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slttygeto · 1 year

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MORE THAN THAT— LO’AK SULLY.

pairing: x fem! reader.

tags: childhood friends to lovers, a little bit of angst towards the middle, insecure lo’ak, reader is mad at him, lack of communication because i love pain, they’re both 18 during the second half! a little suggestive towards the end, this is a long one btw :].

word count: 7k (my longest fic!!!)

note: ive been writing this for about a month (on and off obviously) and i thought i might share it now that i finally decided where to end it (?), it’s not entirely proof-read, my amazing best friend @aurelianamu (check her neteyam piece its amazing) read some of it and told me what to fix, so the rest will be corrected along the way. thank you for reading!

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

You are ten when you first meet the Sully’s, family of Toruk and Palulukan Makto.

Being the newest friend of Kiri, the second oldest didn’t hesitate to introduce you to her family, proud of the fact that she managed to make a friend so easily. You were shy, closed off and unsure of how to behave in the presence of the man that your parents told you many stories about. Your little child brain was curious to know as to how he behaved with his family, if he would be nice to you or strict and harsh, even if he had no reason to show anything besides kindness to his daughter’s newest friend.

“She is the same age as Lo’ak,” Kiri exclaimed with lots of excitement, holding your hand tightly while standing in front of her parents.

“Is that so?” Kiri’s mother, Neytiri, spoke with a gentle tone, smile adorning her lips which was unusual since she always seemed to be sporting a serious look on her face around The People.

“Who is the same age as me?” A voice spoke from behind you and suddenly, you were very aware of the fact that Kiri had more siblings than you—in fact, you had none. So you jumped slightly, a little surprised by the proximity of the boy.

“(Name), my friend!” Kiri’s excitement while introducing you warmed your heart but it also made you hyperaware of the looks you were receiving even if they weren’t malicious.

“Your friend?” Lo’ak stated in question, eyes scanning your face before puffing his chest out proudly like a peacock. “I bet being my friend would be more fun!”

Now, you weren’t expecting that. Kiri let go of your hand to push her brother back, almost telling him off at his attempt at stealing you away from her and you could only watch in horror as the bickering turned into hair pulling.

“Hi, I’m Neteyam.” Neteyam’s voice was soft and gentle, very similar to his mother’s and it made you relax for a moment before you realized you had to introduce yourself as well. Yet before you could speak, he was cutting you off with a nod. “(Name), I heard Kiri introduce you.”

You nodded back at him, eyes falling on the scene unraveling before you; Lo’ak and Kiri being scolded heavily by Toruk Makto himself, his eyes warning them that if they tried to say one more word, they would get grounded for a whole month.

“Ma Jake, be nice. We have a guest.” Neytiri tried to console.

“Exactly, so they should learn how to behave,” Jake Sully grabbed his kids and made them stand in front of you. “It’s up to her if she wants to befriend either of you, okay?”

“But dad! I found her first!” Kiri’s bottom lip quivered and you stepped towards her with a look of concern.

“Kiri, you’re my friend.” Lo’ak huffed at this, head dramatically turning to the side making his hair move with him. “Lo’ak can also be my friend.” Said boy’s ears perked up at this, face slowly turning to face you while scanning for any possible clues that you were just kidding.

Jake smiled at this, hand resting on top of your head before ruffling your hair. “Yeah? You wouldn’t mind befriending this knucklehead?”

“Knucklehead?” Your confusion only added to the fun of it and Jake chuckled before standing up straight.

“It means he needs someone to look out for him at all times.”

“Dad!” Lo’ak whined at the statement yet you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips.

“Friends look out for each other, right?” Your question earned a nod of approval from Toruk Makto and that was all you needed before stepping forward, firmly holding Lo’ak’s hand in your own.

“Lo’ak and I are friends then.” The youngest boy stared at you in awe, feeling the tips of his ears warm up at the sincerity of your voice.

“Friends.”

You are twelve when you learn what a pinky promise is.

You loved hanging out with Kiri, yet she and the rest of her family couldn’t deny the obvious chemistry between you and Lo’ak.

Despite the youngster’s stubborn personality and disobedient nature, he became more tolerable around you. That didn’t mean that he stopped from causing trouble, but he was seen around you sharing toys, passing you bits of food that was handed to him by his mother and even went as far as to to grab a giant leaf from a tree to cover you when you curled yourself into a ball to sleep.

The same could be said about you, yet your personality was never a problem in the first place. Kiri knew you as the kind hearted young na’vi that you presented yourself to be and you didn’t change around any of her family members. Although, she was able to notice the way you let things slide for the sake of being close to Lo’ak, such as letting him near your personal space, allowing him to touch your hair and look at the beads while proudly showing off your mother’s choice of colors and even letting him redo one of your braids as you two sat in silence.

Kiri wanted to feel jealous of this, she did befriend you first but she couldn’t help but let her heart feel at ease. Her brother and closest friend got along and it was worth more than anything in the world.

“Lo’ak, aren’t all sky people bad?” you were currently in the middle of your play session with the young na’vi, and the latter halted his actions at your words to stare at you with furrowed eyebrows. He noticed your stare, how it lingered on Spider, their human companion for as long as they could remember, before returning his eyes back on you.

“My dad was once a sky person, he isn’t bad at all.”

“Your dad is Toruk Makto!” you exclaimed almost in disbelief at the fact that Lo’ak was insinuating that you were even thinking of lumping his dad with those terrible people who had once destroyed your home.

“I’m just saying, if my dad is nice and he once was a sky person, then it means there’s a chance good sky people exist.” Lo’ak answered with a shrug. He trusted easily, that was something you envied him for. You couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling whenever you stared at Spider and a part of you felt bad that your brain didn’t allow you to relax in the presence of a boy who had done nothing to you, his only crime was to belong to a race that caused you great pain and suffering.

“It could be true…” Your friend was able to sense your anxiety just by looking at your body shrink in its spot, your arms hugging your knees closer to your chest before resting your head there. He might’ve not been the softest out of his siblings, but he knew that you needed comforting ; any kind that is.

“Hey listen,” Lo’ak put his toy down next to you before leaning down to your level with his pinky finger up. “I promise that I won’t ever let sky people do anything to you, okay? Pinky promise.”

Despite the feeling of warmth that you felt at his words, the obvious confusion on your face was a telltale sign that you didn’t know what a pinky promise was.

“Pinky… promise?” your voice came out soft, hesitant as you mirrored lo’ak’s actions and the moment he hooked both of your pinkies together, you felt your heart strings tug in your chest.

“Yes. A promise that is never meant to be broken.”

At your silence, Lo’ak realized that you had been staring at his hand. Hard.

Upon figuring out what was so fascinating about his hand that it silenced you, he immediately tried to pull it back on his lap, regretting a little the fact that he got too comfortable showing you his hand, his filthy demon hand.

“No,” you started with a stern look, grabbing his hand to pull back next to your face and held his pinky finger up with much concentration on your face.

“I don’t judge, I like your hands,” you hooked your pinky finger once again with his and Lo’ak wasn’t able to shake off the funny feeling in his chest, how his heart leapt as he nervously gulped down the lump in his throat.

“Pinky promise?” His voice came out as a whisper, almost in disbelief that you were accepting of who he was and who he came from. he did believe that his father was the exception to use as an example to justify good sky people existing.

“Pinky promise.”

Fourteen and fifteen were an easy age, you got along most of the time and everyone was scared when the both of you teamed up against them. Yet sixteen and seventeen had proven to you that you were both strong minded and that made you butt heads often, only in harmless ways.

You two are eighteen you realize that the bickering and butting heads was just a love language of yours, that your disagreements would never take away from how much you cared for each other.

“You have got to be one knucklehead to do something like that!” You hiss at the boy who could only stare back at you with an equally murderous glare, clearly disliking the vocabulary you were using.

“I am no knucklehead if I just wanted to have fun.” He hissed in return, and it quickly turned into a groan when your hands tugged harshly at the bandage circling his arm, sending him a warning that you weren’t going to let it slide easily just because he was wounded.

“Fun on the war zone? I didn’t know that playing with your life is the newest form of entertainment.” His family watched in absolute entertainment as you two bickered back and forth. The argument kept shifting from humorous to serious and they didn’t know where to stand.

On the outside, it seemed as though you disliked one another, yet this was just another day for the Sullys where you and Lo’ak bickered so much, they had to get you two separated to make it stop.

“Shit- stop! that hurts!” he almost wailed, leaning back against the tree when you applied the ointment to the cut on his face and given the expression of disapproval you had on yours, Lo’ak could only mutter under his breath as he fixed his posture.

“Man, am I not allowed to complain now?”

“Lo’ak,” you started, and he could immediately sense your change in demeanor by how visibly deflated you looked.

“I’m okay,” He cut you off with a firm stare, but his hand held a warmth to it, a gentle reminder that he could never be mean to you for a long time as he rested his palm on top of your hand. “Really, it was just one reckless moment that is all.”

“You’ve been saying this for— Eywa knows how long, Lo’ak, it’s serious. You need to watch out.”

“You don’t trust me?” With his tone, you could tell he was genuinely curious to know what you felt about him as a warrior and his heart was ready to shatter into pieces, waiting for the usual answer that was chanted like a mantra by his father.

“I mean, I’m not as strong or as cool as big brother Neteyam, but I can be helpful on the field and–“

“Lo’ak, I trust you.” You were never one to lie, especially not when you let your eyes fall on his. Flashing him a small smile, your fingers applied the ointment on the rest of the cuts on his face in a much more delicate manner, taking in how his tail was swaying from side to side at your comment.

“Someone is a little happy,” you teased, hands gathering all the medical stuff that his grandmother had given you to put them back in their spot.

“I will push you off my Ikran next time we go on a ride.” the glare on his face was playful and you couldn’t help but pat his head affectionately.

“I can always call for my own Ikran you idiot.” He wasn’t even able to push you away when you leaned down with your pinky up to his face.

“Pinky promise, by the way,”

“Pinky promise?” You didn’t let him stay confused for long before grabbing his wrist to intertwine your pinky fingers together.

“That I trust you. With all of my heart.” and with that, you took off with your tail swaying softly from side to side.

Lo’ak observed you for some time after you left, ignoring how his face still stung a little from you tending to his small wounds. Sighing in exhaustion, he ignored the looks he was getting from Kiri who sat only a couple of steps away from him.

“Shut up.” He turned his head away when he saw his sister approach him with a teasing grin, ready to tell her off for the umpteenth time the same week for teasing him about the usual topic.

“I haven’t even said anything,” Kiri plopped herself next to her brother, immediately taking notice of how Lo’ak was able to see you every move from his spot.

“I know what you will say and you’re wrong.”

“So you’re just going to keep denying the obvious heart eyes you have for my best friend?” The girl na’vi raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“I don’t have heart eyes for my best friend too, if you haven’t forgotten yet, I would never do anything to ruin the friendship.” To say that Lo’ak was an idiot was an understatement.

Kiri had told him that a crush would never ruin the friendship but Lo’ak saw it differently. You were a comfort he never thought he could have in a person beside family, a safe space for him to runaway to whenever things got too stressful with his father, Jake, and most importantly you were a best friend, a ride or die and someone who cared about him too much for him to risk watching everything fall apart.

His heart squeezed at the white lie he told his sister, another moment of denial where he forcefully swallowed down any possible trace of romantic feelings for his best friend and Kiri sighed in defeat, having already given up on the topic for the day.

“If you say so, don’t be disappointed if she finds someone else.” She stood up from her spot on the tree, looking down at her brother who visibly flinched at the mention of you possibly finding a mate, a lifelong partner and someone who would proudly show you off before Eywa.

“I would be happy for her,” Lo’ak almost bit his tongue at his attempt to fool his own heart, to halt it from hammering so strongly against his chest and stop himself from feeling so upset at the thought.

“Brother, you’re a fool.” Was all what Kiri said before walking away towards you and starting a casual conversation as usual, asking you if you wanted to go on a ride on your Ikrans after making sure every warrior was safe and taken care of.

And Lo’ak could only watch with a tight jaw, flexing his hand in an attempt to stop himself from possibly punching himself in the face.

Maybe Jake was right, he was a disappointment. Someone who isn’t even able to maintain a proper friendship without falling hard for his best friend, and the uncertainty of keeping things strictly platonic with you was eating him up alive. He hoped that Eywa would make his worries go away, and perhaps find a solution to the mess he had created inside his head.

Eywa didn’t take long before answering his prayers, but it came with a cost.

Longing stares and hours of talking to one another way past curfew after sneaking out turned into cold shoulders and short conversations. The effort was barely there and you could tell Lo’ak didn’t even want to acknowledge your existence whenever you came around and it hurt, it pained you that you didn’t even know what you had done wrong to suddenly lose a person whom you held so dear to your heart.

Your lip quivered as you stared at the plate of fruits you had freshly cut up for Lo’ak, tears threatening to spill from your eyes when you remember how he harshly rejected your offer at spending time together.

“I have a meeting with my father. Later.”

“But Lo’ak we haven’t–“

“Don’t be so clingy, I said later. Go find someone else to eat the fruits with.”

Clingy? Someone else?

You didn’t want to eat them with anyone beside him. Having him call you clingy when he used to get excited to spend time with you, saved you the last bits of his food and would talk your ear off about his schedule, it was all confusing. You didn’t know what you had done wrong and if you were even able to fix it given how it was painfully obvious that you were the source of the miscommunication going on.

It felt like Eywa wasn’t on your side the past few weeks, and your heart squeezed in disappointment at how your strong faith was being questioned by such tough times. You never doubted your deity, believed that everything happens for a reason but what could possibly come out of being so abruptly separated from Lo’ak?

You headed back to your hammock and set the plate aside to grab your pen and paper. When everything felt like it was falling apart, writing seemed to be the safest option. You found comfort in spilling your worries to a sheet of paper and weren’t ashamed of it, in fact, you were praised greatly for it by Kiri who had told you that her mother would’ve definitely developed an interest to you and your ways of distressing.

Oh Eywa has it been difficult to breathe as of late. Lo’ak hates me, that I am sure of. I have been nothing but a good friend to him and I’m confused and heartbroken, I don’t know what to do Eywa and I want to talk to him, to ask him what caused to hate me so strongly. Maybe it’s my strong love for him? Have I pushed it too far?

To be truthful, you had been in a state of denial for quite some time now. You were a friend to Lo’ak, a companion and a person who was always by his side but your heart craved more.

It was the way your heart leapt whenever Lo’ak came around, throbbing when he sat next to you, leaving no space between the both of you. How your body tensed when he would place his hands on your shoulders and he would stare at you with concerned eyes, wondering if he had smacked your skin a bit too hard.

But you knew it was wrong. It was unacceptable for you to feel this way for your best friend, even more horrible to crave him in ways only two people who are mated want one another.

You felt rustling behind you and jumped at the noise, head whipping back with fearful eyes only to relax once you realized that it was just Neteyam.

You had grown to enjoy the boy’s company over the years and he was nothing but nice to you. The two of you had short yet sweet conversations and you could tell that Neteyam saw you as a sister, someone who belonged in the family more than anyone else.

“Thought you had a meeting with Mr. Sully?” your voice was small as you scribbled on your paper, lips pressed in a thin line and posture slouched as you leaned against the tree.

“Fix your posture, you’ll feel like you’re eighty when you’re twenty.” Neteyam tried to brighten up the mood, only to realize that it poor timing since you only flashed him a weak smile before giving a half assed attempt at sitting up properly.

“So no meeting, he just didn’t want to see me?” The boy flinched at your words and he wished you didn’t notice, but you were smart and you had a sharp eye. Things like body language and little white lies didn’t go unnoticed by you and yet Neteyam was confused on how you weren’t able to see through Lo’ak’s poor attempt at pushing you away because of how much he wanted you.

“He’s an idiot, but I promise you that–“

“Don’t…Don’t promise me something that might not happen,” you cut him off with a sharp intake of breath, your chest tightening and tears threatening to spill at any moment. You were growing tired of everyone reassuring you with words, only for Lo’ak to shatter any hope you’ve had that you two would make up from the nonexistent fight that you had.

“He thinks what he’s doing is the right thing, but it isn’t,” The eldest of the Sullys took it upon himself to wipe your tears away, thumbs caressing your cheeks in a delicate manner. “He is an idiot, but I want you to know that it’s paining him just as much,“

You scoffed at the words but never pulled away from the boy’s touch. “It pains him just as much? He’s the one who started it.”

“I know but–“

“Teyam,” your hand wraps around his wrist, and you gently pull it away from your face before holding his hand in your own. “It’s alright, I know you want to defend your brother and you have every right to do so but he hurt me, he’s causing me so much pain from a situation he created,”

“I’m not asking you to pick sides, but I’m also not going to let my pain get invalidated. I’m the one hurting here because he woke up on the wrong side of his hammock three weeks ago and decided not to utter a single word my way ever since.”

Neteyam could only sigh at your words. You were right, the situation was much more complicated than a simple disagreement between you two. Had you known the full story behind what was going on inside Lo’ak’s brain, maybe then it would feel fair to tell you that the boy was also in pain.

“Just do what feels less painful to you.” As if that was going to be easy, but the more you interacted with Lo’ak, the tighter your chest felt. You needed a break from the boy even if you knew that seeing him was enough to reassure you that he was doing okay.

This was the longest Lo’ak had ever sulked in a corner and everyone was starting to grow tired of it.

The boy was almost lifeless, barely engaging in any conversation with his family members. He ignored Tuk’s nagging and consistent request to play with her, brushed off Neteyam’s suggestion to go on a ride with their Ikrans and wouldn’t even talk back to Kiri and Spider.

He was unrecognizable to say the least.

Neytiri nudged her husband with a concerned look on her face, eyes silently begging him to do something about the boy who went from being the loudest to the most reserved.

Jake could only awkwardly shuffle in his spot before coughing to catch his children’s attention. Talking to his sons wasn’t his virtue, it felt easier to console his little girls but given how strange Lo’ak had been acting, it was finally time to have a heart to heart with his son.

“Son, let’s ride our Ikrans after dinner.”

Lo’ak didn’t even raise his head at the sentence, simply thinking that Jake wasn’t referring to him. It wasn’t until the silence had felt too long that Jake called again, this time making sure that he heard him.

“Son? Lo’ak?” said boy raised his head with a perplexed look, and Jake noticed how his food was basically untouched.

“Yes sir?”

“We’re riding our Ikrans after dinner.” Jake repeated, setting his plate to the side before nodding at Neytiri as a way of thanking her for the food.

“We?” the boy looked at his brother, unsure if he was hearing his father correctly.

“You and I, son.” Lo’ak grew nervous at this. He and his father weren’t on best terms most of the time given how their personalities clashed with one another, but he thought that giving it a try wouldn’t hurt anybody.

“Okay dad.”

After a poor attempt at finishing his food, Lo’ak finally decided to join his dad after hopping on his Ikran. He wasn’t entirely sure of what his father wanted to talk about but he hoped that it wouldn’t cause the two of them to start fighting as usual.

“You closed off on yourself,” Jake didn’t bother with trying to ease Lo’ak into the topic, he immediately pushed him inside. He could tell he caught his son off guard given the wide eyes and how his lips struggled to find the right words to say.

“And you’re not only hurting yourself but you’re also hurting people around you,” Jake wanted to see how far he could push his son before making him admit his obvious feelings for you, the one girl he and Neytiri were very sure that she was going to be their son’s future mate.

“I don’t have that many friends,” Lo’ak’s sarcasm could be sensed from miles away and Jake held back a sigh at how similar he and his son were. He hated that sometimes. seeing in his son a version of himself he was ready to bury.

“I’m glad that you’re acknowledging that (name) isn’t just a friend.” The eldest pushed his son a little further and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips at how nervous and awkward his son got.

“She is just a friend…”

“We’re definitely different when it comes to this,” Lo’ak raised his head at his father’s words, unsure of where he was going with this.

“I married your mom not long after I met her, didn’t have time for all this being in denial bullshit,”

“Mom wasn’t a childhood friend.”

“Yet I think if she was a childhood friend, it would’ve made me want to marry her even more.”

The beauty of growing up together, getting to tell the next generation that you’ve known who your soulmate was at a very young age is a privilege not a lot of people have, not when most Na’vi have their mates chosen for them. And Lo’ak was very much aware of that and yet he couldn’t help but think that no one would choose him, not when he was so… like himself.

“I just think…she can do better,” Sharing his biggest insecurity was challenging enough as it was, but doing so with his father felt rough on his heart strings. Lo’ak’s throat tightened up and suddenly he became hyperaware of his fast heartbeat and sweaty palms, wishing that he had chosen something else to say to save him from the discomfort he was feeling.

“Is that truly up to you to decide?” The boy blinked once then twice, trying to register the fact that pouring his heart out was easier than he anticipated. He couldn’t bring himself to formulate a sentence for a good ten seconds before he was looking away from Jake, the latter’s words finally getting to his head.

“Does it even matter if I let her decide?”

“Would you have wanted her to let you feel the same if roles were reversed?”

“Roles could never be reversed cause she isn’t a freak like me,” Lo’ak almost snapped back in response and he visibly tensed at how defensive he was getting.

“So you think she deserves better than some five fingered freak like yourself?” Jake was blunt as he responded, eyes boring into his son’s who could only nod in response, not catching onto the sarcasm lacing in his words.

“Seems like you don’t know her as well as you claim to do.” Jake dipped down with his Ikran and Lo’ak followed shortly after with his own companion, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the words coming out of his father’s mouth.

“Of course I do know her, she’s my best friend and I’m sure that she—“

“The reason why you like her so much is because she never cared about stuff like this. It’s been this way ever since you were a child, son.” Toruk Makto was now face to face with his son as their Ikrans came to a stop mid air. “For you to make her go through so much pain because you suddenly decided that she wanted to change her ways and morals is unfair in my opinion, both for her and yourself.”

“But to ruin the friendship—“

“Again, those are only assumptions you have made based off of pretty weak evidence—made up one since you didn’t even question her on whom has her attention or better yet, her heart.”

The picture was slowly coming together to Lo’ak now and the clearer it got, the more he realized just how badly he fucked up.

Three agonizing weeks of ignoring you, stopping himself from joining a conversation you were in and suspending any attempt you had thrown his way to hang out together, catch up and possibly ask him what was so wrong that he refused to talk to you.

Sure, it pained him so much but he knew how sensitive you were. In fact, he could tell from your big yellow eyes how deeply hurt you were everytime he rejected you, and Eywa, did it make his heart squeeze, almost shatter at the sight of tears brimming your vision.

