#i know i'm a little harsh on my art from time to time but i also know that i can draw hands better than that like come ON girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoseoksluna · 8 days

Text

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can.

Or you wish you were as stony as them.

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle.

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning.

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon.

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them.

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind.

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined.

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up.

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to.

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time.

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too.

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you.

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?”

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did.

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with.

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.”

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor.

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens.

This is good.

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well.

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.”

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you.

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve.

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep.

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.”

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart.

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in.

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you.

Hoseok, the prince of peace.

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him.

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.”

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere.

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.”

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well.

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it.

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall.

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you.

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips.

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.”

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him.

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly.

“You want it from the back?”

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more.

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin.

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit.

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you.

“Yes, sir.”

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant.

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later.

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint.

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?”

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum.

“Thank you, sir.”

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.”

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for.

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know.

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised.

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him.

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp.

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did.

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole.

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare.

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks.

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red.

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger.

A breath of fresh air, he is.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you.

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok.

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed.

What would the angels do in your place?

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms.

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead.

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared.

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time. “Go, I’ll get the car ready.”

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you.

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you.

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him.

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand.

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.”

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time.

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service.

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness.

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight.

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do.

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor.

Doesn’t say anything.

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?”

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.”

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe.

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.”

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.”

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.”

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly.

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being.

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go.

Three weeks ago.

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck.

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love.

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness.

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat.

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard.

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?”

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?”

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.”

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.”

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat.

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them.

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust.

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest.

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?”

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?”

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care.

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together.

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to.

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him.

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi.

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency.

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it.

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up.

You don’t really think that’s a good idea.

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.”

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook.

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more.

But he surprises you with the words he says next.

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.”

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

BACK to masterlist

220 notes · View notes

ashessonfire · 9 months

Note

Bonjour, lovely!! I adore your fics, your choice of words are just *✧delectable✧⁠* and I'm amazed at how you beautifully written Kaz. If you may, could you write a little fluff with the reader being a skilled painter/sculptor and she helps the crows in art forgery. (I personally love when there's a little angsty yearning in the mix but I trust you will blow it out of the waters). Mercii!!

Stolen hearts - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Prompt : As a crow who specializes in art, what happens when Kaz stumbles upon one of your personal sketchbooks and gets a little jealous? - Pairing : Kaz Brekker x Reader - Warnings : Jealous Kaz, Kaz being an idiot, he gets a bit upset but nothing too crazy :)

A/N : Hi my loves, this is a pretty long one but I ADORED this idea, and so I let myself run with it.This may just be one of my favourite things I have ever written so I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing this!! As always requests are open, and please check my list here for other characters I write for!!

click here for masterlist

click here for characters I write for

(Also it seems as if we are getting closer to finding out if we are getting a SOC spin off!! After the writers strikes we should hopefully know, so lets try keep the Grishaverse fandom alive on here!! <3 )

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

"You want me to recreate that in two days? Kaz, the original is painted in oils, they don't even dry in that time!" You exclaimed, peering over the top of a stolen painting at your boss, his gaze hard yet not harsh.

"I am aware," Kaz began, "But that's why I hired you, isn't it? You have not missed a deadline once, and I know you won't miss it now," his firm voice rung out into the acoustics of his office.

And of course, he was right.

Although you would have to take a few shortcuts, you could feel your fingertips twitching against the oak frame of the piece, mind already composing each element of the scene. Tucking it beneath your arm, you let out a gentle sigh, nodding swiftly in his direction before departing from the room.

He had saved you, and this painting was only a fragment in your repayment of Kaz Brekker.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

A fire had swept through your village just beyond the confines of the Barrel, leaving you with nothing but your pouch, filled to the brim with pencils, inks, and as many types of paper as you had been able to salvage. The corners of your paintings began to singe as your home was engulfed, pain piercing your heart as you sprinted down the path to evade the impenetrable walls of flame.

Ketterdam beckoned you into her grip, as you ventured through the dim alleyways until shadow gave way to dazzling light displays. The Lid revealed itself to you, and with no other choice you slotted yourself in with the penniless street merchants that lined the alleys of Ketterdam.

For years, you offered sketches, portraits, and paintings to the rich tourists that marveled at Ketterdam's wonders. Although mere pennies were offered in exchange for your work, it was enough to renew your supplies and evade sleeping by the canal, or being trampled by tourists.

As time crawled along your skills blossomed, transforming your rough ideas into magnificent pieces, worthy of far more than a few kruge. Soon, you began to slip into galleries, memorizing each stroke until your mind could guide your hands without a single thought. Portraits that were worth thousands were then being passed into clueless pigeon's hands for only a few hundred kruge, as your skills were unmatched in the art of forgery.

Little did you know that you were being kept under the watchful eye of Kaz Brekker's wraith, your talents being thoroughly observed and reported back to the leader of the crows.

You were able to swindle the pigeons for a few months until the Watchstadt began to take note of the remarkable artistry of your paintings. Overnight, the tides of your fortune changed, awaking one evening to the thudding of leather against stone, inching closer to you as each moment passed.

In a desperate attempt to escape your fate, you clutched your belongings and shot down a back alley, shadows offering you a blanket of protection from the moon's shimmering light. However it seemed as if your luck had reached its limit, as several guards barreled out in front of you, as your other exits were swiftly stolen from you.

Tears began to blur your vision, lightheadedness overtaking your senses, the guard's words became muffled and distant, as panic overtook your being. You were barely aware of a gentle voice calling you from your terror, a soft hand wiping away the beads of pain falling from your eyes.

In the hours that followed, you scarcely registered anything but your gratitude towards Inej, and ultimately to Kaz who had been increasing the hours that his wraith was sent to protect you. In a few swift meetings, Kaz Brekker had settled a deal with you, sheltering you from the darkness of the Barrel, whilst securing a valuable new member of the crows.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

"Thank the saints that that is over," Jesper all but shouted, falling backwards onto the sofa in the common room of the slat. Placing yourself on a worn armchair opposite, you felt somewhat peaceful as your painting had been so seamless that the entire mission was cut short by a few hours.

After jobs, each crow fell into their own routines to unwind the tension that undeniably interwove into each of them. Kaz's cane thumped lightly against the creaking oak of the staircase, ascending to his room to continue plotting. Hushed whispers often omitted from Wylan and Jesper as they basked in each other's company.

Inej was usually missing, as she was now, exploring the endless expanses of rooftops whilst allowing the bitter air to cool her down. Taking in the couple across from you, and a now slumbering Nina beside you, you reached for the familiar leather binding of your sketchbook.

The glowing embers of the low-lit fire cast soft shadows on your friends, and the light washes of orange and red watercolour aided in your attempt to capture the peaceful scene unfolding before you. However, the absence of a certain presence pulled you from your portrait, thoughts straying to the man who undoubtedly was scheming once more in his office.

Since joining his crew, a small fondness for the "demjin" had harbored itself deep within your heart, impenetrable and unmoving. He treated you with a cold kindness, gifting you small tins of expensive paints, or the latest papers, completely dismissing the fact they were irrelevant to your job.

With a short shake of your head, the thoughts dispelled, returning your mind to the clarity it needed to produce your sketch, the flames from the fireplace dimming as the room began to fall into shadow. The peace that art instilled you with returned, as your heartbeat slowed and a sense of calm washed over you with each brushstroke.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Settling into his chair, Kaz let out a short breath, tension easing slightly from his body as relief gripped him, all thanks to you. Your painting had exceeded his expectations, not a single person suspecting the image to have been forged, and the original stolen into the possession of the Dregs.

Few things could entrance Kaz Brekker, yet something about the way your colours melted into each other, or the clear emotion engrained into every miniscule detail of a painting pulled him in. Perhaps the depth of your sculptures, or the smooth yet carefully crafted edges of the clay coming to life in his imagination were to blame for his admiration for you.

Kaz's mind wandered as he thoughtlessly ridded his desk of it's papers, hastily stacking them into neat piles as he tried to shake his thoughts of you.

Suddenly, Kaz was startled from his inner battle, gloved fingers brushing against a foreign texture, a hard leather cover of, something? Curiosity urged him to retrieve the book from underneath the blueprints and paperwork, eyes scanning over the front in search of a clue as to what the binding held.

Carefully undoing a well tied string, the front page fell flat against his weathered desk, the candle beside him offering a gentle illumination. Kaz's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the contents of the book, the etches of the pencil being too precise to belong to any person, but you.

The charcoal marks formed on the fraying page to portray Jesper, content as he sat on a patterned bar stool in the Crow Club, eyes slightly creased in content. Thumbing to the next page, Kaz discovered another depiction of his sharpshooter, however this time he was polishing his guns. Unlike the previous image, Jesper was now depicted in a light wash of colour, bringing him seemingly to life.

Enchanted by your work, Kaz continued to marvel at each sketch and painting, however a sharp feeling grabbed at his chest as he came to a realization. Apart from a few pages here and there, the subject that lined the parchment was always Jesper. Turning the pages increasingly quicker, a feeling of dread seeped into his stomach, a twisting combination of jealousy and annoyance building within him.

A gentle knock broke him from these thoughts, as your voice called out in the hope you would be permitted entry. Carefully, Kaz slid your sketchbook to the opposite end of his desk, pretending to analyze a discarded stack of papers before allowing you in.

"Hey Kaz, I was just coming to check in on you, I didn't get to catch up with you after..." you began, speech diminishing as your eyes fell upon the bronzed edges of one of your sketchbooks. Your eyes lit up as you began to grin.

"You left it on my desk," Kaz stated, trying desperately to burry the knot in his stomach, as your expression brightened at the thought of finding the book full of Jesper. "I've been looking everywhere for this one, thank you Kaz," you respond, hastily reclaiming the book, folding it snuggly between your arms and your chest.

"It shouldn't be here," Kaz snapped, a sharp tone piercing the previously warm atmosphere, "It's your personal sketchbook, so it needs to stay personal. Understand?" Kaz bit out, stunning you into silence as you backed away towards the door.

"Oh," you began, "I didn't mean to leave it here," voice cracking as you battled through the shock of his manner, and the hurt of him snapping at you. "Make sure I don't see it again, although I'm sure Jesper would love to," Kaz concluded, practically spitting out your friend's name.

The dismay you felt began to ebb away as you took in your boss' expression more closely, your upset being replaced with something resembling humour. "Kaz," your voice quietly began, "You're not jealous, are you?" you question.

Although the room remained silent, his features spoke a thousand words to you, his eyes widening fractionally to reveal fright, face becoming tinged by a rosy blush. Before you could utter another word, Kaz had guided you to the arched doorway, pushed you through the threshold, and slammed the door before you could witness the tips of his ears turning crimson.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Through the warped glass pane of his window, Kaz was stirred by the early rays of sunrise, face gently caressed by each stream of light that infiltrated the darkness. Despite the restless sleep he gained, the bastard was surprised he had managed to fall unconscious at all.

From the moment he had shut the door on you, feelings of jealousy and shame had consumed him. He swore he had heard a splinter echo throughout his chest as he recalled the hurt spreading across your face the previous evening.

Letting out a short breath of frustration, he slowly contorted his stiff limbs into a sitting position, and only then did his gaze cast onto the unfamiliar shade of leather perching on his nightstand. Unease began to spread through his body, fingertips sparking with anticipation as he reached over to retrieve the sketchbook.

Frustration began to wrestle with the discontent, as he unwound the ribbon binding the wrinkled pages together, yet the colour of the leather seemed to shift underneath his gaze. Unlike the book he had previously discovered, this one was made of a darker material which he could only liken to the darkness of midnight. As he angled the cover, flecks of gold appeared, the early sun dancing light off of each one, illuminating the leather as if it were a sky full of stars

Nimbly undoing the ribbon on the side, the first page fell open, and to his surprise, a neatly penned note fell out of the cover, revealing an image behind it that Kaz was sure he would have permanently engraved in his memory. A pair of sharp eyes met his own, and his breath caught in his throat as he questioned whether he was glimpsing into some sort of mirror.

With a desperation he himself could not even comprehend, Kaz began to flip through the pages, the guilt he had initially felt now burning him from the inside out, singeing at his chest. Each portrait captured his every emotion, each stroke precise and beautiful in a way he had never experienced before.

Gently unfolding the corners of the note, Kaz's gaze deepened with each curling letter of your short message -

Dear Mr Brekker,

After your discovery yesterday, I thought it only fair to also show you your notebook too. I have one for each of the crows, yourself included, and so I kindly ask you not to panic further about Jesper being the only muse of my pieces.

Love, your favourite artist

P.S ~ You also have a second book, if you are interested.

Kaz's breath hitched at the word 'love' before his mind could even comprehend it, head spiraling with thoughts of you as he pictured your gentle teasing laughter as you penned the note to him. The guilt and shame became so consuming in that second that his chest constricted, and he knew the only way he could alleviate the weight was by visiting you.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

A sharp knock pierced through the silence of your room, pen stopping mid point as you called a gentle welcome to the man behind the door. Kaz's figure slowly filled the doorframe, waistcoat slightly untucked, and hair somewhat out of place as if he had raced to see you.

A teasing grin began to illuminate your features, and the sunrise seeping through your window was more than bright enough to display Kaz's rose dusted cheeks as he averted his gaze. Without so much as a sound passing through his pursed lips, a gloved hand directed itself towards you, clutching onto the dark sketchbook.

You smile faltered, the glimmer seeping from your eyes as your lips fought to stay curved, as you questioned, "You didn't like it?" Kaz shifted his dark gaze to meet your own, brows lightly furrowing as he grumbled "I thought you might want it back."

Your gaze softened as the walls you had been beginning to construct around your heart crumbled, "Oh, I meant it more like a gift Kaz, plus I have several more books dedicated to you anyway," you uttered tenderly. The figure before you lowered his head towards the object in his hands, knuckles whitening beneath his leather gloves as his grip hardened.

