#like either you get ~well your blood work is fine so…~ or you get ~there are toxins in your sofa that are killing you~
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Mouthy
Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader
Summary: Miguel has been watching you, and is willing to do anything it takes to get you to join his team.
Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Explicit Smut, Teasing, Flirting, Kissing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Licking, Thigh Riding, Undressing, Voyeurism, Female Masturbation, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex
Word Count: 2.6k+
Read more of my MIGUEL stories!
You had been toying with Miguel all night, sparring with him until your sweaty session had resulted in swinging from rooftop to rooftop, leading his tour of your world to an end at the top of your apartment building. Three separate visits to your universe in the span of two months had led you to believe that he was getting desperate for help, or for something else. The first time he showed up was to help you battle one of the more formidable foes of your crime-fighting career, the second to ask you to join his group of heroes to fight off even bigger threats, and the third, well… you’re still trying to pin down.
If Miguel is anything, it’s persistent.
“Give up already?” He chides, denting the metal of the AC unit with his landing as you finally stop swinging.
“Who’s giving up?” You pull the mask off your sweaty face as his head piece disappears without a trace, revealing his gorgeous features and flowing raven locks.
“It’s only midnight,” he points to his watch as he walks toward you, those hips of his sauntering in a way that nearly hypnotizes you on the spot. “Plenty of other threats around the city to be squashed.”
“Then go squash them.” You challenge, tilting your head to look at him from another angle. Why can’t men in my universe look like him?
“You’d like that, huh?” He keeps advancing until he stops just short of you, his broad shoulders towering over you as a light breeze blows the smoky scent of his cologne into your nostrils. As if you hadn’t already committed it to memory. “If I did all the work?”
“Well, you can’t blame a lady for wanting to know if something’s worth her while.” You tease as he closes the space between you, backing you up against the rusted metal door of the stairwell. “Because if we’re being honest, Miguel, I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I’m perfectly fine here on my own.”
“I can see that.” His irises glow a fiery red against the white sclera of his eyes, searching your face for any hint of doubt or deceit. Your senses had been telling you that he wanted much more from you than just a teammate, the sound of his pulse quickening whenever he looked at you barely louder than the silence of his stilled breath. He wanted you… needed you almost as carnally as you needed him, and it was getting to be more difficult for either of you to ignore it.
“But don’t you want to be more than ‘just fine’?” He plants his palms against the brick structure behind you, his direct proximity tying a knot into your stomach as the night sky behind him somehow bleeds a passionate crimson hue. You can visibly see his intentions, actually feel the desire as it emanates out of his pores and into the hot summer air, drawing you in with its magnetic pull. “Don’t you want to be amazing?”
“I can tell that you do.” You smirk, prolonging your trance as you trace the bright red outline of the spider on his chest, watching it rise and fall faster with each word you speak. “Not everybody wants what you want, Miguel.”
“Is that so?” He leans in close, his full lips brushing against your ear as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. “Is that why you moan my name at night every time I leave your world?” He slides his knee swiftly between your legs, gently lifting it up the crevice of your thighs until it rubs that sensitive spot between them.
“You’ve been watching me?” You knew that he’d been keeping tabs on you from whatever little hideout he had beyond your known universe, but you didn’t realize that he was paying that close attention to you. How much of your behavior had he actually witnessed? Was he speculating, hopeful, or had he actually watched while you slid your fingers beneath your underwear to satisfy that sudden urge his presence always seemed to evoke?
“You’re surprised?” He jeers confidently, his breath hot on your neck as he draws out a groan from your chest with another brush of his thigh, tapping into your natural moisture.
“That doesn’t really seem fair,” you start, eyes fluttering to catch glimpses of that scarlet sky phasing in and out of black and magenta as he continues to stimulate you. “You get to see all of me, but I don’t get to see any of you.”
You wonder just how far he took his viewings of you late at night; how many times he tuned into his recurring guest appearances in your imagination before you pleasured yourself into a dull, blissful slumber. Had he joined you in your handiwork, stroking himself in tandem, worlds apart, just in time to mutter your name with his release before the connection was lost? Or had he stayed tuned way past your loss of consciousness, hoping to hear some verbal confirmation of his presence even in your dreams?
“We can change that, you know.” He closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair, his thick lashes feathering over the shell of your ear as he presses a kiss into your neck.
“You’re gonna let me spy on you when you jerk off, too?” Your breath halts as he tastes the skin behind your ear and underneath your jawline, his teeth nipping at your pulse to make you pay for your quippy retort.
“Aye, cariño, are you always this mouthy?” He grabs onto your chin in a failed attempt to reign you in, the tips of his protracted claws nearly breaking your skin as he thrusts himself against you.
“You have no idea.”
—————————————
Miguel manages to stumble into your apartment with your legs wrapped around his waist, his clawed hands grasping at your thighs as they desperately cling to his hips. He pulls you up into him as he rounds the corner past your couch, his erection stretching the navy blue fabric of his suit as it grows harder against the drenched mound between your legs.