Lo’ak knew he fucked up, and he could only pray to Eywa that he would be able to fix what could possibly cost him a friendship and perhaps his childhood sweetheart.

You had every right to be ignoring Lo’ak right now. That, he is totally aware of, and even knew that it was exactly what he deserved after ghosting you for no apparent reason.

But at this point, you were just torturing him.

Tonight, the Omaticaya decided that it was time to hold their weekly party at the end of the week, distressing and letting loose after a long week of hard work.

Those parties were fun, they were what everyone needed—what you needed most importantly and you weren’t going to deny it, you were looking forward to it even if it meant having to encounter Lo’ak since he was Toruk Makto’s son.

Things had started pretty well with everyone chatting and discussing thing such as how great of a leader Toruk Makto was, how they haven’t felt this safe in quite some time and that everything being under his control was something to be proud of as forest Na’vi.

And while Jake and Neytiri soaked in all the attention, the kids were doing their thing. Mostly chatting with their friends or in some cases, stalking some.

Lo’ak was aware of how creepy he looked just staring at you with an unwavering gaze but he was determined to have you lock eyes with him. If he wasn’t going to approach you, getting to see your eyes for the first time in a while would mean the world to him.

“You’re looking a bit menacing, brother.” Neteyam placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, staring in your direction as well with a small smile on his lips.

“Huh? Well, I guess it’s not menacing enough to have her look my way.” Lo’ak mumbled under his breath, earning a lighthearted chuckle from Neteyam who could only pat his shoulder before squeezing it.

“You don’t want to look menacing or creepy, you want to look apologetic.” Lo’ak glanced at Neteyam after hearing those words and he knew how right his brother was but how? how was he supposed to look more apologetic than he already feels?

“Just walk up to her and see what happens.” Yeah, easier said than done.

“I will tell you what will happen. I will go up there and make a fool of myself because one, I don’t really know what to tell her and two, she will ignore me either way and I absolutely deserve it after treating her like shit because of something she’s not even responsible of,”

Lo’ak was frustrated but he couldn’t exactly do anything about it or even let himself feel this frustration without guilt washing over him.

It must’ve been horrible for you. But enough of feeling bad for you, he knew that despite what could possibly happen, he still had to confront you one way or another.

“Good luck,” was all what Neteyam said before walking away to let his younger brother decide on what he was going to do.

Luck

“Shit, I’ll need plenty of that.” Lo’ak mumbled before heading towards you through the crowd.

You could see Lo’ak and Neteyam from the corner of your eyes, you weren’t blind or clueless. You knew the two were talking about you just based on their body language. How unsure Lo’ak seemed and how playful the older brother was being and despite the fact that you thought it was endearing, you were still very mad at Lo’ak, and rightfully so.

It took them a couple of minutes to finish their conversation before Lo’ak was walking towards you and in a state of panic, you let go of whatever was in your hand and started heading out of the crowd, to a more secluded area. Anything to get away from Lo’ak as soon as possible.

You didn’t dare to look back, footsteps fast and unfaltering as you walked deeper into the forest with Lo’ak right behind you. Maybe if you didn’t perceive him, he would magically disappear.

“If anything, you know I’m the fastest runner between you and I,” his voice was uncertain, as if he was testing waters while still half-chasing you and you completely ignored his words, very determined on getting him to get off your tail.

“Going deeper into the woods won’t make me lose sight of you,”

“Did your tail get prettier?” was he staring at your tail?

Lo’ak was taken aback when you abruptly came to a stop and whipped your head fast to look at him and he wishes he could take back every bad thing he’s done to you, he wishes he could undo the past few weeks but he can’t, and he certainly can’t erase the pain in your eyes, how utterly confused and broken you must be feeling now that he’s suddenly trying to talk to you again.

“Listen-“

“No, no- you will listen. Because clearly that’s not what you wanted to do for like a month.” Your index finger was almost in his face but he didn’t back away or flinch, he let you be as mad as you wanted to be.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve what you did to me. I was a good friend! I was patient and forgiving, I kept finding stupid excuses for your lame ass while you didn’t even try to hide the fact that you were openly ignoring me for whatever reason!”

Lo’ak could tell you weren’t breathing properly while talking, and he wanted to hold your face and get you to calm down but touching you seemed off the table right now.

“And you come back and tell me my tail looks prettier?”

“I was just-“

“I’m still talking.” Your stern voice made him seal his lips shut, but he couldn’t help how his heart leapt a little in his chest. He had to fight the smile that was forming on his lips because he really didn’t want you to think he wasn’t taking you seriously.

“I appreciate you telling me my tail looks prettier but that does not and will never compensate for how shitty you made me feel lately.” Your voice was less harsh and smaller. He could tell you were slowly letting the tough façade fall apart because you weren’t used to getting hurt this badly. It drained you so much having him hurt you like this, and it made Lo’ak drown deeper in the guilt.

“I know it won’t, but I promise it hurt me just as much.”

“Then why did you do it?” Eywa, he wishes he could tell you.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then we cant be friends again.” Your response was quick and dry. Lo’ak felt like he was quickly losing you the more he spoke and that absolutely terrified him.

“No, you don’t get it. If I tell you, I will lose you.”

“Is there anything to lose at this point?” Lo’ak was starting to realize how badly he fucked up the moment you said this.

“Wha- of course there is?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he stared down at you and for the first time, you weren’t glaring at him. Your eyes were slowly filling up with tears, breathing getting quicker by the second.

Lo’ak reached his hands towards your face to test the waters and when you didn’t flinch or pull away, just kept your eyes locked with his, he knew just how badly you needed to be held.

“Oh I’m so terrible, aren’t I?” He almost cooed at you, hands holding your face with his thumbs caressing your cheeks and your little nod before blinking some tears away.

“So… so terrible.” you nuzzled against his hand, a hiccup escaping your lips as you held back a sob.

“Eywa,” Lo’ak whispered, stepping a little closer to you so he could rest his forehead against yours. “You mean so much to me and it’s… terrifying.”

Your confusion only pushed him to continue, his nose brushing against yours and suddenly you were aware of how close—how intimate the position you were in. But you didn’t mind, your heart was racing yet you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away this time.

“If I mean so much to you, why hurt me?” your voice was small, almost too afraid to speak louder and ruin the moment.

“I thought hurting you would get you to hate me,” Lo’ak swallowed hard, eyes focused on your lips before staring right back at yours once again. “and you would realize that you deserve someone better than me.”

“And you think you have the right to choose for me?” your hands slowly moved up towards his shoulders and at first, he thought you were going to push him away. It wasn’t until he felt you press your body closer before wrapping your arms around his neck that he realized that you were doing the complete opposite.

“I chose you—Eywa chose you for me, and she is never wrong.” And you were right. As if your skin glowing in the dark wasn’t already beautiful, the forest decided to bless your moment even further.

Seeds of the sacred tree were floating all around you both, the pure spirits giving Lo’ak the reassurance and the tiny push he needed to finally close the distance between you two.

Your breath hitched when you felt his lips brush against yours, but you were growing impatient with the small amount of hesitance left in him.

“Promise me that you won’t hurt me again,” your words were hushed, breath quickening when you felt him pull you in closer by your hips.

“I promise.” the stars illuminated the sky and the night was threatening to get colder. But when Lo’ak was pulling you impossibly closer, your cheeks flushed with heat. His fingers traced the skin on your hipbone before digging in harshly, your sharp intake of breath making his eyes wander down to your lips once again.

“It’s unfair…“ your whisper caught him off guard and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion before they rose high when your hands slid down to caress his arms, gently moving towards his chest to rest your hands there. You looked up at him through your lashes, and if Lo’ak wasn’t aware of his feelings for you, he would think you were trying to make him fall deeper in love with every bit of you.

“What is unfair?”

“That you’re taking so long to kiss me,” your hands gently grabbed his face, holding his jaw to tilt his head down towards you. “I see you, Lo’ak.”

You didn’t need for him to say it in return—he wasn’t exactly able to with his lips pressed against yours in dizzying manner. You never thought you could grow more nervous around Lo’ak yet he seemed to have a knack for surprising you everytime, especially with his hands gripping the back of your thighs to pull you up and wrap your legs around his waist.

“I see—I see you too,” when he pulled away, panting from the kiss and eyes glazed with what appeared to be a mixture of lust and admiration, you could only squeeze your legs around his waist with a small smile.

“Already so out of breath?” your lips brushed against his nose in an endearing manner, fingers tracing his cheek to take in every little detail that made him who he is—yours.

“You dont know what you do to me,” he slowly backed you up against a tree, your cheeks flushing when you realized just how intimate the position you were in.

“Maybe I would like to find out,” Your teasing, your playful tone and your eyes that were clearly so lost in his, were constant reminders of how special he felt around you.

He, who had the honor of being your one and only, could only pray that Eywa approved of his love and devotion for you.

2023 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

#avatar: way of water #loak fluff #loak x you #loak x reader #avatar x reader #loak fanfiction #loak angst #loak headcanons #loak imagine #avatar loak #loak x y/n #moon's works

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iskandersmuts · 9 months

Text

Diplomat's Party

Male Reader x Yuna

Tags: Smut, Yuna Smut, Sex, Blowjob, Creampie

My first attempt. I will be thankful with some feedback with anything.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You see the man on the mirror. That’s you inside the bathroom talking to yourself for gaining courage. “You can do it.” You say. “You did this for the last year.” Finally, you hide again in one of the bathroom’s cabinets. One more time breathe in and breathe out. Is just matter of endure this feeling three more hours.

You leave the bathroom and start counting the hours. Right now is nine o’clock. You can leave freely this party at midnight. As your boss always says “Your job at parties is like being a Cinderella. You arrive show the best you have and before the worst parts of you appear you leave. Nobody wants to know how cool or shitty you are when you are bored or even worse drunk. So no one of you, the diplomats, can show that side. Remember we are representing a country.” He is right we can’t show some parts of ourselves.

But these parties are actually a pain in the ass. The most of the people are here for work. They are not resting. They are not having fun. They are trying to get some confidential information that will help their own interest or the interest of their countries. Is like an international convention of ass lickers, brownosers or whatever you call it. They gather together and start talking about nonsense: “Did you hear about that African president lecturing Macron about colonialism?” or “Did you see what this Bukele did with the cryptocurrency?” You just can’t say. “Of course, dumbass you know that every ass licker here read the same Foreign Affairs subscription that you read.” You just say whatever thing they also know “Yeah and it seems that IOSCO now has a project bill for cryptocurrency.” And then the questions start. “Do you have any notices on the votes of the draft resolution of the injunction… and blah blah” Just things that nobody cares about. Two years ago, you pleaded your boss to let you assist to this kind of events. And now is your third time a week in these events. You would prefer getting a massage with hot stones in your balls right now. But not everything is bad. In this field: the diplomacy. You must be really lucky to find a friend. And you were really lucky, your honest friend is Diego an Argentinian diplomat.

In this party at Lotte Hotel Diego does a sign asking you to leave the building and go to the yard. Both of you get outside and start talking.

“Dude, did you hear the big news?” Says Diego.

“Diego if is a diplomat thing I really don’t want to talk about that right now.” You say with your voice showing boredom.

“No is not that kind of thing. You know me. I don’t like to talk about that stuff too. Is about the party of tonight.”

“What? Someone find out about those two gay diplomats that are in a relationship?” You ask.

Diego laughs. “No not that. Something interesting. Korea has changed the main event of tonight!”

“That means that I’m not going to hear the fat lady singing AGAIN the fucking Madame Butterfly.” You say.

“Yes. And also, as they were looking for something new. Moon Jae In used his trick up his sleeve and contracted a kpop group.”

“WAIT WHAT? WHO? TELL ME!” You say almost shouting.

“Is a girl group. JYP…”

“Fucking Twice is coming? Oh my god! Really?”

“No not Twice a bit younger.”

“NMIXX? But they have few songs!” You say complaining.

“Not that younger.”

“ITZY? ARE YOU FUKING KIDDING ME?!”

“No. No. It’s for real. They are coming.”

You guessed correctly.

And now you are thinking: Finally, something good happened on these useless parties. And you are smiling in a weird way. You know is weird because Diego told you. And then you use your experience of these years to act the best you can. As a diplomat you can’t be a crazy fan even more as you are here actually “working”.

The girls finally arrive. All guests are invited to gather and enjoy the show. Itzy is on the scene they greet everybody. You notice that they are not cheerful as they are in concerts of world tours. They are trying to be mature. They start with “Dalla Dalla”. You resist the urge of fanchant with the song. When they end nobody claps. For the awkward situation they start immediately another song. It happens the same nobody claps or even cheers.

This situation reminds you the footage of Red Velvet presenting at North Korea. The public were all quiet. This was the same. These boring diplomats don’t celebrate anything. Yeji as the leader announces that they are going to perform the last song. “Cheshire”. You want to fanchant so bad. But you can’t. They nailed the last song; the others were good too. But in this song, you see that they are trying their best as is their last song and till now they didn’t get any response from the public. When the song ends you don’t resist the urge and you start clapping. The people around you look at you as a weirdo. But then Diego joins you and other Koreans too. Then everybody is forced to do it. You look at them. All the girls are smiling. You keep clapping and you stand up.

“That was nice, girls” you shout.

This time just some of the other guests joins. And the rest of them just look at you and the others as weirdos.

This moment was definitively the most memorable. Because you see the girls looking at the few ones clapping while smiling. They finally thank everybody and leave the scenario.

You start walking around the party just remembering the faces of the girls when they saw you clapping. Their expressions. They are shocked at first. They look at you and then start smiling. It was a rough night for them. But you did the night a little bit easier for them.

Now just some minutes till midnight. You made your job and you saw Itzy you deserve a fucking drink. So, you start walking towards the bar.

“Look that old geezer is trying to dance” Says someone.

You notice that this is the voice of a woman.

You laugh.

Someone appears in front of you looks you directly inside the eyes and says. “Are you laughing at us?”

You are caught off of guard. “No sorry I didn’t mean that. Is just that no one here uses that kind of word ‘old geezer’” You look at her face trying to know his name. “Omo. Sorry Chaeryeong-shi. I really didn’t mean to make fun of you.”

Chaeryeong looks at you. “Do you know my name? Finally, I thought nobody here knew who we are.” She pauses and continues. “And don’t worry I’m pretty sure that Ryujin-unnie doesn’t care if you laugh or not, right, unnie?”

“You are pretty damm right, Chae.” Says Ryujin. “Is just that the old geezer…” You start to laugh again while she continues. “looked really hilarious when he started dancing.”

You see that behind both, Ryujin and Chaeryeong, are the other members of the group. You are internally jumping so hard that maybe your head will hit the roof. But you try to keep your composure. “Nice to meet you all of you.” You look at your watch is just past midnight. Fuck it you are not “working” anymore. “I’m really a big fan of yours.”

The other girls gather around you when they see that you are talking with Ryujin. They stand up beside you. There it is Yuna with her scenary outfit.

While you are looking at her you try to avoid looking at her chest. Or at least pretend that you are not doing it. She is using baggy pants. You wanted to look her legs too. That’s too bad. But you are lucky enough to look her perfect flat belly. When she sees you, she just smiles at you. The other girls as Yuna are wearing also an scenary outfit all of them have a blue or sky blue piece. But Yuna is the one that caught your eye.

“You are not from here, right?” Asks Ryujin. Yeji gives a little slap on Ryujin’s arm. She is the leader indeed.

You are thinking. Thanks Ryujin. You saved me. I owe you one. It was getting weird because I was looking Yuna for too long.

“Yes yes. I’m not from here. I’m a diplomat assigned here at Korea, Ryujin-shi.”

“You are a diplomat?” Asks Lia. “I always thought that diplomats were old men.”

You answer. “Well the ones that appear on television they are. And maybe as they are the most known for the public you think that. But actually in my country if you do the right things. You can start as a diplomat at 23 years old.”

“Yeah you look kind of young. But here the most of them are old geezers.” Says Ryujin. You laugh. “I thought that the reason why nobody clapped was that they are old geezers. But maybe is because they do what you do.”

“Well. Yeah the most of the times the show is a snob thing. Like opera or traditional theather.”

Ryujin interrupts you. “What thing? What did you say?”

Yuna starts laughing. You answer Ryujin. “See your maknae here knows what I said. Yuna-shi would you mind explaining her?”

Yuna looks at you. Doubtful starts speaking. “Snob is like people that likes fancy things just because they want to be different. Right?” She looks at you.

You are melting. The eyes of your Itzy’s bias are looking right at you.

“Yeah… Is just like that, Yuna-shi.” You answer. “The people here like that kind of things. Kind of unique or least popular. The people around here think that the things that they are discussing are the most important things ever. They are so full of themselves.”

“And… You are here... So, you too?” Asks Yuna looking you again.

You smile. “I hope I don’t. Maybe I would be just like them if I answer that. How about you discover if I’m like them.” You look at Yuna.

In your head you ran the entire place 10 times. You are flirting with Itzy’s Yuna. You are nervous as fuck.

“We’ll see. Then.” Answers Yuna and grins.

Yeji looked what happened. Actually, the whole girl group watched you flirting with their maknae. Yeji stands between you and Yuna and starts shaking your hand. “You are the one that clapped for us, right? Let me thank you for that. We’d like to stay around but we actually just came here for a personal matter. We are going to the bar. It looks like you are about to leave this party, right?”

Her words weren’t even smooth. You were clearly kicked out. “Is that true? I see. Well, thank you for greeting me.” You say trying to sound as polite as you can. “Well maybe I should go…”

What you were saying is interrupted by Yuna holding Yeji’s arms with her hands. She starts pouting. “Unnie, please.”

Yeji’s answer is silence pretending Yuna said nothing. Yuna starts pouting again. “Yeji unnie, please. Besides he is a Midzy, right?” Yuna looks at you.

“Yeah. As I said I’m a big fan.” You add.

When Yeji says nothing again. And you think this is lost. Yuna uses his final technique her little kitten face. He is pleading looking directly at Yeji. Just as Pussy in boots in Shrek. You don’t receive fully the little kitten face but you see it by the side.

Fuck. You are willing to give your house if she asks you doing that face. And you start wondering why the governments and international organizations spent so much money training people like you to end wars. When probably all they need is the Yuna’s little kitten face. Dam even if she asks Putin to end the war. Will he say no?

Yeji tries to avoid her face or maybe just look at the others trying to find an answer. Ryujin just shrugs like saying I don’t care. Lia and Chaeryeong that were looking Yuna’s little kitten face just nod. Yeji sighs and says. “Fine. He can come.”

“Yaaaaaay” says Yuna. She takes your arm and pulls you to start moving. Then she releases so you can follow them.

That expression that she just used was the bubbliest yet the most attractive you’ve ever seen. And she touched you. You can die right now. You start walking behind them. You just can’t help and you take a peek at their asses. Ryujin has a really bubbly ass. Chaeryeong has the largest one and seems like is not that soft because has muscles around. Lia has the softest one like you can sleep there. Yeji has a cute butt. And finally, Yuna has a bubbly cute ass. She is using baggy pants but her butt can be noticed trough them.

While walking Yuna turns lightly her head to you to ask you. “Hey Mr. Diplomat how old… are you?” She paused because she noticed you looking her ass. You were caught in fraganti so you just looked at her and smile. “Well mmmmm… I’m actually 25 years old. International age I mean.”

After you answer Yuna says something to Yeji. Yeji also turns her head to you. Look at you and nods to Yuna.

All of you finally arrive at the bar. Ryujin asks for champagne for everybody including you. She didn’t ask any of you. She just ordered. Yeji slaps her arm. “Ryujin yaaa. Why do you always do that?”

Ryujin answers. “It doesn’t matter. All of us were going to drink that anyway. Right?”

You see around and everybody is nodding. It seems that the dominant Ryujin you see trough tv screen is actually a dominant Ryujin in real life.

“Let’s make a toast. Raise your glasses” Says Yeji. And by looking at the girls and you she is ordering you to do it. Everybody raises their glasses. “Our schedule didn’t let us to celebrate properly the birthday of our beloved maknae. Yuna we all love you.” At the end of this sentence. You start nodding hard. Yeji got quiet and looks at you. All the girls look at you too and then laugh. You blush. “Anyway…” Yeji continues. “Apparently everyone gathered here LOVES you Yuna. Happy Birthday.”

The girls take turns to hug Yuna. First Yeji, then Ryujin. You notice that everyone gets closer and say a few words in Yuna’s ear. When is your turn you gather all the courage in your body and swallow the nervousness and try to look cool. You hug her and whisper in her ear. “Is true indeed that everybody here loves you. Happy birthday. I wish you have a good time tonight.” She grins and whispers in your ear. “Well, you can help me to have a good time tonight.”

Shit. You think. I felt her chest during that hug. And now she says this I really can’t control my excitement.

And actually, you got hard down there. While you were hoping she didn’t notice it the hug ends and she looks down like looking for something.

It seems like she felt it.

Then the girls sited around the bar and ordered drinks. You took place beneath Yuna. She leaned on you.

“Oppa…” She says and you got surprised.

“Oppa?” You ask inmediately interrupting her.

“Yes you are older than me you are my oppa, right?” She questioned.

“Well yeah I can be your oppa if you want.”

“Nice. I want to ask you something. Can i?”

“Okay. But if is something that I can’t say because of my work please don’t use your little kitten face against me. I will give in and next thing will be that I’m fired.”

She laughs. “My what?”

“Ah I named your pleading face to Yeji-shi before as ‘little kitten face’”

“Because of Shrek?” She asks.

She gets me.

“Yeah. I just love that movie. But continue. Go ahead”

She continues “Anyway I’m not going to ask you something difficult, oppa. I just want to know what should I drink? I don’t have too much experience with that.”

“You are 19 now, right? What have you drinked before? and what did you like or not?”

“Well obviously soju. At first, I didn’t like it. But then I was into that. But tonight, I want something fancier.”

“You are lucky. As this is diplomat’s party. I think this bar has international beverage too. Have you heard about pisco?”

“What?! What is that?”

“Is alcohol is made from grapes: the green ones. And well is nice when you drink it with lemon and other stuff. The beverage is called pisco sour.”

“Well why not. Today I’m celebrating my birthday. If I pretend today is my birthday. This is my first time having 20 years. So today is the day of first times!”

“That’s the attitude!”

“Two pisco sours, please.” You ask to the bartender.