After a fleeting moment of your boss' gaze sweeping over your features, he gave a swift nod in gratitude, the scent of ink and secrets trailing behind him as he ventured back to his office. Disappointment clung to your chest at his swift departure, hoping that he would have remained in your presence for a few moments more.

However, as your gaze travelled upwards to glimpse at his departing figure, you noticed how he had faltered in your doorway. His broad shoulders were facing you, allowing you to to observe every deep yet ragged breath that lifted his chest.

"I..." He began, voice so low that it was barely audible, "I'm sorry for last night, I shouldn't have said those things to you," Kaz almost spat out, the words tasting foreign on his lips as he attempted to quickly escape to the confines of his office.

"Kaz," you called out, hope unravelling the knots of anxiety from previously, leaving you with streams of a newfound confidence, "I just thought you should know you are my favourite subject. No one else in Ketterdam seems to have a better facial structure than yours."

Kaz could hear the thick inflections of your smirk within your words, ribbons of humour intertwining with each letter you spoke. Despite your teasing being met with a remarkably loud silence, your words had planted themselves deep inside Kaz's heart.

Racing back towards his office, the beat of his cane against the oak panels of the slat hastened by the second.

Yet not even they could match the pace at which Kaz's heart was beating, as his mind replayed your words over and over in his head until the way the word "favourite" was all he could hear.

Thinking back to your short note, Kaz's lips formed a ghost of a smile, since not only were you his favourite, but he was yours.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz Brekker tag list : @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ell0ra-br3kk3r @swhisperer @sleepynightchild @atlasiiae @kaiinohh @sannunah28 @at-the-chateau @withbeautyandragendrage @animalistic00 @whos6claire @any-corrie @daisydark @shara-ne @xxinvisiblexx @ldhpeter @viperinferno @kozbtchx @wishyouwere-sober (please comment if you would like to be added to the Kaz Brekker taglist)

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

P.S - The best way to support writers on here is to repost / repost + add tags! If you could spend a minute or so doing this, it would mean the world <3

#kaz brekker x reader #six of crows x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader imagines #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone season 2 #ashessonfire #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker headcanons

565 notes · View notes

kayas-kosmos · 11 months

Text

Because of what's happening on Twitter...

I've made a little diagram to demonstrate why billionaires and the ultra-wealthy are bad for society.

(Text in Image)

"If we view society as a body, every sector is like a different organ within the body that serves a function and works in harmony with other organs to maintain balance. Every part of the body is important for the whole thing to function."

"The ultra-wealthy want you to believe they are the beating heart and thinking mind of the society – they are the innovators who create our jobs and their brilliance drives society forward. They deserve to be at the top of society because they have earned that. Without them, the body won’t function because they are the most important part."

"In reality, they are more like a malignant tumour, sucking all of the blood (resources) away from everything else (people and the planet) to fuel its own infinite growth, depriving the rest of the body and slowly killing it. Workers create all of the innovation and keep things running, the ultra-wealthy take all the credit."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is a public domain image so feel free to pinch it for whatever.

Elon Musk has put the careers of thousands of small business owners who depend on Twitter (myself included) in jeopardy by completely running it into the ground. Before this, Mark Zuckerberg had already been doing the same when he started pursuing Metaverse, making Instagram and Facebook much more unusable for artists. Do I really need to go into other examples of CEOs and very normalised practise of wage theft?

Meanwhile, the UK currently has the richest Prime Minister in its history. What is this man doing with this wealth? Continuing the Tory legacy of austerity in order to line his pockets and the pockets of his crony friends. This has resulted in a devastating cost of living crisis that continues to ravage the country as people's energy bills skyrocket out of control.

My diagram is pretty basic and lacks nuance, there's definitely more I could elaborate on with this comparison but I really don't have time. I just want people to get the basic point of how billionaires view themselves vs what function they actually serve. I'm also not here to debate whether some organs are more important than others since I'm not a doctor, that's not really the point here. And no, I don't care if people think I'm being harsh by comparing billionaires to a tumour. If they don't want to be compared to one they should stop acting like one. Jeff Bezos could end world hunger right now and chooses not to.

Also, I know a lot of people are going to come at me with the argument that billionaires give away massive amounts of money. First off, people like Jeff Bezos only give large sums of money to charity a.) for the sake of improving their public image and b.) because giving to charity allows them to write it off in their taxes. Also, charities in of themselves have a lot of problems, but that's a blog post for another day. Mutual Aid is a better way to help people directly. Really, the ultra wealthy need to be taxed, of course they do everything within their power to avoid taxes.

Also:

"Earning a lot of money" and "holding onto a lot of money" are two different things. You cannot be a multi-millionaire unless you hold onto that money. If you give away massive chunks of it to enrich society, you cease to be a billionaire.

Oh and this is worth a watch, too.

Furthermore:

Also before the inevitable great man comments:

Being a billionaire is a moral failing. Nobody needs that much money.

[Slight edit here - I made the assertion that a billionaire could not spend all of their money in their lifetime, but as someone in the comments pointed out it's very easy for them to completely waste billions in no time. Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg have shown that].

Anyway, if you would like to see more anti-Capitalist art from me, I am currently working on a webcomic called "Flowerpunk" - a story about a group of anarchists who are trying to save the city of Wyrdon from a supernatural plague known as "the rot." The comic heavily discusses disaster Capitalism and how the rich will use mass death and destruction as an opportunity to further line their pockets.

I also like to do little anti-Capitalist doodles relating to this project, which I plan to make into posters at some point.

Please consider donating a Ko-Fi also if you would like to help support this project. I am really struggling at the moment because I've basically lost a massive chunk of my client base due to this Twitter implosion and also because of the AI BS that has made it impossible for me to get any reach nowadays. The last year or so has been an absolute nightmare for my career because of all of this.

Thank you all for your continued support! Hopefully I can re-establish my audience here on Tumblr and wherever else I decide to go.

#Twitter #twitpocalypse #elongated muskrat #eat the rich #eat the fucking rich #tax the rich #tax the 1%#tax the billionaires #anti capitalism #workers of the world unite #working class solidarity #Can you tell that I am absolutely fucking done with this BS?

767 notes · View notes

toecrust69 · 11 months

Note

Hi! I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests but if you are, can I ask for one, Batfam x vigilante!male!reader (or gn, idc) The reader is a teen (younger than Tim and older than Damian). He’s like super smart and knows martial arts and is a total badass. The bat family has been trying to catch him for a year now. The reader just stopped a drug dealing, near the docks and was about to go back to patrolling but nightwing and Robin show up. They fight for a bit and robin kicks the reader in the water. The reader is exhausted too and passes out. Nightwing sees the reader not coming back up and dives in and rescues him. They take him back to the bat cave, put him in like a cell and the batfam starts questioning him. They find out he’s a kid and a orphan and ALSO knows who they are, bruce decides to adopt him (the reader and Robin not wanting that) but Bruce says something like since the readers just a kid and he already knows their identity, might as well adopt him and keep a eye on him. Thank youuuuu, I hope you can do this! Sorry if it’s a bit much <3

Super Cool Title

Tw: profanity but honestly who cares, bad writing, bad fight scenes

Authors note: don't worry about it at all! I hope u enjoy <3 Also, the reader is gender-neutral so I'm gonna try my best to not use any pronouns. Please let me know if you find any mistakes and I will fix them as soon as possible. Also, I changed some stuff up, so I hope you don't mind.

Enjoy!

The harsh wind hit you as you jumped from rooftop to rooftop.

You'd occasionally go down if you ever heard a noise, but so far, you haven't.

It was a quiet night.

Quiet nights weren't common in Gotham, but every time there was one, something happened by the end of it.

You didn't know if it was some sort if curse put on Gotham but you honestly wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

You landed on a bridge overlooking a river, but you must be been too deep in thought to notice the loud thud behind you.

You did, however, hear the familiar voice of Robin behind you.

"ow," he hissed.

You whipped your head back to look at him and saw him there, on the ground, holding his knee to his chest.

You stifled a laugh as you crochet down in front of him, but still a few feet apart.

"What's wrong?" you began mockingly, "I thought Robins could fly, so why did you fall?".

"Fuck you," he hissed through gritted teeth.

You rolled your eyes and stared patiently at him, waiting for him to give up and ask for help.

He sensed your heavy gaze on him and glanced up at you.

"What" he demanded— rather aggressively might I add— but you decided to ignore it.

You pretended to pick at your nails then said; "oh, nothing much... Just waiting for you to swallow your pride and ask me for some much-needed help."

You smirked when his glare hardened, clearly annoyed.

He clearly wasn't giving up any time soon, so you decided to take manors into your own hands.

Standing up, you fished a mini med kit from your pockets and walked towards him.

He didn't seem to notice you until you were crouched down in front of him —closer this time— examining his seemingly hurt ankle.

He squirmed in your touch and yelled profanities at you as you tried to calm him down and keep him still.

"What do you think you're doing!? Let go of me you mo-"

"Shut up!" your voice was stern which seemed to help him follow your orders. "Stop moving so much— I can barely see what's wrong"

A quiet moment passed and soon you were bandaging his ankle.

"Why are you here, anyway?" you asked. "Still trying to catch me?" you teased with a smirk as you finished wrapping his ankle.

It wasn't a secret that Batman and his family had been trying to catch you for a little over a year now; there had been many articles written about the latest fight between you and Batman.

And, you guessed it, Batman never won.

*sigh*, you're just too cool for your own good...

A mischievous smirk graced his lips as he spoke, "Yes, was it too obvious?".

Before you could process what he was saying, he was launching himself at you and you were on the ground with him hovering only inches above you.

He raised his fists to punch you, but you caught it before it got the chance to.

Kicking him off of you, you stood up and watched as he struggled to do the same.

Your breaths were heavy and you brought your fists and guard down.

You couldn't help but feel bad for the kid. He was still young— younger than you. You know what it feels like to–

Suddenly, you were pushed to the ground, again, with somebody hovering atop you.

The fall was so hard that it knocked the air out of your lungs, but you still managed to crane your neck up to see who it was, only to have a hand planter on your head, twisting it back to where it once was.

"You good, Robin?" ah, you recognized that voice— it was Nightwing.

He nodded his head and pointed to his bandaged ankle. "Yes, I'm okay," he pointed at you, "This imbecile here helped me out".

With his other hand, Nightwing took both of your wrists and held them together as makeshift handcuffs.

Before you could speak, Nightwing beat you to it. "Oh, is that so?" he said mockingly, "I didn't know you had it in ya. Thanks for helping him out but we gotta take you back now."

You groaned. Not this shit again, you thought.

But you weren't going to go without a fight.

He stood up, picking you up in the process. He held you flush against his back and leaned down to whisper in your ear, "You won't escape this time".

You took this position to your advantage and turned your head to face him. Before he could react, you swept your tongue over his cheek.

He stumbled back in disgust and touched his cheek with his hand. He glanced down at his hand in disgust and you took the opportunity to high kick him in the face.

He stumbled back into the ground with a groan and held his now broken and bloody nose.

You turned to face Robin who was now standing up, ready to fight.

He launched himself at you once again but you punched him in the face before he could reach you.

Dumbass, you thought.

He fell to the ground, clearly embarrassed, and you circled him before speaking.

"Say, Robin, was you falling and getting hurt all part of your plan to —unsuccessfully— catch me again?" you taunted.

His glare hardened on you but then glanced behind you.

You didn't think much of it until you realized that he was starting at something behind you.

You couldn't even turn your head fully before you felt somebody hit your back, causing you to stumble forwards.

But you fought yourself before you could fall (again), and turned to face the culprit.

There you saw Nightwing again, in a fighting position.

Fuck not agai-

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by another fight between both Nightwing and Robin.

You might've been strong when fighting with one of them, but not with two of them.

The whole thing was a blur, but all you know is that you somehow ended up tumbling down the bridge rather ungracefully.

Panting, Dick turned to Damian and saskef if he was okay.

"You good?"

"Yes", he responded through labored breaths. "Now all we have to do is bring them back and hope we don't end up getting our asses beat again".

"yeah, you gotta admit they're pretty good."

Damian nodded reluctantly in response. He glanced down at the water and then asked "Why haven't they come up yet?"

He shook his head mindlessly, still trying to catch his breath, when he realized–

"Holy shit where are they!?"

Dick frantically looked down at the water, Damian following suit.

They stared in horror as tiny air bubbles made their way up to the surface.

Before Damian could, Dick dove down into the water to get you.

The last thing you remember before blacking out was Robin— aka Damian— kicking you into the water with Nightwing— aka Dick— by his side.

Yeah, that's right, you know their identity.

You had to admit it took you a while to figure it out, but when you did, you honestly weren't that surprised.

What did surprise you, however, was how quickly you found Superman's identity.

That and how he hid it.

God, the people of Gotham can be so stupid sentimes

I mean— he had the money and the family, so why not?

Anyways, that's not important.

What is important, however, was for you to get out of here.

You had woken up about five minutes ago, but you made no move to show it.

You tried your best to gather some information on where and how you got here.

But that was easier said than done when you were put in the hospital room that was boarded off from the rest of what you assumed to be the Batcave.

Suddenly, the door opened and you heard two heavy footsteps enter the room, along with a light one.

"How do you find them?" a deep voice, who you assumed was Bruce, asked.

"This little demon spawn here kicked them into the water and they passed out", Dick explained.

"Hey!" Damian hissed. "I already said I was sorry", his voice sounded lower and a bit guilty than before.

Bruce only hummed, stepping closer to you and it took everything in you not to freak out.

He reached his hand out to brush a strand of hair from your face and you internally thanked him because that strand had been tickling and annoying you since you woke up.

"Well, they're something" he started plainly and they simply hummed in response.

The door opened and another set of step walked in.

"What did you find on them?" Bruce asked the mystery person.