“You fucking taste like heaven, you know that?” He whispers through a dozen hungry kisses, the sharp sting to your skin and the iron of your blood flooding your senses as he bites down onto your bottom lip, wantonly sucking it into his mouth. That twinge of pain that would have hurt before you got your powers is nothing more than a scratch, a mere tickle as the warmth of his tongue soon counters it. He tugs and pulls every bit of flavor he can out of it, savoring each hint of salt and remnant of coffee on your tastebuds as he nearly gnaws your lip right off in the process, running into every wall along the way until he eventually reaches your bedroom.
“I thought you said those things were venomous.” You worry aloud, just now noticing their size and severity as he tosses you onto your bed with a lick of his lips.
“Only when I need them to be.” He grins and helps you peel your suit off your arms and torso, tugging it down past your hips and thighs before stepping out of his own spider suit with unmatchable ease. Eyes ravenous with lust, he watches you pull the last bit of stretchy cloth off your calves and feet, licking the tips of his fangs again as you toss your costume onto the floor.
“Well that’s lucky for me, then.” You sit up and press your knees into the mattress in order to get closer to him.
“Lucky for both of us.” He slides his thumbs beneath his boxer briefs and exposes what he’s working with, stealing the very breath from your lungs. Before you can comment on how big he is, before you can make a joke about how you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, he steps toward you and places his hand in the middle of your chest, pushing you flat onto your back.
“Touch yourself,” he instructs sternly.
“What?” Your brow furrows. Hasn’t he gotten enough of that through his viewfinder? Wasn’t that the whole point of him coming here in person? To actually touch you with his own hands and taste you with his own mouth? So that he didn’t have to just watch?
“I want you to touch yourself like you do when you think I’m not watching,” he reiterates, standing his ground as he resists the temptation to stroke himself, a single droplet of precum leaking from the tip of his cock.
“Oh. Okay.” You nod, his demanding tone of flattery quickly fueling your actions as it overpowers that inherent sense of stage fright nagging in the back of your head. “I can do that.”
You watch him hold his breath as you slide two fingers into your mouth, sucking on them as gratuitously as you can before pulling them out with a long trail of spit leading down your chin. His eyes follow your digits with rapt attention as you bring them down your body, their deep ruby hues darkening to burgundy as his pupils begin to dilate. You hear his breath hitch as you graze over your hardened nipples, snake your way down your navel and finally smooth them in between your soaking wet folds, exciting the sensitive neurons that have been begging for attention since the moment he arrived.
Doing as you’re told, you spread your juices up and down the length of your lips, catching a glimpse of his cock twitching against his stomach in anticipation, throbbing as you slowly pull upward on your clit. You can’t help but wonder how amazing he’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, your fingers barely able to do his length and girth any justice as you slide them inside your walls.
“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he finally exhales with a hint of a moan. He retracts his claws with a bite of his lip, cautiously touching your bare feet with the palms of his hands before slowly spreading your legs apart as he continues to watch you work. “Who knew your pussy’d be just as pretty as your face, huh?”
You huff in exasperation, too stunned to speak as his grin mimics your smile from the edge of the bed.
“You look even better from this angle, you know that?” Another lick of his lips spurns a trail of kisses onto the balls of your feet as he crawls between your legs, sucking little bruises into your calves and behind your knees; mementos for you to remember him by once he inevitably returns to his own world. You keep rubbing your bud up and down as he advances along your body; his lips, teeth and tongue massaging the skin of your inner thigh as waves of pleasure start building up into your core from both of your tantalizing efforts.
It isn’t long before he lifts your leg up over his shoulder, biting into your thigh once more before looking up at you with completely blackened eyes, your blood now staining his lips as it smears across his cheek. You moan as he takes his time lapping up the scarlet fluid as it mixes with his saliva, dripping down between your crevices as his mouth gets that much closer to your needy center.
Without a word of warning, he grabs onto your wrist and carefully pulls your fingers out of your swollen heat before encircling them with his lips. Those charcoal eyes of his roll back into his head, a deep guttural groan vibrating around your fingers as his tongue surrounds them, the savory flavor of your blood now blending in with the sweet tanginess of your sex. You push them in even further past his blood-stained lips, shivering in arousal as he sucks all the way down to your knuckles, making a sloppy show of licking them clean before finally drawing them out.
“Not so mouthy anymore, huh?” He asks, kissing the palm of your hand before lifting it up and placing your wet fingers into his hair.
“Uh-uh,” you whisper, the heat from his breath sending phantom pulses of bliss up through your spine, leaving you practically speechless.
“Then let’s see if I can get you to make some noise.” He licks a stripe up the length of your folds, choosing not to use his fangs on your most sensitive area as he focuses solely on tasting your raw flesh. He groans into your skin as he licks you up and down, inhaling your pheromonal scent as if your very essence is the only thing capable of sustaining him any further.
