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seokgyuu · 4 months

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You might have a thing for Seokmin’s hands. Seokmin, your best friend. Who you definitely do not see as anything else! Really. Not at all! And he obviously doesn’t see you as anything else either. Like, for real! … Right?

Pairing: Seokmin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Best friends to lovers, Smut (MDNI!).

Requested: yes, thanks sweet anon!!

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Going through my requests right now and this one stuck out because I too love Seokmin’s hands. I mean… look at them!! Thanks for the request lovely anon and sorry that it took literal months for me to finish this (yikes).

tagging: @wongyuseokie, @the-boy-meets-evil, @multi-kpop-fanfics, @onlyseokmins, @dkakapizzaboy, @honeykyeom, @drunk-on-dk, @cheolism, @wooahaeproductions <3 just because i want to, hihi.

Smut Warnings under the cut!

Smut Warnings: masturbation (f), finger sucking, fingering, dirty talk

In your many years on this planet most of these have been spent being best friends with Lee Seokmin.

At this point you probably knew him better than he knew himself and vice versa. There was nothing the two of you didn’t share, sometimes being mistaken for a couple when in reality all you feel for each other is nothing but platonic admiration. You love each other, but platonically! You sleep in each other's arms most nights, but platonically! Sometimes you wish he would hold you a little tighter and sometimes he wishes he could touch you in places he shouldn’t, but it is all, of course, platonically!

In fact, your relationship is so platonic that you are currently holding your beloved vibrator to your throbbing clit staring at a picture of his hands. His beautiful hands, his long fingers graced by rings you had gifted him because, fuck, did you love seeing him with jewellery you had given him. Especially rings.

The high you’re craving as much as you feel guilty is nearing and you arch your back, hips chasing the feeling of the vibrations on your bundle of nerves - and when the thought of Seokmin above you with his fingers fucking you open, rings on and all, occupies your mind once more, not leaving any space for a guilty conscience, you finally come undone. You sigh his name over and over, riding out your orgasm and once your vibrator is off and your panties are back in place, you slowly start to realize what you’ve just done. Again. How many times have you told yourself you wouldn’t do this again? How many times have you sworn that Seokmin was your best friend and nothing else?

Best friends don’t think about the other when they get off. Best friends don’t crave the other’s touch when they aren’t around. Best friends don’t want to get finger-fucked by the other!

Maybe, you think, you aren’t Seokmin’s best friend after all because all of these points apply to you. With a groan you lock your phone and swing your legs off the bed, still feeling a bit dizzy from your orgasm. Just when you are about to head to the bathroom, you hear knocks on your front door.

Frowning, you look at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. It’s one o’clock in the morning, who would ever- another knock. More vehemently this time. You blink a few times, not even registering that you’re wearing nothing but one of Seokmin’s shirts and your panties when you open the door.

Glossy brown eyes look at you, reddened cheeks and lips on the face you think about more than you should.

“Seokmin?!”

“You’re- you’re wearing my shirt.”

He is inside your apartment with the door closed behind you in mere seconds. His hands somehow landed on your waist and you are now stuck between him and the cold wall, your eyes big and round looking up at him.

“What are you doing here, what- what’s going on?”

“I kissed someone,” he breathes and you hate that the words make your heart drop, “I kissed this girl when I was at a club with Mingyu and- fuck, I kissed her and I somehow realized that I don’t want to kiss her.”

“Okay, that’s okay, Seok. You stopped kissing her then, right?”

When he shakes his head, you feel another pang of pain inside your chest.

“I kissed her some more, she asked me to go home with her and I was already on my way out, ready to get into the cab and let her take me to her place, but…”

The way he looks at you, the way his fingers dig into your skin. He doesn’t say it, and you don’t want to ask.

“You’re drunk.” You somehow stumble out, freeing yourself from his grasp and instead walking over to the kitchen, to get your best friend some water.

“I didn’t even drink that much.” You hear the pout before you see it, turning around to face him, your eyes settling on his body leaning against the doorframe.

“You should still drink some water, Seok, alright?”

He doesn’t try to stop you when you hand him the glass and he even takes two big sips before putting it down.

“Why didn’t you call before you came here?” You ask then, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Phone’s dead.” He explains and you sigh, pulling a hand over your face.

“So, you didn’t tell Soonyoung you’re not coming home tonight?”

“I-,” Seokmin starts but then realizes he, in fact, hadn't told his roommate he was going to be gone for the night.

“Lee Seokmin,” you shake your head at him, “get my phone from my room and text him, I bet he’s dying of worry right now. You know how he is.”

As much as Seokmin wishes it wasn’t true - it is. Soonyoung his (other) best friend and roommate is overbearing as much as he is kind. Pouting once more, he turns around to walk into your bedroom, seeing your phone laying on top of your bed. For a split second he feels guilty - had he woken you up? Gnawing on his bottom lip, he rids himself of his coat and hangs it over your desk chair, also taking off his shoes in the process and putting them next to yours by the closet, before finally grabbing your phone and unlocking it with the code he just so happens to know.

He stops in his steps. Stares at the screen. Then, he blinks a few times and feels his body react right away. Electricity shoots through him and explanations as of why he is seeing what he’s seeing, explanations that have his stomach flip and his heart triple in speed, that have his imagination go wilder than he’d usually allow himself around you.

“Y/N.”

“Did you not find it?” You call back from the kitchen, getting out a pot to make some late night ramen, only to turn around and look at him and feel your face fall. He is holding your phone up for you to see the screen, his zoomed in hands still on your display. Fuck.

Coming up with an explanation as of why the fuck his hands are on your screen at almost 2 o’clock in the morning leaves your brain blank. There is only so much you can say that isn’t totally weird - and even then, it still is.

But something about the way Seokmin is looking at you isn’t even allowing you to open your mouth and stutter out a lame excuse.

“I want you to be honest with me,” he begins calmly, slowly walking over to you now, “why are my hands zoomed in on your phone screen in the middle of the night, darling?”

The pet name bolts through you and leaves your brain even more blank. Suddenly, you don’t know how to speak, how to think. Yet, Seokmin seems to know that he caught you in something he didn’t even know it was possible to find you in.

“Y/N, be honest,” he repeats when he is back in front of you, when you’re caged in between him and the kitchen counter, when all that’s between you is the little space he has left, “do you have a thing for my hands?”

Shit. He’s so close now, your phone discarded on the counter next to you and you still don’t remember how to speak. It’s stupid, you know it is, he’s probably just teasing you, just trying to get a reaction out of you before he laughs it off.

Just that he doesn’t.

Seokmin doesn’t move, instead he comes closer, one of his insanely pretty hands softly grabbing your chin, turning your head to make you look straight up at him. God, his eyes are sparkling. Everything about him seems to be sparkling.

“Answer me, love.”

You wish you could, really. But your mouth is dry and your body is burning and all you can focus on is the hand on your face. So, instead of verbally answering you, very slowly, nod. The smug smile that spreads on Seokmin’s face is something no one could have prepared you for.

“Interesting. Let’s see.” He moves his hand up just slightly, thumb brushing against your lips and you can’t help but drop open your mouth, sucking it right into your wet heat. The moan that escapes him catches both of you by surprise and has you pressing your thighs together. Seokmin doesn’t speak, he just looks at you, letting you suck in his thumb with wide eyes that have his cock twitching wildly in his pants.

He begins thrusting his thumb into your mouth, saliva building up and beginning to trickle down out of the corners of your lips, his eyes glued on your face. When you begin to swirl your tongue around him, he breathes out a strained sigh, quickly replacing his thumb with is middle and index finger.

Now it’s you who’s moaning. How many nights had you stayed awake with your fingers inside your cunt, with your vibrator against your clit, with you humping your pillow, imagining exactly this. Sucking on his finger’s as he fucked you senseless with either his other hand or his cock.

“Fuck, baby, you really do have a thing for my hands,” he mutters, perhaps even more to himself than you and he instructs you to suck on them, his free hand sneaking around you, pressing you against him flat on your ass.

Nothing has ever been as much of a turn on as this. Seokmin’s fingers in your mouth, his other hand squeezing your ass as he is very obviously rubbing himself against you, his erection visible through his pants and hard to miss against your lower stomach. He doesn’t speak for a while, just enjoying the feeling of having all the power over you, something he had never thought possible, bathing in the knowledge you want him just as much as he wants you.

When he deems it enough, he pulls his fingers out, thick saliva connecting them to your red lips and he groans at the sight, quickly bringing the fingers down and straight to where you need them the most. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, instead he slips his hand into your folds and feels them, coating the two fingers he just pulled out of your mouth in your juices, reveling in your small noises.

“Want them inside of you, don’t you, baby girl? Want me to fuck you with them?”

It’s merely a whisper coming out of his mouth and you whimper, nodding your head yes once more, Seokmin chuckling as he leans forward, his breath hitting your face.

“Need you to use your words, okay?” He says, lips touching your cheek and you swallow hard, hips bucking to meet his fingers.

“I-,” you stutter, “I, f-fuck, Seokmin, please-,”

“Please what, darling?”

“Pl-please p-put them i-inside,” you cry out, your hands gripping the material of his shirt, eyes begging him to do as you asked.

“God, you’re so desperate, might just make me cum in my pants. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy with my hands while you’re wearing my shirt, fuck,” his voice is breathy against your ear and you’re just about to beg him again, when he finally does what you’ve been dreaming about for years.

The second he breaches your hole, you already feel like the gates of heaven just opened up for you. His fingers are like the drug you knew you’d get addicted to once you’ve got a taste of them and the second they are fully inside you, you fear nothing will ever come close again. Your body reacts by shaking uncontrollably, your pussy sucking him in as far as possible, Seokmin’s moans in your ear the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard. As his fingers begin to thrust inside of you, his lips begin to kiss your neck, up to your cheek and finally your lips, both of you sighing in relief when you finally take one step further. Because somehow this is more intimate than his fingers fucking you.

This could have easily been mistaken as a tipsy Seokmin helping his best friend blowing off steam by finally giving into her desire for him, but the second he kisses you both of you know this is going to be so much more.

Your arms move to wrap around his neck as you spread your legs further for him, giving him better access and more room to move his hand as he continues his thrusts, your whimpers against his lips skilfully getting caught by his tongue.

“So fucking wet and tight, such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He mumbles against your mouth and you nod, pulling him closer, lips back on his to begin yet another heated kiss. The two of you make out, one of your legs around his waist as he picks up his speed, thumb finding your clit no problem, causing you to arch your back and pant into the kiss.

“Seok- so- so close!” You cry out and he chuckles again, kissing down your neck, sucking harshly on your skin as he pulls his fingers out only to come back with one more.

Three fingers fuck you open for more, your moans getting louder, fingers digging into his nape as you chase his fingers with your hips, tears behind your eyes threatening to spill because of how fucking turned on you were. You’re dripping down his fingers, down your thighs, your panties shoved to the side by him, probably cutting into his fingers, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Yeah? Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Cum on my fingers? How long have you wanted this, hm? How long have you dreamt of my fingers fucking you until you make them drip in your cum?”

His dirty words are so out of character for your usually so bright and sweet best friend, but they do their job perfectly. Accompanying your whines is your pussy clenching around him repeatedly, throbbing against his fingers and Seokmin really thinks he could shoot his load just from this.

“Faster, pl-please!” Your hips are moving at rapid speed and Seokmin meets your efforts, thumb pressing down on your clit and letting his fingers quickly pump in and out of your perfect pussy, already feeling your nearing climax around him.

When he kisses you again, his tongue finding yours, circling it skilfully and sucking it into his mouth, you feel your orgasm rush over you, cum soaking his whole hand as he fucks you through it, your moans landing right in his hot mouth.

“That’s it, darling, cum on my fingers, soak them in your cum, show me how good I made you feel, fuck.”

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, tears of pleasure and happiness, tears of desperation as you ride out your orgasm, almost crying more when he pulls his fingers out of you to lick them clean like a starved man. Your head spins at the visual and you let yourself fall against the counter, sure you could probably count the stars floating around your head currently.

“Delicious, so pretty and delicious.” Seokmin hums when his fingers are out of his mouth and he smiles at you like the soft puppy you know he is.

“Seokmin…,” you don’t even know what to say, still in awe and still recovering from the best orgasm you’ve ever had. He shushes you, both of his hands on your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“Later, love. Now, I need you to ride my cock, how does that sound?”

Smiling at him you think that nothing had ever sounded sweeter.

1K notes · View notes

cheollipop · 11 months

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one more rep

navi | taglist

pairing: jung wooyoung x model fem!reader x choi san

w.c.: 6.9k

tags: smut, some fluff, friends to lovers, woosan are reader's personal trainers

san got a little too excited watching you exercise in purple – his favourite colour – and wooyoung was nothing if not a tease. turning their attention back to you, they didn't expect to see you equally worked-up.

warnings: mean dom!wooyoung, soft dom!san, they're switches for each other though, wooyoung has a nipple piercing + a tramp stamp (hehe), san has finger tattoos, degradation (a little bit; reader gets called a slut/cockslut), praise (a lot), so much dirty talk, a hint of dacryphilia, nipple play (m & f), face sitting, oral sex (m & f receiving), face fucking, fingering (f), squirting, pussy slapping, overstimulation, handjob, mxm, spit kink (so much spit...), snowballing, cum eating/swallowing, unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, some humping, aftercare, nicknames (youngie, good boy; sannie; baby, pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, darling), they're all idiots in love <3

A/N: so this has been brewing in my little kettle for a while and bam! my longest fic yet, and probably the filthiest... I put my heart and soul into this one, so I really hope you enjoy! ^^ (pls ignore any inaccuracies in the exercises,, I start wheezing after one flight of stairs)

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

San’s knees dug into the yoga mat under him, his hands – decorated with the black ink of his tattoos – secured around your calves, holding them in place while you finished up your last set of sit-ups. He could feel your muscles contract every time you pushed yourself up, relaxing momentarily as you laid back down on the mat. He often found his eyes wandering over the purple material hugging your figure, the way your shorts rode up your thighs each time you pushed yourself off the mat. With every powerful sit-up, he held his breath at how close your face would get to his – enough for him to breathe in the sweet scent of your perfume mixed in with the tanginess of your sweat, your soft exhale blowing over his face.

It had been years since your agency reached out to San’s company, hiring him and Wooyoung as your personal trainers. The three of you had developed an easy friendship, your sessions now packed with inside jokes and banter. Recently, however, you often found yourself looking at them differently – your heart racing whenever San’s hands brushed over your skin, skipping a beat at Wooyoung’s never-ending praise. As a model, you were required to remain fit, and despite the torturous exercises the pair put you through, you were glad you were able to see them regularly.

A gentle squeeze to San’s nape caught his attention, Wooyoung hovering over him with a coy smile on his face. One look over his shoulder and he could see the weights for the next exercise set up neatly in the corner.

“What’s got you so distracted? Can’t you see she’s barely making it halfway up?” Wooyoung’s tone was playful, but both your face and San’s flushed at his comment – you, because he’d caught you slacking off, and San, because he’d called him out for not paying attention.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your chest heaving as the past two hours of taxing exercises caught up with you, sweat trickling down your temples.

“Cut me some slack, Youngie, I’m tiiired!” You whined, letting your head fall back, eyes shut while you caught your breath.

Wooyoung kneeled beside you, running his hand over the top of your head gently. “Yeah, yeah, take five minutes to rest then we’ll move on.” He smirked when you began complaining, pinching your cheek and pulling at the skin teasingly.

Looking back at San, Wooyoung’s smirk widened, teeth peeking out from between his lips when he caught sight of the man’s demeanour – his eyes moving between the two of you, hands still holding your legs, albeit slightly tighter than he had been earlier, his veins popping out while he shifted uncomfortably on his knees. Wooyoung’s eyes trailed further down, noticing the forming tent in San’s dark sweatpants, a scoff escaping his lips.

“What’s got our Sannie so excited?”

San’s whole body jerked at Wooyoung’s mocking tone – and the innuendo behind it – instinctively pulling his hands closer to his body and dragging your legs with them. You sucked in a breath when San’s hips pressed against you before immediately drawing them back, abruptly standing up and turning away from the two of you. You could see the bright red creeping up the back of his neck, San’s shaky hands scratching nervously at the heated skin.

“I-I-” San stuttered, roughly clearing his throat while he took quick peeks over his shoulder to attempt eye contact. “I-I’m so sorry- I don’t know why-”

Wooyoung chuckled, standing up and wrapping an arm around San’s shoulders, his eyes flitting down to his concealed bulge before he looked back up to speak. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I’m sure our (Y/n) understands, right?” They both looked back at you expectantly, and you nodded your head quickly. “See? Just take a walk and calm down. I’ll continue the session with (Y/n).”

Wooyoung let go of the flustered man, giving him a playful pat on his ass before turning around to face you again. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of you, taking in the way your thighs rubbed against each other, your eyes glazed over and fixed on San’s back. Wooyoung cleared his throat, startling you back to reality, and you instinctively relaxed your legs, giving him a full view of the darkened material at your crotch.

A wave of heat rushed to your face upon noticing Wooyoung’s gaze slipping down to your core, squeezing your thighs together again and sitting up. His head tilted to the side amusingly, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached back to grab San’s arm before he had the chance to leave, twisting him around to face you.

“Or… Would our precious (Y/n) like to help Sannie out instead?”

You rolled your hips over Wooyoung’s face, gasping around San’s cock when the tip of his nose brushed against your clit. It took the man under you a few seconds to notice you grinding on his nose, soft whimpers vibrating over San’s cock as you took him in deeper, swallowing around his cockhead and revelling in the groans you drew out of him.

Wooyoung’s hands slipped under your ass, his biceps bulging as he adjusted your position until your clit was directly over his nose and his tongue at your entrance. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when Wooyoung slipped his tongue inside you, curving it along your walls to press against the spongy spot that made your back arch. He could feel your thighs shaking around his face, moving it from side to side to nuzzle his nose against your clit, drinking up your arousal as it gushed into his open mouth.

He pulled away, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip before speaking. “I know you love my nose on your pussy, but don’t you dare cum before San does.”

You hummed around San, hearing him grunt above you as he slid his cock over your tongue, a shallow thrust to remind you of his presence, but you couldn’t process the action when Wooyoung’s tongue was back inside you, mercilessly pushing into your g-spot, your orgasm rapidly building up in your lower belly. So you just sat there, rutting over Wooyoung’s face with your mouth stretched open around San’s throbbing cock.

San’s hands reached into your hair, the strands draping over his tattooed fingers as he gently tugged at the roots, throwing his head back when your moans vibrated against his length. He held your face and pulled you off him, bending at the waist to look at you with desperate eyes.

“(Y/n), darling, fuck- can I fuck your mouth? Please, I’ll be gentle, please-”

Yes, you wanted to say, but all that came out were gargled moans as Wooyoung tongued at your entrance, teasing your hole with the wet muscle, slipping it in and out as he pleased. He pulled off your cunt to speak, holding you over his face.

“You’ll let Sannie fuck your throat, right?” Wooyoung smirked against your skin when he saw you nodding frantically above him, San’s hands cupping your cheeks and his cock jumping in your mouth. “Be a good girl and open up then,” he tapped your thigh, bringing you back down on his face.

Between Wooyoung’s tongue ruthlessly prodding against your g-spot, your hips moving on their own to grind against the curve of his nose, and San’s heavy cock fucking into your mouth, you were left an incoherent, moaning mess with drool streaming down your chin.

“Fuuuck, baby, you feel so good-” A throaty moan ripped out of San, his fingers tugging on your hair to push you all the way down his length, his jaw slack as he watched your eyes well up with tears while you held back from gagging. “Shit- I’m not gonna last.”

You were a breath away from tumbling over the edge, thighs burning as you rode Wooyoung’s face, his tongue sending shocks of pleasure soaring through your abdomen. Strong hands wrapped around your hips, bringing you down on his face and wrapping his lips around your clit. It took two harsh sucks for you to fall apart, your whole body shaking with the force of your orgasm. You felt Wooyoung’s teeth brushing over your clit, giving the swollen bud a small nibble before pulling away and slipping out from under you.

San was in heaven, his cock twitching on your tongue as your soft moans sent waves of ecstasy up his spine. But then Wooyoung’s hands were slapping his off you, pulling you away from him to lay you down on the mat.