"Well, they live in an orphanage not too far from here. Actually, its the same one Dick grew up in." his voice was tired, deep, and familiar... Ah! Tim, aka Red Robin

He continued, "Their mom and dad died a couple years ago in a car accident driving and left an inheritance of 3,000 dollars that they will get once they turn 18. Oh! And I think they know our identity"

What? How the fuck did he-

"How the fuck do you know that?!" Damian asked, earning a light slap from Bruce.

"Language!" he demanded and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Oh, because they've been awake this whole time and they have a whole Google slide about us."

Fuck.

Your eyes snapped open and everybody turned to look at you.

An awkward beat passed when Dick finally broke the this atmosphere.

"I knew that".

You stood in front of the Batcomputer, arms crossed over your chest, as you watched the chaos fold right in front of you.

You changed out the hospital gown and borrowed one of Tims's old shirts that fit you like a glove.

Everybody was screaming at one another and all you did was lean back and quietly munch away on one of alfreds cookies.

His cookies were delicious and you'd gladly sell your soul for the recipe.

Speaking of Alfred, he walked up beside you with a tiny metal tray holding more cookies and gestured at you to take some more.

You gladly accepted with a small 'thank you' and he was on his way.

Jason had arrived not that long ago when he heard that they finally caught you.

He was mainly arguing with Damian and Bruce but you honestly didn't care all that much.

All you could focus on were the damn cookies.

What did catch your attention, however, was Bruce's next words.

"Why don't I just adopt them!? They already know our identity and they'd make a great addition to the family and team!" he screamed.

"Hell no" you and Damian screeched at the same time while everybody else kept quiet.

You briefly glanced at Damian only for him to look around the now quite room.

They seemed to be considering it.

Damian let out a sarcastic and breathy laugh. "There's no fucking way you're actually considering this, Father", he muttered under his breath but still loud enough for everybody to hear.

His voice was almost as small as he felt.

"For once, I agree with him" you said, pointing at him.

"Aw, look, they're both already getting along like siblings." Jadon pointed at you, "I'm gonna call you demon spawn 2.0" Jason teased and smirked.

You and Damian both snapped your heads at him and gave him the coldest glare you could muster at the same time.

Usually, Jason wouldve cowered away in fear but he was too busy laughing his ass off at the resemblance.

You both rolled your eyes and turned back to face Bruce and the others. At the same time without realizing it.

Again.

Some of them were holding back laughter while the rest had their mouth open in shock.

Damian tilted his head and you asked, "What?".

They shook their heads and went back to what they were talking about.

"Well, I don't see why not" Cass started from her spot on the table. "They already know our identity —like you said —and we could always train them to be better".

Everybody else nodded in agreement except for you and Damian, who stared in shock.

"I can't belive this-!"

"You can't be serious-!"

You and Damian spoke at the same time, causing both of you to snap your head ad glare at one another before turning your head again.

Bruce brought up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and sighed in annoyance.

He muttered random words under his breath for a moment as everybody stared at him in confusion.

He eventually snapped his head up and finally spoke; "It's final," he pointed at you, "you're getting adopted," he pointed and Damian, "and you two are getting along"

You both stared at him for a brief second, disbelief written all over your face as you began protesting rather loudly.

Bruce finally snapped and turned to look at you both. "I said it's final! You can't change my mind!" His voice was stern, and a bit scary, so you stayed quiet.

He sighed in relief once you actually shut up.

He turned his back to face you, muttering to himself again.

You leaned over to Damian and whispered, "does he do that often?".

Damian leaned in a bit too and answered, "yeah, but don't worry, you'll get used to it".

You nodded absently and straightedge your back again when Bruce turned to look at you two again

"See!" He gestured at you two, "you're already getting along well. Jason was right, now stop whining." He began walking away.

They're already making me grow white hairs, he thought

Jason dramatically gasped at his words and followed behind him. "What was that!?"

Finally! Im done! I really hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I love writing this. I'm really proud of how this turned out and I'm honestly kinda surprised that I managed to finish this quickly

-toes<3

635 notes · View notes

teyamsatan · 1 year

Text

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕍: 𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕀𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕀'𝕞 𝕄𝕒𝕕𝕖

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: Neteyam's actions leave you aching and shamed, and life is made difficult by your attempts to avoid him at all costs, until it dawns on you that, much like your entire relationship, nothing good ever happens without reciprocation.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (mentions of violence, battle, blood, death), smut (oral - m receiving, orgasm denial), strong language, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol

wc: 6.4k words

a/n: we're in it now, besties. the plot thickens, much like reader/neteyam's steamy enmity and desire for each other. i hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for asking to be tagged, commenting, sending me asks, it really keeps me going and i appreciate you so so much (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art and the prompt which inspired me so much and got me out of my writer's block ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, ketuwong - alien, txepvi - spark, teylupil - teylu-face, kurkung - asshole, skxawng - idiot, eveng - child, tsìltsan rewon - good morning, Oel ngati kameie - I see you, sa'nok - mother, ite - daughter, srane - yes, kä - go, Olo'eykte - female Olo'eyktan, tam-tam - calm, mawey - calm, oare - moon

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

I'm only whatever you make me And you make me more and more a villain every day But you don't know, you reap, you sow Whatever you give to me, from yourself, you take Well, if you're a hater, then hate the creator It's in your image I'm made

The absence of his fingers, of him, from you, as he abandoned you, with your thoughts and insecurities, left you in a state of deep shock and shame - so much so, it took a good hour to finally get the strength to move the few steps it took to get to your tent.

Your mind was spinning with more thoughts then it could process, and as you continued worrying about the consequences of your actions, about all the ways Neteyam would find new ways to torture you and make you miserable, as you reeled from the ache that settled deep in your core from the emptiness he left behind, as you tried to understand the convoluted ways his mind worked and the reason he would ever do something like this to begin with, you found consciousness slipping away from you and in no time, you were asleep, taunted by dreams that you couldn’t find in you to call nightmares anymore, dreams about him finishing the job. At least in these dreams, you were safe, and he was nice, and his touch healed instead of breaking you further and further each day. You realise now it’s not what happens in these dreams that makes you think of them as nightmares, it’s the reality juxtaposed against them that sours their taste on your mind. It’s funny how even the purest, happiest moments can turn to ashes in your mouth when the backdrop is haunting and inimical.

It was evening when you woke, and the headache that accompanied your newfound conscious state was heightened by Lo’ak’s harsh voice, as he shook you back to a reality that still ached, that couldn’t have been better than the fantasies you just left behind.

“Lo’ak, stop shaking her, just give her a second.”

“Look, we have no time for pleasantries. She’s going to thank me for this.”

“Teylupil. Kurkung. Skxawng.” You curse in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, eliciting a laugh from Kiri and an exasperated groan from her little brother.

“Is this how you talk to the man that’s going to save you from an evening of misery?”

“What’re you talking about, you irksome little -“

“Just get up and I’ll tell you. What’re you doing asleep at this hour anyway?”

“Kiri, remove your brother before I remove him, and take one or two fingers with me.”

“Come on, Lo’ak, let’s make sure you’re still alive by Eclipse.”

You rose from your mat with a small wince as your head throbbed in pain.

“Are you alright?” Kiri’s hand was cold and soothing against your skin, and you placed your own hand on top of hers, grateful that she was here, if not for anything else, to dilute the intensity of Lo’ak’s personality while you were still recovering your strength. You couldn't look at your two favourite Sully siblings properly, not when the shame stung and dulled your senses, not when their eyes would remind you of his, and what you did.

“I’m fine, just… tired. I… broke up with O’i’en. Or actually, I guess he broke up with me.”

“Shit. Did he find out?”

You considered how much you should tell your friends about what transpired, knowing they’d have questions, knowing the answers might lead to more questions, some of which you couldn’t possible begin to explain.

“Yeah… Neteyam told him.”

“Fuck. I still don’t know what you possibly ever did to make Neteyam, who happens to be the most boring and calm person to walk this planet, so angry at you.”

You scoffed at Lo’ak’s statement, so obvious and speaking to a mystery that has plagued you for the last 7 years.

“Yeah… I love living my life paying for an imaginary slight he feels the need to remind me of every day.”

He thought about it for a second, his fingers stroking his chin in an obviously exaggerated contemplative manner.

“How do you know it’s imaginary if you don’t know what it is?”

The roll of your eye reminded you briefly of the headache that tried you, and how it was getting worse with each passing second you had to entertain this conversation.

“Look, even if it’s not, don’t you think it’s a little extreme?”

With a raise of his shoulders, Lo’ak continued.

“I guess… but it’s not like you make it easier for yourself.”

You felt your anger picking up speed, making your pulse quicken and heat rise in your cheeks.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you are just as bad to him. You’re both horrible to each other. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hilarious and we all get a kick out of it, but - OUCH, KIRI!” Lo’ak yelped in pain as soon as his sister’s elbow found its way in his ribs, and the theatrics continued as he collapsed on his side, until his head was on your lap.

“You’re the worst.”

“I still maintain my view that you both just need to fuck. Maybe this mateship is going to be the solution to all your problems.”

The flush of your cheeks brought about by anger only deepened at his words, that instilled memories that you still didn’t know whether you were trying to forget or imprint on your brain, memories that had no business flashing in front of your mind’s eye now, memories that might infer the beginning of the end of the world: Lo’ak finally being right about something.

“Yeah, cause what successful lifelong commitment hasn’t started with two people who despise each other?” You didn’t want to harp on a subject that you’d do everything to never have to talk about again, so you quickly changed the subject.

“Moving on. Why are you guys here?”

The two siblings exchanged awkward looks.

“Mum, dad and grandma were talking about you and Neteyam… about the ceremony and everything.” You could tell Kiri felt uncomfortable talking about the subject, and you were happy at least one of them was sensitive to the situation. “They want to sit you both down and pick a date. Grandma said something about the sooner the better. We thought you’d rather eat a Talioang tongue than do that, so we came to give you a heads up.”

Well, so much for changing the subject. You groaned, moving Lo’ak out of the way so you can raise your knees and place your head in between them, trying to make the world stop shaking and your heart stop trying to escape out of your chest. This can’t be happening. Not so soon.

“What did Neteyam say?”

“Neteyam hasn’t returned home, which isn’t like him. Have you seen him at all today?”

“No.” You lied.

That was weird. Why would Neteyam not return home? It’s not like he had any reason to hide, unlike you. You’d think he’d be the first one back in the tent, waiting to see if you’d show up for dinner, with a smug smirk plastered on his face, so ready and willing to taunt you for your momentary lapse in judgement and for being able to rub in the fact he won one more battle in your never-ending war, that until now was even, but now, felt completely thrown off balance.

“Do you want to get out of here?” The magic words, spoken to you almost like in a dream, pulling you out of your intense musings about the speaker’s older brother.

“It’s almost eclipse. You’re gonna get in trouble.”

Lo’ak snickered and rolled his eyes, almost upset that you would ever think that’s something he should care about.

“Come on. We can go to the labs, chill with the humans for a night.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t think aiding and abetting the Olo’eyktan’s kids to leave after curfew is going to improve my situation in any way. You should go back. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lo’ak huffed and puffed, but did as he was told, not before he left you with one last nugget of information.

“By the way, Norm and Max intercepted some new intel about a mission the ketuwong are planning. It’s in two days. Dad wants us all in strategy meetings and training all day tomorrow. That includes you. As soon as eclipse is over.”

“Roger that. Now go.” You kissed both of them on their foreheads, and watched as they left you with your thoughts.

Questions and worries plagued your mind, all, like most times, revolving around the oldest Sully sibling. Ponderations of how or why, of when or what, all swirling, all fluttering away, none of them settling enough to be thought about in detail, all of them flailing about, knocking every other thought from your consciousness until you were a panted mess of breaths and ringing heartbeats. You couldn’t be here.

Curfew has always been more of a suggestion to you than an order, so with that mentality deeply embedded in you still, you picked up your knife and bow and made your way out, walking past the Sully tent and into the thick forest, to a place you haven’t been in since that night Mo’at announced your engagement. You tried to shake the unnerved feeling that still haunted you as you remembered what last transpired there.

As you trekked past foliage and snuck past apex predators that were out hunting for the night, you eventually reached the meadow you've always loved so much. You didn't have time to breathe out a sigh a relief as you noticed a navy blue form turned away from you, toned, muscular back full on display. You would always recognise this body and the man who inhabited it, now and forever, as long as you would live, but still, you almost couldn't believe what your eyes were clearly showing you.

Neteyam was deep in thought as his feet dangled in the lake in which you liked to bathe and relax normally, that used to be a sacred place for you, one more thing he ruined in the time you've known him. He didn't hear you, you realise suddenly, and you were glad. He was the last person you wanted to see and you didn't know what you were feeling in this moment as you watched him, so unlike the Neteyam you always got to experience, so far removed from the man that always had his guard on around you, that was smug and arrogant, and primed to hurt you with every possibility that presented itself to him. This felt more like the Neteyam you used to know and love, that everyone else still gets to know and love, that you hear so much about on a day to day basis - the peaceful Neteyam, the considerate and shy Neteyam, the golden son, the epitome of what made the Omaticaya special.

You stayed hidden in the shrubbery that concealed the meadow, just watching him, and as the time continued, you found yourself relaxing, your own thoughts percolating and settling one at a time, until you processed as many of them as you had the strength to. A few things became clear to you. The priority right now were the Sky People. You had to fight, and you had to do it well - too many people relied on you for you to give anything else than your 100%. Neteyam was a distraction you couldn't afford - not right now, and not until this was done. Avoiding him at all costs seemed like the smart thing to do. Revenge could wait... for a little while. You pushed the reminder of the ceremony discussion from your brain. You didn't have enough power to consider the implications of the talk the Sully patriarch and matriarchs wanted to have with you and Neteyam. It was too soon.

Other things, you were more confused about than ever. In the end, you left with more questions than you came with, leaving him to his own devices, knowing you'll soon regret not having gotten at least a couple hours sleep before the two days ahead, both difficult, both with enough power to take more from you than you were willing to ever lose.

Why is he here?

What is he thinking about?

Were you on his mind at all?