The bartender hands you two glasses. And you hand one to Yuna.

She sips. “This is like lemonade, right? Just at the end I can taste some alcohol. Is not that strong.”

You nod. “So did you like it?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Answers, Yuna.

A couple of glasses later you and Yuna are talking.

“You know what?” You start “I think diplomat’s life and idol’s life have something in common.”

“Why do you think that?” Asks Yuna.

“Well, your life is kind of controlled by someone: your company. In my case the embassy. I’m living here in this country just to work. And also, our opinions can’t be radical. Do you remember that time where Tzuyu waved her flag? The… Taiwanese flag?” Yuna nods. You continue “She apologized then. That means that no idol can give political opinions, right? Well, I can’t neither. I can’t say Taiwan is a country or say what I think about any president or government out loud.”

“Well… Yeah, It makes sense. So, you can’t hang out at parties too?”

You are so into this subject. “Well, if something happens like a drunk fight or something like that. I’m fucked up. Because in the headline will appear ‘The diplomat of this country got drunk and…’”

Suddenly Ryujin hugs you from behind and asks you. “Hey, since when Yuna is your bias? Have you fapped to her photos?”

You blush and start stuttering. “I-I-I D-d-d-didn’t do that!”

Ryujin laughs. “Mr. diplomat knows how to be cute!” She pinches your cheek. Then she says looking at Yuna. “Hey if you don’t achieve nothing with him. I’ll ask his number.”

Yuna hit Ryujin’s arms. “Ryujin-yaaaaa.”

You look at Yuna. “Achieve something?” You ask.

Yuna blushes a little bit. “Well did you remember before when we were walking to the bar? When you were… mmmm… looking my ass?”

You almost spit the pisco sour. Ryujin laughs. “It seems like Mr. Diplomat likes to stare asses. Did you peak mine too?”

Fuck Ryujin is so straight when she talks. This can’t be a mess. You must apologize. You think.

“Ammm… I do. Sorry.” You apologize.

“So who has the best one?” Ryujin asks you.

This brat knows how to make you nervous.

“Y-y-y-yuna” You answer stuttering.

“Well, I give up, Yuna. Mr. Diplomat is in love with you. I don’t get him. Everybody’s favorite is my ass or Chae. I’m leaving it to you.” Ryujin says while walks out to join the other members.

“Really?” Asks Yuna looking at you.

“Yeah. You are my favorite in everything! My ultimate bias.” You shout.

Fuck. It seems I’m really drunk.

Yuna stares at you and doesn’t say anything.

You blew up. She probably isn’t looking for a fanboy. You shouldn’t have drunk too much.

But she caught your arm and walks with you. You just follow her. “What happened, Yuna?” You ask.

She looks at you and keeps walking. “Today is the day of first times.”

She is leading you to the bathroom. She enters and locks the door.

You are in disguise. What to do now is pretty obvious but is Yuna so you are doubtful.

Before you decide anything Yuna kisses you.

Fuck. Is the best kiss you ever had. So this is how it feels when you kiss someone you really really like. Is like an explosion. Like there was nothing and then a big bang.

The kiss breaks. “Did you like it?” Asks Yuna.

You don’t answer just kiss her again. The sensation is something different. Like you can be here forever. But the night was just starting.

Yuna starts touching your back while kissing you. Then your chest. Your neck. She stops. “You don’t want to touch me?” She looks directly in your eyes.

“No, no. Is not that. Is just I didn’t want to ruin the kiss.” You say.

“Oppa. You know what are we doing next, right? I know you are not so innocent!” She says. And starts kissing you again.

Now you touch her. Her neck, her back you go down. Her delicious ass is being groped by your hands. You lean her closer to you by pressing her butt.

You start kissing her neck. “Yuna. You are so beautiful and cute. Your mouth, your face, your ass.” You press your hands in her butt harder. She just moans “Mmmmmm….” But then she speaks. “I can feel your dick poking my abs. Just like before when you hugged me.”

You press her butt stronger. So, she can feel it more. Then you lift her up by grabbing her legs and kiss her neck again. “Mmm… I want to see your tits, Yuna.” While being in the air she manages to take off her blouse. You see her lingerie and anxiously you start kissing around her tits. While she is trying to untie her bra. Finally, you receive in your view her heavenly boobs. Her nipples are totally pink and are like inviting you to suck them.

This is the best feast I’ve ever had.

You kiss and lick her tits while the only response from Yuna is “Mmmm.” When you left her legs touch the ground, she kisses you again and she kisses your neck this time. Now she is trying to get your formal shirt off. You start undressing yourself. She kisses your neck and starts going down till she is in front of your crotch. She is in her knees.

“Mmmm… I want to know if you are a big fan as you said.” She touches your crotch. And starts undressing your pants. Then she just puts down your boxers.

Your dick is hard as never was. When she puts down your boxers your cock jump off and slaps Yuna’s face. She looks at you and then stares your cock.

“It looks that you were right. You are the biggest”

Then she starts stroking. You just moan.

“I thought you said it was first times’ day.”

“Yes oppa. This is my first time with a foreign guy and my first time sucking cock big like yours”

She starts licking the tip of your cock.

“Oppa I’m starting to doubt if this can fit in my mouth.”

“Let’s find out.” You say. She nods and starts putting it in her mouth.

First the tip and then she tries to push deeper. Her mouth is full but there is plenty of dick left. She starts moving. You can’t deny that you had better heads before. But… She looks at you while sucking you. Then you are aware again that the one sucking you off is Itzy’s Yuna. So, you start to feel better. Fuck you could say that you are even about to cum. You caught her head with your hands and start pushing.

“Fuck Yuna. I can feel your throat!”

She just says “Mmmm mmmm” as she can’t talk.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck. Fuck.”

You start cumming and you relax the grip on her head. And she frees. Some of the cum goes in her face.

“Mmmm… You are rough, oppa. I like that.” She picks some toilet paper of the bathroom to clean her face. “But you know what this is only starting. I want that big thing inside me now.”

She starts unbuckling her pants and puts it down and also her underwear at the same time. She has a shaved cute pussy and is already wet.

“Oppa, fuck me.” She says and then she bends and you have a total view of her ass. That beloved ass.

“You want me to fuck you?” You spank her.

“Aah. Yes, oppa. Fuck me with your cock!”

You grin and start to play with your dick around her pussy. “Oppa, just fuck me already!” She says.

You put your cock inside her. And you feel tightness. You haven’t feel something like this before. “Yuna you are so tight!” You say. And try to go deeper. “Fuck Yuna really I’m not lying you are too tight!”

“Mmmm… No oppa is just that you are too big. Just keep going. Mmmm…”

You start going deeper in a slow pace. Finally, you get to get your full dick inside. Yuna is moaning already. “Yuna, prepare yourself”

“Whaaaaaaa… aaah… mmm… mmm” She starts moaning. You are slamming her in a rapid pace. And then she says “Cumming aaaah” You don’t slow down. And then she shouts again moaning again but this time her legs start to shake. But you don’t slow down.

Fuck you’ d love to see Yuna’s cumming face. But right now in exchange you have a full view of her cute butt and her pussy while your cock enters and disappears. She is moaning so hard.

“Aaaaah… Oppa. I love how you fuck me. You are really deep into me.” She says.

And is true is almost like your tip is kissing her womb. This tightness is almost like her walls are never letting you go. Like their insides are sucking you up. Is this heaven? The pleasure right now is out of this world.

While dreaming off, it happens you cum inside her. Fuck you really fast up the pace because now you are out of breath. Yuna stands up looks at you smiles and kisses you. “That was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. And really orgasms because it happened multiple times” Yuna says. “You are special and fuck you cummed so much”. At the moment white liquid starts to drip from her crotch.

Suddenly the door sounds. There are lots of knock knock and then a voice: “Yuna we need to leave now. They found out about the manager bribed. We will be waiting for you on the car outside.”

You look to Yuna. And she starts explaining. “Have you heard anytime about Itzy joining a party where they were having a show. Or have happened ever that the last entertainment show joins the party in your diplomat events?”

“Well… Being honest I never heard of that. And that never happened. I don’t remember that the fat lady singer ever joined the party after her show.”

“Yeah. That’s what’s normal. But we bribed our manager to tell JYP we were already at the dorm and we sneaked into the party.”

“So you weren’t invited to the party? And wait did you lie to Jyp?” You ask.

While this conversation was made Yuna started dressing up. As you see it you start looking for your clothes too.

Yuna answers “Yeah, that’s why we were just in the bar. I mean we didn’t want to catch too much attention. And also, we were with our stage clothes if we were invited, we probably were wearing some fancy dresses or something like that. And yeah, we lied to Jyp. He is nice but sometimes he is just a pain in the ass. You know if it was for him, I’ll be virgin even now.”

“Well yeah if you had gone to the main saloon, you probably had caught more attention. Then I must be really thankful for that bribe because if that wasn’t happened, this wasn’t happened.”

“Yes, oppa. And also, is thanks to Yeji. When you looked my ass, I was asking Yeji if I can be with you and she nodded. But sadly, I must say bye now. I really want to have another meeting with you and that big thing of yours.” She kisses you and continues. “and maybe we can try other things. You know Ryujin says that anal sex is way better than normal sex. But I don’t know maybe I need to experience it by first hand.” She hands you a piece of paper.

“Is your number?” You ask like pleading.

“Aww you can be a cutie pie too. Yes, it is. I must be going. Is better if I leave alone. Wait inside here and after a couple minutes leave. Ok?” She says.

“Yes. I’ll be expecting our next meeting.”

“Me too.” She kisses you and then leaves the bathroom.

That actually happened. You think. I had sex with my ultimate bias.

And now you remember all the things the view of her precious ass. Her eyes while she was sucking you off. The taste of her lips. Her essence. Her ass in your palms. Her surprised eyes when she saw your cock. The sensation of his tongue in your cock and her throat.

The sound of your phone wakes you up. Some text messages.

“Hey Oppa is Yuna. It seems like you weren’t the only diplomat getting fun. Ryujin also had fun with an argentinian diplomat. And he knows you, so the girls and I got his number and yours. Let’s have another meeting soon”

You smile. What is even better that you fucking your bias from Itzy is that your friend could do it too and maybe he even had anal sex with Ryujin. It seems that this kind of parties are not so bad.

#smut #yuna smut #male reader #itzy smut #kpop smut #kpop x male reader

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 8 months

Text

I Want It All: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Soft!Astarion, Allusion to Astarion's Past (Sexual Assult/Dissociation)

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: Holy shit! It's done! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and reblogged and just...everything. I cannot tell you how much it means to be to know this story has resonated with so many people. I don't have any plans to continue this as a larger story (I still haven't played the game); however, if anyone would like to send requests for small one-shots or headcanons involving Astarion and this Asexual!Tav, feel free to send me an ask.

Also, sorry if I didn't tag you. There were a lot of request, so I stuck to those who asked on the previous chapter.

And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!!

Word Count: 5.2K

You didn’t sleep that night, but what else did you expect?

For hours you simply lay in the dark, staring at the window. The patter of rain was the only source of sound besides your own breathing. Even that small comfort didn’t last as the storm passed leaving behind cloud covered silence.

No tears came to you. What had you to grieve over? Everything you felt had been a product of your imagination. You knew that.

Still, it ached. There was a throbbing in your throat you couldn’t swallow down and a constant pressure behind your eyes. You almost wished you would cry, just to get it out of your system. If you could have a nice little breakdown, there was a chance you could get over this. It would be the slap in the face you needed to accept reality. Maybe then you’d stop doing this to yourself.

All the same, it stayed there, pressing heavy on your chest until the sun teased the edges of the clouds beaconing morning.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. You couldn’t lie and wallow the rest of the day. You had things to do, places to be, worms to destroy. The sooner you had something else to occupy your thoughts the better.

With an effort you pulled yourself out of bed and slowly made your way to the dining room.

You were a bit surprised to see everybody already up. Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale were already seated with plates of half eaten food in front of them. Two seats were still empty, settings ready and untouched. A quick look around confirmed the rest, Astarion had yet to make an appearance.

“Morning everyone,” you said, trying your best to be cheerful as you sat yourself between Gale and Wyll.

You could feel all their eyes on you, no doubt noticing the dark circles under yours.

“Morning,” Gale greeted. “I trust you slept well.”

He let out a small yelp of pain.

You looked up to catch him glaring at Shadowheart as she shot him a disapproving look.

You frowned. Did she just kick him?

“I mean, ah, did you lie comfortably?” he amended.

“Seriously?” Karlach questioned.

You swore you could feel the heat of Gale’s blush, as he grumbled into his toast. “Damn it, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” you asked.

“We just hoped you spent the rest of the night…pleasantly,” Wyll tried, and ultimately failed.

Your stomach flipped, as harsh, dreadful realization washed over you. Yes, of course they would.

“You don’t look well,” Lae’zel noted. “After all his boasting, I had thought Astarion would leave his partners more satisfied.”

You didn’t say anything, deciding to take a bite of egg as an excuse. Now would be a great time for the ground to open and swallow you into the hells. Gods knew it would be an improvement.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart said, sounding a little annoyed to admit it. “You do look tired and not the good kind. Did something happen?”

“Did he hurt you,” Wyll said, his brow furrowing in sudden concern.

“What?! No!” you said quickly. “Nothing happened.”

“How’d you mean nothing happened?” Karlach put in. “We all saw what we saw. How could anyone turn down all of that?”

Fresh embarrassment washed over you, making you wish you could erase the last twenty-four hours and crawl into the nearest, deepest hole. You had spent the whole night worried about what Astarion would make of your vision, you had all but forgotten you had shared that part of yourself with all of your companions. Of course they would have their own interpretations.

“It wasn’t like that.”

A quick look around the table gave away the doubtful thoughts of all.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm. They weren’t going to believe you if you were emotional about this.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. As I said, nothing happened. We talked, and it became clear that we just want different things. That’s the beginning and the end of it. Now are we done or are you all going to keep chattering on like a bunch of fishwives?”

The silence at the table was palpable as everyone exchanged looks.

Alright, maybe being calm wasn't a realistic expectation, but you hadn’t lied. Sure, there were some details you neglected to share, but that really was the long and the short of it. He hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had you. It just didn’t work out.

The plain truth of it settled in your heart carving out a hollow space for it to lay in.

Gale was the first to act, clearing his throat. “Fair enough, the matter is closed. Please, accept our apology. With such an intimate group as ours, it’s sometimes easy to forget that one’s personal matters can be well and truly personal.”

He looked at the rest of the group, each nodding in agreement to various degrees of reluctancy.

“Just for the record though, if you need someone to knock some sense into that pretty boy’s head, you just need to ask,” Karlach offered.

Despite yourself, you had to smile. “I’ll think about it.”

You then turned to Gale, who met you with kind eyes and a comforting smile. You let yourself be warmed by it, even if you still felt a little guilty for snapping. He really did understand. It was easy for heartbreak to recognize heartbreak.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

To your surprise, his first instinct wasn’t to reach for words, but rather your hand as he gave your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Anytime.”

“Good morning everyone. Gossiping without me?”

You whipped your head around to find Astarion standing near the head of the table, a sardonic smile on his lips and a hard glare in his eyes. No doubt he had heard everything.

Everybody shifted in their seats, glancing between you and Astarion. You averted your gaze, focusing hard on the table in front of you.

Gale’s hand still rested over yours. Whatever comfort it had given you, faded as something akin to panic flooded your veins. In the next second, you rose from your chair, scraping it hard against the floor in your hurry.

“I’ve still got some packing to do,” you said. “Be back down in a few.”

Coward’s way out? Yes, but after the night you had, you figured you were entitled to it.

Keeping your head down, you slipped past Astarion, feeling him watch you as you made your way back up the stairs.

If you had lingered a moment, you might have caught the flash of hurt in his eyes. You might have noticed how his clothes were more rumpled than usual. You might even have seen his hand twitch with the instinct to reach for yours. But you didn’t see, and anything that might have happened disappeared in a brush of air.

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

The next several days carried on in much the same way. Not as torturous as that first morning, but still a drudge of avoidance and awkward silences.

In your defense, Astarion seemed just as keen to keep his distance. Where he used to be your preverbal shadow, filling the hours of travel with idle teasing and conversation, now he kept to the back, his mouth decidedly shut.

The others caught on and seemed determined to make up the difference. Karlach, Shadowheart and Wyll especially made a point to walk alongside you, telling stories and jokes in an attempt to make you smile.

You did your best. They meant well, but in some ways they only served to emphasize the absence of another.

Gale, on the other hand, had the foresight to try a different approach. He made it clear he didn’t expect you to talk, but always made sure you had the best spot by the fire and a little extra of whatever he made for the camp. You had to wonder if Tara had provided a similar comfort to him after Mystra. It was obvious he had the practice.

Even Lae’zel offered to help you train it off, something about how your, “objectively weak body had left the rest of you vulnerable to attack”. A part of you felt the insult, but the gesture was appreciated.

Honestly, all of this care was starting to make you feel guilty. None of them were giving Astarion the same courtesy. He wasn’t being shunted exactly, but the message was loud and clear; they were on your side.

This was met by him taking a step back from the late night conversations. His interactions with the others were kept short and lacked his usual humorous flare. He took his shifts on watch alone and he spent even more time either roaming the forest or in his tent.

The only person he consistently spoke to was Gale, which should have raised some alarm bells on their own, but you never caught what they were discussing. All you knew was Astarion never appeared especially pleased while Gale gave a look of someone begging the gods for patience.

All of this was your fault. You just wanted things to go back to normal. Even if you couldn’t be with Astarion the way you imagined, you still valued his friendship. If this kept up, there was a chance he might decide to leave all together. An olive branch was needed, something to signal you didn’t hold a grudge or expect anything more.

The answer came to you one early evening as you took note of his haggard looks and less than graceful steps out of camp. He hadn’t fed on you in a week and there was only so much deer and boar could do.

You considered simply offering up your neck, but that felt too forward. Besides, you weren’t sure if you were ready to have him that close. The only other solution you could think of was to bleed yourself somehow.

This proved more difficult than you first imagined. Astarion seemed to have an instinct for where to bite, balancing enough blood for himself without causing any permanent damage. You couldn’t boast the same. It took more than one cut to fill an empty goblet with what you hoped to be the right amount of blood. You’d ask Shadowheart to heal you properly later. Hopefully she’d accept a poorly executed knife trick as an excuse.

You wrapped your wrist as best you could and, watching to make sure the others weren’t looking, slipped into Astarion’s tent.

You were immediately hit with the scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy. A sense of calm washed over you at the familiar combination, settling comfortably in your lungs as you took in the space.

A single candle remained lit, allowing just enough light for you to appreciate the rich purple and red fabrics lining the walls as well as the sheer number of pillows littering the floor. How he managed to pack so many was a mystery you doubt you would ever solve. The whole set up was down right ornate, but considering this was Astarion you were talking about, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

It was only then you realized you’d never been inside before. He’d invited you more than once, but you’d always turned him down preferring to keep your feeding session in the open air. You had known, even then, any closer would give the wrong impression; all for naught it seemed.

You pushed the thought aside, pulling your attention back to the matter at hand. There had to be some place you could put the goblet where he wouldn’t knock it over. Why did he have to keep a side table outside the tent?

A shuffle came from just outside. Focusing your ears, you caught the tread of boots on grass transition to the nearly silent carpet just outside the tent flap. You turned using those handful of extra seconds to school your features into something passively innocent as Astarion ducked inside.

His whole body froze, his arm holding the fabric above his head as his eyes went wide. For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

You took advantage of his momentary shock to examine his appearance more closely. He looked…well, tired and more than a little confused. No blood marked his shirt or his lips. His pants appeared to have taken a tear or two from a bramble bush. Even his hair looked just a bit disheveled in a way so unlike himself.

“No luck hunting?” you said, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He stared, as if your words were coming from somewhere far away and required extra time to reach his ears.

“I’ve had better,” he finally said.

You nodded in understanding, shifting awkwardly as your eyes went to the goblet in your hands.

“Here,” you offered. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.”

He gave a tight smile. “I’d say no offense taken, but this is me we’re talking about.” All the same, he took the cup, sniffing it cautiously. He blinked hard, his brows furrowing as he stuck his nose further into the cup and took a deep whiff.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

You shrugged, holding up your bandaged wrist. “Whose else would it be?”

His mouth parted slightly as if to say something before closing it again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his tone oddly serious.

“I know,” you assured. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Once again, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead released a breath of a laugh, allowing whatever tension he had formed in those last few seconds to fall from his shoulders.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but it seems I can’t help it with you.”

Before you could ask him what exactly he meant, he raised the goblet to his lips and drank.

The effect was instantaneous. Your blood met his tongue and any control he had slipped away. His pupils dilated to those of a predator as he guzzled the whole thing down in two deep swallows. He let out a gasp of air before returning to the cup, licking the sides so not to waste a drop. A low hum of bliss came from deep in his chest as he savored the rest, allowing his fingers to scrap the bottom before bringing it back to his mouth.

The sight should have left you horrified, but in truth, it was encouraging. Things would be different, but you could at least provide him this.

“Do you need more?” you asked.

This time his laugh was loud and genuine as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before licking the remains; yet another thing you found inexplicably endearing. He really was just a big cat sometimes.

“Dangerous thing to offer me in this state, darling,” he said. “Luckily for you, I found a nice burrow of rabbits yesterday.”

Once satisfied there was truly nothing left, he set the goblet down on the ground before turning his attention to your wrist.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out a hand.

“It’s fine,” you promised. “I’ll get Shadowheart to look at it later.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, give it here.”

Knowing there was no fighting him, you relented, allowing him to unwrap the bandages.

He visibly winced as he examined the litter of harsh scratches along your skin. “What did you use? A rusty spoon?”

“I had trouble finding a good vein,” you said, feeling the need to defend yourself. You hadn’t thought it looked that bad.

“Oh is that all? And here I thought you’d lost an argument with a displacer beast.”

You pressed your lips into an annoyed line, but Astarion was already digging around his pack, coming back with a salve and potion of healing.

“Drink this.”

You shook your head, ignoring the pleasant little flutter in your chest at the gesture. “I told you, I’ll just ask Shadowheart.”

“Oh this isn’t just for you,” he said, dryly. “Do you think I want her believing you’d willingly butcher yourself just to give me a proper meal? Neither of us would hear the end of it.”

A small flush of embarrassment worked up your neck. He was right, of course. The party really hadn’t been subtle in their disapproval. It was the reason you had tried for discretion.