“W-wait! I was so close!” San complained, reaching his hand towards you only to have it brushed away again. “Just a little more, p-please-“

“You’ll have her back later,” Wooyoung gave him a stern look, and San backed away, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock with a defeated exhale. He settled down on his knees, watching as Wooyoung turned his attention back to you, your thighs still twitching with the force of your orgasm. His cock throbbed when he saw Wooyoung’s face, drenched in your arousal, his eyes ablaze with the purest forms of lust. San’s eyes moved to Wooyoung’s hand, veins protruding from the skin as he sunk two fingers into your sopping heat, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “You just had to be a little slut didn’t you? Was my mouth on your pussy and Sannie’s cock down your throat not enough for you?”

“F-felt too good, Youngie, I couldn’t help it!” You writhed under him, his long fingers ruthlessly pounding into you and building you up to a second orgasm.

“Aw, you couldn’t help cum before Sannie? All because my tongue felt too good in your cunt?”

“Uh-huuh- s-so good!”

Your eyes rolled back when Wooyoung’s other hand reached for your clit, rolling it between two fingers while he continued his tormenting.

“But I wanted to see you choke on Sannie’s cum,” he bit down on your jaw, slipping his fingers out as soon as your walls began clamping down on them, smirking when you looked up at him in shock.

“Youngiee, ‘wanna cum!”

You were too focused on Wooyoung’s face to notice his hand coming down on your cunt, the sharp slap reverberating in the empty gym. Your hips jolted off the mat when he landed another slap on your clit, your hole clenching around air.

“I don’t think you deserve it, though,” Wooyoung jutted out his lips in a faux pout, quickly turning into a smile when he saw tears running down the sides of your face. “Aww, you wanna cum that bad?”

You nodded desperately, angling your hips towards him, only to be met with another harsh slap to your cunt, letting out a strangled cry that bled into moan when Wooyoung’s fingers sunk into you again, continuing their rough pace. You felt pressure building in your lower belly, flashes of heat rushing through your body as Wooyoung drew out desperate whimpers from your lips, leaning down to press wet kisses to your skin. He trailed his tongue over the sides of your face, licking away your tears as you finally came undone on his fingers.

Wooyoung sat back on his heels, pulling his fingers out to watch as clear liquid squirted out your fluttering hole, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you gushed all over the mat and Wooyoung’s clothed thighs. He couldn’t help himself, bringing four fingers down on your clit, delivering a sharp slap to your cunt, then again, until you were convulsing under him, pushing his hands off you as the overstimulation became too much.

Wooyoung pulled back, watching violent tremors pass through your body, your eyes shut as you basked in the aftershocks of your orgasm. His eyes moved to San, bending at the waist beside you to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, pausing to gauge your reaction before placing another on your forehead. The scene in front of him was sweet, intimate – despite San being naked from the waist down – and Wooyoung felt the insatiable need to disturb it.

San flinched when Wooyoung pressed himself to his back – so close he could feel the metal bar piercing one of his nipples brush against his clothed spine – hooking his chin over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around his small waist to press his palm to San’s hard abdomen.

“What are you doing?” San tried to ignore the shakiness of his voice, hoping Wooyoung didn’t notice, though the grin on the other man’s face told him he did.

“You said you were close,” Wooyoung sounded, his fingers toying with the hem of San’s compression shirt before sliding down to rest over his snail trail, the barely-there touch making the hair on San’s arms stand. “I thought you might need a helping hand.”

San didn’t reply, only sucked in a breath once Wooyoung’s fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, his eyes half-shut as he revelled in the friction the other man provided. He angled his head downwards, moving his tongue around in his mouth before letting it roll out, a line of his spit steaming down to meet Wooyoung’s hand, easing the slide over his leaking cock. San’s head lolled back onto the younger man’s shoulder, soft moans slipping through his lips while Wooyoung built a steady pace, squeezing around his base every time he drew his hand back.

“A-ah, fuck, ‘gonna cum,” San’s voice was strained, his chest rapidly rising and falling as Wooyoung twisted his hand around his cockhead, collecting the absurd amount of precum leaking from the tip and coating the rest of his shaft with it. “Don’t stop, I’m so close-”

“I didn’t know you could make cute noises like this, Sannie,” Wooyoung purred, his lips pressed to the shell of his ear, smirking when he felt San’s dick twitch in his hand. “Careful, I might end up making you squirt too.”

With Wooyoung’s hand avidly pumping his length, his warm breath blowing against his ear, the raspiness of his voice echoing in his head, San’s whole body shuddered as his high washed over him, hot ropes of cum painting your chest, some of it falling on your neck and chin. His heavy grunts were like music to Wooyoung’s ears, his hand squeezing out every last drop of San’s release until the older man was an overstimulated, whimpering mess, pushing him away from his softening member.

Falling limp on his knees, it only took San a couple seconds to zero in on your tits, following the cum sliding down their slope and leaving a translucent tint on your nipples. With two fingers, he smeared his release over your perked-up buds, taking one between his pointer and thumb and tweaking it until you were whining under him. San was awestruck, his body moving on its own, scooping up some of the cum on his fingers and bringing it up to your mouth – already open and waiting. He nearly moaned at the way your tongue circled his tattooed digits, your cheeks hollowing to suck them clean, prompting him to pull out only to collect more of his release and feed it to you.

Just as you were about to gulp down the bitter liquid, Wooyoung’s voice reminded you of his presence. A simple, “Don’t swallow,” and you were frozen in place, your mouth remaining open even after San pulled his fingers out.

Wooyoung was back on his knees beside you, leaning down to press his lips to yours, his tongue slipping inside to lick up San’s release, collecting it in his mouth before sitting back up. Twisting his body to face the older man, he grabbed his jaw firmly, squeezing it until his cheeks squished together and his lips parted. It happened in slow motion – Wooyoung’s lips pursing, tongue moving around as he collected the mixture of liquids before spitting it directly into San’s mouth and leaning down to connect their lips. San couldn’t process what had happened, but Wooyoung kissing him left him breathless, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt him graze the roof of his mouth. It was only when the other man’s tongue pushed the compound of spit and cum down his throat that his eyes snapped open, instantly meeting Wooyoung’s – already agape, lidded as they watched his blissed-out face.

Wooyoung’s other hand wrapped loosely around San’s neck, keeping his eyes fixed on his face, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Knowing exactly what the younger man wanted, San swallowed down his cum, maintaining a neutral expression as the tangy liquid washed down his throat. Wooyoung’s lips lifted after he felt his Adam’s apple bob under his palm, pulling away from San and letting his arm fall to his side, a triumphant smirk gracing his features.

It was as if they had forgotten about your presence, emitting a small noise to draw their attention back to you. Two heads twisted to face you, eyebrows raising and eyes following your fingers as they carried San’s cum to your mouth, your tongue licking them clean. Your gaze was fixed on Wooyoung, taking in the sweat shining on his temples, his slightly parted lips – glossy from San’s spit – and finally, the tent in his sweatpants, throbbing at the sight of you. Your free hand reached for his shirt and tugged at the dark material, pulling your fingers out of your mouth to speak.

“Please, Youngie, w-want you,” you pulled at his shirt, finally breaking Wooyoung out of the trance he was in.

Throwing his shirt off, Wooyoung fitted himself between your legs, leaning down to mouth against your neck, the metal bar piercing his nipple cold where it pressed into your heated skin. “Did one little kiss make our pretty slut wet again?” He scoffed at the shy nod you gave in response, trailing his lips down to your chest and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, licking off the remnants of San’s cum. You arched your back, pushing your tits further into Wooyoung’s mouth and whimpering when he slid his leaking tip through your folds. “You’re so cute,” he brought his face back up to yours, the corners of his lips curled into an impish smile. “You want Youngie’s cock that bad?”

Just as you were about to stutter out a response, Wooyoung pushed his cock past your entrance, sheathing his whole length between your pulsating walls and groaning into your neck. “Fuuuck, you’re so tight for me, darling.”

Wooyoung gave you two seconds to adjust to the stretch before he began pounding into your sopping heat, his hands gripping your waist and his face buried into the crook of your neck.

“W-wait- hnnngh!” Your hands flew to his back, nails digging into the skin whole your body jolted upwards on the mat every time he slammed his hips into you. “S-slow down!”

“I thought you wanted me?” Wooyoung pulled away to take in your fucked-out expression, broken moans making his cock twitch inside you as he drove it directly into your g-spot.

“Y-yes, but-”

“So you’ll shut up and take me,” he held your jaw firmly, his other hand sliding down to your hip. “You’ll be my pretty little cocksleeve from now on, won’t you?” You felt a flash of heat shooting down to your core, your thighs twitching around Wooyoung, moans muffled as he squished your cheeks together, your lips parting as you stared into his eyes pleadingly. He used the hand on your face to give your head a curt shake, his chest heaving despite the stern look on his face. “I asked you a question.”

You nodded desperately, crying out a quick succession of yes and please. Wooyoung eased his grip on your jaw before pulling his hand away entirely, eying your parted lips momentarily before shoving two of his fingers into your mouth and hooking them behind your bottom teeth to open them further. You felt the hot wad of spit land on your tongue, mewling as it trickled down your throat, Wooyoung’s cock sliding against your walls deliciously, making the room around you blur so all your attention could go to the man ravishing you as though you were his last meal.

Knowing Wooyoung wouldn’t relent, you looked up at the man who would. San stared right back at you, his cock already half hard and twitching at the sight of you – thighs shaking violently around Wooyoung, sweat reflecting off your flushed skin, tears pooling in your eyes as he relentlessly fucked himself into you. San spotted the slight wobbling of your bottom lip, your tears now flowing down the sides of your face while broken moans and cries ripped through your chest, Wooyoung thrusting into you like an animal in heat, his own grunts muffled by your skin.

San slid himself behind Wooyoung and cupped his hips, hooking his chin over the other man’s shoulder to eye the drool leaking out the corner of your mouth.

“Look at her, all fucked out and sensitive,” San spoke softly, his hot breath blowing against Wooyoung’s ear, a shiver shaking the latter’s body. “Slow down a little-”

“Get off me, ‘don’t wanna slow down,” he interrupted, pressing his cockhead into your sweet spot and rolling his hips to drag his length further into you before returning to his unrelenting pace.

“But you have to, Youngie. You can’t break her yet, not before I’ve had my turn with her pretty cunt.” San’s fingers dug into the younger man’s hips, his biceps flexing as he used his strength to slow him down. Wooyoung resisted at first, but his eyes caught the way San’s hands gripped his hips – veins popping out and fingers turning white, making his tattoos look more prominent – and allowed him to guide his cock into you. “There we go,” San leaned forward to press a faint kiss to his jaw. “Good boy.”

His hands eased their hold on Wooyoung’s hips to travel up his body, feeling the muscles tense under his warm touch. San slid his cock over his perky ass, eyebrows raising and when he noticed the dainty butterfly tattooed over his tailbone, sensing himself getting harder. His fingers tweaked Wooyoung’s nipple, tugging at the metal bar until he was whimpering on top of you, biting down on his bottom lip while grinding into your clenching cunt. San brushed his thumb over the tramp stamp, smearing the precum that leaked from his tip over the black ink while rutting on Wooyoung’s ass.

The visual of San licking up the sweat off Wooyoung’s neck paired with the younger man’s heavy cock grinding into you was enough to push you over the edge again, your walls clamping down on him as black dots danced in your vision. You grabbed onto Wooyoung’s biceps, your hips frantically rolling to meet his languid thrusts while you begged him to fuck you through your high, breathing out a series of please and faster. Wooyoung’s hips picked up their pace, fucking into you as his own desperate moans escaped through his lips.

Your nails dug into Wooyoung’s skin when pleasure faded into pain from overstimulation, your toes curling and tears staining your skin, your body jerking every time he drove his cock into you.

“Just a little longer, shit, I’m so fucking close-”

San pressed himself to Wooyoung’s back, sliding his cock down his ass to brush over his perky hole, his cockhead pressing into the fluttering entrance – but not quite breaching it – while harshly tugging on his nipple. Wooyoung nearly saw stars, his eyes rolling back when he finally emptied inside you, warmth spreading through your abdomen as his hot cum filled you up, some of it leaking out while his cock was still inside you. He pulled his softening member out and flopped down on the mat beside you, his chest heaving as he recovered from his orgasm. Twisting his head to look at you, Wooyoung brushed a knuckle over your cheekbone to wipe away a stray tear, the fondness lacing his expression so gentle it sent a wave of warmth to your cheeks. Wooyoung looked like he was about to say something, but San was wrapping you up in his arms, and the words died on his tongue.

Gentle fingers smoothed down your hair and soft lips peppered feathery kisses over the tears drying on your cheeks. San’s hands slid over your arms, gentle fingers massaging the tense muscles. “You’re okay,” he muttered against your skin, “I’m here.” He brushed back the hair matted to your forehead, pressing a kiss to the slick skin before drawing back to study your face. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth at the peacefulness of your features, leaning back down to slot his lips against yours, fitting himself against your body – his shirt already off and thrown to the side – humming when your fingers ran through his hair. You parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue access to slip into your mouth, sliding over your front teeth before pushing against your own. You caged his hips in with your thighs, locking your ankles behind his knees to bring him closer, releasing breathy moans that San happily swallowed up.

“Sannie, ‘want you…” you mumbled against his lips, his own traveling down to press wet kisses over your chin and jawline.

“Are you sure, baby? You don’t need more time?”

Despite his concern, his tone was breathy, a subtle whine to his voice. Looking down between your bodies, you glanced at San’s cock – the tip red and angry, twitching when he caught you looking at it. So you shook your head, perhaps a little too eager.

“Want you now,” you insisted, sliding your hand down to grab him at the base, squeezing your fingers around him and relishing the groan it pulled out of the man on top of you.

San allowed you to guide him to your fluttering hole, dipping his cockhead into the stream of cum still leaking out of you before brushing it over your clit, your whole body shuddering under him. He angled his head down and spat on his cock, watching your ephemeral shock shift into arousal, coating his length with his saliva before dragging it back down to your hole. San’s mind fogged up when he finally pushed into you, his mouth hanging open as your searing heat enveloped him. Your sharp hiss brought him back to the present, promptly cupping your cheek and examining your face, landing one kiss after the other onto the flushed skin.

“I’m here, baby, does it hurt? Do you want to stop?” He glided his hand over your thigh, fingers digging into the plush skin before releasing it, his eyes soft as they took in your reactions.

You shook your head, using your legs – still locked at the ankles behind his knees – to push him further into you. “No, ‘feels good, Sannie,” you assured him, your nails scratching at his scalp.

“Yeah?” Aside from the cocky smirk curling the corner of his mouth, San looked absolutely fucked – lidded eyes, glazed over with lust, red spread out in splotches over his chest, heaving as he resisted the urge to thrust into you. “Am I making my pretty girl feel good?”

You nodded and rolled your hips into his, silently begging him to move. And taking one look at your teary eyes, San couldn’t help but oblige, drawing his hips back and thrusting into your heat, a harmony of moans ripping through the both of you. San felt so good, his cock brushing over your walls just right with every languid grind, fleeting touches to your skin only adding fuel to the fire burning within you. Using the hand in his hair, you pulled him down to close the gap between you, your tongues dancing in the middle before you began taking turns sucking them into each other’s mouths, slobber dripping down the sides of your face.

Firm fingers grasped your chin, startling you away from San and twisting your face to the side. Wooyoung was propped up on his elbow, looking down at you with a hooded eyes while he swiped away the spit leaking from your mouth.

“Look at our pretty cockslut taking Sannie so well… I bet he’s been waiting so long to have you, haven’t you, loverboy?” Wooyoung cooed, directing his gaze to the man on top of you and blinking innocently, a wicked smile on his lips.

It took San a few seconds to process what the man had said, the haze of pleasure clouding his brain. His hands flew to your ears when the words became coherent – an attempt to shield you from the feelings he had repressed behind locked doors, feelings he was willing to shroud so long as he was by your side, content to simply exist in your presence. His ears turned bright red, the tint spreading to his face and all the way down his chest. San’s heart slammed against his chest and into yours, its rapid pace almost alarming.

“Ya! S-shut up!”

“What? You don’t think everyone already knows about your little crush?” Wooyoung twirled a strand of San’s hair around his finger, mockingly pouting his lips at the flustered man.

Just before San could retaliate, delicate hands cradled his face and brought his gaze back to you. He nearly melted into the floor, mooning over the softness in your eyes – wide and glimmering – as they looked up at him. Mouthing “it’s okay,” you gave him quick, reassuring nod, a certain promise cloaked behind the glint in your eyes.

It was as though the weight of the world had lifted off San’s chest, his eyebrows raising as he fully took in the insinuation in your expression, eyes tearing up for a few seconds before he dropped his head down to connect your lips once again. The kiss was desperate but gentle, soft nibbling on your bottom lip, San’s hot tongue pressing against your own before pulling away to trail his lips down your face to your neck.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against your pulse point, “so beautiful.” He revelled in the airy moans you breathed out while he sucked a bruise into your skin, then another, before licking a stripe up your neck to lightly sink his teeth into your jaw. “Want everyone to know we’re the only ones who can have you like this.”

We – the pluralism sent the butterflies in your stomach on a rampage. Before your attention could shift to the neglected man to your side, San drew his length out until only the tip was left inside you, your walls desperately clenching down on it while you whined at the loss. But then he was pushing back in, finally fucking himself into your weeping cunt, your arousal mixed with Wooyoung’s cum squelching every time San’s cock pumped into you.

“Let me know if it’s too much, sweetheart,” San’s tone was so gentle, and yet you couldn’t ignore the growl in his voice while he basked in the flaring heat of your walls, his attentive eyes full of want.

“More,” you pleaded, your eyes never leaving San’s while he adjusted his position.

Wooyoung’s hand suddenly gripped the underside of your thigh and pulled it towards him to spread you out for San, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your cheekbone. San dug his knees into the mat, pushing further into you and remaining still for a few seconds until you began whining again. With a breathy chuckle, he began pistoning his hips into you, praise rolling off his tongue as your walls contracted around him. The world around him faded away until only you remained – the sweet succession of his name, the pleasure painting your features, the gentle tugging against his scalp where your fingers tangled in his hair. San couldn’t focus on anything else.

Until rough fingers made their way between your bodies, sliding his arm behind your knee to reach the place where you were connected. Making a ‘v’ shape with his fingers, Wooyoung hooked them around San’s cock, nearly moaning when he felt the way it stretched you open. A rough “ah” ripped through San’s throat, thrusting inside you to feel your cunt squeezing down on him then pulling out to revel in the glide of Wooyoung’s fingers around his slick base.

When he thought he couldn’t get any harder, Wooyoung leaned in to whisper in his ear – low and sultry while his fingers dipped lower to cup his balls. “How does it feel to fuck my load into her, Sannie?”

With a flabby squeeze to his sack, Wooyoung felt it empty as San finally came, his whole body shuddering as his orgasm washed over him, emptying his load deep inside you. San cursed under his breath, slowly fucking his cum into your used cunt while it spurted out of him, his cock throbbing at the sight of you writhing with the need to come. Wooyoung’s hand slipped off San when he moved to pull out, moving to spread you out again and watching the other man’s cum mix with his own while it leaked out of your gaping hole. He eyed how you clenched around nothing for a few seconds before San’s fingers slipped back inside you, the black ink adoring them turning glossy with your arousal.

“I’ve got you, darling,” he leaned down to pepper your face with soft pecks, his fingers hammering into you and curling into your g-spot. “Will our sweet girl give us one more?”

You nodded desperately, tears streaking down your face and moans slipping through your lips without restraint. Wooyoung’s hand kneaded your thigh, his eyes fixed on your swollen clit, visibly contemplating something in his head. You were too busy relishing the tender kisses San dropped on your heated skin to notice Wooyoung’s hand dropping on your pussy, the sharp sting making your body jolt under San. The pain from Wooyoung’s slap paired with San’s fingers mercilessly hammering into your cunt made your eyes roll to the back of your head, your thighs shaking rabidly as the pressure building in your lower belly released, sending you tumbling into your orgasm. You nails dug into San’s biceps and your hips simultaneously pushed to meet his thrusts and pulled away from them, delirious after being dragged over the edge so many times.

San’s fingers slowed as you came down from your high, tapping against the spongy spot along your walls and taking in how your hips jerked at his ministrations. Just as he pulled out of you, Wooyoung’s hand landed another sharp slap to your clit, making you cry out from the overstimulation. But before San could berate him for it, it was like a dam broke within you, hot liquid squirting out of your fluttering hole.