Did you even want to be?

Could you stand it if you weren't?

You made it back to the village right as Jake and Neytiri came out, a sleepy, uncooperative Lo'ak following close behind.

"Ma eveng, tsìltsan rewon. Oel ngati kameie."

"Oel ngati kameie, sa'nok."

Neytiri made her way to you with wide, gentle steps. She always reminded you of these humans you once saw in a video the scientists showed you when you were younger, called ballerinas. She had so much poise, so much gentle, quiet power, that you have tried to emulate your entire life. Despite it paining you to admit, Neytiri was more your mother, more a role model, than your own mother ever had been. When she reached you, her hands found your face, that she stroked gently, running her thumbs under your eyes.

"Please tell me you've slept, 'ite."

Your tail stilled midair as you were caught red-handed, and you knew you either had to lie, a concept only familiar to you after being around humans, and one that you have to admit you found useful in certain circumstances, or deal with a long lecture, that you were much too tired for.

"Srane, sa'nok."

She gave you a skeptical look, one that told you she didn't quite believe you, but knew better than to probe, at least not in front of the Olo'eyktan, who would give you the ass kicking of a lifetime if he knew you weren't going to give your 110% over the following days.

"Kä. Get your bow and quiver and meet us on the training grounds."

You did as you were told, changing quickly while you were at it, realising briefly you have been in the same garbs for a long time now, something your mum would have told you off about. She always looked her best, always beautiful and presentable, always the most sought-after woman in the village. She had no grand aspirations, not like you, or like your father, who wanted nothing more for you than to be a warrior and a fighter, to be the best of the best, the best of them all. If it was up to him, you would be Olo'eykte. You tried to make both of them proud in their own ways - your mother, by continuing her secret weaving technique and always wearing the special garbs that only your family knew how to make, and your father, by becoming the pride and prodigy of your clan, and sharing that title with only one other person, none other than the prince of the Omaticaya.

Your heart picked up pace as you reached the grounds and in front of his parents stood Neteyam, looking perfect as always, not a single stray hair on his head, his braids flowing softly in the wind and chiming when the beads adorning them knocked into each other. You've always loved Neteyam's hair. It was always perfectly braided, and so weirdly emotive and... alive, sometimes looking like it moved on its own accord, a little like the tail that you saw moving in a circle, a sign he was not happy - what else was new?

When Jake spotted you, he nodded in your direction, which made everyone's attention shift to you, including his, and when his eyes trailed over your body, widening minutely, mouth slightly agape, you felt your cheeks burn and ears twitch nervously. He gained composure as quickly as he lost it, the slightly taken aback expression far removed from the one now displayed on his face, that he reserved for you, that you hated with every fibre of your being. The moment of vulnerability you witnessed yesterday was long gone, replaced by his usual contempt he liked to emanate as soon as you entered his personal bubble. You wondered if he was gonna rub your nose in it, if he was going to declare it to the world, let his friends know that you were another name to add to the catalogue of women he's fucked, or if he wouldn't want anyone to know - his little secret, only for his twisted mind to keep and thrive on. Your own mind tortured you with scenarios, each one worse than the last, before Jake pulled you out of your nightmarish thoughts.

"Kid. Come on, now, you can't go all mellow on me today. Tomorrow's a big one, I need you here, I need you with me. Can I count on you?"

"Yes, sir."

By the end of the day, that now went well into the night, you were more tired than you could remember being in years, and between the strategising meetings, the weapon training, the military drill exercises, and the hand to hand combat that Jake insisted would, at some point in your life, become useful, your brain was fried and your body sore and covered in mud and twigs.

The dirt that covered every inch of you was the kind which would stick to your skin and your hair for days on end, without any sliver of hope that it could get removed. You knew your braids were ruined, and so were your garbs, that you worked so hard for, that were all you had left of your family and your ancestors. It was a good day, you tried to remind yourself. A successful day. That’s all that mattered -not your clothes, nor the man that you were trying to avoid like he was a plague, or his gaze, or the heat that emanated from his body, or the memory of his fingers or his torturous ministrations.

“Good job today, both of you. Now go wash the muck off of you at the river and be back in 30 minutes so we can go over it and discuss what went right and what could have gone better. Dismissed.”

“Um- can I go to the lake instead?” The thought of being alone with Neteyam made your skin crawl. Is that what that was? It had to be. Skin crawling… yes, not goosebumps and shivers down your spine. Skin crawling…

You cringed a little at Jake’s expression, and his raised eyebrow which most of the time, and especially now, indicated annoyance or grievance.

“The lake is far, plus you wouldn’t be able to make it back in 30 minutes, kid. And it’s still dark. Is there a reason the normal river is not to your taste anymore?”

Your tail stopped in its tracks at his slight admonishment, ears pushed back so far, they were flat against your head. You hated disappointing Jake, almost as much as you hated Neteyam.

“No, sir.”

At the sight of you, Jake’s expression melted away and was replaced with a soft smile, one exclusively reserved for his kids. He approached you quietly and patted your head affectionately.

“That’s what I thought. Now come on, off you go, you little troublemaker.”

It was a short trek to the river that most Na’vi used as a personal bathing station, that was now deserted for the night. The training lasted longer than expected, and you knew eclipse would be over in a short couple of hours. You felt Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back and you did everything in your power to forget that he was there, but alas, it was near impossible when his presence overwhelmed your every sense, when it took over any thought in your mind, when the embarrassment of your encounter still rings painfully in you, telling you to run, or hide, or get your petty little revenge so he stopped having the upper hand in this scenario. The latter option, much as it has for years now, seems like the most obvious, the most alluring one.

The devious plan, that was just a slight variation of his own, as it usually was, was taking a more defined form in your mind with each passing second, especially after remembering the little human snap bracelets that were stronger than any Na'vi rope you owned, that were light and easy to carry, and that you conveniently happened to have in the little pouch that dangled from your waist. You just needed the perfect opportunity, and you believed in making your own luck.

Without looking behind you, you got into the river, purposefully bending until your hands reached your ankles, that you started rubbing and cleaning, taking your time as you moved slowly upwards, your ass fully on display for the male you knew would be watching, as he, too, was cleaning the day off him.

"Can you be any more obvious, yawne? You might as well have a 'fuck me' sign plastered all over you. Is that all it took, three fingers in that pretty cunt and you forgot you hate me?"

You ignored his words and continued cleaning yourself, until you were so squeaky clean, someone could eat off your body, which now, you felt like you craved more than food itself.

When you were done, you got out of the river, once more trying to be as sensual and inviting as you could, and you smirked as you heard him get out as well, his presence inundating your senses as he approached you, the way it always did.

"Are you finally going to apologise and behave? I knew you would event-"

You quickly turned and pushed him backwards, until he fell, a pained gasp escaping his lips as his back made contact with a tree. The snap of the cuffs was more satisfying than you would ever care to admit as they tightened around his hand, and almost as satisfying to you as his realisation of what you’ve done, of the fact that he was trapped, at your disposal, at your mercy.

“Let me out.” The growl he let out was low and feral, unamused at best and frightening at worst. Lucky for you, you’ve never really been scared of Neteyam. The smirk that blossomed on your face deepened as you watched him, squirming and pulling at the cuffs with all his might, getting angrier with every second he couldn’t untie himself. His tail was moving furiously behind him, slapping his calf with erratic, uncoordinated movements.

“You know, Neteyam... For far too long now, it felt like you had control over our dynamic. I hated it, every day, feeling weaker than you. When you came and grabbed me by the throat, it was the first time in my life I almost felt scared of you. When you came and told O’í'en about us, I felt almost like life was slipping away from my grasp and you were the quicksand through which it was falling. When you… when we-“ it took you a while to compose yourself and subside the purple stain of your cheeks as you remembered how he left you. “You made me feel things I have never felt before. And then you left. And I felt almost ashamed. I had just got out of a serious relationship, I broke someone’s heart, and all I could think of, was your fingers. I felt weak, and I hate feeling weak.”

You took advantage of the way he was entranced by your words, too focused on you for anything else, and took his other hand and tied it on an opposing branch.

“Fuck! Let me go!” His legs were thrashing in front of him as he struggled to undo the human contraption, but if there’s one thing you learned, is that humans knew how to imprison and hurt other beings the best, and for once, you didn’t mind taking a page from their books.

“Tsk tsk tsk… no, Neteyam, what do you say?”

“Fucking let me go, you little -“

“Mmm…” you pretended to think about it for a while. “No… i don’t think that’s it. Y’want to try again?”

He hissed at you, a hiss that sounded more like a roar than anything else, and heat ignited in your core at its sound, mighty and powerful, wild and untamed. Still, you kept your composure and the sweet smile that you knew would anger him further.

“No, that’s not either. You say ‘please’.”

You knelt in between his thighs, thick and muscular, and put a hand on each one, steadying yourself as you found yourself on your knees, heart thundering in your chest at your plan, that, despite the adrenaline, seemed more and more deranged with every passing second. His breath stilled at your touch, as did his body, his legs now limp on either side of you. His expression shifted, from one of unadulterated anger to pure shock, and a flicker of muted awe, eyes wide and mouth agape, canines tucked away behind his beautiful lips, that he wet with a swipe of his tongue.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing, Ne-te-yam?”

Your fingers dug in the meat of his lower limbs, thumb trailing over his inner thighs as you moved upwards, massaging him, stopping right before the part of him you itched to touch most, smiling to yourself as his breath laboured with every inch transversed. You wrapped your slender digits around his loincloth, making quick work of the knot that would have been safe from most other people, but not you - you and Neteyam learnt this knot together, back when you were still you and he was still him. Back when he loved you. No matter how much he wanted to forget you and what you meant to each other, he would never be able to, because you’ll always be there to use those memories - that he banished from the night of his mind - against him.

“You see, Neteyam… I’m not the most creative person, unlike you.”

His cock sprung free and you swallowed a gasp along with the saliva that gathered instantly in your mouth. He was huge, and for the first time in your life, you found yourself thinking… pretty, too. There was something almost ethereal about him, deep contrasted stripes running alongside his length, the pattern of his luminous freckles so exciting, you wanted to run your fingers… or your tongue, over them, connecting them with your mind to uncover the pattern it would form, one you wouldn’t mind getting to know over and over again, until it was imprinted into you, into your skin, into your mouth.

You looked at him, back against the bark of a tree, just as yours had been before, his arousal, that he tried to hard to mask on his face, given away by the endless pits that were his pupils, which almost completely swallowed his beautiful golden-green irises.

“Let. Me. Go. Or I swear to Eywa, I will make you pa-“

“Pay, yes, yes.. I’ve heard the speech before. And you know what? I know you’ll make me pay. You’re good at that. You like to think of these new ways to ruin my life, all inventive and new, all of them difficult to stomach and so, so pleasurable for you at the time, aren’t they? Yes… I’m not very creative, so keep in mind that anything I ever do, is your burden to carry… yawne. You made me, everything you hate about me, everything I hate about myself…”

You wrap your fingers around his cock, hard and throbbing under your touch, and watch as he throws his head back and lets out a small, intemperate groan.

“… I learnt from you.”

Slowly, you start moving up and down along his shaft, taking your time, observing every twitch of the muscles of his face, all the ways he was trying to refrain himself from giving into the pleasure that was wearing his resolve down. His eyes were so tightly shut, you wondered if it hurt, and you hoped it did. You hoped it all hurt, just as it hurt you. You turn your attention back to his cock, that was throbbing in your hand, and noticed the glowy liquid now covering the slit of his pink-purplish mushroomy tip.

“Am I making you feel good, yawne? I must be, since you’re dripping all over my fingers.” The sense of deja-vu couldn’t be lost on the male writhing beneath you, and you hoped every second of the incident was playing through his mind, like it has been in yours, ever since it happened. Not being able to contain yourself any longer, you sank down until your lips wrapped around him, the sweet taste of his precum staining your tongue as you swirled it around his tip, licking it clean. The moan that escaped him was music to your ears, erotic and sonorous and so unbridled, despite his best efforts, that it spurred you on, that it made you want to explore every inch of him until every striation of his cock was imprinted on your throat.

And so you did. Your mouth stretched to accommodate for his length and girth, too big for even your best efforts, and your hand wrapped around his base to reach what your mouth couldn't. You gagged as his hips bucked upwards, driving his cock deeper down your throat, until the tip was tickling the back of it. You stopped yourself from thinking about your heart skipping alternate beats as soon as his tail wrapped tightly around your thigh, almost as if claiming you, bringing you closer to him, attaching himself to you, almost if his body was telling you a secret he tried his hardest to repress, one that he could never speak out loud.

You could tell he was itching to free his hand, to entangle his fingers in your hair and use you as his own personal toy. He was itching for the control he desperate craved when it came to you, that you denied him, that you now had over him, that made him weak and puny under your touch.

You hallowed your cheeks as you devoted everything you had to sucking him off, the saliva pooling down his shaft and balls facilitating the bob of your head, that got faster and deeper the longer you did it, the longer his moans, that could no longer be contained inside of him, filled your favourite meadow and your ears, nestling in your body and making their way to your core, that ached and throbbed, that begged you to ride his cock until you were both just a limp mess of limbs on the mossy ground. Your movements met his synchronously, working in perfect harmony, as his heels dug into the ground and he started wildly thrusting in your mouth, his self-control long gone, as the pleasure reached new zeniths and you knew he was close to orgasm.

"F-fuck! Fuck, oh, please!"

Hearing him beg brought you to the brink of your own release, and with a couple more strokes, you released him from your mouth with a pop, sucking on his tip just a little extra, as if he was your own personal lollipop, just like the ones Norm introduced you to as a child. This one was so much better, though.

His eyes opened wildly as the lack of stimulation registered in his mind, chest heaving and mouth open, tail untangling from your body and thrashing violently, as the high came crashing down abruptly, just like yours had. You smiled, flicking your index finger over your lips and chin, gathering the remnants of his arousal before you closed your lips over it, sucking on it enthusiastically, eyes locked onto his own, dark and feral, and for the first time in a really long while, completely lost in you.