Without further protest you accepted the potion.

This seemed to appease him as he quickly got to work on applying the salve.

He had bought it not long after you had come to your little feeding arrangement. It helped to sooth small cuts and bruises while minimizing the threat of scars. He had initially offered to provide…other services to relieve the pain, but you had declined. This was the compromise. You’d offered to do it yourself, but he insisted, claiming it was the least he could do. In truth, it was all very…transactional.

This felt different. The hesitation he so often held, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, was gone. His touch was gentle, his expression focused and his body oddly relaxed. It didn’t feel like an obligation, but an act of kindness, one he was more than willing to give.

Any nerves that remained slipped away. You could find a way to live with this. Certainly it was more than others had given you in the past.

Once he was done, he pulled fresh bandages from his bag and began redressing your wounds with decidedly more precision than you had.

“I am glad you’re here,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was hoping we could talk.”

A sharp sting of anxiety pressed itself into your skin.

“Oh?”

He nodded, tying off the bandage. “I think it’s important.”

You swallowed. The instinct to run pulled at your feet, but you managed to keep it in check. You owed him that much.

“Well, I’m here so…let’s talk.”

He breathed out an audible sigh of relief, raising his hands up as he took a small step back.

“Just stand there a moment. Don’t move.”

He spun around, rummaging through various bags before letting out a cry of triumph. He stepped back holding what looked to be a violin string glowing with magical golden light.

Your head tilted to the side as your eyes narrowed. “Is that…?”

“Part of the violin, yes,” he admitted. “Bit of a story. Short version, Gale was able to extract one of the strings. It shouldn’t cause any permanent damage to the instrument, as far as I know.”

You raised a doubtful eyebrow. “And Gale just let you pluck this from his tent did he?”

Astarion shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I, ah, may have had some trouble understanding how it worked and…inquired as to his assistance.”

“You asked Gale for help?” you asked, astonished.

“Don’t make me relive the experience,” he lamented. “He told me the strings themselves have different magical properties in order to create the effect you demonstrated the other night. Apparently this one alone compels people to tell the truth.”

He then took the string and carefully wrapped it around his wrist before handing the other half to you.

Your eyes widened, glancing between him and the offered cord. “What are you doing?”

“Leveling the playing field,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “You don’t have to do that.”

His lips curved into a self deprecating smile. “I think I do though. I haven’t been honest with you and…while that’s not exactly unique to you, the regret I have is. So you see, it really is a selfish action. If I’m to be free of this, I need to know for certain you understand that what I say next is the truth…all of it.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The expression on his face was one you had never seen before. While he did his best to hide under his usual indifferent airs, his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen them so open and unsure.

Slowly, you took the other end, feeling a familiar tingle spread through your fingers.

“Alright,” you said, cautiously. “What’s your favorite color?”

Flashes of red shot across your vision, moonlit skies and a pair of eyes you only just caught to be your own before the image settled on something else entirely.

“Pink,” Astarion blurted.

Your eyebrows shot up as the start of a delighted smile spread across your face.

“And orange,” he amended quickly, “and dark blue and…honestly just the color of the sky at sunrise.” He pouted as if annoyed at the words that escaped his lips, but he shook it off. “Alright, you had your little test run. Give me something harder.”

You considered a moment. It was very tempting to continue on with some more embarrassing questions, but that wasn’t the purpose of all of this. Best to start at the beginning.

“What did you think of me when we first met?” you asked.

He grimaced, guilt evident not just through his averted gaze but the tug of the string between you. “You were a target,” he admitted. “At best a convenient meat shield. You were just so…open, ready to trust. Manipulating you would be easy.”

You took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain between your ribs. You should have expected as much. He wasn’t exactly subtle.

“And that’s what you were trying to do the other night, manipulate me?”

“Yes.”

Another stab of guilt, a flash of your own back walking out of a candle lit room as a hand that was not your own reached hopelessly outward.

Your actual jaw clenched. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what?!” you snapped. “Hells bells Astarion, do you even like me?”

“You drive me to acts of insanity,” he said indignantly, raising up the glowing cord around his wrist as proof. “Do you think I’d willing subject myself to days of Gale’s passive aggressive commentary on my personal life for just anyone? Of course I like you. Gods below!”

You stared, unable to deny the waves of exasperation mixed with the sound of your own laughter as heard through another’s ears. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in the chest of the body opposite you making your mind spin, as you tried to re-establish the divide.

“Why did you ask me to come to you?” you asked. “What were you hoping to gain?”

Astarion took a deep breath. It was only then you noticed how tightly he was holding the chord linking you.

“I was hoping to get back on track,” he said, slowly. “I had a plan when we met. A nice simple plan. Seduce you, bed you, manipulate your emotions so you’d never turn on me. It was easy…instinctive.”

He met your eyes and for the first time, you felt him fight against the images threatening to breach the gap between you. You caught the barest flashes, memories of half forgotten faces passing by one after another. Shame and vile brushed the edges of your mind, and quickly faded as Astarion regained control.

“But, you seemed immune to my attempts,” he continued. “I could tell you enjoyed my attentions, but you never asked for more. My simple plan that had worked on countless targets, couldn’t get off the ground. And yet, you still gave me blood, protection…trust. I couldn’t understand it. I found myself wanting to know more, to know you. To anticipate what you would ultimately ask in exchange. And then that night, you showed me exactly what it was you desired.”

Something slipped through. You saw yourself in the center of the tavern with darkness surrounding you. A rise of fear entered your heart as you heard your name called from familiar lips. And then, the world shifted, light came back into the world and it was…beautiful.

“I thought I finally understood you,” he said. “A poor repressed urchin who had been hurt one too many times. All that was required was a more gentle touch. I could provide that. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He paused, his expression softening. “And then you had to do the most inconsiderate thing and surprise me all over again: you asked for my heart, in exchange for yours. I should have been elated. It meant my plan had worked, not the way I intended, but you had fallen for it…for me. The trouble was, I hadn’t accounted for the possibility that I would fall for you.”

You stared, unable to say anything as a well of emotion threatened to burst from you. It was as if someone pulled a bow across your chest, creating a resonating sound that moved in harmony with your very soul.

It was true, all of it.

By some miracle, you wrestled back control over your lungs and tongue.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “Even if I had, would you have believed me?”

You averted your gaze. It was answer enough.

“It’s alright,” he said, offering a wry smile. “Smart really. I wouldn’t have believed me either.”

You nodded in appreciation, your mind still reeling from everything he had just confessed.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

You frowned, unable to shake a question that had been stirring for some time.

“Do you even want to have sex with me?”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, his mouth falling open. “I’m standing here baring my soul to you and that’s what you ask?”

“You asked me what I was thinking,” you defended. “Besides, it’s a relevant question.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but let it go just as quickly with a huff.

“Well?” you prompted.

He made a series of non-commital noises, his mouth half forming words before being wrenched in another direction. The chord between you glowed brighter, twisting just a little deeper into his skin.

“I…don’t really know,” he said, slightly stilted, as if surprised by his own answer. “To be clear, I do find you physically enticing. In that aspect at least, I’d hardly qualify bedding you a chore, but... I spent two centuries using lust and desire to lure people back to him. In that time I developed the habit of taking myself out of my body, looking at it as if it were happening to somebody else. Even in those rare times it could be pleasurable, I still walked away feeling nothing but disgust and loathing. I don’t want those feelings associated with you. At the same time, I can’t help thinking that if we were together, it would be different. But, don’t take that to mean I expect it. Like I said, I don’t even know if I want it. Honestly, before you said it, I didn’t know saying no was an option.”

You took all of that in, your heart clenching as the full weight of what Cazador did to him settled on your mind. Red filed your vision, the sympathetic ache replaced with a rush of fury. He was a dead man. One way or another, you would see Cazador bloodied by the end of all of this. But as quickly as it had come you let the emotion pass. This wasn’t about him. You wouldn’t let him intrude any more on this moment.

“What do you want from me then?” you asked, softly.

To your relief, something familiar and teasing flashed across his face.

“I thought I’d made that obvious.”

With his free hand, he cupped your cheek allowing his thumb to lightly caress your skin. His scarlet eyes burned not with lust, but something warmer and just as desperate.

“You showed me the chorus of your heart. How could anyone look upon that and not desire it? The trouble is, the price you asked. I…I don’t know how to pay it. I don’t know how to be with someone that way, but I’m willing to learn. I want it all. I want you to have it all.”

The connection between you burned hot in your hand, but you couldn’t let it go. It felt so warm, so real. It filled every empty part of you to the point of bursting and still you wanted more. You were insatiable.

Astarion looked just as lost as you, his eyes glazed over with too many emotions for you to name. His body began to tremble. It was becoming too much.

In an instant you pulled his hand away, unwrapping the chord from around his wrist and tossing it aside.

He took a sudden deep breath as if coming up for air after being submerged in deep water.

“Shit,” he cursed, gulping for air. Closing his eyes, he ran a hand down his face as he tried to calm.

Your eyes widened as you caught the angry marks left behind on his wrist.

“Are you alright?”

He blinked hard as if clearing spots from his vision. “I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting that is all.” He turned his focus to you with a bewildered expression. “Does it always feel like that?”

“That’s admittedly a first for me,” you confessed. You reached out your hand, glancing at his injury. “Let me see.”

He followed your gaze frowning, as if surprised to note the welts forming on his wrist. Still he stepped closer allowing you to examine them without protest.

“Does it hurt?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Sort of numb, honestly, tingly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard to keep the rise of guilt and fear at bay. It didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” you said, quickly.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think a little thing like this is going to scare me off. I meant what I said. I intend to give you your fill.”

“You don’t have to give it all at once,” you promised. “I can be patient when it counts.”

A sly smile turned at his lips. “I almost hope you won’t. You’re not the only one who's starving.”

Heat spread up your neck, something Astarion undoubtedly caught as he gave a low laugh.

“Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what happens next?” he asked.

“I’m…not sure,” you admitted. “Nobody else has ever given me the chance to figure that out.”

He nodded slowly, before taking a small step back. His head tilted as if to examine you from every angle. A question started to form on your tongue just as the start of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He suddenly straightened before placing a hand on his chest and regarded you with a deep bow.

You grinned, matching him with a curtsy of your own.

He then offered his hand, which you easily took before he pulled you just a little closer. Your other hand found his shoulder while his pressed lightly on your waist. And then you did what was only natural. You danced.

It wasn’t anything elaborate. There was no fire or sparks of magic. You simply moved together to a song of your own imagination. It stirred in your chest, the barest pluck of a melody, but it was yours and his; the promise of a symphony to come.

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@ambrolyer, @cassiecasluciluce, @tamwritesstuff, @hallowedandhungry, @mangomonk, @amefuyuu, @righteous-scamp, @starved-kitten, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @twinkliker3000, @unrestrictedbyreality, @screechingphantommaker, @becksynthetic, @black-sapphic, @dicenete, @isharaneith, @sarcasticlittlebook, @catsandskyrimcafe, @sora-o-kaku, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ka-du-trur, @baldursgateslittlestar, @rakilein

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #asexual #asexual!reader #asexual!tav #bard!tav #baldur's gate iii #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

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marvelouslizzie · 1 year

Text

just let me make you feel better

summary: after a long day of work, you finally come back home and rest. your period is making your day miserable but your boyfriend is here to help you.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, period comfort, established relationship, pet names, mentions of menstruation pain, a little bit of period stigma, comfort offering, sexual activity during the period, nipple play, clit play, fingering, after care, obviously blood, unrealistic portrayal of male partners, no mention of y/n.

a/n: I just wanted to write a Bucky Barnes offers to comfort you during your period story so here we are. Unfortunately, this kind of care is really rare so I’m sorry for fucking up your expectations about men. Most of them don’t even do the bare minimum. This concept would shock them but don’t settle for anything less.

Thank you @notafunkiller and @es1dit for beta-reading and helping me better this story. Love you both!

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me or send me a question regarding the stories I write. I would love to talk about it and no, it would never bother me.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

God, you can’t wait for this day to be over. It’s not the worst day of your life, you know it, but still, the freaking pain just doesn’t want to go away. At least, not completely. It finds different ways to crawl back to you and keep you suffering.

You tried a lot of stuff, starting with good old painkillers. There’s no denying that the pill is helping you, but it’s just not good enough. Your back is hurting, joints are feeling sore and there’s still a headache on the back of your head that no matter how many painkillers you take, keeps lingering and torturing you. Like bleeding isn’t enough.

Yeah, being on your period and working at the same time is no fun. It’s not even bearable. Still, you make it through the day and come back just to drop on the couch. You really want to get rid of these clothes, take a hot shower and change into something comfortable, but you just don’t have the energy. Mentally, you are already doing all this stuff, imagining how good it would feel to stand under the hot water and just let it relax your muscles. Yet your legs don't want to move. You just lay on the couch like a bag of potatoes.

As you drift between sleep and being awake, you hear the keys jingling, signaling that your boyfriend is home. Is it weird that you can already smell him while he’s standing across the room? You have no idea but you can. It just feels like something… familiar. You have no idea how it works, but it makes you feel safe even though he did nothing but step into the apartment.

“Darling?” Bucky calls out because he isn’t used to not being greeted by you when he comes home. Usually, you are either going toward him or yelling “Welcome home, baby” from wherever you are.

You can’t find the strength to call out so you groan a little while raising your hand. God, his expression changes so quickly. He walks towards you at a trot.

“Are you alright?”

“I am.” You are just exhausted, nothing out of the ordinary. Especially not at this time of the month.

“Are you sure? You don’t look alright.”

“It’s that time of the month again.” The worried expression on his face slowly fades away when he notices you are actually alright. It makes you wonder what he thought happened to you, but you don't ask him.

“Oh, darling…” His voice is so caring. Your period completely saps you of your energy and he knows it. He knows how you suffer or what you do to make yourself feel better. “Did you take a painkiller?”

“Yes.” Of course, you did. That was the first thing you thought of.

“When?”

You stop for a second to think. “In the morning and after lunch.”

“So you can take another one now, right?”

That’s a good question. You can take another pill, but your stomach is already protesting at that thought. You should eat something before taking it, but you don’t feel like cooking. Even the thought is exhausting.

“But first you will need food.” God, is he reading your mind or what?

“I don’t feel like–” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s already standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

“I will prepare something for you.” When your words register, he turns around and looks at you. “You don’t wanna eat anything?”

“No, no. I was going to say I don’t feel like preparing anything.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” He turns around. “Don’t worry. I will make your favorite.”

You have yet to learn what he means by that because you have many favorites. A meal, sandwich, snack, or dessert? You find out what he means when he comes back with your favorite sandwich, a glass of water, and the painkiller you use only during your period. You love him for paying enough attention to notice that.

“Eat while I draw a bath for you. Warm water should help.”

Why didn’t you think about filling the tub and just sitting there? The thought of laying there for a while sounds so much more appealing than a quick shower. It doesn’t take long for you to finish the whole sandwich and take the pill. Your stomach isn’t protesting anymore, and neither are your taste buds. Still, the pain and that discomfort are there, lingering and making you regret being born. Men don’t have to suffer like this and it’s so unfair! You hate mankind for that privilege. While you are lost in your thoughts, Bucky comes out of the bathroom and you notice: No, you don’t hate the whole of mankind. There’s one exception. You can’t hate Bucky when he’s the most thoughtful person you've ever met.

“The bathtub is ready for you. Did you finish your sandwich?” He kind of sounds like a teacher or a parent, checking if you did everything you were supposed to.

“Yep, all done.” You gesture to the plate. “Took the painkiller, too.”

“Good job, doll.” He comes closer without taking his eyes off of you. “Wanna head to the bathroom now?”

“Yes, but I need to take some clothes with me first.”

“Don’t worry, I will take care of it. Just get in there and relax, okay?”

You just nod with a small smile on your lips. When he takes care of you like this, you feel so lucky and so seen. You never asked him to do any of this stuff for you. Occasionally, you just said “I don’t feel like cooking” thinking you would order take out or you asked for a painkiller, but he registered all that information and started to do things without you asking. Seeing how he paid attention and cared about you just makes you feel valued.

You have no idea how long you have been laying in the bathtub. It was nearly perfect with the bubbles and the scent. You expected him to show up and tell you what to do next, but that did not happen. After a while, you decide to properly clean yourself and drain the bathtub. That’s when you notice he put your towels to warm on the radiator, which instantly makes you smile. You wrap your hair with one and dry your body with the other. Thinking you might bleed around, you quickly leave the bedroom to find your clothes.

While you are thinking if you should go for a pad or a tampon, you find your missing boyfriend in your bedroom. Your clothes are already chosen and set aside, your favorite pajamas waiting for you.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“A little better. The painkiller started to work its magic.” You walk towards your clothes to put them on as quickly as possible, still thinking about the blood.

Bucky quickly gets in your way. “No need to rush.”

“No, no, I really need to rush.” He gives you a look that makes you think he's confused. “I don’t have a tampon on. I will bleed on the floor.”

“And?” His tone is so carefree, it confuses you.

“And we will have to clean it, Bucky.” You state the obvious.

“Then we will clean it.” He makes things sound so natural, so casual. Like it’s the most normal thing on earth, but you are conditioned to think that you shouldn’t bleed around, that you should take care of any mess you make.

“You don’t wanna see that.”

“Maybe I do.” His answer comes instantly, surprising you.

“Believe me, you don’t.” You make a move in the direction of your clothes, but Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Bucky!”

“Darling, I have been fighting for god knows how long. Do you think your period blood would disturb me?” His question sounds so genuine, you stop to think for a second. He has a point, but not really. It's a different kind of blood.

“I mean it’s not the same, is it?”

“Yeah, it’s not.” The confirmation you expect finally comes. “I’m used to seeing blood caused by violence, not by nature.”

Wait, what?

You don’t know how to react to this. Of course, it is natural, but it is also torture and it makes a mess every time. A huge mess. Usually, your exes were disturbed by the idea, keeping a respectful distance while you were on your period, but apparently not Bucky. His fingers were already grazing your skin carefully. He looks into your eyes, asking for permission silently.

“I really don’t feel like it, Bucky.” You hate saying no to him, but the pain is still there. You are sure it will make things uncomfortable.

“I’m just asking for permission to touch you, doll. I’m not asking for anything else.” He keeps confusing you tonight.

“What do you mean?”

“Just let me make you feel better.” His answer is simple, but not enough for you to understand his meaning. What does he mean by that?

“I think having you there now isn’t a great idea, Buck. I’m in pain and a little bit too sensitive.” You try to explain as simply as possible.

“Darling… There are other ways to make you feel better, or did you forget about those? Maybe I should remind you, huh?” Gosh, the smug smile creeping up his lips… It sends shivers down your spine. “Just lay down.” He gestures to the bed.

“I will blee–”

“Shh…” He doesn’t let you finish. “Just be a good girl and stop thinking too much.”

For fuck's sake… A good girl? He definitely knows how to shut your brain up. You slowly sit down on the bed and notice a big towel under you. He already thought about everything, so you won’t have to worry. So you can just enjoy this. If that’s what he wants, you can do that. You can shut your mind for a short while and try to enjoy yourself.

As he lies down next to you, he turns his entire body in your direction and props himself up on his elbow. His flesh fingers start to caress your skin very lightly, making their way to the towel you wrapped around your body.

“It is time to…” His fingers work quickly to undo the towel. “...take this off.”

He sounds somehow impatient. Maybe just to see you naked or hear the sounds you make while he touches you all the ways he knows you love. His fingers move to your nipple, fingertips grazing over carefully. As he touches you so lightly, another wave of goosebumps washes over you. It's not normal for you to be this sensitive, but your nipples are already hard. Your lips tremble as he moves closer and gives one a long lick.

“God, damn it.” You mutter and he instantly looks up.

“Should I stop?” The way he asks the question shows how concerned and focused he is.

“No, no.” You take a deep breath. “Just be gentle. I’m just…”

“Sensitive, I know.” He smiles and dives back in. His tongue swirls around your nipple over and over again until you start to cry out.

“Fuck!” That’s so unexpected. The pleasure you are feeling is foreign. Nipple play never felt like this before. “It feels so– so good.”

He moves his mouth away with a wet pop just to say: “Yes, surrender yourself to the feeling, darling.” Then he goes back to sucking your nipple, while his metal hand is massaging your other breast. It’s such an amazing change after feeling pain for hours and you can’t help but crave more. Your hips are rising unintentionally. Bucky’s flesh hand moves down to your body, sliding between your folds really carefully, but it makes you push your hips up again.

You've never felt this wet in your life. You are sure your period has a lot to do with it, but god… That’s not the only reason. The way he’s paying attention to your breasts, the way his index finger is working between your folds… It feels like magic. His fingers start rubbing on your clit and the next thing you know you're moaning his name over and over again. Whenever you moan, his tongue becomes more relentless around your nipple. The pleasure hits you suddenly, it takes your breath away.

“Buck–” Your back arches like a bow. “Oh my go–”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second. His fingers and tongue work you through your orgasm until you start to feel a little sensitive. You let a long breath out, proving how satisfied you feel.

Finally, he lets go of your nipple and looks up. Hair messed up, lips swollen and eyes glossy. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You breathe out again and it makes him smile widely. So fucking widely… “I feel great.” His hand rests on your pussy while his head is on your upper body. You lean down a little and he meets you in the middle in a messy kiss. God, his lips are the most delicious thing you've ever tasted. They're nearly sweet and just intoxicating.

You sigh loudly, feeling so much better than before. The pain is the last thing on your mind. You actually think about a possible second orgasm already and a little smile creeps up on your lips.

“What?” He asks wondering what you are thinking.

“I think I want a bit more.”

“Oh, you do?” He is fully smirking now. You just nod while biting one side of your lower lip. “Would it be okay if I put my fingers inside? Would that be comfortable for you?”

“I hope so. We can try and if it’s uncomfortable, I'll tell you.”

“What a good girl you are.”

Before you can say anything in return, his fingers move a little down and he pushes one of them inside.

“Bucky!” The sudden pleasure catches you off guard.

“Sorry, sorry. I will go slow.” He moves himself a little bit up, just to be able to kiss you comfortably. You look at him and excitement is written all over his face. He’s actually enjoying this even though he isn’t getting off himself, and you love how your pleasure affects him. Licking your lips, you close the little distance between you two.