The two men simply watched the scene unfold before them for a few moments before San's body began moving on its own. With a hand to the back of his head, San dragged Wooyoung down to your cunt, taking in how his mouth opened on its own to catch everything you had to give him. San’s fingers tugged at the younger man’s hair, pushing his head into your mound and observing how his tongue rolled out to lick over your entrance, taking the concoction of San’s cum and his own into his mouth and swallowing it down.

You watched as Wooyoung sat back up, taking San’s hands and slipping the fingers that had been fucking into you inside his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking them clean. San eyed him with lidded eyes, studying the slide of the younger man's tongue over his trimmed nails. Before he could process Wooyoung’s head moving closer, he had already sealed his lips against San’s, sliding his tongue into his mouth to give him a taste of all of you combined. An unpleased whine rumbled through San’s chest when Woooyoung pulled away, his glossy lips forming a pout when he gave the tip of San’s nose a kitten lick and shot him a playful wink.

Wooyoung’s attention was back on you before San could even blink, spreading out beside your worn-down body and gliding a gentle palm down your side. San did the same, flopping down opposite to Wooyoung and brushing the hair off your face, leaning over you to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Is a five minute break enough before we start the next rep?” Wooyoung joked, giggling when you swung a limp arm into his chest.

“You’re insufferable,” you laughed, noting how San’s chest vibrated against your shoulder with his own giggles.

Wooyoung pressed his lips to your cheek, holding them in place for a few seconds before drawing back, only to plant a series of kisses down your neck and to your collarbones. “Are you feeling okay? Was it too much? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Your eyes softened at the concern lacing Wooyoung’s tone and you smoothed down the furrow of his eyebrows with a gentle thumb. Shaking your head, you brushed the hair off his face and spoke. “You didn’t hurt me, Youngie. I-I really liked it... all of it,” you mumbled the last part, a faint blush warming your cheeks at the admission. You could see Wooyoung's worry dissipating, a witty comeback at the tip of his tongue.

“(Y/n),” San drew your attention back to him before Wooyoung could tease you, noticing his burning ears and the fiddling of his fingers at your waist. “Earlier, you…” he cleared his throat, and you fought the smile off your lips while watching him struggle to express himself. You saw him gather up the courage to pry open the door he’d welded shut long ago. “I want you,” he blurted out, “a-and I don’t mean only in this way,” he flailed his hands between your bodies before reaching down to lock his fingers with yours, his anxiety turning into panic and making your heart swell with fondness. “I want all of you, I want to make you happy and-” he sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “I-I guess, all I’m asking for is a chance.”

“San-”

“You’re playing dirty, you dickhead!” Wooyoung interrupted, wrapping a protective arm around your waist. “Don’t try to steal her away for yourself!”

Your eyebrows raised in shock, trying to process the situation brought on by the two men bickering on either side of you, arguing about who would get the princess when the princess herself was unsure of what she wanted. Your infatuation with San was undeniable, every fleeting touch left your skin burning for days, every smile directed towards you had the butterflies in your stomach going rabid, eating at the insides of your stomach. Everything about Choi San was warm – his eyes, his words, his expression, all were laced with scotching heat, leaving you burning from within.

Whatever it was you felt towards Wooyoung was fiery, fervent, leaving you dazed and confused – what was it about him that drew you in? Perhaps it was his playfulness, or was it the way he changed up on you? One second Wooyoung was a friend and the other he was dropping subtle hints – a flirtatious wink, or a hand on your hip that held its place for a second too long for it to be friendly. You’d simply assumed him to be a flirt by nature, though one peek at his interactions with other women and you were proven wrong: Jung Wooyoung only treated you this way – as though you painted the clouds on the blue sky with your bare hands – and you found yourself rejoicing in that fact. Perhaps you’d already made up your mind, and it was simply your denial and cowardice that had held you back this whole time.

“What if-” you began, both men ceasing their banter and turning to look at you. You swallowed nervously, your mouth dry and your heart beating wildly against your ribcage. “What if I wanted… both of you?” You looked between their shocked faces, your voice small as you uttered the next question. “Is that too much to ask?”

“No!” They replied in unison, the intensity of their voices startling you.

Relief rushed through you and you closed your eyes to revel in the moment, the two men back to speaking over each other, going on about how they would do anything make you happy – “happier than a child at Disneyland,” San specified. The squabbling persisted even while they cleaned you up and helped you into your clothes, San shouting back at Wooyoung while he guided you through your cool-down stretches, the other man cleaning up the floor and wiping down the equipment.

As boisterous as they were, you found yourself smiling adoringly at the two men fighting over who would drive you home – matters that were trivial to you, but somehow meant the world to them. In the back of your mind, you knew you had a lot to talk about and discuss to ensure everyone was content, but right now, you couldn’t help but savour the pleasant feeling in your stomach, the soft fluttering of butterflies as two men you thought the world of doted on you. Their eyes were full of adoration, fingers twitching with the urge to hand-pick the stars from the night sky to make into a necklace for you, hoping it would come close to shining as bright as you do.

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festivalsofmargot · 1 year

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how do you think Ominis, Garreth, and Sebastian would react to a jealous reader being jealous because someone else was being flirty and asking them to the Yule Ball?

The 3 Boys & Your Jealousy

{Garreth Weasley/Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader}

Word Count:

Garreth: ~ 1500 words

Ominis: ~ 1700 words

Sebastian: ~ 1400 words

Warnings: Kissing, Fluff, Angst

Author’s Note: Lord, I’m having so much fun with these requests. Thank you, anon!!! I tried to make them all have different reactions to reader getting jealous, but I know they’d all secretly love it lmfao. So it’s a little similar, but it’s definitely the 3 boys enjoying it in their own way. Have a fun time, everyone 🥰 Hope you’re all having a good day ❤

Songs (if interested):

Garreth’s song: You Stupid Bitch - girl in red

Ominis’ song: Silence / akiaura - hentai boys, akiaura

Sebastian’s song: My Kind of Woman - Mac DeMarco

Garreth:

“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?” Garreth Weasley had come up to you and asked. For someone who was asking if something was wrong, he could look a bit more concerned. Rather than just munching on his apple, looking at it like it was the only thing that had his full attention.

You took a deep breath and rubbed at your temple roughly. You were overreacting and you knew it, but dammit you couldn’t help but hate him at the moment. “No Garreth, I’m just not in the best mood today.”

“Well, talk to me.” He plopped himself down on the Central Hall fountain bench next to you. “Some have called me a good listener.” He took another bite of his apple, obnoxiously loud.

“Not right now. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Who else could I bother like this? You and I got a good thing going.” He haphazardly joked.

“How about your date to the ball? That’s a good place to start if you ask me.”

He furrowed his brows, trying to decipher what you were talking about. Then he remembered Samantha Dale had asked him to be his date the night before. “Oh! You know about that? How does word travel so fast in such a huge castle?” He wondered aloud with his mouth full, looking at his apple as he turned it in his hand.

Merlin, you didn’t know why you were so head over heels for Garreth Weasley. Something about his carefree, aloof attitude made you fluttery all over. You wanted to smack him just as much as you wanted to kiss him.

Truth be told, you were convinced he was going to ask you to The Yule Ball. But once you saw Samantha Dale talking with him about it and seeing how big his smile was, you became so frustrated with yourself for ever thinking such a thing. How could you have been so wrong about his signs? You shouldn’t have assumed your flirty banter together was something special between the two of you. You had no one to blame but yourself.

“Look Garreth, I’m pretty busy. Samantha will be better company than me today.” You took out the essay you were halfway finished with and began writing, hoping he would take the hint.

He was about to take another bite of his apple when the pieces came together in his brain. You think I said yes to Samantha... and you're jealous.

It was hard to keep calm when he felt so elated. He had been pining for you since 5th year and never had the courage to confess his feelings. Being with you as a friend was better than risking not being with you at all. But here you were, acting as green as his eyes. Becoming jumpy, he scratched the back of his head and looked away from you, trying to bite back his delighted smile.

“So...” He began as casually as he could, “You don’t like the idea of me going to the ball with Samantha?”

You stiffened. Am I caught? You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I don’t care who you go with, Weasley.”

You used his last name instead of his first, that was how he always knew if you were upset with him. In this particular moment, he took a dark pleasure in it. “Well, it sounds like you care a little.”

You looked up from your essay to the marble floor in front of you and clenched your jaw, trying to calm your irritated nerves and stop yourself from saying something you’d regret. “It doesn’t matter if I care. Go with who you want.” You went back to your essay.

“But you care.” He slid closer to you so that his thigh was touching yours. Your whole body tensed and you shifted your leg away, disgusted at his brazenness to continue flirting with you when he was going to the ball with someone else.

“I’m going to work in my room.” You pulled your belongings together and left your place next to him.

Garreth got up and followed you easily, finishing the last of his apple and tossing it in a nearby bin. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe off any apple juice. Maybe he could wipe off his idiotic smile while he was at it too.

You could feel his chest practically against your back as he followed close in pursuit. “Leave me alone, Garreth. I’m really not in the mood today.” You growled at him, but he didn’t let up.

He took glances around as he kept up with you. Once he was confident no one was looking, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby, empty corridor.

“What are you -”

“Tell me you’re jealous. I want to hear you say it.”

His words sent your mind through a whirlwind and you shoved him away. “You got some nerve, going to the ball with Samantha and going after me like this -”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! I turned her down. School gossip failed to mention that part, I see.” He interjected. “Now let me have this a little longer.” He stepped closer to you, daring you to push him away again. “This thing where you want me all to yourself, I think I really like it.” His words came off as a jest, but he was genuinely aroused.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to determine if he was being truthful or just trying to keep up his flirty banter with you. But your icy glare at him through your lashes only made him more feral rather than intimidated.

“I -” He cleared his throat, regaining composure. “I’ve been looking for you all day so I could ask you to the ball, but you kept dodging me.”

“Garreth, if this is some sort of messed up joke where you try to get two dates to the ball -”

“It’s not. But, that is a fun idea.” He quipped, hoping it would lighten the mood.

Sighing, you turned on your heel to walk away.

“Sorry sorry sorry, bad joke, bad time.” He grabbed your wrist, panicked. “But I’m serious about taking you. I really want to take you.” He swallowed thickly and held your wrist in his hand. “Would you... want that too?” As he waited for you to respond, he had started stroking your skin with his thumb, unaware he was doing so.

His hopeful look along with his tone had managed to convince you he was being truthful. This was the first step either of you had taken beyond flirty banter, and it had you finally soften to him that day. You looked at his hand on your wrist and adjusted so you could entwine your fingers through his. His heart nearly burst out of his chest. Was this finally happening?

You looked up at him then, but locked on his lips rather than his eyes. Heat formed in his abdomen at your gaze. He used his free hand to cup your jaw. The dark look in your eyes told him you had the same severe craving for him as he did you. He eased towards you and brushed his lips over yours.

He pulled back to gauge your reaction. You looked at him with wide eyes and for a brief moment, he thought he had messed up and taken it too far. But all that panic went away when you dropped your books and threw your arms around him, seizing his lips, taking all coyness between you two and throwing it out the window.

Your sudden burst had rocked him both physically and mentally. Gripping you back, hard and fast, he steadied himself, stepping on your essay as he did so. He matched your eager mouth movements with just as much intensity.

Needing to come back up for air, you pulled back. You looked at each other, breathless. All that tension between you two through the years had finally been able to get released at least somewhat.

“You looked so happy when Samantha asked you. I assumed you said yes.” You told him, still catching your breath.

He hadn’t realized you had been there to see Samantha asking him to the ball. He was both sorry you didn’t catch him rejecting her and sorry you had to catch it at all. Merlin only knows how he would have handled watching someone else asking you. “She’s a good friend, I mean I wasn’t going to scowl or laugh her off. I was letting her down as easy as I could.”

“I’m sorry I was jealous.”

He kept his face close to yours and glanced back at your lips, ready for more. “I’m sorry I enjoyed it.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not.” He captured your lips once more.

Ominis:

Ominis was in a full on panic. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he had done wrong. He may be blind, but he could sense, clear as day, that you were upset with him.

He was pacing back and forth in his dorm room when he was supposed to be at dinner. The sickness he felt had made it hard for him to want to digest anything.

He had been up at all hours of the night thinking about how he was going to ask you to The Yule Ball. But every time he tried to approach you that day, you’d take your leave. He thought he would have gotten his chance in History of Magic class, but everything seemed off. You usually tried to sit close to him and brush your fingers along his, it excited him each and every time. But today, he felt as if you were sitting as far as you possibly could from him.

He was trying to think back on everything that happened before you became so drastically distant. The last time he remembers you two being fine was when he had finally built up the courage to ask you that morning.

Sebastian had pushed him to do it and fueled his ego to prep him, affirming that he saw the way you looked at him and how you weren’t so subtle about it. He was filled with so much joy, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a buffoon when he went to talk to you.

“Ominis!” You had greeted him so cheerfully, it had removed any doubt in what Sebastian told him. As he was about to greet you back, Adelaide Oakes had touched his shoulder from behind to grab his attention. She then went on and on about how she fancied him, and took the ball as her chance to finally tell him how she felt. He had never been so overwhelmed with romantic attention in his life, it only fueled his confidence more. His words came out in a stutter to Adelaide to thank her but decline. It was difficult to turn someone down while grinning like a fool.

“I um - I'll leave you two to it.” He heard you say before he finished speaking with Adelaide. Your footsteps behind him had walked away so fast, he would have believed it if you were running. And ever since, for some reason you’ve been... oh. It hit him then. You must have assumed he was going to say yes to Adelaide. You couldn’t possibly be jealous, could you? If you were, he needed to find you and fix this immediately. But damn him if he wasn’t a bit thrilled at the idea.

He had his wand guide him to the first place he thought you could be in, the astronomy tower. It was late in the day, he was sure you’d be there. As he made his way up, he found his excitement at your jealousy swelling. You weren’t jealous because he was a Gaunt, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, going with someone else. No, you were jealous because he was Ominis, a boy you liked for who he was, going with someone else. Or so you thought.

When his wand brought him to the astronomy tower and sensed you were close, he felt a bit of pride that he knew you as well as he thought he did. But he steadied himself, remembering you were upset with him. Coming at you beaming probably wasn’t the best approach.

“Ominis? What brings you here?” Your voice was monotone, nowhere near as pleased to see him as you were earlier.

He was relieved you were willing to speak to him rather than run off. “I needed to talk to you. Figured you’d be up here.” He approached cautiously.

You furrowed your brows, wondering what he could possibly need you for. Oh you’d just die if he wanted to ask for advice on how to treat Adelaide well at the ball. You turned away from him and lazily looked through your telescope. “Probably best we talk tomorrow.”

“You’re upset with me.”

You peeked up at him briefly, knowing it wasn’t fair to be, then went back to your telescope. You exhaled, inwardly chiding yourself. Ominis doesn’t owe you anything. “I’m sorry, I’ve just... had a lot on my mind.”

His wand guided him to the railing you were near and he leaned himself against it. “I’m all ears.” Part of him wanted to clear everything up as soon as possible, but another, increasingly louder part of him wanted to hear you confess that you were jealous, confess that you didn’t want anyone else to have him but you. So, he dared to play coy a little longer.

“You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Try me.” The way he said it had taken you aback, as if he was telling you, not asking you, to talk to him.

“And what if I don’t want to tell you?” You looked back up at him, a bit of venom coming through.

He took a few steps towards your voice. I think I like this game. He knew he shouldn’t find your jealousy this exhilarating, but he did. He wanted it to absorb you until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

The look on his face stirred something fierce in you and you tried to take a quiet, calming breath. You hoped he wouldn’t hear you doing so, but he did, and it only added fuel to his fire.

“I don’t hear you walking away, so I think you do want to tell me.” He reached out for your robes and pulled at you to come closer to him.

You had been weak for Ominis Gaunt since 5th year, so you obliged. But you didn’t do so without internally screaming at yourself for being such a fool.

Despite being so close, you kept your hands to yourself, he noted. But he could sense your body tensing and he knew you were close to talking. He just needed to hold out a bit longer, push you just so in the right direction. “You’re angry with me, tell me why.” He knew why.

“I shouldn’t be angry with you.”

“Yet you are.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what I’ve done.”

“You... haven’t done anything.”

His grip moved from your robe to your waist, he could feel you shift at his touch, but you didn’t pull away. “I have, tell me.”

“You know, you shouldn’t be up here with me alone, touching me like you are. Wouldn’t want Adelaide or me getting the wrong idea, would you?” He could hear the bitterness in your voice, and it was sending him over the edge. You shoved his hand away and went to the railing, leaning forward and looking out. “I don’t think you mean to, Ominis. But you’re really messing with my head. Looking as happy as you were when Adelaide asked you to the ball, and now you’re here acting like you care for me.”

He followed your voice again and came up behind you. His hands found your shoulders and he comfortingly slid them down to your biceps. His touch still had the same, nerve-racking affect on you. You shrugged him off and turned to face him. He put both hands on the railing on either side of you, trapping you in. “I do care for you.”

As a friend. You wanted to finish for him. Him saying this to you knowing he was going to The Yule Ball with Adelaide hurt. Ominis was the last person who should be comforting you. “I need to go.” You nearly choked, heartbreak constricting your throat. But Ominis kept you blocked in, he wasn’t going to let you leave.

“Tell me why I’ve upset you.”

Being in this position with him had an inferno swirling in you. Being able to see his pale, blue eyes this close had any fight in you vanish. “I wanted... you to ask me to The Yule Ball today. I wanted you to go with me, not Adelaide.”

He leaned forward towards your neck and brushed his nose along your skin.

Your melancholy turned into something else at his touch, something more throbbing. You reached your hands up along his chest, felt his heartrate pick up along with yours. “I want you to be with me.” You confessed in a whisper.

He began to kiss at your neck and you fisted the fabric of his uniform to keep yourself upright. He kissed up your neck, along your jaw, feeling his way to find your lips. He got to the corner of your mouth and pulled back just slightly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I want you all to myself.”

He crashed his lips into yours. Your hands held tight to his shirt to keep him close. He took his hands off the railing to wrap his arms around your waist, his place against your mouth feeling all the more secure. You nipped at his bottom lip and he couldn’t help but let out a throaty “mmh.”

He often tried to imagine what it would feel like to kiss you, the taste of your lips, the sensation of your hands roaming him as pretty as you pleased. This moment had been better than anything he conjured up in his head. He had never envisioned how much hot need would be in it until he had you there in his arms.

You tried to push him away suddenly, but he kept at you, not yet having had his fill. “Wait -” You caved for a brief moment and kissed him back, then pulled away again. “What about -”

“I said no to Adelaide.” He went back to your lips, then to your neck to explain himself so you’d stop pulling away. “I was going to ask you. But you ran off.” He hoped that was enough to stop any further questions, because his mind was already onto more pressing matters. He had heard that sucking on someone’s neck would leave marks, he decided to try it on you then.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head. “You um -” You cleared your throat, “You still want to ask me?”

“I will, but let’s not talk right now.”

Sebastian:

“What has gotten into you today?” Sebastian caught you off guard, shutting the greenhouse door behind him. You were tending to the carnivorous plants for Professor Garlick, you being the only student she really entrusted with such duties.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, then brought your focus back to the plants. “I’m a little busy right now, Sebastian.”

He had never heard you speak to him with such acidity, you might as well have slapped him in the face. You had been in a sour mood with him all day. Of all the times for you to be upset with him, why did it have to be the day he had finally decided to confess his feelings and ask you to The Yule Ball? He strode to your side and bore his gaze into you, willing you to face him and explain yourself.

You didn’t give in and continued tending to the chomping cabbages. Sebastian was the last person you wanted to see. After everything the two of you had gone through, all the glimpses you gave each other, all the near kisses, how could it not mean the same for him as it did you? Was his overprotectiveness for you something brotherly rather than romantic? You felt so stupid having mixed the two. You had fallen so deeply in love with him through the years, and now you’ve come to find he doesn’t see you in that way. He made it very obvious how smitten he was when Grace Pinch-Smedley fawned over him, professing her love and asking him to the ball.

“At least tell me what's upset you so.” He said sternly, interrupting your tragic thoughts.

You knew you should wait until your anger dissipated before speaking with him, but in that moment you didn’t care. You set down your gardening tools and turned to face him.

“How about we talk about you first, Sebastian?”

He let out a frustrated exhale through his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. “What about me?”