“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.”

You got up from your spot on the ground, removing your knife from its sheath and bringing it to one of the cuffs that looked like it had marked his wrist, and with a careful swipe, you freed him. Without sparing him a second look, you turned around and walked away, speaking as you left him, still shackled by one hand, naked and vulnerable, happy with yourself, unwilling to consider yet again the consequences of your actions and how the fear of retaliation, that you knew would be painful and ghastly, would hit you with enough intensity to cower you, just as soon as the adrenaline wore off.

"I trust you can get yourself untied... yawne. See you on the battlefield."

A few hours later, you could barely think straight, by the time you were preparing your beautiful ikran for battle, as she was dutifully waiting on you to finish, trilling softly whenever you pet her in between chores.

“Tam, tam, Oare.”

You felt guilty at the way you’ve handled the past few days, as images of O’i’en swirled in your tired, progressively drowsier mind, at how it took you no time to do… everything you did with a man you hated, a man that more and more it seemed your ex was somewhat right about, despite how much you wanted to banish the thought into the pits of Hell, where it belonged. You started to regret the fact you have not taken the opportunity to sleep when the opportunity presented itself to you, and now you were about to go into one of the most dangerous missions of your life, one that may even infer the future of your clan, worn-out and distracted, body trembling under the weight of your mistakes.

You spotted the man that affected you in ways no one else seemed capable to, face and body painted in war patterns, just like yours was, and winced a little when you realised he was already watching you, deep hatred imbued in his features - you knew there and then you were in for a world of pain, if you ever survived this mission to begin with. It actually hurt, thinking of all the ways he could still make your life a living nightmare, his ingenuity knowing little bounds and never diminishing throughout the years.

“You ready, kid? I need my little star in tip-top shape today. We’re all counting on you, you know?”

Jake’s voice, usually soothing and calming, was grating to your ears, although you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t the voice itself as much as what the voice uttered, words that you didn’t want to hear at all, words that pushed you near the brink of collapse, whose weight you always almost buckled under, but now, with everything else going on, brought you to your knees. Still, you nodded, the desire to please and make him proud of you outweighing anything else you wanted to say, like asking for permission to sit this one out, like how, right now, you felt more like a liability than an asset. You had to do this, and you would, because they needed you, because they relied on you.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He tapped the little choker that was tied around your neck. “Make sure this is on, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

The war cries echoed through the Hallelujah mountain as the full might of the Omaticaya clan erupted through the floating rocks, bearing down on the helicopters and ships that were looking and scanning for signs of life, that were ready and armed to kill and torture, to destroy and burn life to the ground. On top of your ikran, bow tight in your hand, you normally felt unstoppable. You were unstoppable. Before you even had time to register it, 3 helicopters fell at Neytiri, Jake and Neteyam's hands, crashing into the mountains before exploding into nothingness, never to be seen again.

In the midst of all the chaos, you tried not to think about how hard it was to control Oare, how your own frenzied, disruptive consciousness was affecting her ability to fly and focus, how that in turn was making you miss shots you would have never missed otherwise, how that was further weakening your state, the whole endeavour a vicious cycle you saw no escape from.

"Mawey... mawey." you couldn't tell if you were talking to your ikran or to yourself, as you pet her gently, trying to return you both to a state in which you could be present and useful, the way you were expected to be.

The sudden pain that rushed over you was excruciating, worse than anything you’ve ever felt, worse than all your previous injuries put together, and with a trumping heart and fear poisoning your blood, that felt like it was spilling out of your body more with each passing second, you looked down at yourself, trying to assess the situation. There was nothing. The pain deepened as soon as realisation hit that the fatal wound and the ache that followed wasn’t yours, although it might as well have been.

“No…” your beautiful ikran, that has been with you every day of your life since you were 12, that not only witnessed, but facilitated every one of your victories, that was integral part of your life and happiness, that made you feel seen and understood, let out a screech so loud and filled with anguish, one that would haunt you for the rest of your life, that settled in your bone marrow and will forever have a home there, until your last day on this planet.

As she drew her last breath, you felt every ounce of happiness dissipate from your being, along with any sense of self, any sense of purpose. You had no time to dwell on your immense loss, not as your queues broke apart with her departure from this plane, leaving you in a free fall that would make sure that while you lost your sister, you would be following her close behind. The last thing you saw before you felt darkness enveloping you was Neteyam, and your last thought was how you must have imagined his panicked look and the tortured howl that left his body, as his hand reached out for you, his own ikran diving towards your falling form at full speed.

I sleep with one eye open and one eye closed 'Cause I'll hang myself if you give me rope I lost all my faith and lost all hope That everything means anything at all

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak@sweetbread-m@eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog @hannabanana-09 @xylianasblog @misscaller06 @yeosxxx @myh3artttt @teyamsbitch

851 notes · View notes

becsabillion4 · 4 months

Text

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls.

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control.

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it.

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there.

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

#becsabillion #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x ofc #carmy the bear #the bear #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #carmen berzatto smut #jeremy allen white #the bear fanfiction

136 notes · View notes

thebestsetter · 6 days

Text

Which Blue Lock character should you date based on your MBTI? + some relationship headcannons

~ A/n: this is TOTALLY based on my opinion about the characters' MBTIs. You can desagree with me and give me suggestions on how to do better in the next part! (Assuming there's gonna be a next part lol)

Isagi Yoichi

◇ I feel like Isagi's an INFJ, since he's overall a selfless and kind person (off the field of course). He's also perceptive and creative to find solutions to his problems in the field and in life, but he may also end up overanalyzing and overthinking things a lot

◇ Based on that, Isagi would be attracted to someone with a great sense of humor and who would show interest in what he has to say about something, be it football or any other topic

◇ He would also enjoy being with someone lively and ambivert/extroverted, who would encourage him to be the best version of himself and would brighten up his days

◇ So, I think ENFJ and ENFP would work PERFECTLY with Isagi, since they tend to be more extroverted and care A LOT about their partners, and show it openly (something tells me Isagi would love to be babied by his partner)

◇ He would be one of the greatest Blue Lock boyfriends imo, a real sweetheart. He would 100% take you to the best dates ever and would probably ask his mother for advice about how to act around you☝️

◇ He would die for a supportive girlfriend who would cheer loudly for him during his games, he'd feel so appreciated!

◇ 10/10 boyfriend.

Karasu Tabito

◇ Karasu's 100% a ESTJ. Don't argue w/ me, you know I'm right.

◇ He's loyal, rational, objective, practical and responsible. He's also reliable and extroverted.

◇ Even with all these qualities, Karasu can act a little hasty and not be respectful when hearing opinions contrary to his own beliefs.

◇ In a relationship, he looks for someone who is supportive and respectful, patient and understanding

◇ He's a great boyfriend and brings out the best in his partner, helping them achieve their dreams and goals

◇ So, Karasu would have a great relationship with someone who would offer a balance to his somewhat "commanding" nature through a more sensitive and adaptable personality, such as an ISFP, or someone who would also be as methodical and rational as him, like an ISTJ

◇ He would LOVE if his partner watched his football games and, in return, he would watch theirs too, no matter what sport they played

◇ If you're an artist, he loves complimenting your art pieces and says you're like a modern-time Picasso (even though some of them may look like they were drawn by a 5 year old with crayons)

◇ Overall, the best boyfriend ever (literally the loml)

Rin Itoshi

◇ Rin's a very reserved introvert, for sure, but he's also very ambitious, determined and self-confident

◇ With that said, he would be an INTJ

◇ Imo, he would need someone to balance his "cold" personality with a cheerful and outgoing personality, like ESFPs or ENFPs, or a more reserved partner that's still a little ambiverted, like an ISFP

◇ To date an INTJ, you must understand that there are times when they just want their personal space and tranquility, which also applies to Rin

◇ He would try not to be so hard on you, but sometimes the feelings would "escape" (old habits die hard Ig) and he might come out as a little harsh. Don't yell at him, he would definitely regret it quickly! His ego is just too big to admit it sometimes....

◇ Not a bad boyfriend, just needs someone patient with him!!

◇ I think his love language would be acts of service, since he's a little shy about expressing his feeling with words

◇ So, your relationship with him would be based on "little things". Like grabing something you can reach from the top of a shelf or tying your shoelaces for you

◇ Overall a very good boyfriend!!!

Pls someone tell me the easiest and quickest way to become an ISFP or ISTP 🙏😭

#blue lock #bllk #bllk manga #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #bllk isagi #bllk rin #rin itoshi #bllk karasu #karasu x reader #mbti types

96 notes · View notes

oops-all-concrete · 5 months

Text

I'm back with more BG3 COMPANION REACTIONS!

This time; Companions see Tav (yours/you) getting flirted with and being too shy/stunned to turn the person down and step in for them. As usual, the romance is only as implied as you would like! These can be read as platonic (but I'm happy to write romance specific posts if you lovelies would like)

Lae'zel -

The concept of flirting tires her. Why make eyes and small touches and idle chatter that eludes to a 'something else' if you can just get to the 'something else- immediately? Assuming both parties are interested of course. Unlike now, where Tav is failing miserably at saying no- because they weren't asked "May I taste your flesh and you taste mine in return?" With a roll of the eyes and a calculated stalk, Lae'zel makes her way over to Tav and takes them by the wrist, dragging them away. If she's stopped, she glares and speaks sharp: "Keep your filth to yourself. If they wanted what your company could achieve, they'd roll around in the mud with an actual pig."

Shadowheart -

Wyll -

She watches from afar with some amusement for a time. But- watching them stay seated several times when the "newfound company" kept getting up and seeming eager to leave- she was happy to put her wine down for such an occasion. "Pardon me, but myself and that one have somewhere to be tonight." She says, hooking her arm in Tavs. If pressed, she'll elaborate. "Well, we travel with a Githyanki warrior, the Blade Of Frontiers, a chosen of Mystra, and a cleric of Shar who's had to put down her wine to come over here and apparently repeat herself." She smiles innocently, though her voice is piercing enough to send the stranger walking backwards with their hands up.

He waits with stepping in, giving Tav the agency to say yes or no on their own accord, but as the stranger starts getting a little too familiar, he can't sit still. "Excuse me, I'm afraid my friend here isn't available this evening" He says, friendly but firm. Of course he's challenged- too nice about it- so he stops being nice. "I should have been more clear-" he starts, placing a hand on their shoulder- watching them become more afraid with the distinct crackle and glow of eldritch energy. "You're either leaving alone- or with me. In a bag." He says again, voice darker than usual. The stranger gets the message and Wyll watches them like a hawk out of the building. "Apologies Tav, I shouldn't have been so harsh. I just have a special distaste for people like that."

Karlach -

This woman jumps in the second Tav shakes their head. "Woah, woah, woah!?" She yells from the distance she is, a lot of the tavern pausing their conversations and looking her way. "Yeah, that's enough of that. If they wanted you as bad as you think, they'd have left with you already, yeah? Hands and unfortunate looking face to yourself" She says, cheeky smile on her face, but her hands itching to swing. Of course the person is embarrassed, especially when some giggles start coming in from the crowd, possibly Tav too, but Karlach knows they're safe with the entire tavern as witness. "Let's get outta here, Tav. There's more drinks and less weirdos down the street" She smiles smugly.

Gale -

He's quite socially eloquent when he wants to be, but knows how to be tactically rude as well. The minute Tav starts shuffling subtly closer to him to get away from this other person, he's inserting himself in the conversation. "Oh, you've got art at your home? I've been meaning to talk to another art fanatic, I've quite a few pieces I'd love to discuss back in my tower in waterdeep filled with wonderful architecture, sculpture, Baroque- Oh! Are you familiar with Oskar Fevras? I commissioned him personally a while ago-" he knows he's hard to talk over, and he takes full advantage. The minute the person tries to talk to Tav- Gale immediately gives them an out. "Oh! I just remembered- Tav my good friend! I believe I've left a ring in the bathroom on the sink while washing my hands" Gale talks fast, allowing Tav all the time needed to leave.

Astarion -

Oh this man is an actor. A few times he catches eyes with Tav- notably uncomfortable, and he rolls his red eyes. He disappears for a moment, but before Tav can think, he's throwing himself between Tav and the stranger. "Darling- This is where you've been??" He says, and you can hear the offence in his voice. Several heads turn. Bar staff is concerned. Oh boy. "I thought you said you'd quit drinking?? And here you are while I'm at home waiting! Look how late it is!" It's like, 4PM, and it makes the stranger frown, but Astarion is yelling again before he can be stopped. "And who are you?? Stealing my lover away like a bandit!" He throws his arms around and sounds on the verge of (fake) tears. Of course the stranger is out of there asap, Astarion taking their seat and drink, making himself at home. He smirks at them like a little shit

Halsin -

As polite and friendly as Halsin is, he can look rather intimidating when he wants. He's huge and he knows it, and while he doesn't like doing it, he will use it to his advantage. The minute he picks up on Tavs discomfort, he's a shadow over the pair. The stranger just has a look up at the druid and that has all the effect needed. "Apologies, I'm afraid you're in my seat. My friend was waiting for me" He smiles, arms crossed in front of him, a mountainous man. If they don't move immediately, he leans down to the strangers height, because of course he's much taller. "Don't worry about paying for your drink, I'd much rather pay for that myself than a bloody floor." He says, voice even and friendly, but a vein bulging out of his forehead.