He kisses you deeply while moving his finger in and out. He’s using just one, but dear god… you are so sensitive. It feels so good even though you aren’t completely filled. Slowly, he pushes the second finger inside, crooking them and rubbing them along a spot where you can see stars. Your mouth suddenly opens as you let out a loud moan. You are unable to kiss him back, it feels like your whole body just tensed up and your muscles stopped working.

“Yes! God, yes.” You manage to say while he keeps on working. “Just like that.”

“Don’t worry, doll.” He speeds up a little. “I won’t stop.”

He keeps working his fingers while kissing your neck. You can feel your second orgasm approaching and it feels so good, but also not enough.

“Please…” You beg without thinking. “Please…”

“Tell me what you want.” His voice sounds so deep, so full of desire.

“Faster. A little faster.” You take a deep breath. “I’m so– close.”

He doesn’t make you ask twice, just starting to move his fingers a little faster and that’s all it takes.

“Bucky!” You scream so loudly that it surprises even you, but it’s too late to bite your lip. The overwhelming pleasure takes over, making you scream so loudly that Bucky thinks all your neighbors know what you are up to. And he doesn’t care. They should know he is the one making you feel this good. He is the one who makes you forget about your pain and mindlessly moan his name like a prayer.

When you come down from your high, you feel boneless. It’s like your whole body relaxed after the blinding pleasure. Maybe it’s the mixture of the orgasms and the painkiller you took, but you are too tired to care.

While you stretch your arms, you notice Bucky isn’t next to you anymore. You look around to see where he went and he comes out of the bathroom with another towel in his hand.

“Looking for me?” God, his smile is so smug, but you can’t blame him. The way you just screamed his name without having his cock inside you… That must have boosted his ego. Rightfully so. His fingers are magical. And his tongue. Also his lips. The way he turns you on so much and pulls this pleasure out of you is unbelievable.

“Yes. Why did you leave me?” You know he didn’t but you like to play.

“Just got a wet towel for you.” He kneels in front of the bed, between your legs and you prop up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. He gently moves the towel on your thighs and wipes the blood he smeared while making you scream his name.

“I could clean myself. You didn’t have to.”

“I know you can, doll. Nobody said you can’t.” He rubs the towel against your slit and you jump a little, feeling sensitive. He notices your reaction and tries to do it more carefully. “I just want to help you.” After he’s done wiping, he folds the towel and puts it away. Immediately after, he grabs your clothes and helps you get dressed: your underwear first (and no, he did not forget about the pads), then your pajamas. In a couple of seconds, you're clean and all dressed up. “Now it’s time to rest.”

You move backward and get under the covers while watching him collect the towels all over the room and put them in the dirty laundry bin. It amazes you how he doesn’t forget about anything. He doesn’t let any small detail bother or worry you. You hear him washing his hands and he comes back with a smile on his face.

You don’t know how you got this lucky. Having a loving and caring boyfriend like him… Getting taken care of like this… You remember how your friends talk about their boyfriends and how they do absolutely nothing. You know that’s not how a relationship should be, but you also know how rare this is. Your eyes wander back to him while he is getting undressed, showing you how incredibly hard he is. Yet he didn’t even make a move to relieve himself. He didn’t ask for a hand or begged to be inside you like he does sometimes. He put you first and unfortunately that’s even rarer.

He quickly puts on his pajamas and slips right next to you in bed. His arms are already around your waist, pulling you closer. You carefully move your hand down and palm his still rock-hard erection.

“Nope.” His answer is simple yet firm.

“Let me take care of you, Bucky.” You try to say as sweetly as possible. You want to return the favor.

“Not tonight, darling.” He gently moves your hand away. “But I promise, you can do whatever you want to me when you feel better, alright?”

“Alright.” He’s right. You are feeling sleepy already, you can do this another time.

After all, you are his and he is yours. You have all the time in the world.

He pulls you even closer, putting his head on your shoulder behind your back.

“It’s time to sleep.”

“I love you Bucky.” You say while feeling the weight on your eyelids. It’s hard to keep them open.

“I love you too, darling.”

2K notes · View notes

ncteez · 1 year

Text

COLOR EVASION (j.s)

You were just browsing, looking at all of the various kinks and fantasies the great world wide web had to offer. It’s not like you intended to make an account on a specific website to meet someone. Really, you were just curious about what was behind the “only members can view this page” banner. What you definitely weren’t expecting was to be pulled into actually meeting one of the men behind said banner, or enjoying it so much that you’d like for him to hurt you more.

or the one where you join a kink website and a specific dom’s profile catches your attention enough to actually meet him at a hotel and practically ignore your safe words bc man, he’s good.

ao3 | m.list | minors dni !! | kindly leave feedback and reblog, i will kiss your forehead so fucking fast if you do.

wordcount― 8.7k

pairing― johnny x afab reader

content― dom!johnny, open minded sub!reader, smut, reader wants to explore her interests in kinks and finds the best person for the job

warnings― this is mildly cnc in some areas but reader does want it and there are safe words (colors) but she intentionally doesn’t use them. she’s having fun, she feels good, and only alludes to a “stop” because it makes johnny go harder.

note― uh, hi. i know i'm always on a sub-idol agenda but i had this wip half written that i lost steam for and, well, johnny brought the fire back to finish it. disclaimer: im not good at writing dom stuff, but i tried so pls forgive me if this is the worst thing you’ve ever read.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― MONSTER COCK JOHNNY AGENDA, reader is referred to as: “sweetheart”, “baby”, “dirty girl”, “pain slut”, and “plaything”, face fucking (m receiving), bulge kink but like– via throat, choking, drooling, dirty talk, slapping, restraining, suffocation, degrading, praise, panty sucking, brief oral for the reader, teasing, short lived thigh fucking, cream pie, cock-drunk reader, biting, abuse of breasts, orgasm via nipple stimulation, clit abuse, hair pulling, fingering, overstimulation, johnny is kind of a sadist at times, unprotected sex, aftercare

You joined this website out of curiosity, and you also messaged user SayPlease out of curiosity. You said please to him, you thanked him, you used all of those manners you grew up learning in a way that they weren’t intended for through instant messages with the man.

Truly, it was because you were curious and you had no intentions of actually doing it. You wanted to try out some fantasies in the safety of your own room, alone. You wanted to keep it under wraps and just see how your body reacts to the words and images the people on this website offer. You were expecting your body to react at least a little bit, but you weren’t expecting to have one of the best orgasms of your life guided by his words through a muffled speaker.

Johnny knew you were new to this, he knew you were just exploring, and most of all, he knew he could control you. After all, you did so well during that first phone call. He’s truly not surprised that you were willing to meet with him in person after a short week or so of communicating. All of them eventually want the same thing, you’re no different.

Pulling up to the hotel felt ill-fitting for you considering this isn’t something you’d normally do. No, of course not. Why would you go out and meet some random man you met on a fetish website? Why would you be wearing the prettiest panties you own in hopes to get some praise for them? Why would you have been the one to suggest meeting him in the midst of a sexting session where he sent you the most delicious image of his hand squeezing around his cock, texting that he knew you’d do a great job of choking it?

Why you, right? No one needs to know that answer. This is a private affair, one where only you and Johnny know what’s going to happen. You’re nervous, based on how he speaks to you alone. You keep forgetting how new you are to all of this. Some rules you know are in place, but what about other things? Will he explain? Will he sit you down and make you sign a contract like what happened in that one book everyone was raving about?

The walk from your car to the room with dainty metal numbers screwed into the door felt like it took ages. You didn’t have a key, and you were a bit early for this meeting but the anxiety bubbling in your gut said that if you didn’t leave when you did, you probably never would have come anyway.

He was already behind that door though, and only when he starts opening it do you realize that never once have you seen his face. You’ve heard his voice, you’ve seen his body, but never his face. He, on the other hand, never saw you at all, he only heard you. Is this how this type of thing usually goes down? Are appearances not part of the fun? Suddenly, you find yourself worried that he’s only going to be attractive from the neck down, which would ruin it for you, if you’re being honest.

On instinct you back away from the door, ready to run back to your car and delete your profile, block his number, and ultimately pretend that none of this happened. When he comes into view though, you find yourself freezing on the spot.

Messy dark hair, tattoos, somewhat soft eyes. This man looks exactly like a dom that would talk to you the way he already has. It doesn’t match the face you imagined on him though. Hardened eyes, a grimace on his lips, something along the lines of a person who probably carries themselves as some type of cocky prick with a huge ego to match his cock. But no, this is what Johnny looks like. He looks big, and almost compassionate if you’re reading his facial expression right.

He doesn’t say anything to you at first, he just watches your reaction to his face reveal all while he takes in what you look like for the first time. He liked the surprise of it all, not knowing what his next partner actually looks like until he’s about to have them on their knees. He’s had all sorts of partners fulfill his fantasy without the expectation that he would want them to, after all, it’s about the pleasure and not entirely the attraction in his mind. You, however, are incredibly attractive already. He imagines how much better you’d look with tears in your eyes.

“There she is.” He says warmly, stepping to the side and letting you into the room. “More beautiful than I could have hoped for.”

Already you’re blushing as you step into the room, deciding once and for all that, yeah, you’re doing this. His confidence in complimenting you matches the way he talked to you before, except now he’s in front of you and looking at you. It hits you straight in the stomach, even as you still try to comprehend his kind words versus the ones he growled through the speaker at you just days ago.

You’re silent as you take your shoes off and stand awkwardly in front of the made-up, plush, probably half-assed cleaned hotel bed.

“I get it, you’re nervous.” He chuckles out, locking the door behind him and walking over to casually sit on the bed slightly behind you. His legs fall open easily as he looks down at himself, then up at you through the messy fringe falling in front of his eyes. “You can still back out, you know.”

You shake your head, struggling not to make eye contact with him.

“Are there like–” You’re embarrassed by how nervous you are, unable to string together a sentence or try to keep this calm and casual.

“Hm? Go on, I’m not going to do anything until you’re sure you want it.” He smiles, cocking his head to the side and trailing his eyes up and down your body. He really can’t stop looking at you, hoping that you’ll let him have his way. The memory of how you sounded on the phone flooding his mind as he puts your face to the moaning voice. He remembers how wet you sounded, he could hear you fuck yourself so clearly.

“Rules. Are there any rules?”

Johnny darts his eyes to the ceiling in thought. Right, he knows you’re new but– damn is he selfish.

“If you want rules, we can set them now. A safe word is good,” He pauses, reaching to grab at your hand to pull you next to him. “Sit.”

He says it politely, more like an offer than demand but you can’t see him as anything other than the dominant man you’d spoken to before. Even with a face that looks as soft as his right now.

“Usually, for me at least, a safe word is the only thing I set and it tends to help people learn their limits. I will stop if you say it.” He tries to explain, ultimately to leave limitations up to you during the act. After all, since you’re so new, how would you even know what you don’t like anyway? Sure, some people in this community find Johnny’s way of doing things shady at best, but he does communicate his preferred method first. He isn’t trying to trick you into doing something you don’t want to do, he just wants the freedom to let you explore all of the things that he likes.

“I’m not sure what rules are even meant to be set.” You explain, finally gaining enough composure to talk clearly now. “I’m not into water spots, though. I know that for sure.”

He nods in agreement with a shrug, looking at you as if he is encouraging you to continue.

“What’s the safe word then?” You ask, unintentionally fiddling your fingers in a nervous way. You catch his eye watching you, and you note the way he does his best to calm you from any anxiety.

“Some people pick random words, but colors are usually a good way to go. Yellow for when you’re not sure, but I can keep going. Red for when I need to stop.”

“No green?” You ask.

“I mean, technically everything is green until you state otherwise, isn’t it?”

He’s right.

“Any other things that are a hard no?” He asks again, ruffling his hair through his fingers. “Fair warning, I will hit you, choke you, restrain you, among many other things,” he pauses and looks for your reaction. “unless you tell me now that you don’t want it.”

You look at him and how his soft features have hardened slightly with his tense jaw, your thoughts derailing again as you see the words coming from a mouth so plush and pretty.

“Is kissing allowed?” You ask, completely unrelated to his string of offered abuse.

“If you want to kiss me through all of this, and your mouth is available, sure, I don’t see why not.”

You nod, taking it all in. Yellow. Red. No watersports. You’re going to hurt, and you can kiss him.

“Okay.” You say in a small voice, looking away from him and down to your lap. “Can you start slow?”

“Probably not.” Johnny admits. He’s incredibly attracted to your nervousness, and even more attracted to the way your voice is already shaking and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“You have safe words, use them if it’s too much. I don’t ‘go slow’,” He adds, spreading his legs a bit more. “I do what I want, you do what I want, and maybe you’ll get what you want in return.”

There is no tone of politeness in his voice, and you assume he switched fully into this persona the moment you muttered the word “okay.” More nervous now, you almost wonder if it’s too late to back out. Do you even want to though? Because now you’re turning to look at him and you can see the way he’s looking back at you. You’re just exploring, and he’s right, you have safe words.

“Okay.” You say against the anxiety in your belly, knowing that once it starts, that’s your chance to decide if your exploration was worth it.

Without warning, you hear the zipper of his jeans being pulled at, and before you know it his length is out and on display. He grips it much like he did in the photo he sent to you. Matching his body more to his face now, you stare at it. It’s much bigger in person, and more intimidating to imagine having inside of you. Not only is it long but it’s incredibly thick, part of you wonders if you could even fit it into your mouth at all.

“You mentioned being on birth control, right? And being tested as clean?” He asks, looking down at himself and then back at you to watch you slowly nod in an answer.

He basks in the way you stare, blinking at the way he’s gripping onto himself for you to see. But, like he said, he’s not going to start slow for you. With the brief discussion and questions out of the way, he’s going in full force.

“On the floor.” He nods his head to the space between his legs.

Your body takes you to the position between his legs without so much as a second thought. Your fingers instinctually land against the harsh fabric of his jeans as you attempt to prepare yourself, swallowing hard at the image of his cock towering before you.

“No, hands behind your back.” He guides you with a smile and watches the way you pull your hands back and put them right where he asked you to. “Already so obedient? I knew you wouldn’t be hard to handle.”

You can’t tell if it’s a compliment or not, but it feels like it is because it sends a sense of pride through you. Does he like to fight for what he wants, or does he prefer having full control?

Johnny releases the grip on his length and places his hand at the back of your head, slowly guiding your mouth to his balls, twitching a bit at the way you instantly have your tongue out to lick and taste wherever he guides you. That alone drives him wild, seeing as how you may be new to this whole submissive thing, but surely you know how to suck a man off, right?

“Dirty girl, you barely even know me.” He teases as he watches you lap away at him, a smirk against his lips while he guides your head up to the underside of his cock. “What would your parents think?”

You knew he’d degrade you, but in all fairness, none of what he just said to you is a lie. You don’t even know his last name, you didn’t even know what he fucking looked like until fifteen minutes ago. Your parents would have a heart attack if they knew, and somehow feeling this dirty makes your stomach tumble and panties dampen.

He stops guiding you for a moment, feeling your tongue travel back down to his balls, licking and prodding against them in a way that makes him want to buck his hips up, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t show want or need for his partners, ever. That’s their role to fill, because if he wants to fuck something, he can.

“Up,” He guides, feeling your tongue travel up the underside of his cock again. “Open up.” He adds as he smiles down at you, seeing you open your mouth fully while keeping your tongue flat against him.

When you circle your lips around the head, you wanted to take your time. You wanted to prepare for the fact that Johnny has a huge cock and it’s going to take some getting used to. Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen though, because now his hand is putting pressure on your head to go down, and your body fights it slightly because your throat has never taken a cock this big.

“No?” He asks, pulling your head off of him and seeing if you’re already going to give him a red, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him and instead, focus your eyes on the head of his cock trying to be better prepared.

You almost hear the chuckle he lets out, the silent code word of green shining through in the way you say nothing. With that, he places both hands on your head and holds it there.

“Deep breath–” He encourages. “Look at me.”

Your eyes dart up to his as you take in a sharp inhale, and then, suddenly, you’re feeling him press past your lips again. You close your eyes and try to move your head down on your own, but it doesn’t budge, he’s holding you in place and at this point all you can do is let him.

“Open your eyes, look at me.” He demands this time, pressing further into your mouth and leaving little room for you to fight it. You do your best to look up at him, straining your eyes as he watches his cock disappear deeper into your mouth.

For a moment, ignoring the fact that your lips are being spread impossibly wide and you can feel your throat attempting to constrict around the intrusion, you watch the way his face stares down at you. He’s really into this. Concentrated on sliding his full, hardened cock as deep as it can go into your mouth. And when he hits the back of your throat and there’s a tear shedding down your cheek, he fucking chuckles.

“It’s not so bad, right?” He asks, knowing you can’t answer with a mouth full of him.

That’s when the grip on your head becomes harsher and he starts fucking his hips forward, past your lips. He can feel you struggle, squeezing his length as it fills your throat, dripping precum and fully aware that you can’t even taste it.

“I can go deeper.” He decides, standing to his feet from the edge of the bed, holding your face on his cock and pressing in more, until he can feel the drool on your chin drip down and onto his balls.

He stares down at you and the way your neck cranes. He can almost see the bulge of his cock intruding your throat as he presses in tightly if he angles his head right. He coos at you, rubbing a thumb against your cheek.

“You’re taking me so well–” Johnny compliments, reaching his hand down to rest against your neck so that he can feel his length sliding in and out of your throat. “Do you hate this?”

You can’t respond, closing your eyes and trying to breathe through your nose. Your jaw is already hurting, your makeup is now ruined, and for some reason, you don’t hate it. You like the feeling of your breath being lost, with his hand pressed against any airway you could have possibly used at this moment.

Arms still behind your back, you can’t help but pull them forward to brace your hands against your own knees when he continues to fuck into your mouth at a more aggressive pace. When he pulls almost all the way out, you steal little gasps that end up sounding more like wet, desperate, attempts to breathe. When he presses all the way back in, bruising your throat in an immaculate show of how big he is, he doesn’t make a single sound and only concentrates on the way he can feel his cock sliding against the palm of his hand through the expanse of skin along your neck.

He does this for what feels like ages to you, and briefly you forget the pain of it and remember when he texted you the photo, saying you’d probably rather be choking on it. Experiencing it now, it’s more than you had imagined before, but also, in its own way, a million times better than you could have imagined.

Johnny’s hips start to slow as he releases his grip on your neck and moves his hands either side of your head. He holds you there on him as he tenses his muscles, your nose pressing against his abdomen and you can feel his cock twitch in the deepest depths your throat has to offer. You are continuously gagging around him and only now does he let out a moan, one that is deep and breathy. You open your eyes to try and look, but the angle doesn’t allow for it. All you can see is the expanse of skin along his abdomen and chest before his hands release your head.

He’s expecting you to pull back, considering you haven’t gotten a full breath of air since he started doing this, but you don't. He jerks his head down to look at you when he feels your hands grip at his jeans again. Johnny doesn’t even think to tell you to put them back behind your back, because you are willingly still choking on him. He can feel your tongue struggle to share the space in your mouth with him, the heaviness of his cock weighing it down.

“Shit–” He groans, staring down at you and the way you close your eyes so tightly in concentration, all in an attempt to please him. “Oh, fuck.” He throws his head back again this time, feeling the way you try to move your mouth on him, essentially deep-throating all on your own.

When he looks back down at you, not fully able to keep his head thrown back so he can bask in the feeling, he’s floored by the wetness against your cheeks. You’ve been crying this whole time, dribbling drool, and taking it so well. He makes a point to pull himself out of you.

The whimper that leaves your lips is something he doesn’t think he can forget. A raspy whimper. A fucking cry, he’d be lying if it didn’t sound like you were disappointed that he stopped suffocating you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He starts sweetly, pinching your drool-coated chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “You liked the way I fucked that tight little throat, didn’t you?”

You blink through your tears, nodding to him. You surprised yourself with how much you were able to take in that instant, and how willing you were to do it for longer.

“Like you were made for it,” He hisses out this time, pulling you up by the chin so that you can stand in front of him, “let’s see how wet you are.”

You can’t look away from his eyes, especially with the way he stares directly into yours when he cups his palm between your legs. Even with your clothes on, your body prickles with goosebumps at the sensation of him touching you there.

“Can feel you through these shorts,” he smiles, dipping his head down to ghost over the shell of your ear before moving his hand to the button of your shorts. “I bet you want me to touch you.”

You’ve never begged before, and you never really understood why people begged at all, but at this moment you think you would absolutely fall right back to your knees and plead for him to touch you. You can feel your shorts sticking to you, your panties uncomfortably tucked into your seeping pussy at the very act of him fucking your mouth.

“Please?” You choke out, voice still raspy as you try to speak.

Johnny chuckles at your pathetic attempt and pulls you by your shorts to step forward as he takes one step back. He shakes his head at you in pity, sitting himself on the bed as he drags you to stand between his legs.

“Turn around.” He guides you with his hand before circling your ass with his hands and landing a short slap against the back of your thigh. “Now, sit.”

He still guides you, positioning his cock between both of your plush thighs and holding in a shiver at the way the hem of your shorts drags against his length.

You know you get nothing out of this, and he’s not going to touch you yet but fuck, you need it at this point. He watched you gag around him, he watched you try your fucking best, and this is what you get in return? The head of his cock peeking from your thighs as you squeeze around them? So be it.

You keep both feet on the floor, doing your best to keep your legs together as you make an attempt to bounce against his lap but he stops you instantly.

“I didn’t say you could move,” he warns, placing his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist before leaning both of you back and then rolling you over to your side. “Cross your legs, and don’t move.”

You do exactly as he asks, crossing your legs at the ankle and lying there still as he slips his cock from between your thighs. You wait like this for a moment before you feel the head of his length nudging between your legs again, this time more wet than before, and then his hand is traveling to your belly and under your shirt from behind you.

“Ever get off from having your tits played with?” he asks, his hand ignoring your bra and pinching straight through the sheer fabric against your nipple. “Would love to see how you’d drench these shorts if you could do that for me.”

Your mind is racing, feeling his fingers tightening the pinch against your nipple and his cock lazily sliding between your thighs. You shake your head, not knowing if it is even possible to get off that way. Sensitive tits aside, if he can do it, you might just have to find a way to claim Johnny as your dom, and no one else's.

“You haven’t?” He chuckles from behind you, snaking his other hand under you and up to your other tit. “Let’s see.”

He uses both hands to move your bra to the outer swell of your breasts and gropes both of them before pausing and focusing on his cock between your legs for a split second.

“Keep your legs tight for me, sweetheart, I’ll reward you for it.”