“I saw you and Grace speaking this morning, seems you were quite pleased with yourself. Care to share?”

He quirked his brow, not sure where you were heading with this. He remembered Grace speaking with him, but he didn’t remember feeling ‘pleased with himself’. “You saw Grace and I, did you?”

“I did.” You turned back to the chomping cabbages then. “Seems she was doing more than just asking you to the ball.”

He inwardly cringed at the memory. He was flattered at her confession, sure. But the part where he had to reject her had really taken away anything pleasant about the moment. “She told me she had been... harboring feelings for me.” He got shifty thinking back on it, getting rejected after spilling your guts like that must be dreadful.

You took note of his body language, and rosy cheeks. It was salt in the wound and the scowl on your face deepened. “No need to be so bloody bashful about it, Sebastian.” You mumbled.

He stilled then. You thought he was ‘bashful’ thinking back on his interaction with Grace? The gears in his brain started turning.

In that moment, you figured this was your last chance to lay it all out there for him. Since Grace very blatantly told him she wanted more than just a date to the ball, best to tell him how you felt now before they were officially together.

You turned to him fully. “Sebastian, do you care for me?”

His heart began racing and he straightened. “Of course.”

“Like you care for Anne and Ominis?"

“I do.” He said with conviction.

“So, like a sibling?”

“I - Well, I -”

“Because I don’t care for you like a brother, Sebastian.” You took a step towards him.

He was entranced, listening close to everything you had to say. The air between you two grew thick and it clicked for him then. The possessiveness he usually felt over you was now what you were feeling over him. You were under the impression he accepted Grace’s feelings... and you can’t stand it. A rousing sensation shot through him. He wanted to see what more you would do with this newfound greediness for him.

“Perhaps you should have gotten to me before Grace did.” It was bold. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but seeing you act in the way he usually did was a turn of the tables he never knew he wanted to see. He was going to egg you on, get as much of this avaricious side out of you as he could before you devoured him like the plants in this room wanted to.

You reached out to him and began trifling with his tie. He stood perfectly still, afraid that if he moved you’d get discouraged and release him. “Are you telling me you would have been mine if I got to you first?”

Oh yes. “Suppose we’ll never know, considering you didn’t.” This wasn’t at all how he thought confessing his feelings to you would go. But this was a much more electrifying way to do so.

The two of you had unknowingly stepped closer to one another, pulled together like magnetic stones. Your hands were no longer fiddling with his tie, but rather holding it, ever so gently pulling him towards you. “So I’ve lost you, have I?”

Fight for me. Don’t let anyone else have me. “And if you have?” He wanted to find out what your lips tasted like more than he ever had before. He was so close, and eyed them oh so hungrily. But he tried to hold strong a bit longer, so he could know if you were feeling just as carnivorous for him as he always had for you.

The fire in your eyes almost had him on his knees.

Claim me. Claim me as I’ve claimed you.

Giving his tie a hard yank, you pulled him to you and caught his lips with yours. You didn’t waste any time, straightaway tasting his bottom lip with your tongue. Keeping an unyielding grip on his tie, you shot a hand up to his hair and held tight. He put his hands on your hips, and couldn’t stop himself from pulling at your shirt so it came untucked. His hands roamed around your lower back, under your shirt to feel your skin.

Your movements in this kiss were the result of years of pining. There was both an ache to take it slow, feeling everything you both possibly could, and an urgency to make up for lost time right then and there. Now that you finally had him... Wait wait wait, I don’t have him.

You tore yourself from him and walked away, tucking your shirt back in.

“Wha - What? Where are you going?” He was breathless and dizzy and disheveled from your kiss. Get back here.

“Go to Grace.”

He groaned. He should have known keeping up the Grace ruse would have some sort of consequence. But in the moment, he was so obsessive over the fact that you wanted to stake your claim on him, he couldn’t help himself. “I lied about Grace. I turned her down.”

You turned to face him, still keeping your distance across the greenhouse. “Why would you -”

“Because being near you makes me crazy, that’s why!” He shot a hand through his hair, more out of anguish than to fix the mess you made. “I’m mad for you. How have you not noticed? This... possessiveness you have over me today? I feel it for you all the time. So, I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I -” He let out a shaky breath, trying to put the words together. “Seeing you act how I have... I wanted to relish it a bit longer. Forgive me.”

You remained where you were, but he could see your features shift. “Enjoyed my suffering, did you?”

Trying to keep his composure, he nodded his head. Your sultry look had his blood heading somewhere it shouldn’t in the middle of the greenhouse.

He may have been slow catching onto your jealousy, but he was quick to catch that you wanted his lips back on yours. Ravenous himself, he strode up to you and pulled you back against him.

#sebastian sallow imagine #ominis gaunt imagine #garreth weasley imagine #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis gaunt fanficiton #garreth weasley fanficiton #Sebastian sallow x reader #Ominis gaunt x reader #garreth weasley x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt x mc #garreth weasley x mc #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley

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astarion-approves · 7 months

Note

Astarion & Tav taking a bath together? Something gentle and intimate but non-sexual? ♥️

Astarion x Gender Neutral Reader (Tav)

Tag: 1.6k+ words, SFW, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Confessions, Bathing/Washing, bathhouse, No Smut, Drabble, Short & Sweet

“I had no idea that there even was a bathhouse in Baldur’s Gate.” Tav mumbles as they followed behind Astarion, leaving their camp behind in search of a place for a fresh bath. They both carried their own bags, Tav carrying a change of clothes and a bar of soap. Looking at Astarion’s bag, it looked much heavier.

Astarion glanced back to Tav with a boyish grin. “There’s more than one, of course. I wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the free ones though. No, for us, we’re going to take a bath in luxury.”

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

“Luxury…,” Tav said with a wince. “How much is this going to cost me?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. It’s on me.”

“Wow, Astarion, it’s almost like a date.”

“Hah!” Astarion barked a laugh. “You wish.”

The bathhouse was huge, the outside painted a bright, flawless white with an emerald trim accenting the pillars and fencing that surrounded it. Two large gold doors signified the entrance, the level of elegance screamed ‘high class.’

Once inside, Astarion strode ahead, already reaching for his coin bag and requesting a private room for himself and Tav to share. Tav watched as the woman working the front desk counted the coin, a ridiculous total of 75 coins for a single bath.

With a room key in hand, Astarion clicked his tongue for Tav to follow, apparently not even phased by the amount of coin he willingly spent for the night. This is the same man who haggled over the cost a black dye with a child two months ago.

Tav supposed it was fine to splurge every once in a while, but they couldn’t justify this. “I could have split the cost with you,” Tav said.

Astarion fiddled with the key, inserting it into their room and twisting his wrist to open it. “Nonsense. Besides, part of the reason I brought you here is to protect me while my head's under water.”

“Right…” Tav nodded. Something that Astarion had admitted months ago.. nearly a year now. During a night of passion, their lips locked together in a heated embrace. But it didn’t feel right. The shock in Astarion’s eyes when they pulled away still pains them. Instead of moving forward and having one another… they talked. They’ve been close friends ever since, giving Astarion the freedom to be open with his fears, to admit why he attempted to seduce Tav in the first place.

Protection.

And even now, as Astarion stripped down to nothing, Tav smiled knowing that he felt safe with them.

The room wasn’t massive, but still larger than any shower room Tav had ever seen. The walls were painted into a beautiful scene, one to trick your mind into thinking you were bathing in nature, surrounded by trees and a waterfall nearby. Tav swore they even saw the leaves move as a subtle breeze rolled through them and through the room.

There was a single shower and a very very large bath. Steam filled the room, the bath already filled to the brim with hot water, which flowed over the sides and into the drains on the floor beside it.

Tav sighed happily as they undressed along with Astarion and stepped up to where the shower waited for them. The floor was hot beneath their feet. The air, although steamy, felt as refreshing as standing at the top of a mountain.

Astarion began unpacking his bag, removing item after item and placing it beside the shower.

After six different items were removed Tav just had to ask, “Wait, just how many products do you use for your hair?”

“Products?” Astarion put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Tav, these are just shampoos, conditioners, hair masks, oil, and a hydrating leave in gloss… do you not take these steps with your hair?”

Tav runs their hand through their hair, shrugging. “No?”

“What? Gods, you’re an absolute savage. Come here.” Astarion grabbed a large bucket that was resting off on the side, turning it upside down and making a temporary chair. “Sit.”

“I can wash my own hair—“

“Sit, Tav. I won’t say it again.”

Tav knew better than to argue and, with a sigh, they plopped down onto the bucket. Soon after, Astarion was turning on the water. It was hot and relaxing, pouring down the top of their head and running down their body.

“Okay,” Tav whispered. “I understand the luxury bath now.”

“Oh, darling. We’re just getting started.”

Astarion poured shampoo into his hands, rubbing his palms together before sliding them into Tav’s hair.

“Oh—“ Tav gasped, their head falling back and into Astarion’s chest.

He chuckled, his finger’s massaging and scratching at their scalp as they worked the shampoo into their hair. “Do I dare ask how you’ve been washing your hair all this time?”

“Cold water and a bar of soap.”

“Like I said, an absolute savage. What ever would you do without me?”

“Uh… Continue bathing with cold water and a bar of soap?”

Astarion tugged on their hair, laughing. “Smart ass.”

Soon he was pushing their head back under the flow of water, rinsing out the shampoo and then continuing with the conditioner.

Tav breathed in deeply, their eyes closing as they allowed Astarion to take care of them. And Astarion held them so gently, his finger’s threading through their hair, his nails pressing against their scalp and moving to the back of their neck. Each stroke sending shivers down Tav’s body as Astarion massaged the conditioner deep into their roots.

“Feel good?”

“Mh.” Tav hummed, shifting their head and resting the side of their face into his chest.

“Ah, no falling asleep. Not yet. Rinse this out and jump in the bath.” Astarion pushed Tav forward, back into the water and let the conditioner wash out.

“What about the other stuff?” Tav asked. They looked to the pile of other products, not wanting Astarion to stop yet.

“Cute,” Astarion said with a small smile. “That comes after the bath. Now hurry up.”

Tav pouted as they stood, giving Astarion the space to sit down. “Do you want me to wash your hair—“

“Bahah! Absolutely not.” Astarion laughed and reached for his shampoo, one of many. “I have a very strict regiment.”

“Oh…”

Astarion sighed and looked back to Tav. “Maybe next time.”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“By the Hells, Tav, just get in the damn bath.”

Turning away from Astarion, Tav did as they were told. Hissing as their toe touched the water, it was even hotter than the shower. Soon they were sinking into it completely, moving to one edge of the bath where there was a bench under the water to sit and rest. They let their head lean back on the edge, their eyes closing as they allowed themselves to relax.

They don’t know how much time passed before Astarion joined them in the water. The vampire sitting next to them and joking about how it looked like he was the one doing the protecting here. Tav simply reached for Astarion and pulled him into their arms, snuggling against him and pressing a single kiss to his shoulder.

“Sleepy, are you?” Astarion slouched in the water, allowing Tav to cuddle him however he wanted, but he still felt a little stiff. “Looking for a cuddle?”

Which they’ve never done before. Not since that night.

Tav cracked open one eye, looking up and into Astarion’s deep blood red eyes that gazed back at them. “What are we?”

Suddenly the tension in the room grew thick, Astarion saying nothing and only continuing to look back at Tav.

Then he hummed, finally ripping his gaze from Tav. “Two friends, sitting in a bathtub, and they’re not in love.”

“We’re not?”

“Well..” Astrarion cleared his throat and continued, “I can’t speak for your lovely little self but—“ He paused, lifting a single hand from the water to cup Tav’s cheek. “Maybe I am? Honestly, Tav, I have no idea.

“We’ve been friends for so long… but I know that I would die for you. I wouldn’t die for the others. I would fight for them, but I wouldn’t die for them. And I miss you when you’re not around me. When you leave camp to go to Gods knows what— washing your hair with fucking sewer water—“

“—I use water from a lake.”

“Or buying me avocados because I ask you too—“

“—What do you even use them for?”

“My hair.”

“Really? Avocados?”

“Yes, it’s very good for your hair, Tav. Can I continue?”

Tav laughed. “Sorry, yes.”

“I don’t know what love is… For so many years, sex, lust.. any sprinkling of romance all ended in disaster… What I feel with you is different. It’s so much more than anything I’ve ever experienced, and we’ve never even fucked! It’s all so strange to me.”

“You don’t have to have sex to be in love with someone, Astarion.”

“Yes, I know that now, but… for the longest time— I didn’t. I want to explore this with you.” Astarion sat up, pulling Tav along with him. “Whatever this is.” He placed his hand against Tav’s chest, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes. “I want your heart to beat like this, only for me. I want to finally know what falling in love is truly like…With you.”

Tav took Astation’s hand, gently pulling it away from their chest and bringing it to their lips, pressing a small kiss on the back of his knuckles. “I love you, exactly as you are, and I’ll never need anything else from you. We’ll take this as slow as you need to.”

Astarion smiled, lowering his head and resting his forehead against Tav’s. “Thank you..”

“Of course,” Tav replied and sank back into the hot water, taking Astarion into their arms once more. This time, Astarion let himself mold into their arms, closing his eyes, relaxing, and enjoying the protection and understanding that Tav offered.

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skzdarlings · 1 month

Text

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist. part one of the previous story.

PART ONE. PART TWO.

( READ ON AO3. )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff. Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him.

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend. They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty.

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks. “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny. Felix is far less amused. This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out. But so far it has been tedious.

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time. For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately. Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve. They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance. He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance. He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down.

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell. More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter. Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her. But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working. Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all.

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says. “It’s a train. There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says. “We’re supposed to look normal. Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap. Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy.

“That,” he says. He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor. This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents. “Four security officers. Ex-military. Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed. He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat.

“The hell, man?” Chris says. “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea? Ya think that might blow our cover? Just a bit?”

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right. Miroh does not like a public mess. They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting. It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far. He prefers action. With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat. He tries not to think about it. His life is his mission. Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world. Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good.

The Enemy has been dead for two years. The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard. He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it. There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister. Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless. That maybe Miroh is wrong. That maybe some things cannot be saved.

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap. He gathers himself and exhales.

“Fine,” he says. “How long do you think he will be distracted? Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says. “Might as well check. He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.

Felix is not in the mood to argue. He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris. They make their way down the aisle. No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin. Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury. It is all deep mahogany and gold trim. Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy. The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely.

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage. He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data. Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads. The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix. It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage. Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy.

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs. Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein. These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them. The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers. In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room. “You’re usually a computer whiz. Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says. For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans. Everything except the metadata matches the description. But that metadata does not lie.

These files do not belong to Miroh.

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix. They look at the files together.

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks. “It looks like the right thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen. “Or it should be. But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh. But all these files are original. They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet. Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him. He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face.

“Felix,” Chris says. “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows. He looks down at the plans. The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says. “We’re just stealing them. Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says. “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says. “It’s what Miroh does. It’s what they all do. You haven’t figured that out yet? You?”

Felix, who has done the most assignments. Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program. Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers. Felix does not even know all the questions. He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain.

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says. “Just take the data and we’ll leave. We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away. He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says. “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says. “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him. Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way. He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself. He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens. They have no time to react. In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team.

Felix knows how to fight. It is second nature to him. He should not need to think.

But he does. He overthinks. He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away. Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children. He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him. It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away. Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them. That distracts Felix too. Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore.

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does.

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train. The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car. A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder. The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing. He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks.

But it won’t save him. He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none. The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump. He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard. Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data. That is what they are trained to do. The job is more important than the soldier. In a crisis, you leave the weak behind.

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds. He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency. He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix. Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me.

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence. He shouts, “Hold on!” Then he swings himself over the railing. He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side. Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing.

“What are you doing?” Felix asks. He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks. He is not sure it will ever slow again. He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks. He laughs for some forsaken reason. “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder. Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place. Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility. Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic. The bag of candy is still in his back pocket. He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers. He feels like his world is crashing around him.

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again. They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year. When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too. They are on their way to their bunks.

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder. Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix. He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself.

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood. It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can. But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh. She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be. Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves. But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say.

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says. It comes out as instinctively as a punch. “I wouldn’t have saved your life. I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him. He exhales on a laugh. Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie.

“I know, Felix,” he says. “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back. I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss. Even his long engrained instincts fail. He is out of punches.

Chris just smiles at his confusion. With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk.

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged. He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands. That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught. Maybe things exist outside of this place.

Maybe some things can be saved.

P R E S E N T D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh. “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed. He is her bodyguard. She is an heiress. Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now. It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that. The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested. Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions. When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction.

It is why your father is not happy. The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands. Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him. You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter. Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable. Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right.

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty. Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy. It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse. He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died. The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children. It was ripe for picking.

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind. This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered. You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin. The rest of your team is scattered around the house.

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations. Your findings have been on your mind all day. It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit.

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says. “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun. He places it beside yours. It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other. You would certainly never do it around your father. But Changbin is different. You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis. You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward. You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor. Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you.

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say. “Physical in some capacities, digital in others. My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us. That is the part my father is interested in. That is all he sees.”

“And what do you see?” Changbin asks. His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness.

“I don’t see anything,” you say. “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious. You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one.

“The security log is missing information,” you say. “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed. No breach, no shutdown. Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system. Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.”

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks. “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply. “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players. This family had enemies in every market. If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now. Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets. No interest in even sticking around. Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other. Someone professional. Someone technologically capable. Someone whose only motivation was escape.”

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind. When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say. “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification. Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic. He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long. It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix.

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully. His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else. “You remember him. He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”

That much is true. You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you. You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable. You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines.

Felix was competent but na��ve. He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal. To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed.

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause.

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask. “The enemy?”

“Chris.” Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs. His smile is wry. “He asked me about Chris.”

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer. After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly. He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms. “Does it matter now? I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way. Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now. The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment. You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate. You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered. The results are the same: the rebellious boy died. He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction.

“Chris,” you say. The name sits heavy on your tongue. “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts. It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics. But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before. “You know he didn’t even recognize me? Ah! The little brat! I knew him too! I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there. Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!”

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words. Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye. He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you. Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard. In truth, he is a good bodyguard. Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him. It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his. Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him. Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own. He is probably right. Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered. He is a strategist. He is patient if it means results.

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience. You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.

You find yourself reaching for him. It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character. You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours. You touch it very lightly.

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely. You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him. You rip your hand back and shake your head.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory.

“Nothing,” you say. “I mean – well.” You scrub a hand over your face. The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you.

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head. He rubs his face too.

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before. “It’s been a long day.” An understatement.

Changbin doesn’t argue. You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest. You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far. The one bed has plenty of space. You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you.

You wake some time in the middle of the night. When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you. You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window. There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes. His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted. His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night.

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you.

“Obviously,” you reply. You push yourself upright. “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing.

“You look tired,” you say.

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you. “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.”

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle. Naturally his humour returns at your expense. He really is the little brother you never had.

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat. You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled. You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other. He looks out the window and you look at him.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know, princess,” he says. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right. You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos. If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives.

Your life is anything but normal.

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident. “I know who you are. Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.”

You swallow your thoughts quickly. Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone. It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow. You look away, up at the sky. You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life. Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something. Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean. He was right about that. He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness. Or so you thought. All this business with the enemy has changed things. That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it.

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?” Changbin asks. “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.”

You look at each other. He just sighs.

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says. “I’ve always been what I am. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country. And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are. It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything.

“Maybe it does,” he says. He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face. “Does it matter? He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say. You’re Miroh’s daughter. Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been. It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter. He just laughs at your silent but intense stare. He shakes his head as he looks out the window. “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason.

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring.

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs. He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence. It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.

Your startled eyes find his. It splits your focus. You see Changbin right now, older, stronger. You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow.

You blink again and it is just him as he is now.

He drops his hand.

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says. “I know. Ha! I really know.” He swings around, planting his feet on the ground. He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed. But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry. You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old. You realize there has been more than one constant in your life.

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness.

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says. “But also not. You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same. We’re just animals to him. Raised to the slaughter, ha! But not you. One way or another, you’re going to be someone.”

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist. He looks down at his palm.

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line. You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered.

“Just… remember me,” he says. “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words. You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know. You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor.

You have always felt very alone. You learned to thrive in that solitude. Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless. You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone. Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere. You both keep your heads down, get the job done. Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here.

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night. When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action. You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife. He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm.