Hope you've you've enjoyed! Who are you looking to for help in this situation? (I take requests, feel free to ask!♡)

203 notes · View notes

marzmeltdown · 11 months

Text

Show Me Your God

⌦ Pairing: Demon!Hyunjin x FEM!Reader ⌦ Genre(s): smut ⌦ Warning(s): pet names (hyunjin: ,, reader: angel,, princess,, darling,, ),, religious themes(??),, throat fucking,, rough sex,, hair pulling,, dacryphilia,, dirty talk,, praise,, minor fluff,, oral (m + f receiving),, edging,, spanking,, swearing,, overstimulation,, unprotected sex (be smart),, creamepie,, slight pinning,, choking,, fingering,, ⌦ Word count: 2.18k ⌦ Summary: You were used to being on your knees, though in the biblical sense, sighting your nightly prayers and what not. Recently, however, your knees have been on the floor for a completely different, sinful reason. ⌦ A/N: Listening to Werewolf by Motionless in White truly was a great song to write this fic to. um,, this was written partly for my own delusions if I'm being 100% honest. If there's anything you feel I should improve on in the future, don't hesitate to let me know! You can find progress updates on this story and everything else I write in my pinned post every Wednesday.:)

⌦ marz’s tag list ⌦ marz’s req form

You were used to being on your knees, though in the biblical sense, sighting your nightly prayers and what not.

It all started one night on your way home from your church's weekly nightly sermon. Though night sermons were typically held for those who could not make it to regular church services or for those who needed a warm place to stay for a few hours to combat the cold winters that swept through town, you always showed up.

He seemed to take pleasure in testing your faith each night since then; it was as if the devil himself sent the man to come and taint your once pure mind. He reached places you never knew were possible and put you in positions you were sure you would have never been able to do yourself.

But tonight. Tonight was different.

You couldn't shake the feeling that he had something sinister going on in that devilish mind of his. He was rough, messy, and held a cocky grin each time that cross necklace that never left your neck glistened in the light.

He took full pleasure in forcing gags from your throat with just his cock alone; the way you looked beneath him was truly a work of art. His hand gripped your hair at the root as his hips thrust into your face with such force that you were sure you'd have bruises around your mouth by the morning.

"You look so good like this, angel; on your knees for me with my cock down your throat," Hyunjin said, wrapping your hair around his hand in attempts to pull you closer to him. You whimpered in response to his praise, and the vibrations from your whimper shot up the demon's spine, causing his head to lull back in pleasure.

Your throat felt raw from how long his cock was being shoved down your throat. The only sounds coming from your mouth were the lewd sounds of your spit being churned in your mouth, and the gags being forced out of you with each harsh thrust sounded like music to Hyunjin's ears. You could feel the stickiness of your saliva mixed with tears running down your body.

His hips began to stutter as his orgasm pushed closer, and the whimpers that started to fall from his mouth went straight to your core, causing you to rub your thighs together. The friction you created with your thighs did little to appease your neglected cunt.

He thrust one, two, three more times. On the third thrust, hold your head still at the base, your nose brushing up against his pelvic bone. The two of you maintained eye contact as his cock twitched against your tongue and his cum shot down your throat, forcing you to swallow every drop.

He held your head in place for a few more seconds, catching his breath, before he let you pull away. He looked spent, and your jaw was on fire, but you knew that you were just getting started with your eventful night.

Your head fell forward as you took in as many deep breaths as you could. Hyunjin reached down to take hold of your hair once more, pulling your head up so you two were now face-to-face. "Don't tap out on me now, princess; we're just getting started," he said.

"I know, I just need a second to breathe," you replied, your voice hoarse from the harsh fucking it just received a moment ago. He kneeled down, placing a small kiss on your forehead.

Despite being rough in every sense of the word, he always made sure you were okay. He wouldn't continue until you gave him the okay to do so. The small gestures of kindness were short, almost nonexistent, but every time they do arise, you can't help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

He sat on the floor next to you, placing soft kisses on your head and stroking your hair soothingly. It didn't take long for you to recover; you just needed to gather your breath anyway—nothing too drastic.

You were quickly bent over the edge of the bed, Hyunjin's face buried deep into your cunt as soon as you gave the okay. The way his tongue expertly ran through your folds, teased your hole with his tongue, and sucked at your clit had you seeing stars.

He had one of your legs propped up on the bed to give him more room, and your moans grew louder with each poke and prod of his tongue throughout your pussy. A wanton moan leaving your lips once Hyunjin's fingers slipped inside your heat. He pumped his fingers in and out of your hole, curling his fingers up to hit that sweet spot inside your walls that had your head spinning.

"F-Fuck!" You whined, gripping at the sheets to ground yourself from the intense pleasure you were receiving from his mouth and fingers alone. Your walls clenched around his fingers, pulling a groan from Hyunjin at the feeling of your tight walls sucking his fingers further inside of you.

"Such a dirty mouth for such a pretty girl; you'll have to beg for forgiveness in confession," Hyunjin teased. The way he spoke about how dirty his precious church mouse was pushed you closer to the edge.

"Hyu- dear God! I'm close!" You cried, and Hyunjin chuckled softly as he pulled away. The immediate loss of attention to your cunt caused you to whine and look back at the demon who took your pleas to the Lord above while he was pleasing you as an ego boost.

He stood, lining himself up with your heat, though he didn't thrust in. Instead, he teased your hole with the tip of his cock, forcing more whines to fall from your saliva-soaked lips.

"Use your words, princess," he simply said; he spoke as if the sight of you writhing beneath him didn't have him leaking. You were growing impatient with his teasing, and your hips pushed back against his cock before you had time to think about it.

That action rewarded you with two reactions from your lover, one being a soft groan and the other landed a harsh smack against your ass. You yelped at the punishment, jumping forward in shock as your brain registered the stinging pain you had just received from Hyunjin's spanking.

"Please, Hyunjin.." You whined, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with the man behind you. He resumed teasing your cunt, watching as you bit your lip to suppress a whine from escaping your lips.

"Please what, darling?" He asked, letting the tip of his cock slide into your cunt.

"Fuck me, please, Hyunjin," you begged.

He thrust his hips into you in one full motion, barely giving you time to adjust. The tear of his rough entry was more pleasurable than waiting for your okay. You moaned loudly as he bottomed out. Hyunjin had one hand against your neck, pressing your head into the bed, while the other held onto your hip to keep you from squirming.

His thrusts were fast and sharp, hitting your cervix with every thrust while simultaneously digging his nails into your neck. His eyes were focused on how his cock disappeared so quickly and then reappeared just as quickly. You were sure your walls were somehow molded to fit his cock perfectly—not that it was physically possible, of course.

You were on cloud nine, almost missing how he pulled you up by the hair so your back was flush with his chest. The hand that was holding your hip previously was now rubbing harsh circles into your clit, with his other hand gripping your neck. You were so cock drunk that your head lulled back and rested itself on his shoulder as your hands found themselves tangled in his hair. You bit your lip in an attempt to lessen the volume of your screams, but that was only presented with a harsh pinch to your nipple.

You let out a yelp of both pain and pleasure, your hands tugging so ruthlessly on his hair that his head was pulled back with it.

"Let me hear you, precious. Let God hear you," he growled into your ear. The snapping of his hips only became tougher the longer he fucked himself into you.

"Feels so good.. Feels so-…" You cried out, tears falling from your eyes as you rambled on about how good his dick felt inside you, how big and thick his cock was, and all the lewd descriptors that would make your local nunnery faint.

The cord in your stomach began to twist and turn again, faster this time from Hyunjin's relentless beatings to your pussy and his fingers harsh figure eights against your clit. You weren't sure where his obsession with bringing the Lord into your sexual escapades came from, but you weren't objecting at all for reasons you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"H-Hyunjin! Im gonna-" You sobbed, too far gone to even finish the sentence, but Hyunjin knew what you were trying to tell him. He could feel it in the way your walls were sucking him in, holding his cock captive inside the warm and wet paradise that was your pussy.

"Go ahead, princess," he whispered into your ear. That was all you needed to hear before the dam finally broke. Hyunjin's hand did not once falter from abusing your cunt as your cum soaked his hand, your legs, and the mattress beneath you.

The moan you let out when you squirted all over your lover's hand could only be compared to an animal howling at the moon. The demon's hand did not stop attacking that bundle of nerves that seemed so hard yet so easy for the male species to find. The tears streaming from your face thickened as overstimulation began to set in. Hyunjin held you up by your throat when your legs began to shake; the growling in your ear almost overpowered the pain you were slowly beginning to feel.

"Hyunjin, please!" You sobbed once more. Despite your nerves being on fire, you couldn't help but want him to continue.

"My angel did so well for me; do you think you can do it again?" He asked, and instinctively, you nodded. Hyunjin could make you squirt 5–6 times before he had to cum a second time, and the way he beat your pussy felt like he was angry at times. And you'd be lying to say you didn't enjoy it.

"C-Can we cum together?" You managed to ask through your sobs of pleasure, and he chuckled softly at the request. He could feel the cord in his own stomach twisting and turning; the sight of you glistening with your own juices and still having the energy to continue turned him on more than any piece of lingerie could.

"Of course, princess," he said. He moved the hand that was around your throat to force his middle and ring fingers into your mouth as his other hand rubbed circles into your clit until you were cumming down your leg again.

You let out a moan that had to have come from the bottom of your chest with how powerful it was. Watching as your body writhed with pleasure as he fucked you through your orgasm was enough to send him over the edge a second time.

It started with a few twitches of his cock before he was filling you with what felt like more cum than what he had forced you to swallow earlier in the night. You whimpered when his hand left your clit to aid the hand around your chin in holding you up, as your legs were effectively spent from the harsh beating your pussy had just endured.

"You did so well for me, baby girl, so well." He said this as he thrust his cum back inside of you whenever it threatened to leave your hole alongside your arousal and run down his balls. He pulled his fingers from your mouth as he kissed your sweat-soaked temple.

"Thank you, Hyunjin," you said; your voice was long gone by this point.

"Look at this mess you made," he said, still thrusting into your cunt shallowly, more so to make sure every drop of his cum stays inside your cunt rather than arousing you again. You blushed as you looked at the soaked spot on the bed.

"Can we lie like this for a little while? I don't want you to pull out yet." You asked, and he only shook his head as he pulled out and gently laid you on the bed.

"After I clean you up, princess, I don't want you to get sick from cockwarming right after sex," he said as he kissed your forehead.

You whined in protest but accepted it, and you liked it when he was soft after the fact. Emotionally, not physically, of course. He always cleaned you up with a warm towel, clothed you, changed your sheets, gave you water, and then laid in bed with you until you fell asleep.

309 notes · View notes

tgcg · 14 days

Note

Ya got any tips for writing dialog for the sillies?

i wish i could come up w anything deeply helpful irt this but i just kinda "feel it" & it "happens", generally in a way i find hard 2 explain to people... i will give it a go though

i made a post abt the kind of mindset i have when i write karkat dialogue here https://www.tumblr.com/cgtg/739174575193112576/do-you-have-any-tips-on-writing-karkat-dialogue a while back though🙂

for dave i think id have an even harder time explaining it, but my dave is rly heavily influenced by post-irony & ytp. whenever i write dave i just kinda follow a stream of consciousness that is dubious about shit and loves to laugh i guess? i rlly don't know how to describe it. i tend to reread canon dialogue particlarly from act3-6 for inspo, sometimes i'm straight up using my own brain with some kind of dave-filter

when i write them together i like 2 live in the beautiful world where they both agreed to be earnest with each other, probably my best example of that is "candid detail". i don't do that all the time bc i also like to write em with their guards up e.g. "bad mouther hole master", theres a lot of points in their relationship that have rly fun dynamics 2 me.

i guess i also do them kinda silly. ive been told my dk is quite silly. i like 2 imagine they know how to make each other laugh. they also learn a lot from each others perspectives on things, like insecurities or bad experiences or even just what they like / what art is to them, stuff like that. in my interp they do rly end up having a lot of things in common ideologically bc they're both at their cores very soft people.

it's all abt big long sentences with an undertone of quiet empathy. it can also be about aggressively bumping shoulders w their own egos too because that's fun

fundamentally though, i write them 2 be genuinely interested in what the other has to say. like, curious about each other. it gives u rly fun back & forth that isn't too mean-spirited & is more playful/genuine... i think it's rlly easy to write them totally discrediting each other's viewpoints which i do sometimes too (again, FUN !) but if u do it in the wrong context it just comes off as needlessly sardonic & harshes the vibe. i mention that bc i have a hard time balancing their egos & genuity myself sometimes

also very important to know when to have them run their mouths & when to have them sit their asses down & LISTEN. i tend to have them run their mouths a lot in scripts i havent finished/posted, just bc i have so much fun doing it, but it makes the dialogue so long-winded that i can't turn it into a comic... yeah definitely part of it is remembering they both know how to be succinct when they need/wanna be and aren't ALWAYS flapping their mouths. sometimes i realise a script is going in a direction that could be a whole other convo & that's when i tend 2 nip it in the bud

i really dont kno if any of this is helpful but i hope it is a little 4 my kinda... process i guess 🙂

thank u 4 asking me abt it ! if i think of better ways 2 explain it i will share in da future i hope u r having a good day

#randytime #this is jus rly 4 how *i* write them also hehe

69 notes · View notes

hi-avathisside · 4 days

Text

As long as you're with me, I'm going to be alright

As long as you're with me, I'm going to be alright. I'm going to be alright, no matter how mean and cruel this world is to me. No matter how many people I lose, how much love this world takes away from me, But, as long as you're with me, I'm going to be alright.

No matter how many times the world is harsh and gives me new wounds everyday, as long as I can come back to you at the end of the day, as long as I get to be in your arms, I would take a thousand more cuts on my skin just to feel your embrace once more.

No matter how much my mother hits me, no matter how much my father yells at me, I know that you're here and I'm going to be alright. You're going to be alright and We're going to be alright. We have to be alright.

No matter what happens, as long as we stick together, and talk late at nights , as I tell you about my day, make myself vulnerable as you do the same, Tell you about my wounds, my cuts and how deeply rooted are they in me, You must tell me about yours, too. Tell me about the time your mother yelled at you when you were six, and you had to cry yourself to sleep alone. I will tell you about why I flinch whenever someone closes a door too harshly. But as long as I have you by my side, I know I will be alright, because I will have a hand to hold whenever I flinch. Tell me about the time when you played with your siblings, giggling in the park, and I will tell you about how me and my siblings stay up at night usually, in the dead silence of our house and just take few breathes freely. Tell me about how you love your hobbies and why a teacher in your 2nd grade inspired you to have this hobby and I'll tell you about why I love making art.