You squeeze your legs tighter as you feel his fingertips gently flick both of your nipples. You try to focus on that sensation alone, feeling a short jolt of pleasure travel down your body and straight to your clit. God, you want him to touch your pussy so badly, because there’s no way you can come from this alone.

His focus falls back to you, fucking his hips forward all while he allows his fingers to put more and more pressure into the flicks and pinches. You must not realize the way your body trembles even at this, and it’s driving him fucking insane. You’re so new to this, but you suck cock like you’ve been a submissive plaything for years. You have so much to learn, so much to experience, and it’s hard for him not to want to do it all right here, right fucking now.

Without warning, he pulls his hips back and leaves his cock untouched. You’re about to turn your body to him in confusion but he does it for you. Rolling you over onto your back and positioning himself between your legs after standing to kick his jeans off first. He looks at you, deep and dark eyes matching the smirk on his face.

“On second thought,” he starts, pulling your shirt off of you in one swift motion and staring down at your chest. “I want to see your tits before I ruin them.”

Typically, it’s normal for you to be fairly silent in these situations, so having no response for him isn’t a surprise. What is surprising is the way your throat instantly forces out a small moan when his legs forces you to spread yours as he settles between them.

Even the sensation of your pussy opening beneath your shorts at the spread of your legs has you feeling more aroused than before. So, when he shocks you with a quick slap against one of your tits, you’re not even surprised that it feels good.

He watches your face after that slap, your slack jaw rising into a small and cocky smirk at the realization that you’re liking what he’s doing. He’s still in the green, so he slaps again, harder this time before leaning down and licking the spot he just hit.

He pulls your bra up with one hand, raising it to your collar bone to release both of your tits and leaving them vulnerable to any hit, kiss, bite, or pinch he has to offer. You don’t care, because when you manage to open your eyes and look at him, he’s entirely focused on the way your nipples harden and soften from the sensations.

When he leans down to lick, your pussy clenches at the wet heat of his tongue flicking your nipple, and when his teeth graze as a warning for a future bite, you only anticipate it. Your body instinctively humping up each time a jolt is sent to your clit. He bites hard, and then pulls back to slap against your other tit even harder. Until you’re left shaking, babbling incoherently with gasps and curses.

“Does it hurt enough, sweetheart?” He coos, leaning back down to lick the growing swell against your tits. “Do you want more?”

He’s surprised that you nod, chuckling to himself because he was already going just as hard as he normally would when a woman likes breast abuse. You want more? You want him to go harder? He hums in response, using one hand to pinch harshly against one of your nipples and dipping down to suck against a particularly swollen and sore area.

You feel the pain, the sensation running down your body much like the arousal and pleasure does. It’s almost hard to tell the difference between them, aside from the fact that the pain actually hits harder. The feeling of his mouth abusing you, his hands, all while his cock is hanging heavy and neglected against your thigh? You can take more than this even, you’re sure of it.

Without really intended to, your hands find their way to his hair. He almost pulls back to demand that you let go, to inform you that he gave no permission to touch him, but the way you pull against his strands has him replacing his harsh sucking and biting against your flesh to flicking his tongue against your other nipple. Surely, you can come from this. He’s going to make damn sure you’re soaking your shorts before he rewards you again.

You moan at the flutters of his tongue gently flicking your nipple, especially in contrast to his other hand bruising your other breast. It’s strange, really, to feel that familiar build up in your stomach but then again, your panties are tucked so tightly between your lips that your clothing is actually offering a bit of pleasure in that front too. Your clit is harshly being restricted and somehow, that offers relief in it’s own way.

For the first time in your life, you feel waves washing through your body that feel so hot that you’re sure you have a fever. He continues to stimulate your nipples, replacing his tongue with his other hand as he pulls back and watches you fall apart beneath him. His cock twitches wildly at the image. Your lips parting, tongue darting out to try and collect the saliva threatening to fall from the corners of your mouth, eyes rolled back before you squeeze them tightly and fucking tremble.

Your lower half is humping up, your chest is chasing the abuse of his fingers, and you feel nothing but heat as you orgasm for an embarrassingly long time. All the way until your ears pick up the sound of him cooing at you.

“Dirty girl, you made a mess.” He smiles, releasing your tits and sliding down the bed before resting his chin on your knee.

You’ve barely come back to reality when you feel your shorts unsticking from your core. Panties still tucked uncomfortably against you, he tries to coo again, but instead he groans at the image of both your pussy and your shorts.

“Fuck,” he stares. “You really did soak them.”

He analyzes your shorts briefly before tossing them to the side and bracing both hands on your knees to spread your legs out. There, he hooks his pointer finger beneath the panties sitting tightly against your hole and pulls them out.

“So fucking wet,” he comments, realizing that your entire pussy is glistening with arousal. He pulls your panties away from you, offering relief to your core before slipping those down your legs as well.

You weren’t expecting him to do it, but then again, you weren’t expecting to let him do it when he shoves the panties into your face.

“Open up.” He smiles, pressing the panties into your mouth with two fingers. “Suck.”

You do, wondering how the fuck you ended up in a situation where this actually turns you on. He’s loving it though, watching your hole pulse as you suck your own arousal out of the fabric for him. You almost forgot his promise of a reward, if you’re being honest. So, yet again, you’re surprised when you feel his tongue, without any warning, lick straight against that pulsing hole and up to your clit.

Your legs shake around him, instinctively closing around his head before both of his strong arms spread them back out again. He chuckles against your pussy, and when you inhale to try and regain control of the sensitive pleasure taking over your body, you can only taste yourself. Each breath replaced with your past orgasm, each moan coming out as a choked and desperate whine.

The pleasure is short lived though. Johnny takes note of your whining, licking and tasting you to the point that he’s the one that’s about to fucking lose it. He’s quick to regain his control, licking a languid stripe up your folds before landing against your clit and grazing his teeth against it.

He holds you down when you jump at it, groaning at the sensitivity and pain. He grazes his teeth against it again, and again, and then finally nibbles against it. Your whining gets louder and he swears he can hear a whisper of a ‘wait, stop–’ as you spit the panties out of your mouth and your legs still try to squeeze around him, but he still holds you down with a chuckle.

“You know the words to use, sweetheart.” Johnny reminds you before nibbling again.

You could end this torture right now. Your clit has been neglected this whole time until now, and it’s not gentle. He’s biting, he’s grazing, and it fucking hurts. All you have to do is say the color, all you have to do is choke it out between his evil ministrations, but you don’t.

“That’s what I thought.” He laughs, leaning back and sitting up between your legs. He releases his hold on your hips, now pressing one hand flat on your stomach and holding you down that way before using his other hand to tap lightly against your clit this time. “Didn’t know you were interested in being a pain slut.”

You groan, unable to answer between his quick slaps to your clit. Swallowing hard, you try to speak. He notices your attempt and holds back his next, harsher slap.

“Baby wants to speak now?” He asks, rubbing your clit gently and encouraging you to try.

“Yellow,” you finally whimper, and he raises his brow.

“Just a yellow?” He confirms, waiting for you to nod before holding back entirely from the slaps and instead, pinching your clit much like he did to your nipples.

For some fucking reason, this hurts more than the slaps but the consistent pain is more tolerable than the sudden, anticipated slaps. This, you like.

“Green.” You manage to moan out this time, hips humping up much like before as a way to ask for more.

He tilts his head, thinking it’s cute when you use the color codes and thinking it’s even cuter that you’re still fucking drooling through it all. He pinches harder, watching you react, he dips his head down again and offers a bit more pleasure that way too. All the way until your legs are shaking again, and he knows now that you’re already about to fall apart again.

Despite your confirmation and willingness to let him continue the abuse of your pussy, he pulls back entirely, collecting the wet seeping out of you and sliding it down his cock with his fist.

“Look at me.” He demands, staring between your legs. You listen, managing to open your eyes in frustration and watch him. “Did you want to come again?”

His eyes dart to you, and your pussy pulses yet again when you nod, releasing a frustrated sigh. He ignores it, looking back down at your hole, his thought process switching to his own pleasure.

“Do you know how much I want it to hurt you when I fill you up?” He asks again, fisting his cock faster, using his other hand to grab your face and force you to look into his eyes. “I could be so fucking deep inside of you right now, you know that, right?”

You groan, your body threatening to release something that resembles an orgasm on those words alone.

“Fuck–” You try to moan for him, you try to beg, but he stops you by squeezing your cheeks tighter.

“Fuck, what?” He asks, feeling his own orgasm welling up inside of him before he grips the base of his cock, denying him of that pleasure. “You?”

You nod aggressively, your hand reaching to grip his arms and brace yourself.

“Say it,” he demands, releasing his cock and using his other hand to run his fingers up your pussy. “Say you want me to hurt you.”

You choke out the words, salivating at the very idea of him doing it more than he already has.

“So dirty,” he groans, shuffling back on the bed and standing to his feet. He quickly removes the rest of his clothes, the musky scent of him blowing past you as he throws his shirt over your face. “Take your bra off, dirty girl, let me see how much you want it.”

Removing your bra ss quickly as possible, you toss it off the bed along with his shirt before looking at him with a question in your eye.

“Come on, take it.” He says, glancing down at his cock as he stands at the foot of the bed in front of you. “You think I’m going to fuck you? Fuck yourself.”

Honestly, it’s like you’re seeing tunnel vision. Nothing in this room exists but you and his cock. Entirely tuned into your pleasure, your pussy aching from sensitivity and lack of being stretched open, you’re instantly leaning forward to get to him.

He watches the way you pull yourself from the bed, acting like an animal as you fall to your knees and take him into your mouth much like you did before. His jaw tenses at your hunger, and he holds back a moan at the way you appear to have lost yourself entirely for him. He doesn’t fuck his hips forward, he doesn’t touch you, he just stands there. Watching you unravel on your knees, feeling your eager tongue try to force a reaction from him.

“I said to fuck yourself,” He warns, stepping back and pulling his cock from your mouth. “Go on, you can use it if you want to.”

He smiles when he says it, and in your head, you don’t care if it’s some sort of trick or play of words. You’d gladly spread out on the bed and absolutely pound your pussy on your fingers alone if he so much as hinted for you to do it, but at this point his cock is out, and it’s heavy.

Johnny is a bit shocked when you shove him back, eyes still glazed over in a way that shows him that you’re not in your right mind. He steps back, allowing you to press him all the way until he’s leaned against the hotel vanity. Raising his brow, kind of impressed, he allows you to hook one leg around him and instantly holds your leg in place to balance you there.

He still says nothing, he doesn’t move past holding your leg in place around him, and his eyes remain on yours as you reach between the two of you and position his cock to your core. There, he chuckles when your face turns from something that seemed determined, into relief at the stretch of his head entering past your lips.

Still, he stands, chuckling at how desperate you are to fuck him this way, rather than just turning around and bending over. Surely the position would be easier for you, but then it all makes sense when he feels your lips slacked against his, panting against him as you make attempts to find some sort of rhythm.

You did ask if kissing was allowed, and god, he’s glad you did. He growls into it, pressing his tongue past your slack lips and tasting the remnants of your panties.

“You’re already so gone,” he whispers into your mouth, feeling your shallow humps on his cock. “I’m hardly even inside of you, sweetheart.”

You don’t really hear those words. Honestly, your body is moving on its own and doing what it can do at this moment. The angle isn’t easy, but you wanted to kiss him so fucking badly, that you had to do it this way.

He pulls out of you though, leaving little reaction for you to do anything other than feel embarrassed by your attempt to fuck yourself on him. He doesn’t expect you to, apparently, because he’s instantly swirling you around and shoving you to the bed. Bending you over and placing a hand at the back of your head before pressing your face into the blankets. His other hand holding both of your hands behind your back with ease.

“Better?” He asks, easily positioning his cock and shoving into you with one quick thrust, bottoming out entirely. “Hm?” He adds, pulling out and shoving in again.

Your mouth is open in a silent moan at the intense stretch, tasting nothing but the fabric of the blanket your face is currently shoved into.

“Can’t hear you,” He grunts, picking up the pace and pistoning his cock in and out of you so fast that you can barely catch your breath regardless of the blankets already making it difficult. “Say something.”

You can’t. You can only groan at the feeling of his cock stretching you open repeatedly, at his hand shoving your face further against the mattress until all you can do is tense your body.

He feels it, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that even he gets the breath knocked out of him. Gripping your hair, he pulls your head up and listens to your gasps for air. His hips slam harder, harder, harder, until he feels the pleasure threaten to hit him. That’s when he stops, burying himself into you entirely before releasing your head and falling forward against you.

“Don’t fucking move.” He warns, twitching inside of you as he feels you heave for air beneath him.

You try not to move, but your sensitive body reacts to even the sound of his breath behind your ear. Everything is more sensitive than you could ever imagine your body being. Your bruised and swollen tits are throbbing against the mattress, your clit is pulsing at the fullness of his cock inside of you, and your pussy is struggling still to adjust to his size. It feels fucking immaculate. You want him to move, you want to move. You want to be fucked, obliterated, destroyed.

“Wait–” You manage to muffle out, knowing full well that it’ll get him to do the exact opposite.

“I’m not even fucking you,” he laughs, pressing his hips forward a bit more, causing you to whimper in response.

“Stop, just, give me a second.” You cry out.

“Not how this works, sweetheart,” He laughs, pulling his hips back and pointedly thrusting into you again. “So lost you forgot how to use words?”

You nod, smirking against the blankets and knowing he can’t see it.

“Liar.”

His hips speed up, this time thrusting into you so hard that the bed itself scoots further forward and bangs against the wall. You yelp in pleasure, rolling your eyes back and wanting so badly to see his face as he fucks you.

“Johnny, please.” You groan and he pulls back, wondering if you actually are so lost that you’ve forgotten the colors.

“Colors, sweetheart. Red for stop.”

You shake your head almost aggressively at that, bracing your hands on the bed and pushing your ass back against him.

It floors him, really, that you’ll ask him to stop and then blatantly ignore your own words by fucking yourself back on him. You’re insane, honestly.

“Please what, then?” He asks, smiling as he watches you fuck back against him.

“Let me see you do it.”

He obliges, tilting his head at the request but allowing it nonetheless. You can feel him slip out of you before his fingers replace his cock. He doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your clenched pussy even for a moment as he guides you to roll over and shoves you back on the bed, your legs hanging off the end of it. He braces himself at the end of the mattress, resting his cock against your core as he scissors his fingers inside of you with a smile.

“Wanna see me fucking ruin you?” He smirks at you, pulling at your legs and guiding you to wrap them around him. “Watch me then.”

You do, eyes zoned in on him as he grips tightly at your legs and pulls his fingers out of you. You can’t even catch your breath, which is no longer a shock to you, when he slides back into you. Studying his face as he does it, you can’t tell if he feels good or if this is just a service he does on the regular. You wonder what you’d have to do to break that stone-cold look in his eyes, what it takes to get him to moan without restraint, to show you that you’re also making him feel good.

He fucks you so well, so deep, and god, it becomes so difficult to keep your eyes on him with each painful thrust. The bed continues to knock against the wall, your cries become louder and louder, and finally, fucking finally, you hear him release his breath in a low and guttural moan.

That’s it. That’s what you want to hear from him, time and time again.

“Harder,” you urge him, feeling his hands tighten around your legs before he’s releasing them and dropping his hand to your throat. “Harder.” You continue.

He does, putting all of his strength behind his thrusts, losing himself momentarily in the moment and squeezing your throat tighter as he grunts out at you with a defeated chuckle.

“Of course, you’d be the one to pull this out of me.” He admits, his smile never falling from his lips as he closes his eyes and listens to the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. “Of course, you’d be the one to grip my cock like this.”

You’re gone, not even realizing that you’ve been on the edge for a while now in the way his thick cock continuously massages your g-spot. You tighten your legs around him, forcing him to bury himself deep inside of you as you clench and grip around him in a release.

He allows it, sliding his hand up your throat before releasing it and using two of his fingers to hook your mouth open. There, he watches you drench him, he feels your arousal gushing out of your stuffed pussy and onto the bed, and now, now it’s his turn.

“That’s it, come all over me,” he coos, pulling his hips back and slamming back into you despite your tightened legs around him. “Feel it.” he adds, accenting his words with another particularly deep thrust.

You’re entirely silent, and he’s loving it as he slides his fingers deeper into your mouth, holding your tongue down and imagining which way he’d like to fill you up. He could watch his seed run down your thighs, he could pull out and fuck your throat until climax, he could pull out and deny himself a bit more, just to see you fall apart more.

It hits him a bit too fast though, when he’s looking down your throat and watching your eyes slowly open to look at him. There’s the tears, your sensitive pussy probably begging for him to pull out, to give you some relief, to be gentle. He offers one last thing to you, pulling his fingers from your mouth and dragging them down.

There, he rubs against your swollen clit until you’re writhing under him to get away. Still no safe words have been used, and you’re fully capable of stopping him at this moment. But you don’t. So, he doesn’t stop. The sensation of your body writhing, fighting the pain, chasing the smallest hint of pleasure throws him into his release. He presses into you so hard that the bed remains in a slightly tilted position, fitting snugly against the wall as he paints your inner walls with thick, hot cum.

You whimper at the feeling, legs falling open from around him as your body tries to wiggle away with your post-orgasm shocks. He moans each time, falling forward half way through his orgasm..

“You love being filled with my cum, don’t you?” He growls against your ear as he fucks his cum into you. “Is this what you wanted?”

You listen to him speak, the words matching the pain in your body to such an extent that you’d probably let him keep going if he wanted to. You’d let him break you of all sanity, you’d let him tie you up, use you, abuse you.

And when he goes silent, his sweat dampened skin raises and he slips out of you with care and a deep sigh of relief. You simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how long you’ve been here, why it took you so long to explore this side of your sexuality, and why you’re not ready for it to be over, despite your aching body.

You feel his presence leave you for a brief moment and return with a warm and wet towel. You jolt when it touches between your legs, and you almost pull away when he runs it over your clit.

“You must be sensitive,” Johnny says gently with a voice you’ve never heard from him, “They always are after their first time.”

Nodding, you try to pull yourself up and close your legs, but your body feels stiff.

“Relax, you’ll probably faint if you try to stand up too fast.” He tries to explain, folding the towel over to clean you with a different side of it. “It’s not like a normal hook up, you know? If you’re gonna let me hurt you, you’ve gotta let me take care of you after.”

Your throat is dry as you lay there, the sensation of even his gentle touches feeling like too much to handle. You feel like you can’t move, so you trust his words and try to relax.

“That’s it, yeah,” He encourages, going to try and help you shuffle your body up to the head of the bead so that you at least have a pillow. “Take your time. You have my number if you ever wanna meet up again.”

With that, Johnny steps himself into the bathroom and cleans himself up and when he comes back out, he’s already dressed and fixing his hair in the mirror before heading toward the door.

“Wait,” You panic, lifting up quickly and feeling a bit light headed at the sudden movement, “You’re leaving?”

He smiles at you, nodding. Everything else you do as a newcomer may be fairly expected, but it’s rare when Johnny ends up with someone who doesn’t want him to leave after.

“I do have a day job, you know,” He tries to play it off as a joke, but he really didn’t think you expected him to stay. “Stay here and rest up. Check out is tomorrow at eleven so feel free to enjoy the room. Not sure if you noticed, but it’s one of the nicest hotels in the city.”

Oh. Right, you didn’t notice. After all, when you got to the door the room practically didn’t exist to you outside of the floor in front of the bed, the bed, and the ceiling.

“Red.” You say, unsure if it’ll work.

“Doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.” He finds it sweet, but dangerous nevertheless. He doesn’t sleep over with his fetish website meetups. He’s here to bring you pleasure and pain sexually, not emotionally. “Like I said, you’ve got my number.”

You’re silent, watching him turn the knob on the door.

“Oh and,” He pauses, turning to look at you. “Don’t go off with other randoms from the site. Some of them don’t offer the kindness I offered to you today. Ease into it, I’ll be around to help if you need me.”

Wondering if he’s implying that you should only see him when it comes to this sexual dynamic, you nod to him, trying to ignore the fact that he claimed “kindness” was being offered to you. If this was him being kind, you can’t help but wonder what he’s like when he’s…you know, not.

#nct smut #johnny suh smut #johnny smut #nct 127 smut #nct x reader

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danveration · 20 days

Note

Could you do a Cooper Howard x reader angst? Something with the reader getting injured or dying and/ or becoming a ghoul?

You and your stories are amazing btw❤️!!!

Thank you!

Parings: Cooper Howard x reader

Summary: You get shot and Cooper comes to your aid.

Word count: 1344

Warnings: Guns, blood, shooting, reader getting shot in the thigh, Cooper being a softy

A/N: sorry if you meant post-nuclear bomb. (if you wanted cooper howard like.. normal human & stuff) ALSO I JUST REALIZED THIS ISN'T VERY ANGSTY 😭😭 FFS. I hope you like it either way :))

It was a hectic situation. There were at least ten people pointing guns directly at you from all around. This was not how you expected your day to go. You didn’t even do anything remotely wrong. Just stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. Which was pretty common around here.

You were by yourself right now, which was another downfall. You didn’t have the capabilities yet to kill a bunch of people on your own. Maybe if you sweet talked them..? You doubt that would work. If only Cooper were here. He would have them all dead in a blink of an eye. Especially because they were threatening you. He seemed to have a soft spot for you for whatever reason. You felt the same way towards him. Even though people would look at you like you’re insane, you don’t care. You can see something in him that nobody else can. He always had a bit of a protective nature towards you the moment you two met. You thought he would’ve killed you, but he just laughed at how scared you looked and ensured that he doesn’t kill without a motive. And in his words “won’t dare harm a pretty thing like you.”

He is currently god knows where. You were tagging along with him but he went to go get more vials. He said he knows a spot where he can snag a couple. That was about two hours ago. It would be great if he just miraculously appeared right now.

“L-listen. I don’t want any trouble, okay? I’m just passing through.” You say, trying to sound brave but the whimper in your voice made itself known.

“Yeah, passing through OUR territory.” One of the men said, with a raspy tone.

“I didn’t know! I’ll go. Right now.” You say quickly, starting to move forward.

“Uh-uh!” One of them yelled.

You hear all their guns go off safely and you stop dead in your tracks. The panic and fear you feel makes your skin develop goosebumps.

“We can’t let you go, can we? What kind of example would we be settin’ if we did?” One of them spoke.

“Oh, just walk right into our territory, It’s all good!! It wouldn't be our territory if we did that, would it?” One of them say in a mocking tone.