Your eyes meet. You are unflinching, more resolute than ever. You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words.

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it. His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him.

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered. You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership. Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up. It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be. If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all.

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not. This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage. Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation.

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes. At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building.

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk. “Today’s going to be boring.”

“Yup,” you say in accord. There is no way anyone else will be here. You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined. With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work.

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building. It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless. Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level. You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work. “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep.

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says. He takes off his mask to grin at you. “But I am super good looking.”

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile. He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile.

Eventually he takes a seat. He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal.

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes.

You can hardly blame him. It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated. Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping. Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating. Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say. “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action. Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach. You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team.

It happens very fast. One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want. The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other.

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell. None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents. You have not had anything near this problem before.

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles.

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison. You nod at each other.

The message gets passed along the communicators. There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell. You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders.

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks.

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos.

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde. The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions. It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense.

These agents belong to the enemy. The enemy. It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers. But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles. There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf. It makes no sense.

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him.

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says.

“It’s the enemy,” you say. “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says.

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are.

You watch as several of your officers are taken down. You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them. A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf. Chris. Felix. Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you. You think you will be hearing gunshots for days.

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin. “Leave through the roof. We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs.

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier. But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying. Because that is what will happen. You should not be bothered by it. You can train a new security team. They exist for this exact reason.

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind. Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard. A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake.

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet. “You’re better than this!”

He’s right. You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight.

You push through the pain and thunder. You get your feet back under you. You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best.

You slam and bolt the door behind you. You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing. Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness. You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access. You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in. You are glad you decided against that.

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness. “Put this on.” He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof.

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself. It is second-nature. You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door. “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say. “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.” You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far. Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath. You do not have time to think twice. It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building. “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!”

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers. You grab his hand, stopping him.

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye. The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you. You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax. Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest. It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start.

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says. “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you. It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “What the fuck are you thinking? You—”

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile. “This is my job. Let me do it.”

“No,” you say, struggling against him. You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious. “You can’t be serious!” you shout. “We’re the same thing! If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back. “You’re a Miroh! You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say. “It’s me they want anyway! You put on the harness! You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply. The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either.

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again. Your focus splits. You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.

Then everything changes.

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears. You see the colour grey. It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe. You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices.

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger. Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles. There is no wind in his hair. There is no wind anywhere. He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey. He says your name. You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing. You cannot make out what you are saying. When you look down, you cannot see your body. You can only see him. You can only hear him.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey. You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness. You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door. You look there frantically. Changbin does too. Then you look at each other.

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand. He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar. He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance.

Then he slowly lets go of your hand.

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says.

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard. You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down.

There is nothing you can do mid-air. You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once. You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground. You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly.

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly. You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope. You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge. “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line.

You jump out of the way. Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground. The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms. “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer. You run over to the body, searching for something. You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong.

It does not take you long. You roll the body over. Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent. He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago. His name was Agent Slump. You shot him through the shoulder.

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion. You see nothing from this vantage.

You run back into the building. You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs. This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself. Your father has done this. Sending fake enemies after you. Teaching you yet another lesson. You said you could handle yourself. You said your security team could protect you. Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion. You find yourself blinking back tears. You cannot remember the last time you cried.

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step. Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers. It echoes in the empty stairwell. “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say. “It’s not the enemy. It’s my father. It’s Miroh. Changbin. Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below. You stop to listen. Your vibrating phone makes you jump.

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell. This one is not playing a part. He is in the standard uniform. There are more officers behind him. The back-up you called like an idiot.

You do not go back down. You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you.

You no longer know what you are doing. You do not know where you are going or what you will find. A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero.

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere. You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof. You try to tell yourself that he is safe. It was just Miroh. They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now. Everything will be fine.

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine. Everything has changed.

You hear the officers behind you. You look around. The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump. It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have. At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die.

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath. You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts. You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof. You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain. You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running. You open a skylight and drop into the building. Another empty corridor stretches in front of you.

You decide your objective it to escape. You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself. You can get out of here.

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in. Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters. You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you. You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything. When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual.

You turn around. You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Of fucking course it’s you.”

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become. Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller. His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember. He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask. He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window. His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze.

You do not waste any more breath cursing. You turn and run.

You know it is useless but you have to try. In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip. You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you. You manage to rip away after a few good kicks. It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline. Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him.

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below. You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you. If you look back, it will slow you down. You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor.

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again. This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat.

That adrenaline betrays you. It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you. You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized. He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him.

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper. It makes him tighten his grip on your throat. You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.

You are swiftly joined by the other officers. You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm. He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet. You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths. It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too.

You trip for the third time. Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up. You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes. You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions. You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again.

Then another officer grabs you. You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask. “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says. “This is for your own good. You are behaving erratically. Don’t be scared. We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers. I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.”

You have no more words. An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you. Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down. You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood. He screams under you until someone rips you off him. They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy.

The officer gets to his feet. Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn. You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you. You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it.

Then you realize it is Chan holding you. When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you. He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist.

Chan says nothing. He does not need to say anything. He looks at the officer and the officer swallows.

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes.

“We’re leaving,” he says. “Guard, take your charge.”

You are looking smugly at the officer. That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you. It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.

They take you to a truck. It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables. It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains. You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it.

You try and slow your frantic breathing. You cannot have a breakdown right now. It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father. You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains. You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy.

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck. You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you. All the hairs on your body stand up. You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity. He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him. When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats.

Chan says nothing. He never says anything. On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him. You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs. They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work.

You swallow. He is not speaking but he is staring. He does not remove the mask. You have not seen him without it in years. He is nothing but a soldier. An army unto himself.

Your heart skips another beat. An idea slowly forms in your mind.

You are better than average. Chan is better than you. You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help. Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought. It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try. You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence. The worst would probably be a snapped neck.

You curl your hands behind your back. The scar on your palm stings. You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose.

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say.

Just like you suspected, he says nothing. He just stares at you. The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle. He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected.

Your fear turns to frustration. You heave a breath.

“Did you hear me?” you ask. “You’re not a soldier. You’re a prisoner. You’re not who you think you are. Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real. The real you is in there somewhere. And the real you—” The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.”

Chan stares at you. That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head. It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you. His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression. You did not know he could make such an expression.

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.

He straightens, but he still looks questioning. It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface. You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him. You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters. More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face.

“Chan,” you say. “Chris. Whatever you want to be called. If you’re in there, then listen to me, please. I know you don’t know me. We hardly knew each other at all growing up. But we did grow up together. Miroh is controlling both of us. He is going to use us to do things. He—” You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm. It brings a tear to your eye.

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter. You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say. “This is bigger than you and me. I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop. Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head. You want to scream.

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare. It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it.

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked. There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck. A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing.

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you. An officer opens the door wider and nods to him.

“Let’s go, guard,” he says.

Chan gets up. You watch as he struts past. He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer. It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash. It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you.

You sit, petrified, confused. Chan slowly turns. You blink at him.

He holds out his hand.

“What?” you say. It comes out a rasp. You cannot manage more words. There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him. This man has been tortured into compliance. There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes. He does not feel anything. He does not understand anything. He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand.

There is nowhere to go but forward. You get to your feet and shuffle towards him. He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression. He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van. When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around. A gust of breath whooshes out of you. You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs.

Never mind. He is breaking them with his bare hands. You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap. You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking.

Chan is calm as the other officers approach. Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs.

Chan looks at you. You do not know why or how, but he nods.

You nod back.

You are a soldier. You trained for this. You were made to fight. It is time to remind them of that.

Your father is in his rooftop garden. Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite. He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes. It balances for him. The ends always justifies the means.

You walk into his garden. It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you. He does not have time to hide his surprise. You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten. You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now.

“Hello, father,” you say.

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation. “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly. “We’ll talk right here. Right now.”

He is holding a watering can. He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere. Neither of you look at it. Your eyes are locked on each other. You both know what he did today. He is smart enough to work that out.

“Where are my men?” he asks.

“Detained,” you answer. Chan is holding them off somewhere. You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later. You have to solve one problem at a time.

You have no real plan. You are making it up as you. All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you.

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar. You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him. Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other. Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy.

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too. He will not win in a one-on-one fight. He is smart enough to know that too. It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back.

“You’re injured,” he says. “Go to the infirmary. We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says.

“Where is he?” you ask.

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly. The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background. Wind moves through the flowers. You hear birdsong in the sunshine. Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point.

“Who?” your father asks.

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say. “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents. I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers. No more lies. No more games. No more secrets. Seo Changbin is my best officer. I want him back. Tell me where he is.”

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says. “His body is more useful than him. The initial special-ops experiment was a failure. His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant. We can try again. You should want to help me. You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.”

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you. You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys. You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat.

You keep your disgust and horror down. You take another step forward.

“Give him back to me,” you say. “Right now. I told you already. I’m not playing any games.”

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny. His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow. “This is not like you. Go to the infirmary.”

“I’m not asking again,” you say. “Give him back to me.”

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer. You know it will not work. You know he does not care. Miroh hates you because you are his daughter. Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best. He is scared of himself in you. You never stood a chance.

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore.

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly. You do not break.

“Your friend?” he asks. “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!” He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say. “I’m not asking again.”

You fly at him without further warning. He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily. With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight. After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over. He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself. You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard.

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow.

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat. He has kept his gun in the same place for years. In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat.

He puts his hand there and finds nothing.

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand. You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand.

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say.

“Then kill me,” he says.

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work. He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself. You will drop the gun and concede. Miroh wins. Miroh always wins.

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand. It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm. You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger.

You are not sure who is more surprised. You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood. You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest. You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards. If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof.

When you shoot him, he stumbles. He falls back. He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute. The watering can has emptied. The wind has gone still. The whole world seems to stop. When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter. It feels very strange that the sun is still shining.

You walk to the edge of the roof. You look down. Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown.

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now.

You do not know how long you stand there. The wind begins to blow again. You feel it on your face.

Then you hear a voice. It nearly makes you jump.

“What now?” it asks.

You turn around. Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath. He is human somewhere under there. Deep, deep down. You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier.

One problem at a time.

A few more officers appear on the rooftop. Chan turns. You approach him.

“What now?” you repeat. You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers. Chan draws his own and does the same. You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries. “Right now,” you say, “we fight.”

You pull the trigger.

The fight begins.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanficiton #bang chan fanfiction #skz x you #stray kids x you

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galebrainrot2024 · 2 months

Text

GalexYou Pep-Talk

Summary: Pre-relationship yearn alert! This is a BIG yearn. Thank you @orangekittyenergy for the idea! Gale goes to seek you out (gender neutral) after a long day. Mutual pining, angst, fluff. Word Ct. 1.4 k

Master List | Read on Ao3

After the merriment and bustle of the night wore away and gave into the doldrums of sleep, Gale flicked his gaze around camp searching for you. You slipped away and although he expected you to return, the emptiness in your absence haunted him.

He sat outside of his tent, then stood, pacing with book in hand. He wasn’t worried. Not necessarily. You had been traveling for a few weeks together now and you had a certain levels of tenacity it seemed even gods and devils refused to trifle with.

It was just that he had grown accustomed to your company post-dinner and campfire camaraderie and felt a pang of remorse in your absence. The night air too quiet without the soft hum of your laughter. Sometimes, he would read aloud to you, other times you would both get lost in conversation, and sometimes would sit in utter silence. It intrigued and terrified him, that you sought out his private company despite the others being starved for your attention.

It was quite flattering and made him want to rip out the persistent thrum in his heart. He couldn’t indulge in such frivolities and would cause far less suffering to not humor the feelings at all. The orb’s ever looming threat didn’t allow Gale to succumb to whatever emotions festered in his gullet. At least, not consciously.

His mind began down the treacherous path of ‘what ifs.’ It was a game, like lance board, Gale was excellent at. As the moon greeted the stars, Gale’s anxiety intensified, his mind whirling with options. It had to have been a least an hour you’d been gone, longer than you’d take for bathing - not that he knew exactly how long that was! It was just something he happened to notice. Coincidentally.

The foreign thrum of desire stirred and the thick hair on his arms stood straight up as he wondered if you were bathing. If you allowed the water to kiss your supple skin, to know your secrets. Gale shook his head, embarrassed and felt his face redden. Keep it together. They could be dead and you’re fantasizing over their wet body? You should be ashamed of yourself.

Gale expected you to traverse through the trees any moment, prepared to feel ridiculous at his worrying. Why did he care? It’s not as if there was anything more than friendship between you two, at least from your end. He had to repeat this to himself to be convinced.

When he overheard Astarion ask Shadowheart if she’d seen you, Gale felt the whispers of envy touch his heart and decided he spent enough time wasted, musing over your whereabouts when you could be lost, or worse besides.

He couldn’t tolerate the sudden pain that gripped him with that ‘what if,’ and he walked into the brushes to find you.

***

Relief roiled through him at the sight of you, despite your disheveled appearance. Gale’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped, gripped when he looked upon you in the pale moonlight. Your eyes were red and swollen, it seemed like you’d been crying. He felt his knees buckle and he cleared his throat, so not to startle you.

You whipped your head around and Gale’s lips parted when he saw crimson blossom across your cheeks as you wiped away the streaks with the back of your hand. “Oh, I um.. how long have you been standing there?”

“Not long, I assure you,” Gale’s voice was tender, quiet. He held up both of his hands at waist level, palms facing up and smiled at you. “May I join you?”

You hesitated for a moment and Gale panicked that he’d made the wrong move, said the wrong thing and of course he had already messed up any chance he might have because he was so pathetically out of practice. You’d think a man who bedded a goddess would have a bit more self confidence in his seductive prowess, but being shunned and cast out by your former omnipotent lover does a number on one’s self esteem.

When you nodded, he tumbled off the cliff and the orb revolted as it mingled with the rush of adrenaline and rapture he felt from the simple gesture. One nod. To Gale, it was everything. He felt welcomed into your world, elated you’d allow him to offer support. You didn’t have to, and yet you did.

Gale joined you on the boulder that was nestled in the thicket, the soft buzz of nighttime harmonizing with his unsteady breath. “Hm… I know that look,” Gale said, gazing at how your lips curved. “And a clear mind does not eviscerate flowers quite like this.” He fingered a petal and gestured at the flowers and stems, all petals plucked intentionally from their root. “A nervous habit, no doubt.”

You sighed and his heart swelled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing. Every lead ends up in either more unanswered questions or unhelpful ends.” You groan and grip your chest, your breath coming in unevenly. “I’m exhausted,” as your head fell into your hands Gale, without thinking, rested a hand on your upper back and stroked your hair behind your shoulder.

“Ah, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Gale felt warmth pulse through him as you laughed, whether genuinely or out of pity he wasn’t to know. He wasn’t sure he cared. “For the record, you have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes most skillfully. You’ve shown remarkable courage and determination and, I’m confident the others would agree, many of us would not be so fortunate to still be alive if not for you. You must know that.” He rubbed his fingers in small circles along your upper back. When he became conscious of what he was doing he pulled back, ashamed and nervous by the electricity that seemed to flow between his skin and yours although barred by cloth. You whined a little and Gale cocked his brows, “What?”

You turned and as your gaze locked with Gale he drowned. Oh. He was jolted by the flash of profound need and emotion that coiled through him. Every part of him felt aflame and he worried that it was his end, that the orb was at last collapsing in on itself. Yet, as he remained next to you in the thickening silence, he realized it wasn’t the orb at all. When you spoke, Gale thought surely this was the moment he was becoming a mindflayer, a wicked dream to lull one as they succumbed to the parasite. “I.. .can you do that again?”

“Gladly.” Gale shyly returned his fingers to your back and as you leaned into his touch, Gale knew it was not longer a matter of if, but when. As you leaned farther, you almost rested in his shoulder and his throat closed. He swallowed hard and tried to steady his body and mind, every cell quaking with anticipation and overstimulation.

He inhaled. Temptation. You smelled like rain or fresh cut grass. You smelled like home. It was when you leaned into him, he was certain he forgot how to formulate a thought. Your head nestled against his neck and your side pressed into his. He wondered if the quaking was from your body or his. He dared not move, frozen as if Tara had fallen asleep on his lap.

The pain that coursed from Gale’s chest through his veins was almost enough to send Gale back to camp. The undue excitement made the orb restless. Agitated. He was both grateful and nostalgic when you pulled away and sat up. “Thank you, for that. Let’s get back to camp. I don’t want the others to worry.” You smiled at Gale and it seared into the crevices of his mind, a look he would capture a thousand more times and it would never sate him. You gave his hand a squeeze and then stood, offering your hand to Gale’s with a cheeky grin. “Here, I’d hate for you too put too much strain on those creaky knees of yours.”

Gale’s hearty laugh took him by surprise and he took your hand and stood with a grunt. “A wizard is useless without his knees, shame on you for poking fun at their fragility.” Gale chased the feeling of you, of this closeness and realized that, even before his isolation he had never met a person quite like you. Gale would have stood there in stunned desire forever had you not taken his hand to guide him forward, the movement breaking the trance and he pulled his sweaty palm from yours, embarrassed. He wiped them on his shirt and followed you back, his heart and head swimming with the idea of kissing you.

#gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 brainrot #gale x you #gale x reader #gale fluff #gale angst #gale yearning #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanficiton #gale fanfiction #bg3 gale fanfiction #bg3 gale fanfic

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squishpies · 2 months

Text

-Vox Dating Headcannons~ (SFW & NSFW)

♥~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♥~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♥

-SFW-

•He would make sure to give you amounts of his attention / love when he's not busy dealing with.. things.

•Would make sure that nobody knows about your relationship with him, so that people wouldn't start harassing you about it.

•Vox has a lot of fans, meaning fangirls. There was one encounter where one of them found out that you two were dating, (you both were walking outside to go into a car) and Vox had to, "take care" of them immediately. Let's just say those certain events don't happen ever again.

•I feel like in his house on days off he would just wear sweatpants and a hoodie, grey sweatpants to be specific (IYKYK) he loves to cuddle with you when nobody is around.

•He likes to give you kisses mostly on your neck, but if you kiss him on the lips, he wouldn't mind changes things up a bit.

•Vox is a BIG hip grabber, he wants you to move out the way? Grabs your hip. Wants your attention? Grabs your hip.

•This man KNOWS what spots you are sensitive in.

•He is a cuddler at night, likes to be the big spoon.

-NSFW-

•He can make his dick vibrate while inside of you, he knows what you like.

•Vox can put that tongue to use (HAVE YOU SEEN THAT SHIT?).

•I'd say he's a bit above average, 6 soft - 8 hard.

•When he is stressed after a long day of tiring work he likes to pound you mercilessly.

•But when he isn't stressed he prefers slow, loving sex. He prefers it to be long and cherishing so that he knows you feel good.

•Leaves bite marks / hickeys scattered across your neck and chest. and when he's finished he likes to admire his own work.

•Forces you to look at him as he's fucking you to oblivion.

•Is definitely a tease, likes to edge you.

• He has sharp fingers, so that means he would scratch you during fun times :)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #fanficiton #fanfiction #the vees #vox hazbin

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kaicubus · 9 months

Text

My Number One Priority | Kokushibo

₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ───────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ─────────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊

warnings ✩° : 18+ NSFW, cursing, brat taming!receiving, rough sex, p in v, fucking against a wall, built up tension, consumption of alcohol (but non-intoxicated sex), not established relationship, consensual sex, size difference, open area fucking, dirty talk, dacryphilia.

pairing ✩° : bodyguard!kokushibo x fem!reader, au not specified maybe modern idk...

premise ✩° : as your personal body guard, kokushibo is tasked with looking after everything you do to ensure your safety. you typically don’t take kindly to his overbearing nature, seeing as he’s just someone your dad hired, but kokushibo wants to change your mind about this whole protection thing to show you it’s really not all that bad.

word count ✩° : 5.7k

authors note ✩° : so. i’m back. with this. lol!

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"Look! I don’t need you following me around all day! You’re not going to this club with me, you don’t wear anything besides that suit and I’m not letting you follow me around looking like you’re going to the next business conference! Besides, don’t you have something better to do?”

You breathe out a rough sigh and cross your arms with nothing but pure frustration clouding all judgment. For the past month or two, you’ve had your very own bodyguard, someone who follows you around, guards areas where you’re present, and doesn’t let you have a mind of your own. Of course you didn’t need one, but being related to one of the richest men where you live, your father keeps you on lock down where a body guard is needed. It annoyed you at first, and it annoys you now.