Tell me all the details, the special ones, the normal ones, all of the intricate details that have sewn your soul together. I will tell you about mine, my cracks and crevices in my soul and I will tell you about the overgrown plants which envelope my soul and why there's a little part of it which is rotting away in darkness. I will tell you about all of that because I know you would embrace them, and love them as I love you. I know I'll be alright with you.

You tell me about that scar over your eyebrow and I will tell you about a tattoo I have on the back of my leg. Tell me about all your sins and cuts, all your insecurities and vulnerabilities, all the edges and see me love them because they're beautiful. They're beautiful because they're a part of you. They're you.

I'll be alright if I'm with you. I would protect you from all harm and you'd do the same. We would look out for each other. You would have my back, and I will have yours. We will survive through this together.

As long as I have you, I'll be alright.

As long as I have you, I would not forget how to smile. I would not forget how to laugh and giggle, and blush, and how to feel happy. As long as I am with you I will know what happiness means.

Remember the time we laughed and giggled while coming back from school ? It had been 3 days since I had last smiled, and It was with you, that I couldn't stop smiling. As long as I was with you, I didn't need to worry about my parents at the house, or how they yelled at me and how I cry myself to sleep every night. I didn't have to remember about the nights, or the days. Or about my sister in the hospital, or about how I will figure everything out. All I could feel was that moment and that was okay too. It was more than okay you know, it was like I had been filled with life inside out, even for a moment I felt happy and alive.

"And we laugh into the microphone and sing, With our sunglasses on, to our favorite songs."

As long as I have you, I know I will have someone who has my back. No matter how much I fuck up, or life fucks me up, you would stay by my side while I figure my mess out. And I would do the same. I would do the same. No matter how many times there are downfalls and low points in life, one person whom I would find besides me all the time is you. You.

Remember the time we both sang songs and giggled for god-knows-how-long but it was good. It was really great.

Remember the time when you said it'd be alright in the end and I believed it because the way your eyes had that warm, brown, comforting softness and that sea of beautiful emotions, and the way your eyes were slightly teary hearing what was troubling me and how there was the slightest of smile on your face when you said that, and oh- how you put your hand over mine and said "It'd be alright."

I know It'd be alright as long as I have you by my side.

"Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby

As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine

Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby

Nothing's gonna take you from my side."

from,

-A

WROTE THIS JUST NOW AND THEN EDITED AND POSTED THIS AND I AM IN LOVEEEE WITH WHAT I WROTE. PROUD AFFF

67 notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 1 month

Note

I know you probably won't continue this since it's been almost two years but recently I saw your Submas comic again with Emmet somehow ending up in Hisui with the help of Celebi and reuniting with his brother but also getting the consequences of his actions/neglect in taking care of himself (also probably Hisui being harsh to his already weakened state)

I imagined how it could continue (not written down anywhere just living rent free in the brain of yours truly) and I feel like sharing it with you since you inspired me:

We left off as Ingo weeps in front of Emmet sleeping... After he wakes up from his weeping Ingo and Sneasler reluctantly leave as Emmet has no signs of regaining consciousness or improving. Something tells Ingo that what his brother needs might be back in their original time with much better health care.

Similar to him Ingo seeks out Dialga and Palkia begging them to help him save his brother. They have just reunited and he doesn't dare to think what happens if Emmet doesn't get the treatment he needs.

Celebi is also still around and Ingo makes the decision to return to the future to help save Emmet. Sacrificing everything just like he did.

[off screen he makes his good byes get's one of Sneaslers Eggs as a parting gift and they return back to the future]

Next time we cut to the twins it's in the hospital when Emmet regains consciousness. Half awake he is distraught first because being in hospital means it was all a dream and he is all alone again. Waterworks start until he notices a presence by his bedside. Ingo. Totally exhausted and seemingly recently fallen asleep. Waterworks start even harder because Ingo is right there. It was real after all. Ingo awakes and wakes up and they hug and weep.

the end

----

I know you're not fond of fanworks of your fanworks so I don't know if you even like this stupid little idea (also if you even remember the fanart and all that from way back when) I don't plan on sharing this anywhere outside to you. Take it if you want or leave and delete it. I just felt like sharing it with you since you inspired me.

I just want to say thank you because even after all this time your few works of art for submas fill me with joy and I smile each time I scroll past them on my dashboard. All your artworks are simply amazing and I know that you definitely make so many people happy with your content. Keep doing what you love because you do awesome! Take care and thank you for reading this far into this long message.

Awwee!! This is so sad yet adorable at the same time!! 😭😭😭 What a sweet way to wrap up Ingo and Emmets journey! :}}

And thank you so much! I'm so glad to hear that you liked my submas stuff and that it's inspired you! Even though I didn't draw much for it.. 😅 Perhaps someday when I'm feeling better I'll get back around to submas again.. 👀👀

#my response #ingo and emmet #warden ingo #pokemon legends arceus

104 notes · View notes

ya-zz · 2 months

Note

hiii!!! my first time sending a request to someone, but i just saw your beautiful little post coming out like a minute ago and you're asking for more requests...so.....i'm being totally normal about how gorgeous you write for Ramattra...( and I'm being totally normal about how I'm so feral over him too like bark bark- )

So, if you'll be willing...how about just a little fluff? Ramattra's first time wanting to sleep with his fem!human in the same bed, but he actually doesn't know how to cuddle and not crush this fragile being beside him. So, reader has to teach that silly little omnic how to >< bonus points if Ramattra doesn't understand his strength from the human pov 👉👈

even if you'd dismiss it, it's alright! Just wanted to reach out and say thank u so much for your works, you're doing awesome with writing and art and you're making me smile every time i see something from you ( or cry okay i love good dose of angst- ). Srry for many words, well, have a great day/night!! ^^

Hi Hi! We love being feral for Ramattra on this blog~ bark bark

Also thank you so much for the kind words! It really means a lot to me 😭 It's messages like this that keep me writing ♥

"Since when did you want to cuddle?" You ask, arms crossed over your chest with a slight smirk on your face.

"Shut up..." He looks away and you could tell he was embarrassed for asking such a thing.

You laugh lightly before taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed. Luckily it was late, so it was the perfect excuse to be close to your partner.

Ramattra won't admit that it would be his first time cuddling with a human, anything beyond that was out of his trajectory regardless, but he wanted to be close with you tonight.

He lays down beside you, instinctively wrapping his arms around your curves and pulling you close. His grip was tight around your body which causes you to wince.

"I am sorry." Ramattra speaks softly, letting go of you when he notices the pained expression. He wasn't used to being gentle with another being.

You shake your head and smile up at him. "It's an honest mistake." Shuffling closer to him, you place his arms where you needed them, wrapped around your sides as your head lays against his chest, cowl protecting you from the harsh metal bracing.

The hum of his inner workings lull you to sleep almost instantly, but you fight to stay awake a little longer.

"This is... Comforting." He admits, thumb rubbing gentle motions on your side. He feels the warmth of your chest against his side, your own hand rubbing soothing lines up his tubing.

"Better than you imagined?"

"Far better." He stares up at the ceiling, systems heating up slightly to keep you warm.

You hum, shifting slightly as the fight wears out and you fall asleep against him. You were safe within his arms, all worries dissipating.

Ramattra can't help but let out an audible sigh, finally feeling content. He speaks in a sort of whisper, not wanting to disturb you.

"Goodnight, my love."

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra drabble #yazzfics

72 notes · View notes

celiciaa · 7 months

Text

CHAPTER SIX: CHEVALIER VS GILBERT....

Battle in Rhodolite ~Crossing swords, connecting bonds~

translations are not 100% accurate. expect mistakes.

special thanks to @dark-frosted-heart for providing the story!

MINORS DNI.

The Goodwill martial arts competition 5th round — wolf’s team Gilbert vs. deer’s team Chevalier.

The most heated battle of this tournament is about to begin——

But before we knew it, the two beasts had escaped from the venue.

Gilbert: Wow….what is this? A fluffy love story that almost made me laugh.

Chevalier: ….

Carrying books instead of swords, Gilbert and Chevalier indulge in reading stories in a quiet library.

Gilbert: How can you read this stuff with a straight face?

Chevalier: …..

Gilbert: Even though you seem to have nothing to do with things like romance and love…

Gilbert: Surprisingly, out of all the Rhodolitian princes, you’re the one who understands the maiden’s heart the most, no?

Chevalier: …..

Gilbert: Hey, can you just stop giving your guest of honour a silent treatment and entertain me instead? I'm getting bored.

Chevalier: If you have too much free time, go back to the venue.

Gilbert: You're a sarcastic man because you know what I'm talking about.

Gilbert: What do you think would happen if I showed up in front of a crowd like that, even if it was a friendly match?

Gilbert: I’m a prince of the empire that once stained Rhodolite with blood. They might throw stones at me.

Chevalier: I don't think you have a sensitive heart to worry about that.

Gilbert: You’re right. But there is a certain rabbit who cares, you know?

Gilbert: I've decided to be kind to her.

Chevalier: ….Ridiculous.

Gilbert: Besides, I should have fulfilled my minimum obligation by participating in the opening ceremony.

Gilbert: Good for you. The one who came to Rhodolite was not the bloody emperor — but me, the sweetest little guy.

Chevalier: …..

Gilbert: Anyway…

Gilbert: You're still so good at taking care of me, following me around when I wanted to be on my own like this.

Chevalier: I've never heard…the term "care" before.

Gilbert: Is that so? But haven’t I always been so difficult to deal with?

Chevalier: I don't recall taking care of you.

Gilbert: You’re just being too modest. You see, when I was in Rhodolite, we got involved with some strange people——...

━━FLASHBACK━━

Man: Ehehe, you both are very well-dressed boys, huh? Please lend me some money.

Gilbert: Wow, there are guys like this outside of the book world. I've never seen it before.

Gilbert: I've heard that Rhodolite is a relatively safe neighborhood….

Chevalier: Don't deal with them. You're wasting your time.

Man: Cheeky little guy, aren't you? Well then, let me show you how harsh the world really is.

Gilbert: Geh, we’ve provoked him.

Chevalier: It's no problem.

Gilbert: I can't do it. There’s no way I can fight.

Chevalier: I didn't have high expectations from the beginning. You are weak.

Gilbert: ….You’re making me angry.

Gilbert: Watch out——

As the man tried to grab the black-haired boy, the blond-haired boy caught the man’s foot and pulled him to the ground.

The way he stomps on the head of the man who tries to get up is the true beast, even though he is small,

The frightened man simply turned tail and ran away.

Chevalier: That’s how you should do it.

Gilbert: ….You're an incredibly strong fighter.

Gilbert: Thank you for protecting me.

Chevalier: I didn't protect you, I just dealt with what was in front of me.

Gilbert: But he was targeting me first, wasn't he?

Gilbert: If you didn't do anything, I would definitely get hurt.

Chevalier: ….

Gilbert: So, there’s nothing wrong with thanking you.

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

Gilbert: ——Even you would still stubbornly deny it.

Chevalier: It's not a matter of denial, it's a matter of interpretation.

Gilbert: Yes, yes. So how do you explain this situation now?

Chevalier: I just didn't want to get involved in troublesome things like martial arts tournaments.

Gilbert: It's part of diplomacy, and as I said, even you would have taken part in it seriously if it weren't for me.

Gilbert: But now that I’m alone, there's no telling what kind of evil I might do.

Gilbert: That's why you're still keeping an eye out to protect the people in the court.

Chevalier: …..

Gilbert: I'm no longer under your protection….

Gilbert: Your actions are always for the protection of your country or people…right?

Gilbert: Well, maybe people call you "cruel and merciless beast" because your way of protecting them is extreme.

Chevalier: If you describe my method as "protecting", I suppose that means you would do the same thing.

Gilbert: Ahaha. Yes, that's right. We just protect different things.

Gilbert: Although we are quite similar, we are never compatible because we protect different things.

Gilbert: Up until now, you won’t get along with me.

Chevalier: I've never wanted to be friends with you, though.

Gilbert: Ehhh....is that what you say to your old friend?

Chevalier: You've just been treating me like one.

Gilbert: I guess that part hasn't changed either….

Gilbert: I don't mind. I'm more interested in antagonizing you than being your friend.

Gilbert: Please continue to be my enemy, okay, Chevalier?

Chevalier: …..

The two beasts spent some time in secret while listening to the cheers of the martial arts contest coming from a distance——.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #cybird #ikemen series

140 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 5 months

Text

Just Breathe With Me

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet as Sugar!

Requested Can you please do a Jack Dawkins x reader who has a panic attack? ( comfort/fluff no smut ) wait omg plz do 🙏 only if you're comfortable of course

Warnings: Panic Attack In great detail! Please be careful!

I opened my eyes and was forced into this world, for a few brief seconds I enjoyed my peace until the chaos ensued.

Olivia cried in her crib, her little body in her baby clothes stood up in her crib, her hands on the top of the bars as she shook them, her face red and her eyes squeezed tight with tears streaming down her face.

Luna screamed on her bed, wearing her little white nightie, she jumped up and down on her bed screaming at Martin, as he tried to take her teddy.

Martin shouted as he was took all the various teddies and toys to steal for himself, half-dressed but nothing more than his socks and trousers.

Lucas hits his stick on various things in the house, not dressed at all so he runs around naked, each hit makes a loud bang.

He even knocks off a vase causing it to smash and sending broken pieces all over the floor.

I forced myself up out of bed, my body exhausted but I had little choice but to get up and function. I quickly cleaned up the broken vase and just got on.

I briefly became an octopus or I wish I had, as I managed to cook breakfast, get each of my siblings washed, dressed, hair brushed and presentable, get myself dressed, changed Olivia, quelled four arguments and made the beds Before we even hit the top of the hour. I felt faint but Ignored it and pushed on.