“P-please. I just-“ You begin to say.

“Now what on hells creation is goin’ on here?” You hear no other than Cooper’s voice in the other direction.

You subconsciously release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

All the people snap their heads to the ghouls voice. Some of them look scared, but some of them look angry that their fun got spoiled.

“Well? Gonna keep gawking or is somebody going to tell me what the fucks goin’ on here?” He says.

“W-well we caught this one roaming on our territory.” One of the people spoke up.

“And?” Cooper questions them, as if daring them to say what they were going to do to you.

They’re all silent. Except for one. He must be new here or something because he speaks up in an angry tone, “and were gonna kill them.” He says, pointing the gun at you. He looks around at all his other gang members, and how they’re not pointing the gun at you anymore.

He raised a brow, “what’s the big idea? Why’s nobody else-“

BANG

Cooper shoots the man in the arm, not letting him finish his sentence.

Everything went slow from there. You see Cooper giving the man cold eyes, and then from your vision, you see the man look down at his arm, then you see him, with his other hand, grab his gun and quickly shoot you in your thigh before Cooper sends another bullet straight through his head, leaving him instantly falling to the ground.

You hiss out in pain and look down, seeing red liquid gush out and stain your pants.

Cooper whips his head towards you.

“Fuckin’-“ He mumbles as he rushes over, getting on his knees in front of you.

Everyone around immediately makes a quick exit, not wanting to suffer the same fate as the other guy.

Cooper would’ve killed them all for that, if it wasn’t for him not wanting to take his eyes or attention off of you. He feels scared, worried, mad, and mostly desperate. Desperate to stop the bleeding, desperate to go back in time and never leave you alone in the first place. He would laugh at himself for feeling these feelings any other time, just not now. Now he has to focus all his attention on you.

“Is it bad?” You mumble out to him, not wanting to fully look at it.

Cooper thankfully notices how it isn’t in a vital place. The bullet went right through, so he doesn’t have to worry about digging it out or it causing complications.

“Well you got shot, sweetheart. It’s bad but it isn’t deadly. You’ll be alright.” He says, trying to ease the worry off of you.

He’s got to get you to a safe spot so he can properly treat the wound. Luckily he has lots of experience with these kinds of situations.

He stands up and leans down, putting his arm behind your knees, lifting you up and carrying you bridal style.

Your eyes go wide and you gasp in shock, but don’t complain. You don’t think you can walk anyhow.

Your cheeks flush and you feel a swell in your heart from his actions. He walks in silence, his brain wracking at how he shouldn’t have left you alone, and how he swears to make sure this won’t happen again. You’re in his arms, hurting, but for some reason you swear it hurts a little less because he’s close to you.

“This won’t never happen again, I swear it. You better be more cautious around these parts though, darlin’. Especially with me not around. People don’t give no mercy.” He says to you.

A little while later, you’re sitting on a mattress in an abandoned building. Your pants are pulled down a bit on one side, so he has access to the wounded leg. Cooper carefully cleaning and wrapping up your wound with a concentrated face. You stare at him and how his eyes look, how his forehead is frowned down in focus, and how his hands are handling you carefully, as if they aren’t used on a daily basis for killing and violence.

“You’re lucky it’s in this spot. A little to the left or right, and you might’ve not been able to use this leg again. Would’ve had to get you those robot leg attachments.” He says, laughing at the end of his sentence.

“You mean the ones that practically rip your leg to shreds? No thanks.” You say, laughing.

You look at him softly as he’s smiling gently, while finishing up wrapping your leg.

“Now would you look at that? All better.” He says, gesturing to your skillfully wrapped leg.

“Thank you, Coop.” You say. “I’m really lucky you came in time.”

“Well, I’d argue I was a tad bit late, but of course, darlin’. I’m glad I got there before things could’ve gotten worse.” He says back to you, adjusting his hat on his head.

He cares about you. It realized that right when he heard that gun shot go in your direction. His heart sank to his stomach immediately, thinking the worse. He’s going to make sure to keep a tight leash on you from now on out. Not in a bad way, just in a way that he’s able to be there if anything happens.

“Thank you, Cooper.” You say softly out of nowhere, looking at him with a bit of blush on your cheeks.

He nods his head in your direction. “You’re quite welcome, sweetheart. Now why don’t you be a doll and rest up. I might’ve wrapped it all neat n’ all, but you’ll still need to let it heal. We can take a couple hours break here."

#my works #fallout #fallout x reader #ghoul #the ghoul #ghoul fallout #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fallout x reader #ghoul x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout ghoul x reader #ghoul fallout x reader #cooper howard fallout #cooper howard x you #fallout fan fiction

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notjustjavierpena · 10 months

Note

Love you fluff and spicy fics! They are the best kinds ;) can I request dates with Husband!Javi or DILF!Joel? (Would love to read them both but I’ll let you take the rein ;))

First: Date

A/N: Enjoy, anon!

Summary: With the way your relationship started, you’ve never been on a first date. You do a fake first date.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), PIV sex, unprotected sex, clit stim, creampie, dirty talk, hot and desperate sex

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48689506/chapters/122820544#workskin

Date

“We never actually had a first date, did we?”

Joel looks down at you as you rest your head on his shoulder, his lips pressed into your hair. You cuddle up to him even more than before because he has just put a blanket over the both of you. He furrows his brow at the question, trying to understand what you are playing at.

You’re not playing at anything. In fact, a very large part of you is happy that you never had to go through the torturous process of getting to know a stranger by taking them places and forcing them to answer uncomfortably personal questions.

“No, we didn’t…” he says into your hair as if awaiting further instructions or explanations, “Why?”

You grab the remote to press play on your movie, then shrug nonchalantly, “No reason. The thought just came to me, popped into my head.”

“Is it something you want?” He continues as if treading carefully.

“God no,” you turn your body a little in his arm to kiss him on the lips a few times, “I’m thankful that we skipped the heart palpitations and clammy hands, the painful silences.”

“I had nothing but clammy hands the first two weeks of just seeing you in the street,” he admits, bumping your noses together with red cheeks at his confession, “Felt like a fuckin’ teenager. Sarah near laughed her ass off.”

“And you didn’t ask me out,” you tut, then get an idea that has your face lighting up, “Wait… How would you have asked me out? How is your game?”

“Let me take you to dinner and you’ll find out,” he teases, focusing on turning back to the TV screen.

“Oooh, alright. You’re on. Pick me up at six.”

You agree on Friday at 6 pm. As soon as the roleplay is on, a ton of butterflies erupt inside your stomach at the thought of being wined and dined by Joel Miller. You don’t expect too much though, because the poor guy has previously already told you that the number of dates he has been on since Sarah’s mother passed can be counted on one hand. Despite no one having died, the same goes for you and that fact will surely make the evening a comical one.

At six o’clock your doorbell rings and you fix the straps of your dress for the millionth time in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

Joel looks good. He has his usual jeans on, but has added a belt, and the t-shirt that he always wears has been substituted with one of his nice button-up shirts and it’s been neatly tucked into his pants. The wristwatch is still there, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne too, but despite all this grabbing your attention, it’s nothing compared to the handful of smaller sunflowers that he is holding out for you.

“Oh, you sly bastard,” you grin, realizing now just how fun the night out will be. If Joel is doing this, you might as well roleplay along. You step forward to take the very homemade bouquet, “These are gorgeous, Joel, my favorite.”

“Figured roses were too cliche,” he states shyly.

“Let me just put these in water,” you step away from the door to hold it open for him, “Come in. I’ll be ready in five.”

Joel steps silently inside, following you into the kitchen where you get a vase from on top of your refrigerator and start filling it with water. With a pair of kitchen scissors, you cut the stems at an angle.

“Nice place you got here,” Joel small-talks. He tries not to smile, but you can see that he fights the urge to chuckle at the silliness of the situation.

“Thanks, yeah, a super cute guy helped me a lot over the summer,” you put the sunflowers into the vase, placing it on your kitchen island to be able to admire them in the morning light.

“Oh?” Joel questions, placing a hand on the counter as he watches you fluff the sunflowers to make them look less messy after you’ve handled them, “Should I be concerned by competition?”

“Not if you knock it out of the park tonight, starting by telling me I look beautiful,” you say with a smile, walking up to him and trying not to kiss his stupid face.

You are wearing Joel’s favorite dress of yours that hugs your chest and ass in a way that makes a few people turn their heads every time you go outside wearing it.

“You look stunning,” he says as he looks down at you, then grins, “I have a few things planned for tonight, and I think you’ll like ‘em.”

“Lead the way.”

Joel takes you to a restaurant in the city of Austin. It is Italian in a cliché way; checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, and, to top it off, a picture of Lady and the Tramp on the wall. It’s nothing that seems to appeal to Joel, but you cannot help but love it in the most wonderful childlike way and point it out as you enter the place.

Though to save him the pain of getting embarrassed, you order a pizza instead of the classic spaghetti. He orders a pizza himself, furrowing his brow as he realizes that the proper way of eating pizza here is by using a knife and fork.

“So,” you say after a mouthful of food, taking a sip of your wine, “Texas born and raised?”

“Yeah, my folks live half an hour out of town,” Joel replies, resting his wrists on the edge of the table, “And Sarah, my daughter… We've been in that house since forever. Sarah doesn’t know much else than that street.”

“You have a daughter?” You tilt your head curiously, challenging him with a little smile.

“Oh yeah, fifteen years old. Love of my life,” he tells you, and your heart swells because you know exactly how he looks at her with wonder and love, “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all, I just don’t have any kids of my own,” you reply.

“Is that… something you can see yourself in? Kids?”

You figure that it’s a fair question for a date, but it’s a little overwhelming when you’re already in too deep. Months deep into this relationship actually.

“Well, yeah,” you say after a pause, somehow so certain, “Yeah… I want the whole thing; white picket fence and nauseating suburban lifestyle.”

You can see Joel visibly relax.

“Is it hard being a single dad?” You ask gently.

Joel tenses up once more, resting his hand on the tabletop and tapping his fingers slightly. He avoids your gaze, “Sometimes. I mean… I’m terrified that I will end up in a situation where I can’t be what she needs. Additionally, it’s hard to imagine getting something you want for yourself when all you think of is soccer practice, boy bands, birthdays, and tampons.”

You place your hand on top of his, fingertips slowly running up and down Joel’s wrist, “That sounds hard.”

It’s nice to get to know Joel like this, and as you sip your wine, conversation flows easily between the two of you. Date-night Joel is funny and charming, exactly how you pictured him, and more. He compliments you throughout the evening, makes you laugh to the point where you can see his eyes soften and cause another compliment to spill from his mouth.

“Got any moves?” You ask before cutting into the last slice of your pizza. Joel finished his own a little while ago.

“Moves?” He questions, absentmindedly reaching out for your hand on the table again. You place your palm in his and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah, date moves? I bet you’re going to lend me your jacket later. That sorta stuff.”

“I actually was,” he chuckles with slightly red cheeks that might as well have been from the bottle of red wine that you’ve shared, then running his free hand over his hair and leaning back into his seat, “I figured since we should've had our first date in June, it was the right time to do a summer activity, so we’re getting ice cream after this. And I know it’d get you chilly.''

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And what about you?”

“I haven’t used any moves on you tonight,” you lie.

“Liar,” he laughs, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Tell me.”

“I asked you about your daughter,” you shrug and try brushing it off.

“That’s a move?” He raises a brow.

“Well, got me touching you, didn’t it?” You nod down at where you are holding hands, causing Joel to sit up a little straighter as he realizes.

“I think we need to get out of here before you manipulate me further,” he jokes, letting go of your hand to raise his own to signal a waiter.

You get ice cream cones after dinner at a charming little parlor. Joel gets strawberry and you get hazelnut. It seems like the perfect end to your date.

The sky is speckled with stars as you walk through a dimly lit area with Joel’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders. In your hand, your ice cream cone is melting slowly, but you manage to catch each dribble with the flat of your tongue. Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” You ask casually.

“Yeah,” he replies, eating his ice cream, “Not early in the morning though. Why?”

“Just wondered if you were going to follow me home after this,” you say with another lick. You’ll invite him inside too; Joel knows this but it’s part of the fun to not say anything.

He hums, “Sure, of course. I wouldn’t want you taking the bus alone at this hour anyway.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

Joel smiles to himself. Definitely not going to be a gentleman. He then dares to reach between you to find your hand. He entwines your fingers, says nothing and you walk without conversation for a while until you fake a yawn.

“I should get home.”

“I know the quickest way to the car.”

You find yourself on your front porch not long after. It seems ridiculous how many times Joel has been standing behind you like this, breathing down your neck as you unlock your front door.

With a shy smile, you stop trying to unlock the door and let the key sit in the lock. You dare to turn around to look up at Joel’s big brown eyes that are watching you with the glazed expression he gets whenever he wants to clear his head and kiss you.

It reminds you of your first kiss as he dips down, searching out your mouth with his own, and whilst you want to give in, you also want to make him work for it, play out the scene.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you interrupt him as he is just about to kiss you.

“Right,” he looks like someone trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. He hesitates but then replies, “Can I see you again?”

“Yes, I’d like that a lot. Thank you for letting me fall in love with you a little more tonight.”

Something changes at that.

“And can I kiss you?” He asks a little impatiently. Something is brewing.

You animatedly tap your chin and giggle as he sighs at your silliness. It earns you a kiss, short and sweet and definitely not enough. You pull him down to your mouth again when he tries to pull away.

There haven’t been many women before you in the years after Sarah’s mother, and it results in a starving man who cannot get enough when he knows that he has you. You like it when he snaps; as if the dam that holds back all of his pent-up need for you since seeing you in his favorite dress crumbles.

You kiss each other so hard that he suddenly loses himself and grips your shoulders roughly, shoving you into the door until the knob is pressing painfully into your lower back. Joel’s mouth is warm and inviting and tastes like strawberry ice cream as he practically eats at your mouth, swallowing down his name as it drips like honey from your lips. It makes up for how he manhandles you against the door until you can, albeit blindly, reach behind you and finally open it.

The door gives way behind you and you both fall through, completely losing balance without trying to regain it in the slightest. There’s something exciting about the utter desperation, something charming about the giggles you let out as you hit the floor with a thump. At least the door swings shut behind you.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off your shoulders, trying to get comfortable on the floorboards. It messes up the kiss and has Joel growling, but then he takes the opportunity to bury his face in your neck and breathe in your perfume.

You can feel his teeth graze over the skin of your throat, not quite biting down yet. He kisses open-mouthed and hot along your main artery instead, leaving a trail of shiny saliva until he is by your ear. He whispers, “You always invite guys in on the first date?”

He reaches down to tug your dress up. You help him by lifting your hips off the ground and he responds by grabbing your ass in his hands, squeezing and yanking you up against the bulge in his jeans only to grind right back down into you.

“Only contractors in their late thirties who are named Joel Miller,” you say with a chuckle interrupted by a moan as you feel the rough fabric of his jeans against your clothed cunt.

“Guess I’m really fuckin’ lucky that I fit that description perfectly then.”

“I need you,” you add with a groan, reaching for the top button on Joel’s shirt that’s too nice for you to start ripping off. You struggle to undo the buttons though, feeling embarrassed at how much your fingers fumble out of want, “Please, Joel. Off, take this off.”

“So fuckin’ needy indeed,” he kisses you again, doesn’t even bother breaking the kiss as he reaches up, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and then throwing it onto the floor.

You whimper against his lips, reaching down to pull at his pants. You need more, need to see him in all his glory, need to touch, suck him, feel him inside of you. Either will do. It is almost too much, “You’re so hot, fuck, help me with these.”

Joel makes quick work of pushing off his jeans and then underwear. He groans softly in relief, his cock finally free, already so hard there is a pearl of precum beading at his tip.

“Now mine,” you pant, pushing the flats of your feet into the floor to lift yourself up again, “Please, please, you have to fuck me.”

He runs his hands from your ankles up your calves, stopping at your thighs to give them a firm squeeze and groan with unrestrained desire. Then, unceremoniously, he simply grips the fabric of your panties in his hands and yanks them down. Having you splayed out before him, he doesn’t waste any more time. He hoists you up a bit, grabbing his dick and positioning himself, and then thrusts into you all the way in one go.

You both moan at the same time, but whereas yours is a soft sound, his is a low throaty one. You hook your legs around his waist as you wait for him to move inside of you. You find his gaze too, meeting it with pleading eyes, slack mouth, and furrowed brows, “Fuck me. Please just–”

Joel does not keep you waiting for a goddamn second. He grips you tightly under your right thigh and braces his other hand flat against the floor for support, and then in the next moment, he is pounding you ruthlessly into the floorboards. No hesitation, no build-up. It is mercilessly perfect, the floorboards creaking slightly at you being pressed into them. If you didn’t have your legs around Joel’s waist, you are sure that the force of the way you are being fucked would create burns from the friction again the wood.

Joel buries his face in your neck next. He finally bites down like you have waited for, causing you to tilt back your head with a high-pitched moan. Your hands come up to rest on the back of his head and you slide your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly as the tension below your belly button builds. It feels like fire, like electricity.

"Pretty. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock," he murmurs against your neck. He then straightens a bit again to let go of your thigh in favor of sliding his hand under you, pressing it against the small of your back, and holding you closer to his own body. He watches your face as your head swims with desire, “Look pretty too, oh, fuck, baby.”

Your right hand reaches down, but you don’t get a chance to touch yourself, because, with his other hand, Joel reaches down to place his thumb on your swollen clit, immediately setting a blinding pace. You see stars, ecstatic moans giving you away.

“I’m gonna—“

“And you’re gonna come on my dick now too?” He groans, already chasing his own pleasure with each thrust of his hips, “Lucky fuckin’ me.”

Fireworks erupt below your belly button as you come with a wanton shout. The pleasure is fast and intense, your muscles squeezing around Joel’s cock which suddenly spurts thick ropes of come inside of you. He feels so good as you pulse around him, cunt greedily milking everything into yourself.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Joel says with an exhausted chuckle as he flops down beside you. The both of you try catching your breaths, but the dopamine rush won’t let either of you settle down quite yet.

Your legs fall against each other, collapsing from exhaustion. You can feel your back start to ache already, “God.”

“Just Joel.”

You slap his arm.

“Are you okay though?” He asks genuinely.

“My back is going to be sore like hell from this. It already is. Other than that? I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me like that before,” you run a hand over your face, staring up at the ceiling afterwards.

“Sounds about right,” he says, pauses for a moment, then, “So when can I see you again?”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #joel x reader #joel x you #dilf!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic

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effortandmore · 11 months

Text

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep.

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too.

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this:

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him.

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here.

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day.

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it.

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you.

Except the one thing you ask him to.

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit.

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him.

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one.

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness.

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.”

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?”

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to.

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.”

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.”

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people.

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.”

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.”

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take.

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself.

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again.

“Whatever you want, jagiya.”

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want.

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.”

He does.

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can.

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand.

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you.

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace.

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice.

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory.

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are.

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves.

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it.

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet.

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm.

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart.

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another.

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body.

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.”

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his.

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his.

He thinks they’re love songs.

He hopes you know.

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you.

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says.

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late.

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him.

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks.

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to.

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness.

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum.

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you.

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to.

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.”

“Are you the peacock or am I?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours.

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind.

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh.

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting.

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep.

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.”

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says.

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.”

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin.

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was.

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious.

“Spain.”

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.”

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are.

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says.

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too.

“About a girl, mostly.”

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?”

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks.

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin.

“But you have these dreams often?”

“Yeah.”

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think.

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.”

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now.

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…”

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless.

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours.

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you.

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better.

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first.

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador.

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color.

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most.

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what.

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him.

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him.

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas.

She does. A lot of them.

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you.

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple.

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition.

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay.

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you.

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going.

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else.

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you?

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar.

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you.

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds.

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life.

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought…

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again.

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for.

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night.

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him.

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight.

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road.

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling.

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever.

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he?

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.”

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you.

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day.

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.”

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers.

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive.

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.”

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings.

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades.

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly.

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.”

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist.

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again.

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it.

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here.

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him.

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world.

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine.

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you.

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it.

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing.

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you.

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see.

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment.

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time.

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon.

Like father, like son, as they say.

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong.

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you.

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around.

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly.

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart?

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate.

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do.

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave.

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you.

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright.

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life.

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe.

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you.

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you.

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head.

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye.

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace.

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him.

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person.

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone.

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear.

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions.

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying.

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.”

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter.

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know.

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.”

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.”

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks.

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.”

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?”

To his relief, you do.

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there.

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you.

“So… why the Met?”

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation.

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers.

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?”

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too.

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking.

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise.

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him.

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan.

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better.

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination.

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually.

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms.

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says.

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest.

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now.

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.”

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.”

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks.

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine.

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had.

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been.

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him.

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected.

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now.

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything.

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt.

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too.

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family…

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm fluff #rm angst #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #kvanity #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic

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weskin-time · 1 year

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listen, i'm throwing this request in here because we frankly don't get enough of this in the x reader tag, character x injured/sick!reader. it doesn't even have to be anything super angsty if you don't want it to be. like i just want the fluff of an overwatch character fretting over reader with a sprained ankle lmao

(any characters are okay tbh, write for whoever you have ideas for!)

Hello anon!! i hope this works for you! i had a lot of fun writing this and i might make more later on. >:3

please give me more OW requests. mm brain rot <3

TBH i don’t really like genjis one i might rewrite it later on so keep an eye out for a post

D.Va, Genji, Ramattra X GN!Hurt/Sick!Reader

Not beta read

cw- injury, pain,

Hana “D.Va” Song

gaming with your girlfriend was almost mandatory as you started your relationship

you were fine with that, in fact you were happy to join in her streams and hang out with D.Va and finish to get some quiet time with Hana.

But. you two played different types of games.

You loved character driven story games, open worlds and side quests

and she was a world champion, mmorpgs, real time strategy games, fast paced games you never really tried

But she asked one day if you wanted to play LOL with her on stream you said yes of course

but wow was it a learning curve, and a new thing you had to adapt to. fast paced clicking and key mashing hurt your fingers and wrists.

you have no idea how Hana doesn’t have wrist problems worse then she does if you just played for a few days and your pointer finger felt stuck and pain would throb in your forearms.

Hana ended stream that night and took a breath to regain her self. You were chilling in the same room as her, her set up more impressive than yours as you turned off your own PC and turned your chair to face her.