You have a reputation for always managing to uproot even the most stubborn of weeds that call themselves your protectors, usually playing tricks on them to get them fired or slip up enough times that your father makes sure they never work again, just because the feeling of a man—usually two times your size—lurking over your shoulder every waking second rubs you the wrong way. What makes it especially worse was that none of them had personality, they were all the same: quiet, uninterested, and far too uncomfortable with you to do anything risky.

Up until recently, it really hurt knowing the undeniable truth that your body guards were never going to be your friends or even get to know you—they were just mindless husks working with strings in their backs to do anything your father said. He was the one with money after all. You were just an associate to them.

That realization was the reason why you decided to burst all out on your father’s new hire, a man by the name Kokushibo. According to him, Kokushibo was the perfect fit for his lovely daughter, reserved, agile, and willing to stop at nothing to ensure your safety. But to you, Kokushibo was just like the rest, quiet, uninterested, and most likely just doing what he’s told. On his own, though, Kokushibo was tall, way taller than you, had long, layered hair with frosted red tips that stood out from his head of otherwise dark burgundy hair, and almost ghost white skin. His arms were strong, which your father made sure to comment on with a goofy gesture of flexing his own, elderly muscles, saying how they’re, “the best in the game,” and even pulled up Kokushibo’s pants to reveal his toned calves and rave at those too. When it happened, you lost your mind, screaming at your father at the invasion of privacy, but Kokushibo remained solemn and just let your father continue.

When you were introduced, all Kokushibo did was bow and make a promise of not letting you get out of his sight, and making sure you were his number one priority. What a load of shit.

So now, with your finger in his face, you buck up to your body guard and glare at him. Your silence means nothing to him, Kokushibo continues to stare at you as if he was watching paint dry, which easily irritated you more. “Kokushibo I am NOT letting you go with me.” Your answer remains the same. In your defense, you’ve been planning to go to a club with your friends all week. Getting dressed up and doing your makeup and attending a trashy club isn’t something that’s usually in your schedule, so when presented with the opportunity to take shots or even better, hook up with someone random, you eagerly accepted. The only issue now is the man standing behind you in your own bathroom, watching you poke the backs of gold hoops through your ears.

“I can wear something else if the suit is the issue.” Kokushibo says with his head tilted down, “I don’t only wear this. I know club attire isn’t proper like what I’m wearing.” He wanted to justify.

“Well, maybe you should wear something else for a change, maybe then I’ll see you as something other than a robot who follows me around. You’re like one of those cartoon characters who never changes their outfit because their show doesn't receive enough funding for more animation frames...or something.” You laugh to yourself and spin your head around in the mirror, checking all angles of how your earrings look, “Perfect!”

Kokushibo leans against the door frame and lets out a small grunt of displeasure, “I still think you should’ve worn the white dress.”

“And look like some runaway bride? Plus, I’m not trying to spill anything on imported silk. So. What, you don’t think the black looks cute on me?” You look over your shoulder and give your bodyguard a pouty look, poking fun at his question. Kokushibo shrugs and rolls his eyes, “I’m just glad you chose to cover up this time.”

Looking down at your outfit, you had to disagree with his passive aggressive remark. Whether you covered up or not was never dependent on how cute you looked. The long sleeve dress look was already so complimentary to your figure, hugging your hips and waist in all the right places, even enhancing certain assets which was a nice bonus. The only issue you had with the dress was with the length. Sure, you’d be going to a dimly lit club where no one would be able to tell if your dress rode up just a bit, but the struggle of constantly pulling it down to avoid that already made your head roll back in annoyance. Almost as if he’d read your mind, Kokushibo lets out a chuckle and makes his way behind you.

With only an inch or two separating you from each other, you swear you can hear your name leave his lips in sort of a desperate tone, yet it’s quiet and almost sort of whiny, leading you on to believe he really doesn't want you going. But who was he to stop you from having fun? You deserve it for putting up with him.

“Here,” You hold your hand out to your body guard, “Can you put this on for me? It’s got a little clasp, so try not to break it with your huge, killer hands please?” As much as you like to joke about things like that, Kokushibo knows all too well what he’s done to protect you with those same hands, now holding an expensive 14k gold plated choker, laying it across your collarbone. His pale, knobby fingers fidget for a second, releasing the clasps from each other, and wrapping it around your neck.

It was all you needed before you headed out to a night of fun and getting the perfect chance to turn heads and grab the attention that you lacked with anyone else around, mostly Kokushibo. But then again, you wanted to ignore the possible thought that you could ever wish your bodyguard to look at you in a way that no body guard is allowed to.

You turn back towards the mirror, ignoring the eyes that stared as you applied the expensive, creamy red lipstick onto your lips slowly. The color itself was a guaranteed rite of passage to any eyes in the club, especially accompanied by your dress and jewelry, and it only helped that it was a light wear and something that was easily smudge proof. That was, if anyone would want to kiss you tonight, no one would suspect anything when you came back home.

The sudden feeling of rough hands gliding down your waist jostles you from your thoughts, rustling the fabric hugging tightly against your skin just enough to expose your thigh to the curious thumb already poking in.

“Need I remind you, Y/n, I don’t need you getting into any trouble tonight.” Kokushibo’s husky voice speaks into your ear, “You know if I’m not there to watch you, someone could easily kidnap you and hold you for ransom, right?” His fingers massage lightly into your hips, signaling he means no harm with his sudden grab. Said sudden grab, however, ignites a swarm of butterflies inside of you, instantly flooding directly to your chest and stomach leaving you with no sensible thought when the words, “Don’t worry Kokushibo, I’ll be good. I promise.” leave your red stained lips in an exasperated tone.

Kokushibo smiles and lets go, although you wish he hadn’t. With that, you find your ride waiting for you outside, with one of your friends driving and the other in the passenger seat, leaving you to sit in the back with another friend. You were happy with the seating arrangement, because at least you weren’t going to be the designated sober friend and you could drink as much as you pleased.

When you arrive at the club, almost immediately you’re hit with all the feelings you were looking to get. Instantly, you’re rushed with trashy sounding music, boosted so everyone can hear the amount of bass in the song, the pounding of people jumping around and all of their voices quickly merging into one, big cloud of sound. Perfect.

Before you know it, you have a drink in your hand, and before you know what happens next, you’re holding an empty cup. Shot glass after shot glass, you throw your head back to take every small, yet effective amount of alcohol your friends willingly provide for your whole party. That is, until everyone starts to disperse, leaving you alone dancing by yourself in what seems to be a mosh pit of people doing the exact same. Loose arms and wobbly legs hit your own, bumping into you and occasionally pulling on your hair, to which you immediately receive a slurred, ‘sorry!’ after. Unlike everyone else though, you’re not as drunk as you’d like to be. After all, you could still see reasonably well and didn’t have to hold onto anything to walk, but another trip to the bar would fix that right away.

As you’re making your way out of the surplus of people, you finally break free and manage to catch your breath, only for a short while.

That’s when you make eye contact with him. He isn’t exactly someone who you can see clearly, not from far away at least. He is hidden in the darkness of the club, only being illuminated by the strobe lights occasionally flickering now and then with the beat drops of the loud music booming in your ears, wrapped with mystery and alluring temptation. Even by just looking at him, you can tell he’s well off. His long hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s wearing a white shirt only buttoned up halfway with his long sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, dark pants that are secured with a similarly dark colored belt that shines along with the light, and a silver Breguet watch that glistens when the light touches it.

He’s irresistible. So irresistible, you don’t deny your body when it starts moving on its own, taking a few steps closer towards the mystery man, swaying your hips with your own charm, still managing to be nonchalant and confident at the same time. It doesn’t take long before he eyes you again, a smirk spreading across his lips seeing you drift closer and closer to him until finally, you’re close enough to actually see his face.

The man turns away as soon as you’re standing right next to him though, much to your dismay. It isn’t until then do you find yourself at the edge of the other bar in the club, clearly the fancier kind seeing as there’s not that many people around than on the dance floor or mingling elsewhere. It’s just you and him.

You bite your lip and sit down, leaning into the counter and pressing your chest up against the cold surface, politely waving down the bartender who comes rushing to your aid as soon as he sees you. He takes down your order and toddles off to make it, pouring all the ingredients in and shaking your drink in his metal bottle. That’s when you take your chance and look at the guy again, tilting your head down.

The bartender hands you your drink and you easily gulp it down, not satisfied with the effects yet. So you ask for a few vodka shots in hopes to get to where you need to be, and thankfully it works. Now, with a good amount of alcohol in your system, you start to feel that estranged buzz jerking through your body, giving you the confidence you need to

With a few drinks down already, the electrifying buzz starts to come into effect, granting you more confidence that you thought you already had to tap the man’s shoulder. Despite your vision blurring, you lean against your palm and smile. “Hi~ It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/n-“

When he finally turns around, revealing his face, your blood runs cold. In sheer disbelief, you instantly lurch back. The sight sobers you up immediately.

“KOKUSHIBO?!” A hand flies to your mouth, “What the hell are you doing here?! Did you—did you follow me?”

Now you had wished you’d come to your senses earlier. From across the room, all you saw was a tall man with long hair and a drink in his hand, but there was a small—now loud—voice in your head that said you should’ve waited before sitting down next to him. You wanted to slam your head into the counter for being so reckless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” Your bodyguard lets out a lowly chuckle and rests the bottom of his drink down onto the counter. “I knew you would get yourself into trouble so I had to come too, you know that. It’s also nice to prove that without my supervision, you’d walk up to anyone and—from what I can only assume—sleep with them. Am I right?” Although his eyes are dark, you can’t seem to ignore the very subtle, flirty tone in his voice. Almost as if he were teasing you.

“Don’t fuck with me! You followed me, Kokushibo. And it’s because you don’t trust me. I told you what was going to happen but I guess I just can’t be alone for one single fucking night!” You groan and hide your face with your hands, “I seriously thought you’d let me off the hook for just this once…”

Kokushibo’s eyes fixate on yours, “Don’t be like that, it’s my job, Y/n.”

“It’s not your job to make me feel suffocated, it’s your job to make me feel safe. And I do not feel safe knowing you’re watching my every move.” You fold your leg on top of the other and lean forward, pressing closer to him. As much as you hate him right now, you have to admit there’s something about his presence that makes you feel at ease, especially at a club of intoxicated and possibly dangerous people. Of course, Kokushibo takes note of it and hides his small grin.

“Y/n, it sounds like you feel safe with me,” Your bodyguard leans forward and touches your thigh delicately, “You don’t actually hate what I do, you’re just bad at telling me those things. Maybe, you even think this job of mine is something you tolerate?” Kokushibo’s voice is low and melodic. It draws you in nearly instantly, forcing you to nod as there seems to be no other choice to do. Kokushibo leans in closer and raises his brows slightly, eyes closing in onto yours and you refuse to look away. You always knew he was attractive, anyone could tell you that, but when did he become irresistible?

You gulp down some much needed air, staring at him with wide eyes and a trembling mouth, unable to form any words only hoping that your expression can tell him what you wanted to say. Those three words that would finally admit your feelings for him. But instead, you take a chance, and his leg in your own hands, quickly rushing to close the gap between his face.

In a flash, the space between your heads is removed and your lips catch his. Your mouth is cushioned by his thin, usually stoic smile, that quickly sears hot with what you can only assume is embarrassment. You can even feel a similar heat spread all over your face. But to your surprise, Kokushibo doesn’t pull away. The overwhelming sensations become too much to bear, however, so you pull away and gasp, ripping your lips from his.

Kokushibo blinks rapidly, almost dumbfounded at what you had just done, and looks at you with his finger curled over his lips in a flushed shock. The realization hits you like a truck that there was a small possibility that you misinterpreted a few signs along the way, that maybe now you fumbled so hard into Kokushibo that you weren’t ever going to be taken seriously ever again—or worse—ever going to see him again. You back away.

"Oh. Oh my God. Kokushibo, I am so. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, I don’t even know what I was thinking I just—” You try and stammer to make sense of yourself, but even you don’t know what you want to say. Instead, you stare at Kokushibo in hopes he’d understand.

But he doesn’t say anything. There’s not even a transition between now and when Kokushibo pulls you back into his chest, now sitting you onto his waist. The world disappears just as soon as it appears, and you’re kissing him again. And again. And again. You feel him stand up and the way his hands snake around your hips to hold you up and notice how he even tugs down the sides of your dress so you don’t accidentally reveal anything he wouldn’t want anyone to see.

The walk, if you can even call it that, to a more private area is all a hazy blur. One second you open your eyes to see people dancing and the next, you’re against a wall in a busy hallway. No time is wasted since Kokushibo was doing all the work, all while handling your weight in its entirety with the sheer strength of his hips and slight hold of his arm up your back. The rest he does blindly.

When you open your eyes to catch a glimpse of his face, you realize that now you’re in a different hallway, one still as dark and hidden away as the rest, so no one can walk by and see you two. You crane your neck up to meet Kokushibo’s sultry, yellow eyes as he lets out a raspy groan.

“Fuck...Y/n,” You can tell he’s annoyed but holding back for your sake, “Why did you have to go and do that? I can’t...I can’t...why did you...dammit.” Kokushibo looks away to the side so you can only see the sharpness of his cutting jawline, checking his surroundings. It isn’t until now that you can see how red he is. His ears, his cheeks, his nose, his entire face, all glowing pink. Could it be?

“Kokushibo, did you like the kiss?” The question burns on your tongue.

He struggles to defend himself with a stern, “No. I can’t like it. So just, I’ll drive you back but you can’t ever talk about this.” That’s an order, you know all too well, but you continue to press him for answers. You know Kokushibo is strict, but you know he can’t resist you, and right now there’s a fire burning inside of you that you’ve never felt before, and you only want to make it burn more.

Lifting your leg, you flash a small grin up at Kokushibo who has a firm hand planted beside your head, guarding your face from anybody walking by. You do it slowly, but eventually, you start moving your dress so that his eyes draw to what you’re desperately trying to show him.

“You’re so mean and uptight, Kokushibo...always following the rules and making sure I don’t get into trouble,” You lift your leg more, exposing more of your skin past regions he shouldn’t be looking, “Kokushibo, I came here to feel seen for my body and have a little fun,” You peel your dress back and reveal a pair of dark, lacey panties that match your dress to a T, “Would it kill you to do the same?”

No, it would not.

Like a man possessed, Kokushibo hungrily catches your mouth with his and kisses you roughly. With the sudden collision, his teeth knock against yours but the pain quickly subsides as soon as you feel the softness of his tongue glide into your mouth. But his lips are soft, and so are his hands as they trace lines up the back of your neck to bend your head back, allowing for a better position for Kokushibo to kiss you deeper. You want to say something, but the words quickly fizz away as soon as Kokushibo starts to breathe heavier. Almost on instinct, you feel your body roll against his. That’s when you feel a hardness you know well growing inside of his pants, which only makes your movements a thousand times more heated.

Kokushibo groans into your mouth and cups the side of your face with his hand and breaks the kiss suddenly to gasp for air, which you do the same.

“Fuck, Y/n, what are we doing?” He whispers, panting hot air against the side of your sticky neck, “What are you doing? Have you always wanted to do this? Fuck your body guard? What does this say about you...”

You bite your lip and lower your gaze down to his belt, “This is payback for losing my trust. This,” you look in his eyes, “Is how you’re going to get it back.” You kiss him again, only this time harder, which catches him off guard but not for long.

From the very start, Kokushibo was holding back. Not anymore. Now, Kokushibo has no control. Watching you fall apart completely from just his touch sends shocks throughout his body, seeing each twitch, each spasm, each jerk, turns him into a stranger to himself. A deprived, starving stranger.

His own hands are the ones to rip your dress from the top clean down the middle, tearing the black fabric easily with a small tug as he unwraps you like you were a gift to him all along. Kokushibo’s careful with not tearing anything else, though. Once your body is free from the skin tight dress, Kokushibo stares at your chest and thighs, now fully exposed to him. You can’t help but feel a bit shy under his heated gaze, but he doesn’t give you a chance to hide away from him.

Kokushibo pulls his shirt off in a hurry, unbuttoning every button he had on and practically throws it off his burly shoulders, diving right back into your lips, meeting your mouth with a feverish, eager tongue. You can’t even think. You knew he was assertive, it’s in his nature, but you’d rarely think about what Kokushibo was like outside of working for you. Was he secretly kind? Did he go to school? What color was his favorite? Even with his mouth on yours, you realize that you don’t even know anything about him, but he knows practically everything about you.

He even had tabs on your internet history, which was something you always meant to bring up with him but never did. So, yeah, everything.

“Kokushibo-” You gasp out his name, feeling his hard, yet strangely smooth hand roll up your stomach, thumbs pressing into your skin as they search for all the weak points he knows you have.

Kokushibo stops for a moment to admire all of the exposed parts of your body. Even though he’s been around long enough to where you’d feel comfortable changing around him, Kokushibo never had the chance to fully look at your torso. Doing so was sinful in his mind before, but now it hardly mattered what he was looking at. It’s the fact that you make his thoughts run rampant, screaming at him to do anything to mark up your untainted and pure skin.

“Please don’t make me ask for you to touch me...I give you full permission to do whatever you want to me, just don’t make me wait, Kokushibo.” Your arms swing around his neck, “I really just need you to touch me.”

Thankfully, Kokushibo obliges. With a soft hand, he finds the bottom of your thigh and starts rubbing, searching for the waistline of your underwear, all while smirking down at you. “You don’t have to beg, Y/n, I thought we knew I do things based on what I see fit. And I see desperation,” Kokushibo pants, “Yearning,” he grins, “And lust.”

For a moment, your eyes flash down to see your bodyguard’s hands pulling his belt loose from his waist, unbuckling the sterling silver latch and loosening his pants enough to reveal what was so hard against you earlier. You shiver at the sight of it. You always knew Kokushibo was big, that’s the whole reason why he was chosen for the job. If he was big enough for himself, he’d be big enough to protect you. Nothing about him was small. He had big hands, big hair, a big ego, and now that you find it out, even his dick was big. But that was to be expected.

What you didn’t expect, however, was how miserable it looked not being inside of you. Despite its length and girth, Kokushibo’s member was neat and clean, with thick veins running down the sides and a slightly red tip with just the slightest amount of cum leaking from the head, slicking over it and making it appear shiny under you. Looking at it, your body jerks and you look up at Kokushibo, who’s just staring down at his length with half a breath in his chest.

“I am desperate, Kokushibo.” Your legs tremble as your hand trails down between your legs, careful not to touch Kokushibo’s cock, and pull back your panties to the side, revealing your equally aching pussy to him. Just as you thought, you were soaked. Soaked even could be an understatement. Your pussy was dripping with slick pooling from all of the kissing, all the comments, and the sight of your ‘scary’ bodyguard now so horribly drunk in love. “But you didn’t pay attention to me, so what was I supposed to do? Wait?” You slide your fingers in between your cunt and start rubbing into your heat slowly.

Kokushibo pants louder, “Fuck...”

“Come on, Kokushibo, you know me. Do I like to wait?” You keep rubbing. Despite the sounds around you, all you both can hear are the wet, sloppy sounds echoing, making it impossible to ignore it.

He shakes his head silently, thinking that would be a satisfactory smile, and keeps his eyes on your hand.

“Do I?” You let your jaw hang open and that’s when he finally understands.

“No, you don’t.” Huskily, he says.

Everything was silent now.

With that, Kokushibo doesn’t allow you any chance to process when your hand is ripped from your slit and replaced by the head of Kokushibo’s twitching member pushing against you. He doesn’t give you time to move or adjust, as you don’t like waiting, Kokushibo adheres to that wish and enters your needy pussy. The darkness had actually hid his length relatively well, so it seemed like you could take him easily, but what you learned was that you couldn’t, and he was far too big to slam into you right away. Tears prick your eyes as your nails hungrily bite into his back, mouth hanging open and chanting his name like a prayer to not die right then and there.��

“Kokushibo! W-Wait! FUCK!” You cry out. Anyone that heard you was their fault at this point, you didn’t care, you had to make noise. “Kokushibo!”