And right on time once every job was done, my mother trudged down the staircase from her bedroom upstairs in her nightie, her hair matted and messy, her whole body stank of whiskey, she sat herself in the chair and snapped her fingers.

The snap caused my heart to jump from my chest to my throat, beating rapidly, I hated myself but I handed over her spirit bottle.

She immediately took an intense swig of it, and the first words out of her mouth were harsh and bitter,

"Where's my vase?"

"Lucas broke it this morning," I told her,

"Find a replacement today."

"Yes Mother," I nodded,

"And we are out of food."

"Yes, Mother I will get food at the market."

"and I need more drink."

"Yes, Mother I will get some,"

"They'll be late for the schoolhouse."

"I know, I'm just taking them." I nodded, "Come everyone school time." I told them to sort them all out with their books and what little lunch I could give them and got them all out the door on time,

"You won't see me later, I'm going out."

"Yes Mother," I sighed "Perhaps not too late-"

"Dont. Say a word." She demanded,

I nodded and just got going into town.

Of course, the town was bustling with the commotion of carriages, horses, carts and people all going about their business. I did my best with Olivia on my hip to make sure everyone else behaved and avoided getting hurt, having to juggle the three of them to the schoolhouse. a twisting in my stomach but I didn't have time to dwell on it,

As soon as they were in the school house I had to scamper my way across town to drop Olivia off at her nursery, then before I had much time I had to get myself to my work in the local tailor pushing open the door and heading in grabbing my apron as I went catching my short breath.

"You're late again!" He snapped,

"Sorry Mr Ashworth, I had to drop my siblings off," I said quickly sitting at my old rickety sewing machine almost fifteen years old this machine but still I had to use it every day to do hems and repairs, the pile as tall as me beside my table, having to go slow but not too slow or I'll never get finished, fast but not to fast as to damage the fabric, or catch my fingers, or break a needle, every time I had to rethread the machine with a new colour or type of thread for a different fabric or use I held my breath for a few seconds it took to change but every second counts and I can't afford delays. The longer the day went on I began to lose feeling in my fingertips, with tingling of pins and needles in my fingers and toes, but I pushed through even if it did mean I cut myself more often as without feeling I got dangerously close to my scissors and needles.

As soon as work was over I had to rush across town and pick up my siblings from the school house, I tried to keep them all in line as we headed to the market, and I got all the things we would need for the next few days while also batting at their hands to try and get them to settle and not steal things even if some things had to be paid for because someone ran off with them, all the while I kept feeling these flashes or heat, or chill but I don't have time to dwell on temperature.

Once I got all the food I took them home and left them to play dropping the groceries off too before I returned back to town to go looking for a replacement for my mother's vase, it was slim pickings but I managed to get one and haggle down the price to what little I had left for this month. I knew by now my legs were trembling, and my body felt like giving in but all I needed now was to pick Olivia up, go home, make dinner, do a round of baths and get everyone to bed. Ready to do all of it again tomorrow.

When a young boy ran past knocking into me sending me tumbling down to the ground the vase hitting the ground and smashing into a million little pieces.

"No... no... no no no no" I muttered trying to put it back together.

And the moment it smashed, I completely broke open.

Tears streamed down my face, as I cried hysterically, my breath short and shaky, my throat choking and tight with every breath, my mouth dry and sickly, my heart raced jumping in and out my chest, my fingers and toes numb, my head dizzy almost to faint, my every limb shook and sweated, my stomach churned and turned like a hurricane, I couldn't even think, or even begin to know where to start to fix myself.

"Oh my goodness, are you alright?" A voice asked but I couldn't pick up much about it I just was lost almost distant from my body as it went through this agony, "Come on, with me." He said helping me to my feet and leading me to a rear alley out of sight of others, he helped me to lean against the wall and began to speak to me his voice soothing, and with his every word I began to slowly feel like I was swimming like I was at sea, my body a boat and slowly I was swimming back to it. "Okay, it's okay, Just breathe. Just Breathe with me... Breath in." He asked and I did my best even if I felt so short and so breathless, "And out." He asked so I did as he asked between my tears, "Okay, Just follow me just breathe with me, In... and out." He reassured He walked me through each breath he would make me inhale for five whole seconds, hold it for five more and then release for five seconds, he walked me through this for a good while until my breathlessness began to disappear, and between my tearful eyes my vision cleared and I saw him.

He was a young man, I wouldn't say much older than me, in brown trousers, a white shirt, a blue waistcoat, a green tie, a slightly purple jacket, and a hat, he had deep chocolate eyes and seemed to genuinely want to help me.

"There we go, That a little better?" he asked and I nodded even if I still couldn't stop, "Alright, I want you to do some things for me, alright? Can you do that for me?" he asked and I nodded, "Alright, I want you to tell me three things you can hear, doesn't matter what just focus on the sounds and repeat them back to me."

For a moment I couldn't hear anything my ears ringing and burning but I knew one thing I could hear and I forced it out "You're voice."

"My voice, That's perfect," He smiled, "You think you can do another one for me?"

I tried to listen to pour all my attention into my ears and I could hear "The Market Stalls,"

"You can hear the market? That's perfect, one more for me? One more thing?"

I listened closely trying hard to hear anything else "horseshoes,"

"Horseshoes, Excellent, what do you think they're from?"

"A carriage maybe?"

"Yeah I think so too," he chuckled, "You able to tell me your name?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n, That's a very lovely name." He smiled, "I'm Jack. You feel a little better?" he asked and I nodded "Good, That's very good. Just slow down, keep breathing for me, just stay here and stay still a moment."

"I can't I need to-"

"The only thing you need to do right now is to get better. Trust me I'm a doctor. You're strung out to the limit and in the middle of a panic attack. Whatever it is I'm sure it can wait a moment." he said, "Y/n I want you to tell me three things you can see, doesn't matter what any three things."

I was nervous and still struggling but slowly my symptoms began to slow and I noticed just how fuzzy my voice was from the tears and how tunnelled my vision was, "Uhhh I uhh I see you..."

"Good, that's good you see me," he said, "Anything else?"

"The uhhh the sky."

"You see the sky, that's perfect, it's a very nice afternoon. One more I know you can do it."

"The wall, for the bakery."

"That's perfect, the bakery wall. Can you imagine all the lovely cakes, and pasties, and fresh loaves in there?"

"I uhh I can." I nodded,

"Excellent, One more little thing y/n, I want you to tell me three things you feel okay?"

as he said it I noticed just how little I really noticed but with each thing I listed to him I became more aware and more into this world again,

"I, I feel the wall."

"How does it feel?"

"Cold, uhh stoney I suppose."

"Stoney?" he laughed, "what else?"

I slightly moved my feet feeling the dusty dirt around my boots slightly move to the side like sand as I did so, "I feel the dirt, as it pushes away."

"How does it feel against your boots?"

"Rough and small"

"That's good, one more for me, just one more."

As he asked it I felt almost normal, and I noticed "Your hand." I said, His hand graced mine his fingers on my wrist checking my pulse, the other on my neck but not harshly not as if attempting to harm me or threaten my throat but merely rested there as if he was monitoring my every gasp,

"How do my hands feel?"

"Uhh Warm,"

"Good."

"They feel rough," I blushed a little trying not to giggle while also trying to you know not insult the man who helped me,

He chuckled, "Yeah, Surgeon. Sorry about that." He chuckled,

"Does that mean they are dirty?"

"I mean... yeah probably, I'm sorry for that too."

"It's okay. I uhh Thank you."

"You're welcome," He smiled, "I saw you were struggling I thought you were having a heart attack and first but no, a panic attack, Do you get these a lot?"

"unfortunately yes."

"Alright, well. The best thing I can say is to try to manage your stress so it doesn't overflow, maybe slow down a little but those three sights, sounds, and feelings are really good it help calm and ground so use it when you can alright?"

"I uhh I will do my best."

"I assume you have a stressful life?"

"Understatement."

"If I let you go right now are you going to go straight back to the level of stress you were at?"

"I uhh... I am late from picking my sister up, and I need to get a new vase for my mother, and I need to get home and do dinner and get everyone to"

"Okay. Okay." he said stopping me, "I'm getting bloody anxious just listening to that,"

"Sorry-"

"It's alright, I was heading home anyway I can come give you a hand if you like?"

"No no, I couldn't-"

"It's no trouble, you need to relax a little if I can take something off your plate anything it'll help. In fact as your doctor at this moment I insist."

"Well okay, my mother insists I come home with a new vase."

"Okay, I can find a vase. anything particular?"

"No, just a vase."

"Okay." He nods,

"I uhh but I don't have any money left."

"You let me worry about that, it's on me." He smiled, "I'll meet you back here when I'm done." he smiled heading off back to the market,

I blushed but smiled and headed on my way picking up Olivia luckily she was asleep by now, and I returned to the alley where Jack already waited with a vase in hand.

"Did I do good?"

"It's beautiful. How'd you-"

"It's best not to ask questions." he winked, "Aww who's this little lady?"

"This is Olivia." I smiled letting him see her but not wake her,

"Aww, she's beautiful, your daughter?"

"Sister, well half-sister really... though I don't honestly know." I answered, "But thank you so much, I really need to get home now,"

"Alright, I'll walk with you, so long as you don't mind,"

"Ohh no of course not, thank you."

"It's alright no trouble, here you take this, and I'll take this little lady." He smiled handing me the vase and taking Olivia letting her sleep on his shoulder as we walked, by the time we got home I felt a rush of anxiety as the house was a tip and my siblings losing their minds from being home alone so long,

"Oh no no no."

"It's okay, don't worry. You take her and get her to bed. I'll take this lot and sit with them in the garden we can have a play around and get some energy out"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, it's no problem," he said,

"Alright, Okay everyone outside with Mr- uhh"

"Dr, Dawkins."

"Everyone out to the gardens with Dr Dawkins," I told them and of course, a chance to play outside was not passed up, he went out with them and I began work I put Olivia down to sleep in her cot and cleaned the house as best and putting the new vase on the shelf. Once done I sighed in relief and went out keeping the door open as I saw Jack helping my siblings, playing with them, playing a game of knights. Luna is a princess, Martian is a dragon and Lucas is a knight with Jack narrating them and helping them play.

I smiled and took a seat on the bench outside the front door taking a rare moment to... be at peace,

"You feel a bit better now?" He asked sitting beside me,

"Yes, thank you, Jack."

"you're very welcome. they're great, a lot of energy."

"Yeah well the get cooped up a lot."

"You know talking does wonders for anxiety." He smiled, "I'm not that sort of doctor but I'm happy to listen anyway?"

"I don't want to burden you, you've done enough."

"It's not a burden I want to help, and I admit I'm curious about you."

I chuckled a little, "Well, we live here all of us."

"All five of you?"

"Six my mother too."

"Ahh, your father?"

"Never met him."

"You said Olivia might be your half-sister, where's her father?"

"They all are my half-siblings, as far as I know. None of us have the same father, as far as I am aware. None of them have ever met them."

"I see. You're mother she a -"

"She was,"

"That explains that then."

"It does, yeah."

"Then... why are you looking after them?"

"Mother... likes to drink."

"Ohh."

"yeah."

"I see. So she just goes out and drinks all day? leaves you alone with them?"

"Pretty much, sometimes she's here just... hungover as all hell."

"So you do... everything I guess?"

"cook. clean. baths. bed. back and forth to school."

"I'm surprised you didn't crack sooner..."

"Well, sink or swim I guess."

"I suppose so, still school gives you some break time I guess."

"I wish, got to go to work while they're at school, and Olivia isn't old enough yet."

"Hold up- You work?"

"Yes."

"You have a job! on top of basically full-time caring for four kids?"

"Yes."

"what do you do?"

"Tailor's assistant in town, I run the old machine in the back doing alterations."

"Ohh my god- that's a tough busy job. You work quickly in there."

"We do, two days or less for your garment to impress he really likes that motto."

"I know, I got this repaired in like a day last time I got a rip in it," he said looking at his shirt,

"Yeah I think I remember it," I laughed looking at the familiar shirt, "Yeah, I was going fast the seam is crooked," I laughed

"Ohh? I never looked that closely at it." He laughed, "How many hours do you work?"

"Eight hours a day seven days a week."

"Holy- no wonder you're running yourself ragged. I'm a doctor and I don't work that much!"

"Well, I'm the only income coming in, got six mouths to feed."

"You are amazing, you know that?"

"I am."

"You are. That is insane, and the fact you do it with such grace. It's astonishing."

"Thank you," I blushed.

"If I may be so bold, If you need an extra pair of hands, and you do. I'm more than happy to come help."

"I couldn't ask you to do that,"

"You're not asking me, I'm asking you. You're only going to get worse unless you lighten your load, and all although panic attacks are best just ridden out... they can cause serious damage." He explained, "I want to help, even if its just little things. I can take one job off you a day, or take them for an hour and go play in the garden just, something to lighten your load a little."

"You'd really do that?"

"I would,"

"Why?"

"Becuase you need help, and as a doctor, I can't stop myself from helping those who need it. and right now... you need it more than anyone."

"Thank you Jack," I smiled leaning my head on his shoulder,

"You're welcome Y/n" He smiled, kissing my head. "Now, how about you look after them I'll get dinner on?"

"It's a deal."

"Good girl, What uhh... what am I cooking?"

"Soup,"

"Soup?"

"Yeah,"

"What kind of soup?"

"Leek soup."

"Just leek soup? you have any bread for it?"

"No."

"Okay, new plan you wait here and look after them I will get dinner as my treat."

"I can't ask you to-"

"No. No. I'm doing it. at very least getting bread if nothing else,"

"Alright."

"Good, I'll see you as soon as I can." he smiled kissing my cheek before he took his stuff and headed back toward town.

#tbs imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster #jackdawkins #jack #jack dawkins #thea #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #artful dodger #the artful dodger

146 notes · View notes