Getting up from your semi uncomfortable office chair you walked over to her as she stretched, you went to grab her water bottle to refill it for her but as soon as your hand grabbed the bottle pain shot through your forearm and wrist making you involuntarily wince.

Her eyes shot to you in worry before she completely understood what happened, “Aww I hope i didn’t push you too hard that last round.”

You chuckled and shook out your arms, it really didn’t do much. “It’s hard to keep up with you in these games Ms Professional ESports World Champion.”

It was her turn to laugh, “Get good.” She got up and grabbed the bottle herself and shut down her PC. “You good though? Got Gamers wrist?”

“Up my forearms and everything, clicking finger is sore too.” You flex your fingers trying to get the stiff feeling out.

“Didn’t you used to play a religious amount of Cookie Clicker back in the day, without auto clicker?” She points out as you follow her out of y’all’s gaming room and to the kitchen.

You have a scoff, “My child self didn’t know what that was, i was rich on cookies. And it didn’t hurt all this bad.” You rested against the island.

She paused by the fridge, filling her bottle up with the water. “I have some extra wrist braces if you’d like, they work wonders.”

“Please.” Your response came instantly before you could even process the last part of her sentence. It made her snort with how desperate you sounded and she almost overflowed her bottle.

“Come here, give me your arms.” She turned around and leaned against the other side of the island in front of you.

You did and held out your forearms to her with a confused look.

She wrapped her hands around for forearms and began to squeeze them, massaging them firmly, perfectly in the place where it hurt the most. A whine left your throat at the feeling of sore pain meeting soft comforting pain. Her fingers dug into the meat gently as she circled the muscle, slowly making her way down to your wrists where she provided the same treatment. Your head rested on the island counter as you slumped over, heaven was in her hands.

“Thank you Hana.”

“You’re welcome bunny.”

——————————————————————

Genji Shimada

sleep deprivation sucked.

2-3 hours a night was all you were going off of. it wasn’t enough to keep your brain healthy or your body.

constant headaches, unfocused eyes, micro sleep, confusion, it all was ass

but there was nothing you could do in the moment to fix it, you just kept staying awake at night to either game or finish work projects and paperwork.

sickness sometimes finds you when you’re like this, nauseous from lack of sleep, headaches making your eyes hurt.

you tried your best to fight back the sleep that demanded itself, but failed.

Genji was silent in his approach to your desk, you knew he was there, you could sense him.

Your laptop was too bright, your eyes were unfocused and you could barely feel yourself slowly lean forward to the desks surface. A hand on your shoulder wakes you up enough to realize you were holding down a single key on your keyboard and the open document on your screen now had a long line of Vs.

“Hiya Genji.” you slur almost, as you closed your eyes only for the entire world to pulse around you, sounds were too sharp and too dull at the same time, breathing in and out seemed to take all your strength, but your strength was elsewhere trying to fight off sleep.

“You don’t look too good.” He stated flatly, his helmet off as he rested in comfortable clothing.

You glance up to see him, eyes focusing on his face, “Thanks.” was all you had the energy to respond with.

He looked at your laptop, reading what you were writing but telling by his confused and concerned face you think you just wrote gibberish that your brain thought sounded like a normal sentence.

“How long have you been awake?” His voice dripping with concern but his voice buzzed in your ears and bounced around your head for a second before you could process what he said.

“I’ve had 5 hours of sleep this week.” You yawn and look away from his wide eyed expression.

It was Saturday. 11pm.

Your body didn’t have enough energy to even move it felt like.

“Okay,” he dragged out the word and closed your laptop. “Let’s get you to bed yea?” The way he said it made you know there was no changing his mind.

You didn’t want to admit you needed sleep but at the same time your head was throbbing and the thought of cuddling with your Genji was enough to perk you up more.

You mumbled out an okay before trying to stand on wobbly knees, your body feeling light yet heavy at the same time. A flesh hand came to steady you and hold you before you heard a sigh and suddenly you were swept off your feet and being carried to the bedroom.

“You need to take better care of yourself.” Concern laced his words as he placed you on the bed carefully.

“I know I know,” you made a grabby hand motion at him and he smiles, soon making his way to the bed as well, cuddling up beside you. You used his still flesh side as a pillow as he laid on his back. “I’m sorry Genji.”

He ran fingers along your scalp, scratching softly, putting you in a trance. “I know you don’t do field work anymore but you still need to rest.”

“I will, I will.” Was all you could mumble out before almost instantly falling asleep. the last thing you felt was his lips against your forehead.

The next morning Genji barley let you leave the bedroom after you slept for nearly 14 hours. He made you food and sat and ate with you in the bed while the two of you watched Cowboy Bebop. Your work could wait till monday, you just wanted to enjoy the last day of the weekend resting with him.

—————————————————————

Ramattra

you were out for a walk with Ramattra

the spring air buzzed with life as you two passed by trees, bird song filling silence, bees resting on flowers as they bumbled their fat little bodies around

it was a nice walk, one to clear your mind and his systems, just to think and be together

you didn’t see a tree root and you fell and ate dirt, twisting your ankle

“oh ow ow ow ow ow.” you let out a string of curses from behind clenched teeth.

Your ankle throbbed, it felt warm and tingly at the same time, pain shooting through your foot and up your shin. You do what your dumb brain tells you to and you roll it to make sure it’s not broken, thankfully it isn’t but the pain takes the air from your lungs with a sharp gasp.

Ramattra stared down at you on the ground, unmoving as he studied you. He watched as you tried to get back up with only the use of one leg, holding onto a tree for support as you stood with your leg raised like a dog that’s paw got stepped on.

“Fragile things you humans are. You tripped and now you can’t stand?” His voice wasn’t as harsh as it once was many moons ago, but he still said it with some form of exasperation.

You set your foot on the ground, testing it and instantly regretting it as pain erupts again.

You ignore his comment, “Oh gods I don’t know if i can walk back.”

“Weakling.” He said but held out his arm for you to take. There was no malice in his vocal synthesizers.

You did, leaning against him. Thanking him as you both turned around and took a step to head back to base. As you tried to put weight on your ankle you winced and let out a hiss.

“I really fucked myself up good.” You laugh a little as you stare down at your feet.

“Do you need me to carry you?” His voice buzzed with slight concern, you wouldn’t have noticed it unless you had spent enough time with the Omnic, and you have.

You look up at him with a smirk, a look that pokes him, “You goin soft on me Ram?”

He tenses a tiny tiny bit more than he already was, “No!” He said a bit too quickly. “It would take us ages to get back with your condition and I am not going to wait on you. It would be faster for me to carry you there. Simple.”

You ponder for a second, before nodding your head. Why would you ever give up the opportunity to be carried by this giant?

Ramattra let’s out a fake sigh and grabs you by the midsection, lifting you up and placing your butt on his right shoulder. You were expecting to be carried in his arms but sitting on his shoulder was way more fun already. You felt like a bird resting on his broad shoulders.

“Thanks, you big softie.” You pat his head to make your point.

He moves his right arm to hold your hips, keeping you stable and you use his arm as a grip. “I’m not doing this for you.” He grumbled but the way he made sure you weren’t going to fall off said otherwise.

He waited for you to give the word and he started to make his way back, you on his shoulder and enjoying being really tall.

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jpgmaya · 11 months

Text

・ʚ ‧₊˚ 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 ( 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐀𝐔 )

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Drew Starkey x Singer!Reader

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: In which you and Drew are forced to publicize your relationship after an accidental post and fans are... confused, but supportive.

𝗔/𝗡: this is partially inspired by the timothee chalamet kylie jenner dating rumors LOL. i've decided to start taking and encouraging requests for instagram/social media au's so if you have an idea please send it to my askbox 🤍. i had so much fun w this. fc is gabbriette bechtel but as always, imagine whoever you'd like :)

yourinstagram

liked by pinkpantheress, drewstarkey, and 4,698,201 others

yourinstagram PITY PARTY OUT NOW!

view all 29,826 comments

hunterschafer ur such a rockstar

yourinstagram luv u

ynisagod HJVRSKVDRSKJN

billieeilish 🎂🎀

lilnasx y'all stream my sugar mommas album she has to buy me dinner

yourinstagram starve.

ynhive

liked by obxupdatess, and 287 others

ynhive Y/N yesterday 👀 via madelyncline (now deleted)

view all 35 comments

ynrejectme that's obviously me guys

obxfan32 I can recognize that bald head anywhere

drewstarkeyupdates that has to be drew, right!?

obxfan24 there's no way they even exist in the same universe

lovingyn not all the obx fans finding us 💀

girlbloggingyn

liked by yourinstagram, brooke_starkey, and 92 others

girlbloggingyn she's everything // he's just ken

*tagged yourinstagram and drewstarkey

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ynhive Y/N LIKED LMAO EVEN SHE KNOWS

music.ally y/n liked!!

ynrejectme are they actually dating tho ?

obxfan87 neither has confirmed or denied

ynisagod these rumors are so untrue it's painful

drewstarkey via instagram stories

dstarkeyupdates

liked by justafanacc, and 105 others

dstarkeyupdates drew with fans outside a restaurant in LA today!

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obxfan54 he's so pretty

justafanacc Was he with anyone?

ynfan49 you mean was he with y/n lol

ynupdates

liked by obxfan38, dstarkeyupdates, and 408 others

ynupdates y/n and drew posted these last night at the SAME time

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loveuyn ok maybe they are dating

user08 I still don't understand how this happened

user48 ?

obxfan852 this is so random

ynhive who cares they're hot

drewstarkey

liked by madelyncline, hichasestokes, and 1,983,709 others

drewstarkey My girlfriend released a song today. It's about me, and you should listen to it 😎

view all 9,023 comments

hichasestokes Sir yes sir 🫡

yourinstagram um, when did you take these breathtakingly gorgeous photographs of me?

drewstarkey When u weren't lookin

bugzbee creep

obxfan029 GIRLFRIEND???

ynfan12 thank you for the y/n content keep providing pls

madelyncline Sorry for spilling the beans!

yourinstagram smh bean spiller, ur lucky ur so cute

yourinstagram

liked by jonathandavissofficial, tayrussell, and 3,847,012 others

yourinstagram my boyfriend's little boat show is dropping it's 3rd season on netflix at midnight. watch it with ur friends and family

view all 25,763 comments

obxnetflix woogity woogity 🤙

ynhive the third pic - the way he looks at her omg

*liked by yourinstagram

ynfan39 ok..... how did y'all even meet?

obxfan874 fr 💀

user98 we will not be watching, but happy for u bae!!

user76 y/n fans 🤝 obx fans

©jpgmaya

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey insta au #insta au #obx cast #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x oc #outer banks #obx x you #instagram au #social media au #drew starkey one shot

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inkyycapp · 7 months

Text

how i think characters would react

if you got (very) hurt: adventure time edition.

tw/cw : angst, fluff, blood, violence, gore?, terrible story building, implied romance, fionna and cake spoilers, a lot of cringe, self-indulgence, character hcs, etc...

[a/n: this is very sloppy and rush as i made this between classes so it's half edited half not and not at all proof read. forgive me. thank you for the love on my last posts!! i wasn't expecting my adventure time hcs to get the attention it did, thank you so much!! i have finished fionna and cake(twice) so, my hcs might slightly shift a bit. at the moment. thinking of cross posting on ao3. reader is usually always gender neutral in all my posts unless stated otherwise. that's all! i'm open to requests and my dms/pms are open. thank you! new additions as well!! this is all i have, i'm sorry. a few more are in the drafts. please tell me if i missed anything tag and cw/tw wise! thank you.]

[holy shit, fionna and cake's finn. honka honka. i don't deserve a platform.]

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

|| it all happened so fast. you could barely recall what happened. one moment you're up-right, after the next you're trying to pick yourself off the ground. your breathing grew more labored at every attempt, and the smell of iron hung heavy in the air. the warm liquid on your hands was a stark contrast to cold that began to wrack your body. it wasn't long 'til your vision faded to black, leaving only questions behind into your last fleeting thoughts. ||

finn.

(the favorite. my favorite.)

-the both of you were exploring an old cave. deep, dark, and damp. it was said to hold treasure far back into the cave, and out of curiosity you both went to explore. what you didn't know was that many people sought out that treasure. many dangerous people.

-going deeper into the cave, you and finn found the treasure, though nothing cool to take back except for a few cool rings. turning on your way out, with your back to the entrance, a sharp pain was felt through your body. looking down you saw the bloodied blade of a sword. you had no time to react as you were shoved off the blade and onto the ground. from there, it was a blur.

-finn would (violently) remove anyone involved. while brutal, he makes sure to end it quick--he doesn't have time for them when you're bleeding out on the ground.

-finn never stopped talking to you, even if you're asleep. it's always optimistic-- he talks about; new things he's found, friends he talked to recently, any new news, old and new stories, the next date he'll take you on, etc... he rambled hours on end in a one-sided conversation. it's how he copes.

-finn's trying to be uplifting. but, by himself he's a mess. he rarely stays at the treehouse because he's too restless. he feels weak, and unable to do anything. when finn's not at your side he's fighting through his feelings. finn had learned it wasn't healthy to use violence as his only outlet, but it makes him feel something that isn't the heavy stone in his chest when he sees you.

-he's a patient man, he knows you'll wake up soon. he just had to be patient. but after around a few days he doesn't want to be "patient" anymore. he wants you to wake up now. finn knows he can't make that happen, but it was a selfish want to keep himself going.

-when you did wake up, he was all over you. there wasn't a time when he wasn't with you, or at least in the same vicinity as you.

-good luck trying to pry yourself away from his arms. this man has fought monsters thrice his size for fun. even your prettiest please wasn't going to work, not this time. you almost died. you could've died and he couldn't do anything about it. those memories never left his brain basket, even when your recovery was going smoothly.

-very anxious about letting you tag along, but knows you'll probably go off on your own if he refuses to take you along. he feels it's safer to allow you to come along, rather than go off on your own. with him, he knows that at least this time he could do better. he won't ever have a repeat of last time.

-finn keeps you close during each adventure, even losing sleep watching the surroundings to be sure no one sneaks up on you. he will refuse to sleep, so you'd have to force him. please give this man all the reassurance, he really needs it. it won't stop his anxiety, or his fear of it happening again, but it puts him at ease. even if it's just a little bit, it helps, nonetheless.

fern.

-the green knight has plenty of enemies. of course, fern could protect himself, and you could do the same. however, even if you could protect yourself, there wasn't any chance to protect yourself getting jumped, and a dirty stab to the back. the most dishonorable way to lose to a foe. the amount of ever growing disrespect.

-he loses his shit. sure, he gets mad quickly, but if you were awake to see him like this: holy shit. he grows plentiful thorns, and poison flowers all over himself subconsciously. (he's actually very pretty like this.)

-he's livid, and you're not conscious to do anything about it. and that's just it, you're unconscious, bleeding out on the ground. fern couldn't quite process it just yet. normally you'd stop him from going too far, but you can't right now. that's supposed to never happen. he's confused and angry, and you're not waking up. you're not moving. so, he cuts down anyone involved in a quick motion. he doesn't care how brutal, as long as it's quick. fern wastes no time in picking you up (after managing the thorns and flowers) and taking you to doctor princess.

-fern can't stand seeing you like this. laying weakly on that hospital bed.

-if you think finn's not good at coping, fern is much worse. he doesn't even cope. he's just...there.

-he's so confused, and just shuts down a bit. like he's still there, he's still the green knight-- fern. but, he's just distant. not quite himself-- off.

-fern is unable to wrap his head around what happened to you, but he goes about his 'normal' life. he tries to just go about his casual life without you there, and he's just confused. it doesn't take long before he grows upset, allowing the rage to boil.

-'they used to do that.' 'this was their favorite color.' 'they were supposed to fix that.' 'they like bird houses.' everything reminds him of you. it's impossible to go a single day without a reminder that you're still unconscious.

-i think it gets more apparent when he's out and about as the green knight. he's more violent. but, he doesn't mean to be. it just...happens.

-he's likely not there when you first wake, but when he gets there fern's complaining about everything under his breath. but when he sees you up, that bed isn't just for you anymore.

-he's holding you close, with a firm hold and refusing to let go. he's scolding you for not waking up sooner, and complaining about how life without you was too different. he tried to be casual, but he missed you a bit too much.

-there is also no prying fern off of you-- a common thing between all of them. once you're up, there is no separating you both for a few hours at the least.

-fern is also hesitant about letting you rejoin him on the adventures, but as long as you stay close, and keep weapon on you at all times, he'll agree. but, all of your wounds-- every. single. one.-- had to be medically evaluated as ok, and no threat to your health before anything.

farmworld!finn.

(post crown -- pre fionna and cake.)

-he's in shock, not moving for a few moments. he knew why he'd be hated, or hunted down, killed even, but why you? why did they have to drag you into this?

-someone in the many gangs around the parts found you somewhere in the clearing waiting for finn. you both had previously planned a picnic out in a nice clearing in the woods. he was running late. but, once he found you bleeding out and onto grass, he's thrown way off guard.

-finn is quickly trying to pick you off the grass, trying to get you out of there, and dragging you back to his cabin. finn manages to tend to each of your wounds. though, the moment he's done, and you're in a stable condition-- he's leaving the cabin for a few hours.

-he finds whoever did this to you, and doing what he couldn't earlier. finn is driving in the same injuries they gave to you over and over again. he doesn't let up until he's in tears. finn knows that this changes nothing. he knows this won't make him feel better, but he needed to do something. anything. even if it's for his own sadistic pleasure to see the regret on their faces-- to see them like this. pathetically clawing at the dirt in an attempt to ground themselves through the pain-- trying to crawl away from his bloodied hands.

-(robot hand included.)

-finn leaves them with their lives(barely), and a warning before disappearing into the woods.

-he is struggling to cope. finn hold your hand in his abnormally cold one running his thumb over your knuckles. he's constantly checking in on you, and rarely leaving your side. sleeping, and eating could wait. after all that's happened with the crown, you're all he has left. he can't lose you too.

-he stays by your side as much as he can. finn knows he should probably take his mind off of...your condition and stay productive but it's difficult. the only reason the cabin is warm is because if it got too cold you'd start to shake. he makes food only because if you wake up you might be hungry.

-he doesn't know what to do for the most part, just waiting and hoping that you'll be better in no time. a fear lingers deep inside him that you'll worsen the moment he closes his eyes. so, finn stays up. there are times when he has passed out around the house, and when he wakes up he's absolutely terrified; running to check on you, checking to make sure your wounds haven't reopened, making sure you're alive.

-a deep seeded fear the you'll wilt away in his arms. it keeps him up at night-- it eats at him day by day.

-you're finally awake, but even then the fear doesn't fade. he's at you're every call so much that it begins to worry you.

-you'll have to force him, and i mean force him to sleep. you're ok, he's ok-- everything is ok. he can finally rest.

-he's just happy you're still there with him.

prismo.

-you? hurt? nope. not on his time watch. prismo has you out of the situation in seconds, without a scratch. he refuses to ever see you in any pain.

-though, hypothetically, if there's ever a time where you do get hurt, and your wounds cannot be fixed with his wish master magic, and he's "too late", he's not so well.

-you're on a comfy little bed in the wishing room, laying on top of him. your wounds are bandaged up, and cleaned, with your breathing finally stable.

-he never leaves you side once. (sensing a pattern in everyone.) it's either him, or a copy of him. when he's granting wishes to whoever manages to make it to his wishing room, he keeps you in the cube with a copy of himself to watch over you.

-tries to make small talk with your unconscious self...it doesn't go well. the owl visits more often only to lay it's eyes upon the slum prismo is in.

-the cosmic owl tries to ease the depression, though fails miserably. if jake is still alive; his visits, brings gifts, barber sessions, the whole mile for his other best bud. it does kinda help, even if it was just a bit-- but, he's greatful nonetheless.

-while he could be doing better, prismo is doing the best out of everyone to be honest(if jake is around). jake's visits have been more than helpful to this guy, and honestly without jake, he'd be worse than just a mess.

-when you wake up he doesn't believe it at first but he's ecstatic. there is never a time where he's not with you, talking your ear off on how horrible it was without you. and while prismo wants to contuine talking you to your grave, he can't deny hearing your voice after so long does wonders to him.

-bonus if jake's around and prismo's like "and i like...really miss her. y'know? like she's right there but she's not..." "no, dude, i get it..." "i'd kill just to hear her voice just once..." "...prismo..." "ah, shit now i'm hallucinating!!" "no prismo, behind you." "jake, don't play into my delusions!" "god dammit prismo." "YOU'RE AWAKE!? FINALLY."

scarab.

-this man is already insane. he already needs therapy. the anger issues on this psychotic man are insane.

-he loses all sense of morality(that he had left) but surprisingly holds off and tends to you first. by sending you back to headquarters for someone to tend to your injuries while scarab spends the next few hours tearing their molecules apart.

-honestly the worst out everyone. like, if he has a chance to off someone, they're going to die but in the most unconventional, painful, most gruesome way possible. he's....coping?

-at this point it's hard to tell with him, one moment he's rambling under his breath about annoyances, the next....he's offically lost it!!

-sadly he can't be at you're side at all times even if he really wants to, but with his job and all that. when given any chance he's right there next to you. he excuses this behavior as protecting you against anyone who might try anything, but in reality: it's just hard to stay away when you're like this. he wants to stay close even if he can't sometimes.

-scarab has difficulties with intimacy, so he finds it difficult to express his concern the "right" way. others see him as uneffected, and taking it too easy, but he is genuinely scared. he's scared that he loses the one person who can see him for what he is. an emotionally fucked up person who can't stand rule breakers.(joking).

-he finds holding your hand a way to ease the tension.

-when you wake up, he just sitting there, holding your hand.

-he's never letting you go anywhere without a weapon three times your size. of course he teaches you how to use it, but just because he wants you to protect yourself when he cannot. scarab views your injuries as him failing as a partner in more ways than one. he should've made sure you could protect yourself even when he couldn't.

-later on after your wounds have healed you're allowed with him on his missions. he denies being scared. reassure him anyways, he really needs it.

e/n: sorry prismo's and scarab's are short! first time writing them :')

#adventure time #finn mertens #finn the human #finn mertens x reader #fern mertens x reader #fern mertens #the snowman #fionna and cake #fionna and cake x reader #icefinn x reader #the scarab #the scarab x reader #prismo #prismo x reader #adventure time headcanons #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake headcanons

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