Your bodyguard ignores your pleas and thrusts inside of you again and again, slamming deep inside of you with your pussy drooling all over his stiff cock. Your cunt starts to throb almost instantly now that he’s all the way in, but it still tries to reject his size and slowly starts to push him out, but Kokushibo grabs your hips and forces your pussy to swallow him whole. You continue to cry out at the pain, wishing he’d at least take you gently, but Kokushibo was anything but gentle.

Going along with the rhythm of your gasps and shrills, Kokushibo fucks your walls unapologetically, muttering as best as he could into your ears while trying to catch his breath himself. “You’re so fucking tight, Y/n. Fuck, you like that? Keep your eyes on me. Make as much noise as you want, I want to hear it. I want to hear how badly you wanted to fuck me, your body guard.” His voice was growing thicker by the second to the point it sounded like it was coming straight from his gut. It doesn't even matter, nothing matters but feeling Kokushibo quickening his speed and deepening his cock into your core.

You cling onto his back and arch your back, pressing your body against him. You want to say something to him, but the words don't come out. How can they? How can you even form a single thought when Kokushibo is rocking into you with all of his pent up tension running inside of his body, only slowing down when you cry louder, but even then he has the chance to speed up and takes it a few times.

Almost as if you thought you’d never get used to it, the pain subsides to a more enjoyable pain that makes your eyes roll back with pleasure. Now you were able to focus. Now, you could feel the way Kokushibo cupped your ass in his hands, how tightly he held you, and how your stomach fluttered every time he rolled his hips into yours. You grasp onto the roots of his burgundy frosted hair and latch onto his lips hungrily, to which he gladly accepts and kisses you back twice as hard.

“You always go too far, and you don't expect me to go all out? How is that fair, Y/n?” He thrusts harder with each word, groaning into your open mouth as your walls clamp around his dick, gasping his name. You can feel his cock sink inside of you deeper, twitching inside of you every chance it gets, making it hard to ignore the growing, twisting feeling inside of your stomach that starts to swirl into knots and very quickly starts to unravel. You knew what was going to happen next, and by the way Kokushibo squeezed your body closer to his, you can tell he was close too. Fucking your bodyguard was something you'd always hoped would happen, but you didn't know it would come sooner than later. Beads of sweat start to form on Kokushibo’s face and arms as he huffs more onto your well damp skin, just trying not to lose composure before you do.

“K-Kokushibo…I-I can't, I need to,” You cry out and claw into his back again, “Y-You're not being fair to me! How can you! MGH!” He cuts you off by placing his mouth on yours before abruptly pulling away.

“Y/n, shh.” He hushes you and kisses you again, closing his eyes tightly, “Fuck, fuck why do you feel so good. I shouldn't enjoy this as much as I am…and yet…What did you do to me?” His cock pumps inside of you more sloppily now, dipping into your core. All he can hear are your breathy moans and the way his dick messily slaps into your hips. It drives him wild.

“I’m gonna cum,” You murmured into his ear, “Kokushibo I’m sorry, I'm sorry for everything and treating you like shit and ignoring you and getting mad at you. Please please please! I'm gonna cum!”

Kokushibo returns to silence and doesn't let up, keeping his pace quick, deep, and efficient. The steadiness of his thrusts builds up until finally, your walls tighten all around him more than they ever had before, which was all Kokushibo needed to finally release. You tip your head back and so does Kokushibo as you both simultaneously stop moving all together, gasping and twitching feeling Kokushibo’s load burst inside of your sore cunt. For what feels like forever, your bodyguard’s cock pulsates, leaping while still being stuffed inside, spurting his warm, gooey, white liquid against your walls and filling you up to the point where you can feel a good amount leak outside down your legs. You tremble and pick your head back up with your chest heaving, looking at Kokushibo as he looks just as tired as you, if not more dazed.

“Hah…hah…oh my God…” You pant, leaning against him with a soft smile across your face. It didn't matter if either of you smelled like sex, or looked as though you'd just ran miles, Kokushibo looks back at you with an equally satisfied grin, but he doesn't speak, clearly too concentrated on the aftershock of fucking his assignment as hard as he possibly could. You couldn't stand or feel your legs, but again, that didn't matter.

His eyes fixate on your legs and soon enough, he gently moves himself so that you're no longer attached to him, noticing the way his cock springs free and is still throbbing, wet with slick and cum leaking from the tip. Kokushibo glances at you and swallows.

“We should head home, Y/n, you've caused enough trouble here.” He lets out a sigh and stuffs his dick back into his pants, jumping a bit to fully dress himself back up. Without being asked, Kokushibo fixes your panties and hides your body as best as he can, and picks you up in his arms so that your body isn't exposed. “I'll walk you back. No need for a car, I don't need anyone else seeing you like this.”

#kaicubus #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fanficiton #kokushibo #kokushibo kny #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x you #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #smut fanfiction #smut

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lola-bunn1 · 1 year

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can u do one where neteyam is expected to find a mate and you get distant and all bc yk its not gonna be you and another guy makes a move on u and he gets mad n confession n stuff? i love ur writing

oblivious

❥ genre: angsty ish to fluff

10 years, you've been best friends with neteyam for 10 years. you both saw each other grow up, and now it's over. you know it is

neteyam has finally matured, he was ready to get an ikran, ready to go hunting with the others, and most of all, he was now expected to mate.

you know whoever he's gonna mate with is not gonna like you being friends with him, you admit it yourself, you wouldn't like your partner spending time with another girl. so you understood why it would happen

so you began distancing yourself, as a preparation. but also to ease the pain for when you finally see him with someone that isn't you. it was bound to happen. you were stupid enough to fall for him, and now it was going to be harder than it should be

you cried, you cried at night just thinking about the way life would be, you were sure he didn't feel the same, besides, he was going to be the next olo'eyktan, he needed to have someone proper, someone actually important

who were you to be mating with someone like him? he would probably pick elmirìey, she was a proper girl, a gorgeous one. or maybe he'd pick awia, she was a great warrior, from a great family

not only did you distance yourself from him, but his family too. you were so close to them, hell even neytiri liked you. but now, you acted like you didn't even know them

you sat at a special spot you found in the forest, you and neteyam used to come here but he's too busy now. so its just you

"hey!" you heard a voice behind you

"oh, neteyam" you said

"what a way to greet me, do you not want me around that much?"

"what?" you furrowed your eyebrows

"don't be like that. you know exactly what I'm talking about." he said

"I heard you're looking for a mate now that you've had your ceremony"

he sighed, knowing you're trying to change the subject, "yeah. but to be honest, I've already found one. Just gotta figure out a way to tell her"

your heart shattered.

"oh, that's nice. I um, I have to go" you said

"y/n wait-"

and with that, you ran off somewhere, your tears sliding down your cheeks, how could he find one so fast? does he love her that much? has he been loving her, just waiting for his ceremony so he can finally pick her?

"oh" you heard a voice and sighed

"I'm sorry I ran--" you said, turning around to see that it was not neteyam speaking

"are-are you okay? you look like you've been crying" the man said

"i'm fine, thanks tenio" you said, wiping your tears

tenio was a fine young man, he was actually really nice, but you've never really talked to him

"i was just looking for some fruits to pick for my mother, but ill leave you alone-"

"no no, you can stay uh, i know where you can get the ripe ones, follow me" you said, walking along the forest with him next to you, you two talked for a bit as he was picking the fruit

"i heard you had your ceremony the other day" you said

"yeah, it sucks though." he said

"wait what? why so?" you asked

"well everyone is waiting for me to mate with someone, but there isn't anyone in my life, ill have to mate with some random stranger" he sighed

"oh...im so sorry"

"it's fine-"

"there you are!" neteyam's voice filled your ears, he turned to see tenio there, and his face faltered

"let's go" he said, grabbing your hand and walking away, an angry look on his face, you definitely did not want to do anything to upset him more

"uh, tell your mother i said hi! enjoy the fruits!" you said and he just nodded

once he was out of sight you pulled away

"why were you with him?!" he said

"i was just helping him pick fruits!"

"everybody knows that trick! you help him and he subtly mentions that he has nobody to mate with so you can feel bad"

"you're being insane right now. nobody has ever done that" you rolled your eyes

"they have, you just never realize it" he yelled

"what if i do realize it, hm? what if i want them to do it? why don't you go tell your stupid girl how much you want her to be your mate and leave me alone!"

"i can't go"

"why not!" you yelled

"because she's standing right in front of me"

"what?"

"it's you, y/n. i don't want anyone else why don't you understand that? you think I don't notice how you've been avoiding me and my family too?"

"i-i avoided you because i couldn't stand seeing you with another girl."

"wait-you thought i was gonna mate with someone else?" he asked

you looked down and avoided looking at him, he lifted your chin up with his finger

"i've been waiting for years to finally make you mine, y/n. it hurts me to see you with anyone else too."

"really?" you asked

"i see you, y/n."

"i see you, ma nete" you smiled, and the two of you shared a kiss

how were you so oblivious?

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water #neteyam x you #neteyam fanfiction #avatar x reader #neteyam fluff #avatar 2 #avatar fanficiton

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yelenasdiary · 4 months

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Hi love!! I'm so excited your requests are open again for now. I love your writing so much!

How about a WandaNat x R story where R left for a longer mission so in the meantime WandaNat got into a routine without her, so that when R comes back they're still kinda stuck in that routine and therefore are ignoring R a bit. Just some angst with a happy ending ☺️

Overthinking

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Summary: Going on long missions were normal but returning home was harder than leaving.

Angst & Fluff

Translations from Russian & Slovakia: Detka (baby), Krásne (beautiful), Miláčik (Darling)

Warnings: None | 1K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I hope you enjoy xx

A week ago, you returned from a four-month long mission far, far away from the two people you love dearly. It was hard to leave them, but this was normal. You were Avengers, missions were a part of your job and you all understood that. When you first returned, things were normal as if you had never left. Wanda made the two of you breakfast while Natasha spoiled you with affection in bed like she always did.

But a few days later, you noticed that your mission had kept you away from your girlfriends for a minute too long. The normal changed, you woke up in bed alone, you had breakfast alone, but you couldn't blame the two women for their new routine. They missed you more than you'd ever know and to cope with the lack of communication while you were gone, they naturally found a routine that helped them wait for your return.

They woke up at the same time, had breakfast together, trained together, did mission reports together if needed but even though they still did most things together they still had things they didn't go together. Wanda loved the grocery store because it gave her a sense of normality outside of being an Avenger so she did the grocery shopping for the entire compound. Natasha loved taking her motorcycle for a joy ride to keep her mind at ease and would often leave without letting anybody know but if her helmet was gone, nobody questioned her she was.

As for you, all you wanted was to be with them. All that time spent away from them made you realize just how much you loved them both so deeply. You knew they didn't mean to be ignoring you, they didn't even realize they were doing it but you missed them and the silence was getting a little too much for you to keep to yourself anymore.

"Wands, darling!" You smiled as you entered the compound kitchen to find her unloading the groceries she had just brought, "let me help" you added.

"Thank you baby" she smiled as you handed her a tub of yogurt to place in the fridge.

"So, I was thinking, how about I cook for us tonight? Just the three of us" you offered.

"But you never cook?" Wanda cocked a brow at you.

"I know, but I just thought we could do with something new" you replied. Wanda nodded, "well, okay krásne, dinner would be lovely" she smiled before kissing your lips softly. Your smile only grew bigger with excitement to finally spend some alone time with your girlfriends.

----

The kitchen was a mess, your idea was to make Wanda's favorite meal, cholent. A slow cooked Jewish stew and peanut butter sandwiches for dessert. You had set the table and asked that the others would make their own plans for dinner, respectfully. Candles helped cover the burnt food smell while you dished up three plates and placed them on the table.

"Something smells amazing" Wanda said as she entered the room, startling you.

"I'm glad you think so" you chuckled, "I made cholent" you added. Wanda's eyes lit up, "you didn't have to spoil us" she replied as she took a seat at the table. Natasha followed behind Wanda, coming up to you and placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Well, I was gone for too long" you admitted, taking Natasha's hand as she led you towards the dining table. "This is my way of making up for lost time" you added, taking a seat.

"Detka, you have nothing to make up for. We're just glad you're home" Natasha said, sitting across from you and Wanda. Your eyes dropped slightly at her words, your mind wanting to say something about the slight distance that had been placed between you and them, but you didn't want to ruin a good night.

"Honey, what is it?" Wanda asked, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It's nothing" you looked to her, brushing off her question with a light smile but she didn't buy it, not for a second. She tilted her head slightly, giving you that look.

"Did something happen on the mission?" Natasha asked, looking between you and Wanda. You shook your head, "No, the mission was fine" you replied with a sigh. "I just…I know you both don't mean it, but I can see you two worked out a new routine without me…"

Natasha looked to Wanda then back to you, "I missed you both so much and I just want tonight to make up for me being away for so long" you added.

"Detka, I'm sorry" Natasha rose from her seat to sit on the other side of you, taking your free hand in hers, "we didn't mean to make you feel ignored. Wanda mentioned how exhausted you looked, and we thought it was best to let you sleep in and to give you some time to relax" Natasha explained.

"We were going to wait until the weekend, but Nat and I have booked a little weekend getaway for just for the three of us miláčik" Wanda said.

"We wanted to let you recover and do any mission reports before we stole you from everybody for a few days" Natasha added.

"I am so stupid!" You shook your head, "here I was thinking you guys had found a way to do life with me on the side" you admitted with an eye roll. Wanda and Natasha chuckled, "oh detka, you overthink to much" Natasha said.

"We could never do life without you or with you on the side-lines, you are our life" Wanda chipped in, placing a kiss on your cheek. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment for allowing your thoughts to get the better of you, "can we please forget I ever said anything and enjoy dinner?" You asked, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips.

After dinner the three of you cleaned up the kitchen and cuddled up on the sofa in the compound living room to watch one of your all-time favorite movies. Wanda twirled with your hair while Natasha gave your feet a massage.

"So, where is this cheeky weekend getaway?" You asked.

"For us to know and for your pretty little mind to think about" Natasha replied with a playful wink. "Oh, come on! Tell me!" You begged.

"That would ruin the surprise" Wanda said, "I'm sure you could wait" she added to tease you before catching your lips in a kiss.

Taglist: @boredandneedfanfics |

If you want to be on the taglist for WandaNat fics and/or others, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #wandanat #wandanat x reader #fanficiton #marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #the scarlet witch

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thatnewweeb · 8 days

Text

Bakugo insisting you start wearing matching heart lockets.

This idea, of course, threw you off. Sure, he’s romantic to you, but that’s in private. He isn’t the type to wear a couple’s item in public.

Despite your suspicions, you obviously agreed. How could you possibly say no when he’d already bought the lockets, holding one out to you with a huge cute smile on his face.

And so you wear the locket for months. He’d already put pictures inside, and you were happy with his choice for yours. It was a picture that you’d taken of him when he was completely unaware, picking daisies to make a daisy chain for you on one of your dates.

When you asked what was in his, he just grinned and told you it was a secret, but it was one of his favourite pictures of you.

Eventually, after months of wondering and asking him to finally show you, he gives in, handing you his locket with the same grin he had when he originally refused.

Upon opening the locket, you blush in embarrassment and give your boyfriend a slap on the shoulder while he laughs.

You could barely believe he’d been walking around for months with a picture of your cum streaked, fucked out face in his sweet looking locket.

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humanpurposes · 4 months

Note

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.”

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all.

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you.

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate.

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?”

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say.

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose.

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him.

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly.

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are.

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms.

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets.

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

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#Michael Gavey #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey headcanons #michael gavey fanficiton #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #headcanons #smut #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchtell fanfiction #michael gavey oneshot #my fics

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thesecretwriter · 10 months

Text

home is where you are (part 3) - miguel o’hara.

pairing: miguel o’hara x wife!female reader

warnings: angst - health scare for the twins, fluff - moments into your pregnancy & smut - mdom, fsub, oral seggs - male receiving, seggs on a rooftop, fingering, clit rubbing, overstimulation - i think. (ALSO: spanish is not my first language, pls excuse if my translations are wrong.)

summary: in which a health scare results in miguel having to make important decisions as well as seeking forgiveness from y/n. Glimpses into your pregnancy alongside Miguel showcase the ways in which he makes it up to you.

word count: 5.6k

a/n: part 3, as promised. i hope it has met your expectations. the feedback received from this mini-series has been overwhelmingly positive. thank you all so much <3 (ALSO: please feel free to make requests, my requests are always open).

minors/ageless blogs dni.

masterlists

part 1, part 2, part 3

You stood in the doorway of the front door with folded arms, staring daggers into those eyes you love.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask him with a frown.

Miguel took in your attire. You were wearing one of his shirts, which was obviously too big for you. Before leaving 3 weeks ago, you made sure to pack a few of his shirts since they were not only comfortable, but also had his scent on them.

“I came to see you… and talk, mi corazón,” he explained not moving his gaze away from your pregnant 5-month belly.

“What is there to talk about?” you question him, your hand automatically going to your belly.

Miguel’s eyes move up to yours. It was taking everything within him to not hold you in his arms, but he knows from your body language that was the opposite of what you wanted.

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, maintaining your glare, making it known that this would not be an easy ‘talk’.

You swiftly turn around and walk into the cabin, indicating for Miguel to follow you. He does so and closes the door.

He follows you into the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly baked cookies gets stronger.

Miguel leaned against the kitchen counter as you began to pack away the cookies.

“Well… go ahead, talk,” your tone didn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. You were angry, as you should be.

“I’m sorry… for not being myself the last few weeks. I got caught up with work at HQ,” he apologizes while holding eye contact with you.

Maybe it was the fact that your pregnancy hormones were raging or maybe it was because his apology just didn’t seem right to you.

He made a promise to do better, and he didn’t keep it. Yet, if it were something to do with the spider-society, that promise would have been kept.

The anger boiling inside you doubled thanks to the emotions that were running through you. Having him disregard you like nothing really hurt your feelings, and it took you being away from him to realise how serious you were.

“I… I don’t accept your apology,” you set down the tray of cookies and look at him.

“You made a promise and almost threw a fit when I wanted to leave – for good reason and now because I left, you realise that I actually keep to my word. Unlike you.” You waddle walk toward him angrily and shove a finger in his chest as you finish your words.

Before anything else could be said, you felt an extreme pain in your tummy and clutched it as you bent over in agony.

Miguel, acting on instinct, stepped forward and took you in his arms to make sure you don’t fall.

“What’s wrong? Baby, wha-…”

“Hospital. NOW,”

Miguel sits next to you anxiously as his one hand rests on your belly and the other holds your hand.

You both remained silent as you waited for the doctor to tell you what caused your sudden pain. She had already come in to check on you prior.

Your concern regarding the babies were amplified at the fact that their DNA was basically 25% percent spider as Miguel’s was 50%. You knew at the start of your pregnancy that you needed to be careful as you didn’t know what to expect.

The doctor walks in and you both tense. You take in a deep breath to prepare yourself.

“Your pain was caused by your ligament muscles stretching to accommodate your expanding belly. Which is normal to experience in your second trimester,”

You feel relief flood your body.

“The babies are okay?” you ask just to be sure.

“Completely okay,” she assures you.

Miguel feels the weight of the world lift off his shoulder. The moment you two left the cabin to come to the hospital, he had been blaming himself. He thought that making you angry caused stress for the babies and knew it was because of your ‘talk’.

“They’re okay,” you take his hand in yours and squeeze it as tears gather in your eyes.

The doctor smiles and shortly excuses herself to give you some privacy.

Watching the tears gather in your eyes caused Miguel to develop his own.

“I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he put his arms around you and hugged you tightly. Tucking your head into his neck as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

You saw the fear in him when you clutched your belly. He thought he was responsible for something happening to the twins.

“It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay, baby,” you rub his back soothingly as he holds you close to him.

He had already lost one family before, and he didn’t want that to happen again.

“I’m going to be better, try harder and be there when you need me, mi luz. I am not just saying this because of wanting to have you back. I actually mean it, and I know the only way to prove this to you is to stick by my word,” he promised as he pulled away to look at you.

“We have to a lot to talk about, okay?” you ask him as you wipe away his tears.

He nodded his head and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

“Are you going to come home? I miss you…” he admitted.

“I miss you too, but we need to have that talk first. A nice calm talk,” you assure him.

After leaving the hospital, you told Miguel to take you back to the cabin. Now, you’re sitting opposite him having takeout, that you bought on your way to the cabin, for dinner.

“I hope you’ve been eating proper meals while I’ve been gone,” you make small conversation as you eat.

