in her room? You stayed overnight, right? Did you see the pictures on her nightstand?”

He looks out at the sea in thought. “I would have noticed something like that immediately, but I do not recall it.”

You stiffen. Where did the photos go? Surely, the story hasn’t written them away. Even though your pictures aren’t mentioned in the manuscript, they can’t have been omitted in real life. After all, you’re still here.

Did she dispose of them? But why? If she saw pictures of herself with someone she doesn’t remember framed on her nightstand, why would she put them away or toss them in the trash? Wouldn’t she logically keep it and try to remember who the mystery person is? Unless she’s only pretending not to remember. Unless she hates you. Unless she’s using this as an opportunity to cut you out of her life. Is that the truth? Was she ever such a two-faced person?

You refuse to believe it. There were many opportunities to cut you out of her life, especially when you got busy. In those times, she was the one who reached out first. You can’t accept that she suddenly came to hate you without a reason.

“Let’s not dwell on it.” Jade steps in front of you. “May I ask you a different question?”

“Go for it.”

“Do you really believe that manuscript is a reflection of fate?”

You furrow your brows. “Isn’t that the same thing you’ve been asking me the whole time?”

“It depends on how you interpret it.” He pulls his gloves off and starts to reach for you. As though struck by a thought, he hesitates. His hand returns to his side. “What I am really trying to ask is, if you think that is fate, do you also believe fate can be changed?”

He asks the second question as though he is sure of your answer to the first one. You study his expression in the dying light. Placid. Pleasant. This is the face he uses when he’s holding his cards so tightly to his chest that he may as well bury them inside his heart.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of fate? The point is that fate is how the future is meant to happen. If fate can be changed, then it isn’t fate to begin with.” You gently take his hand and hold it between both of yours. “So, to answer all your questions in one go—I don’t think that manuscript is fate.”

A grin full of jagged teeth breaks through his pleasant mien.

“Finally,” he breathes out, stepping closer to you and bringing your hands up to his chest. “I was hoping to hear you say that.”

“You know, I was half convinced for a while that (Y/N) is just a character made by that manuscript. And in extension, we’re all characters made to play out the plot it’s outlined. Right now, though, I think you’ve convinced me that the manuscript isn’t as set in stone as I thought.”

He chuckles. You expect to feel a steady heartbeat in his chest, but the tempo quickens at your touch, the allegro drumming a sharp contrast to the adante you thought you’d find.

“I was not aware you entertained such notions in your mind. Indeed, anything is possible in this world.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Jade rubs his thumb against the back of your hands. “Of course not. I simply thought it was amusing. At the very least, you and I are not characters. We have thoughts and feelings that go beyond ink on paper. Such is the complexity that sentience yields, and it is what keeps me endlessly interested in observing others such as yourself.”

“I’d have to work hard if I really wanted to keep your interest. Sounds like a lot of effort,” you tease.

“I do not think it is possible to grow tired of you. You are endlessly fascinating to me in every way.” He leans close to you, his vibrant eyes filling your vision. “Does that answer your worries?”

“Worries?” You laugh it off. Were you worried about that sort of thing? He isn’t wrong. Since when were you so scared of losing him? “I guess I wouldn’t be thrilled if you got bored of me.”

A wave of emotion that borders on triumph washes over his features, exhilaration and happiness flickering on the edges. He brings your hands up to his lips and keeps them there, his breaths fluttering over your knuckles.

And he whispers your name. Not Friend A, not Red Handfish, not (Y/N). There is no name to insert here because it is yours, the one you always had, the one that represents all of you and who you are. Your name.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #twst jade #twst fanfic #mafia au #multi chap fic #slow burn