“If you mean empanadas and the occasional takeout meal, then yes,” he jokes.

You shake your head with a small smile.

As you finish eating, you notice Miguel is already done is just watching you with love and admiration in his eyes.

That is your Miguel. The one who showered you with love. The one who put on a cold exterior in front of everyone but in the comfort of your own home was the softest person towards you, exclusively.

“So, about that talk?” you ask meeting his eyes as you take a tissue to wipe your mouth.

He nodded his head and gave you all his attention.

“First, I cannot fully forgive you... not yet. Not until you show me that I can. We need to establish priorities,” you affirm your words by taking his hands in yours and making sure he understood where you stand.

“I cannot have you disregarding this family when work becomes too stressful, which is why I think its time you share your responsibilities at HQ. You aren’t the only adult there,” you state with a pointed brow.

Miguel knew you were right. If he wasn’t out helping on missions or going on solo missions. He was found in his floating workstation looking at several screens waiting to detect any anomalies.

“I can do that. You’re right, the others have proved that they can be responsible,” he agrees with his own words the more he thinks about it.

“No technology once you get home. No fancy watch, no phones. Nothing,”

“Can I at least watch TV?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes at his words and smile at him.

“You can still work in your study, but I need you to listen to me when I call you to eat or take a break, okay?” you ask him, knowing that he has a habit of neglecting his own health just to get a few more hours of work in.

He nods in agreement and rubs circles into your palm.

“Is there anything that you would like to make a priority?” you ask knowing that this discussion would need to be equal from both sides.

Miguel thinks for a moment before speaking.

“I should not take out my stress on you and if I’m feeling stressed, we talk about it and find a way for me to let it out. Does that sound okay?”

You’re appreciative of Miguel words, him even suggesting such a thing, is a big step towards fixing things.

Deciding that you had enough of a long day, you gather the dishes to clean them, but Miguel takes them from you and washes them himself. As you wait for him, a yawn leaves your lips which Miguel notices and once he’s done with the dishes. He gets his stuff ready to leave.

“You’re not staying?” you ask surprised.

“I didn’t think you would want me to,” he said honestly.

“Its okay for you to stay. I’m thinking of coming home tomorrow. I’ve been away for long and miss home,” you explain to him.

“We can leave first thing in the morning then, mi corazón,” he gives you a tender kiss on the forehead.

You lead him to the bedroom you were staying in and look for a pair of grey sweatpants, which belonged to Miguel, that you packed.

“I was wondering where this was,” he said looking at the grey sweatpants as you hand to him.

“They’re very comfortable to sleep in,” you say as a matter of fact.

He smiled at your words and walks over to you.

“Bath with me, mi luz” he said standing behind you and trailing kisses down your neck as his hands settle on your hips.

You subconsciously lean into his kisses, missing having him this close to you.

“No funny business though. Just a bath,” you tell him.

“We’ll see about that,” he smirked and bent down to pick you up bridal style. You squealed at his movement and gripped his shoulders tightly.

You felt the vibration of his chuckle as he walked into the adjoining bathroom.

He sat you down on the counter before turning around to fill the tub with water.

As the tub was filling up, a thought occurred to him. Which resulted in him turning around and kissing you on the lips.

You melted into the kiss but pulled away.

“What was that for?” you questioned.

“I realized I haven’t kissed you in a long time, mi luz,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“I love you,” you tell him and cup his face with both your hands.

“I love you too,” he responds, turning his head to the side and kissing your palm.

He moved away momentarily to stop the water from running and began to take off his shirt. Your eyes trailed down his body and you noticed the faint bruises that looked to be a few days old. There were many times when Miguel would come home with bruises, but these seemed to be the worst ones yet. You gently hopped of the counter and walked toward him as he filled the tub with bubbles.

“What happened?” your hands roamed his back, skimming over the bruises and cuts. He glanced at you from over his shoulder and his brows furrowed at the concerned expression on your face.

“I uh… got these from the last mission I was on. Same thing that caused me to be only see you now. There was this kid who was an anomaly, but it’s all sorted now,“ he explained turning to face you.

“Shh. All that’s important is that you’re okay. Did you clean them properly and listen to the medics at HQ?” you kissed his cheek.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement. Jessica had been the one to tell him to get them treated, even if his spidey abilities would fasten the process of healing.

You were still wearing his shirt from before, which made it easy for him to undress you. He held his hand out for you to hold as you climbed into the tub. Then after, he got in behind you carefully and wrapped an arm around you to pull you toward him to lay back on his chest.

Miguel takes the bath sponge and uses the body wash to make it soapy before he gently rubs it on your chest, slowly making his way down your torso.

You hummed in satisfaction at the feeling and leaned into it.

“You like that, mi corazón?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Hmm,” you closed your eyes and focused on his hand movements.

Miguel took that as his chance to help you relax. It’s what you needed after the evening you had.

After he washed you with the sponge, he disregarded it and resorted to massaging your breasts as they were slick and soapy. He knew he was being risky, but he knew this was one way to make you relax.

You visibly calmed and let out a little moan, which you knew Miguel heard since you felt his cock harden against you.

Due to the pregnancy, your breasts had begun to be sore and the intimate massage from Miguel was helping to ease the pain.

“You want me to keep going?” his voice was husky as he asked.

“Please,” was all you could get out.

Miguel kneaded your nipples between his fingertips, resulting in your pelvis unconsciously moving forward for any movement. He palmed your breasts and whispered sweet nothing into your ear.

Due to the lack of pleasure in the most needed place, you take Miguel’s free hand in yours and moved it below the water, where your clit was throbbing for him.

“Are you sure, mi corazón?”

Miguel didn’t want to move too fast, he wanted to move at a pace you were comfortable with.

“Yes,” you whine to him.

That was all he needed to hear to continue.

He lightly rubbed circle into your clit as he teased your nipple with the other hand. You bucked your hips forward to add more pressure, which Miguel seemed to understand and kissed the side of your head.

“Missed you so much, mi vida. A quién perteneces?” he asked, needing to hear you. (who do you belong to?)

“You,”

“Quien?” he said teasingly. (who?)

“You, Miguel,” you said growing frustrated.

He chuckled at your whining but continued his little game of pleasure.

“I missed this pussy so much, missed having it clench around me and make a mess. Did you miss me, mi corazón?”

The dirty words leaving his mouth urged you on. Bringing you closer to your pleasure.

“Missed you so much,” you moan out, knowing Miguel always expected an answer from you, especially during intimate times.

“Y’know how many times I had to fuck my hand by thinking of you, mi luz? How many times I dreamed of your body beneath mine when you weren’t there? Hmm?”

His accent had thickened as each word reached your ears. Knowing that you were the thoughts that ran through his mind when he wanted pleasure.

Miguel’s fingers on your clit moved more frantically, producing more friction and your writhing movements against Miguel had been causing his cock to rub against you.

Your quickened breathing and eye closing in pleasure told Miguel what he needed to know.

“Cum,” he demanded in your ear, and you did as he said. Cumming with his name leaving your lips and hips bucking against his hand as he stimulated your clit.

6 months pregnant…

It was the middle of the night and Miguel was sound asleep next to you. A month had passed since you returned home from the cabin. Things with Miguel had been smooth sailing.

He was home on time, made minimal contact with HQ when at home and worked reasonable hours from his study. He was even the one to suggest going on walks every Sunday – which gave you a chance to talk about mundane things, making life have a sense of normalcy, even when your husband is spiderman 2099. He knew since you worked from home, you would enjoy a little bit of the outdoors and incorporated some plants into your apartment.

You turn slightly in his gentle hold to face him to face him. The moonlight shining just enough to where you can see his features. You lightly trailed your fingers from his hair to his cheek, stroking it softly.

He leaned into your touch as his eyes slowly fluttered open and released a sigh. He smiled at the sight of you, but quickly noticed that it was still dark outside.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked sleepily, his deep voice filling the quiet room.

You nodded your head.

“Sorry if I woke you,” you apologize.

“Its okay, mi corazón,” he said kissing your hand that still cupped his face.

Just as you were about to reply, you felt movement and placed your hand on your belly as your eyes slightly widened along with your smile. Miguel noticed and hastily sat up and turned on the night lamp.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as his hands made their way around you.

You shushed him and spread your hand on your now exposed belly, you took his hand in yours and settled in on your belly.

He was about to question you, but then he felt it.

A small kick.

You observed as recognition overtook his face. Immediately a smile made its way to his lips and his eyes found yours.

“Did you feel that?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Sí,” he replied and trailing his gaze down to your belly.

“That’s baby A,” you tell him.

“I have a feeling that’s our baby A – our active one, and then there’s baby B – our quiet one,” you explain to him gazing down and holding his hand that’s settled on your belly.

“Is that so?” he questioned with an amused expression.

“Call it maternal instinct,” you chuckle.

He leaned forward and kissed your lips, letting his hand make their way to your face to move your hair out of the way.

For the rest of the night, the two of you cuddled till you eventfully found sleep.

7 months pregnant…

Miguel frantically made his way into the living room when he heard your cries from his study. He was already in defensive mode.

“W-what happened?” he asked confused when he saw you sitting on the couch with a bowl in front of you.

“They’re so cute. I don’t want to eat them, but I have to,” you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks.

He sat down beside you, ready to comfort you when he saw what was in the bowl.

Baby carrots and mayonnaise. That’s when it struck him.

“Are you talking about the carrots?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Don’t look at me like that, they’re so cute, but I want to eat them,” you explained as your hands moved around exaggeratively.

“Okay, its fine. You can eat them. Our babies are craving them. You can eat them for our babies, mi luz. We can always get more from the store,” he tried to calm you down by explaining it to you gently.

You nodded in understanding.

“Would you like some?” you offered to him as you took a bite out of the carrot.

He shook his head and continued to hold you as you finished your… snack.

9 months pregnant…

“I…Miguel, I can’t put on my shoes properly,”

You’re trying to tie your shoelace as you were getting ready for your Sunday walk.

Miguel walked into your room, wearing a red Henley with lose jeans.

He walked towards you and bent over to tie your lace. Your gaze fell on his face, admiring his features.

“You’re so handsome,” you blurt out.

Miguel’s eyebrows raised in question before he smirked.

“Thank you, baby,” he said and leaned forward to kiss you.

It was meant to be a small kiss, but you pulled him towards you. Deepening the kiss.

He moaned and pulled away momentarily to move you around so that he was now sat on the bed, and you were straddling him.

Your now big belly preventing him from being close to you. Just as your hands made their way around his shoulders, you felt a wetness between your legs. However, this was not a wetness of arousal.

You broke the kiss and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Miguel!”

He looked to you with the same wide eyes.

“It’s happening,” he said more to himself than to you as he gently sat you on the bed.

You sat there, breathing in laboured breaths while holding your belly.

Miguel moved to your closet and got the prepacked bag with all the supplies you would need at the hospital.

“Miguel, your jeans,” there was evidence of your water breaking as well as an obvious boner.

“It’s okay, I’ll carry a spare pair of pants,” he said going to his own closet and shoving it into the bag.

Before you knew it, you were in the delivery room with Miguel beside you.

“Lo estás haciendo tan bien, mi corazón,,” (you’re doing so well/good, my heart).

“Miguel… shut up. I am the one pushing out TWO babies with heads the size of a basketballs. I think I know when I am doing well,” you say through gritted teeth.

He nodded in understanding, knowing you were only saying this because of the pain you were in.

“I’m going to need you to push, okay?” your doctor said peering up at you from between your legs.

“Miguel,” you glance at him for support, needing him now more than ever.

“I’m here, mi corazón,” he stroked your head comfortingly.

“1, 2, 3… push!” your doctor said loudly.

You did as she said and pushed with all your might.

A loud groan of pain leaving you.

“Deep breaths,” Miguel said beside you.

“The head is almost out; I need you to push one more time. A big push, okay?” the doctor asked.

“Okay,” you answered.

You clasped Miguel’s hand tightly. He kissed your forehead, whispering encouragement to you.

“Push!,” the doctor said and you pushed again, the room soon filling with the cries of a baby.

Miguel could see the doctor handing your baby to a nurse who took the baby away to clean up.

“Miguel, go. I can manage,” you tell him, knowing that he wanted to be with the baby as his gaze never faltered.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and you nodded immediately.

He made his way to the baby. Peering over the nurse’s shoulder.

“It’s a boy,” the nurse tells him.

Tears prick his eyes.

“A boy,” he calls over his shoulder, glancing at you.

You give him the biggest smile, but the doctor soon tells you it’s time to push again.

You take another deep breath to prepare yourself and push with all your might.

“Do you want to cut his umbilical cord?” the nurse asked, gaining Miguel’s attention. He nodded but made sure to keep his hearing on you. Once the umbilical cord was cut, he began to count the baby’s toes and fingers.

“10 toes and 10 fingers,” he tells you happily.

“I’m going to take him to get dressed and bring him right back. That nurse over there is going to bring your other baby in a moment,” the nurse pointed to the other nurse waiting for baby B to arrive.

“One more push,” the doctor said, and Miguel was back at your side.

“He’s okay,” Miguel tells you and kisses your head. A fresh set of tears brimming your eyes.

The doctor lets you know to push again, and you do so, this time nearly passing out from the pain.

“A baby girl,” the nurse said, taking her away to clean her up just as the other nurse did.

You watched as Miguel did the same as before and cut the umbilical cord as well as counted her fingers and toes.

“She’s so tiny,” Miguel said gazing at you.

The doctor completed the process of taking care of you, after both babies were delivered. She explained to you to be careful and get rest, before excusing herself.

The nurse brought in your baby boy, bundled with a blanket. She handed him to you.

“He’s so beautiful,” you said looking at Miguel, whose eyes were already on you with adoration and love.

He was sleeping soundly in your arms. You often imagined what it would be like to have your babies in your arms, and none of them could compare to the reality of this.

Soon the nurse walks in with your baby girl and hands her to Miguel, who more than happily brings her to you.

“Look at them,” you said staring at Miguel with pure happiness.

Both your babies are healthy and now finally with you.

At that moment, Miguel had everything he needed. You, his loving wife, and his babies.

“What’re we going to name them?” you ask him.

“Mira,” he said cooing down at his baby girl as he rocks her back and forth.

You smile at him and nod in understanding.

“I want to name him… Gabriel,” you tell him, watching to see if you made the right choice.

You knew that Miguel’s brother was important to him, you knew him almost as much as you knew Miguel. When Gabriel passed away, it nearly broke Miguel, so you knew if one of you babies were a boy, you would name him after his uncle.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers.

2 months later…

You were in your room getting ready at your vanity, Miguel waiting for you in the living room.

It’s the 2-year anniversary of yours and Miguel’s marriage. You planned a cute dinner at the rooftop of your apartment, where you first met Miguel.

Mira and Gabriel were being taken care of by your friend – who was more than happy to look after her godchildren.

“Mi corazón, are you ready?” Miguel asked from the other side of the door.

With one last look in the mirror, you grab your bag and open the room door. Miguel dressed casually and comfortably. His eyes take in your form, appreciating the low-cut top you chose to wear. One of the things that Miguel was thankful for from the pregnancy, was the view of your full breasts.

“Te ves hermosa, mi luz,” (you look beautiful).

The way he was looking at you definitely made you feel beautiful. You flustered at his words, still feeling like the shy girl you once were to him.

“Thank you, handsome,” you got onto your tippy toes and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

Once Miguel locked your apartment door, you took your hand in his, with a picnic basket in the other and walked up the stairs to the rooftop.

Miguel took the curtesy of stringing up lights around the rooftop, lighting it up for the two of you to enjoy.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving,” you nod to him and walk to the picnic table that stood toward the end of the building, it had already been decorated with a white tablecloth.

You made quick work of laying out the food, making sure that Miguel saw the empanadas that you brought along.

“Thank you for making all this food, mi luz,” he sat opposite you and helped to set the table. You dished out food for Miguel and then yourself.

“It was a pleasure, my love. You know one of the other ways to express my love is to make you some good food,” you playfully wink at him and start to eat.

As the two of you eat, you enjoy the view of the city and talk about moments from your relationship that your both loved and cherished. The food was soon finished, and you had quickly sent a text to your friend, checking on the babies - to which she sent you a picture of both them sound asleep. Miguel had already made his way to eating the empanadas.

“Hey, leave some for me too,” you scold him.

It was silent for a moment, and this gave you time to think about how for the last few months Miguel had increasingly improved in dealing with his stress and managing the spider-society. In that moment, you realized that you hadn’t said what you meant to tell him.

“I don’t think I told you this, but I forgive you. I’ve seen the way you’ve been keeping to your word and taking care of us and yourself as well as this city,” you take his hand in yours and maintain eye contact.

You see Miguel’s eyes change to gratitude. He didn’t need to hear you say those words to know you had forgiven him. Your loving treatment to him had shown him what he needed to know.

“Thank you,” he said in appreciation.

He stood up to come and sit beside you.

That was one thing you loved about Miguel, he always had to have you near him or holding onto you. Whether it was holding your hand or sitting beside you. You knew it had basically been killing him to not be intimate with you. The doctor had advised you to wait 6 weeks before doing activities.

Which is why you got up from beside him and got onto your knees. Putting your hands on either one of his knees to help you balance.

“Baby��” he said gazing down at you.

You shushed him and continued to let your hands trail up to his now growing erection.

“Can I?” you ask permission, but Miguel beats you to it and undoes his jeans button and undid his zipper.

“Do you think I would say no, mi corazón?” he lets out a chuckle and wraps his hand around his cock – moving up and down.

“Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out for me,” he whispers.

As you stick your tongue out, he lightly taps the tip of his cock on your tongue, you can already taste the precum. Wanting to have a little control of the situation, you move your hand to pump his cock and put the whole tip in your mouth. Hearing a strained groan leave Miguel’s lips.

You trail butterfly kisses from the tip of his cock to the base. You look at him through your lashes and take his whole cock into your mouth without warning. The grip that Miguel has on your hair tightens.

“That’s it, mi corazón. Just like that,” he praises you through gritted teeth.

“Fuck my mouth,” you down right demand him.

Not wasting a moment, Miguel pushes your head down his cock – making you gag which adds more pleasure for him.

“You know to tap my thigh if it gets too much,” he reminds you.

You continue to take as much of him in your mouth as you can, your hand strokes the rest of it. You draw back for a bit of air, a string of saliva trailing down your chin.

“Hermosa,” he compliments you.

He goes back to fucking your mouth, groaning in pleasure each time he the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Just as he feels himself about to cum, he stops and indicates for you to stand.

Feeling dizzy from the fact you gave your man pleasure; you gaze at him through hooded eyes. Needing to feel him inside you, filling you up.

You thankfully wore a dress for the night, making it easier to sit on Miguel’s lap. You straddled over him by putting your weight on your knees as he stroked his cock against your pussy.

“Didn’t even need to prepare you, mi luz, you’re already so wet,” Miguel smirks at you.

He pats your thigh for you to lower yourself onto him. You close your eyes at the pleasure of him filling you up. His hands settle underneath your dress on your waist, using that as leverage to bounce you up and down on him.

The sound of your thighs hitting his filling the air of the bustling city surrounding you. This was possibly the most spontaneous place you’ve had sex in. The rooftop of the same building that Miguel first saw you on.

He would watch you from the building across, hiding in the darkness as you read on the rooftop, taking in the city life.

Your hands make their way to shoulders and you start to move along with the movement of his hands bouncing you.

“So deep,” you moan.

“Mmm,” Miguel moans in agreeance.

He takes a moment to compose himself to not cum quickly, but you have other plans as you rock your hips back and forth, not moving off him.

“Mi corazón, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he said making you look down at him.

“That’s the idea,” you chuckle.

He takes the little control you gained back, as his hands firmly hold your waist – which you’re sure will leave bruises, not that you mind. He’s fucking you onto him like a toy, both for your pleasure and kiss.

Lewd moans leave your lips, which Miguel silences with a kiss.

“I’m gonna make us cum, okay?” he asks looking down between the two of you.

You follow his gaze and moan at the sight of where the two of you are fucking.

“Please,” you whine, giving him consent to move his hand to your clit and rub circles to stimulate you further, and within moments you cum. Hard. Your hips moving on their own accord.

Miguel fucks you through your orgasm and as you tighten around him, he follows suit, claiming your lips with his as he groaned in pleasure.

You’re both breathless and feel hazy, coming down from your highs.

“Happy anniversary, mi corazón,” he chuckles and kisses your forehead.

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