Your eyelids fall shut as you allow a few breathy moans to escape your lips, his tongue saturating every receptor you have with such an intense euphoria that it forces your hips to buck up into his mouth. Your grip on his onyx locks tightens as he continues to suck on your clit, pulling it taut into his mouth just like he had with your bottom lip, persistently eating you out like a man starved for days.
“See how good you are at following my orders?” He stops licking you just as you’re on the brink of ecstasy, a thin ring of red now glowing around the rims of his irises. “I just need you to do one more thing for me.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” You barely have the capacity to ask, your muscles vibrating beneath him with the promise of release that he so quickly took away from you.
His full lips curl into a smirk as he licks your bud one last time, kissing his way up your belly and breasts before reaching your neck, his cock needily bobbing between your legs until it slides inside you without ceremony. You gasp as his girth fills you up with impeccable ease, your slick walls welcoming his thick throbbing member, clenching down around him as he gently thrusts up into you.
“Miguel!” You shout in a stifled whisper, stars shining in your eyes as the tip of his cock hits that bundle of nerves he’s been teasing all night.
“Come for me,” he growls against your throat, all traces of that controlled man fading away as he pins your wrists to the mattress before bottoming out completely, rutting into you repeatedly like a wild animal.
“Mmm hmm!” Your moans echo off the walls in your bedroom as he drives himself further inside your heat, ricocheting off your nightstand and ceiling fan until they dissipate into the air above you, falling down like raindrops as they cover you both. His hips only quicken their steady pace the deeper he gets, sending hit after hit of white hot bliss up into your core until your body can no longer take it.
That wave of pleasure you’re so used to delivering yourself nearly takes you out completely as it washes over every inch of you from the inside out. It paints every cell in your skin, muscles and bones all the colors of the rainbow under Miguel’s hypnotic thrusts, his sweat dripping down onto you in tiny translucent beads before melting into your skin. Both of you phase in and out a variety of shades and patterns as you wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him in to make sure he feels the heightened state of nirvana he’s finally brought you to.
“I can feel you falling apart around me, cariño,” he whispers into your shoulder, thrusting one last time as hard as he can as he twitches and spasms inside you. Lavender paisleys, red and white stripes, olive and orange checkers all slowly fade away to a calm light blue before he pulls out and eventually lets go of your wrists. “You sure you don’t want to join my team?”
#miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse#oscar isaac#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#spiderman 2099
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absolutely need a plug!zoro cheating on his gf with u nsfw …
no bc y’all are on a roll w these plug!zoro requests! position is based off this video btw 😩
ೃ⁀➷ what you want, roronoa zoro
thinking about the way that man would literally hate his girlfriend fr. like, he’s sure he’s only with her because his family loves her, but he just doesn’t. and i mean he proves that when he ends up outside your door in the middle of the rainy night, somewhere around 3 AM.
everyone would always ask him—why not just break up with her? and zoro never had an answer. his girlfriend was too fragile of a person and he hated that crying shit honestly. the only person he ever cared about making cry was ironically you.
his relationship was anything but secure. zoro was chill with whatever his girlfriend did. he trusted her, at first. she wanted to go to a party, he’d let her. she got a ride from some guy friend who was maybe his level of attractive? he didn’t care. but the same rules didn’t apply to him. zoro could be getting ready to go to work and his girlfriend would be up on him with accusations.
“i feel like you’re gonna go and fuck that bitch,” his girlfriend spat with venom, referring to you as he slid on his jeans. the green head couldn’t help but roll his eyes as she rambled on about disliking you. he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself lightly when he realized how crazy she was behind closed doors.
“well now i’mma go do that just cuz’ you said it,” he muttered, just trying to get underneath her skin. his girlfriend thought he was bluffing, but not with the way blood rushed to zoro’s dick at the thought of just being in your arms to cuddle tonight.
zoro doesn’t think twice either when it comes to pulling up to your crib. he parked in front of your cute little car, something he did to express his dominance over you in the way your cars together looked like a ‘his and hers’ pair. he was weird like that, but that’s just how much he felt for you fr.
by the time he gets to your door, his heart is already thumping in his chest. not in fear of getting caught, but instead at the sight of you in your tiny nightdress, two sizes to small to barely contain your wide hips and busty breasts.
you give him a blank look as you leaned against the threshold of the door. “ian call you for no weed.”
zoro gives you his million dollar smirk. “you should know that’s not the only reason i come over anymore.”
“yeah yeah to cheat on your girl, sure zoro,” you roll your eyes.
the green head kisses his teeth, “not cheating if i don’t want her.” with a step to the side, you helplessly let him in, and he wastes no time in kissing your lips. “missed you so damn much.”
“missed you too,” you can’t help but mutter against his lips. zoro wraps his hands around your waist and pulls your smaller frame against this larger own. his hands shamelessly wanter down to the fat of your ass as he grips it, giving it a reddening smack and repeating his actions.
zoro pulls away with one last peck to your lips. “how was your day mama?” he grabs your hand and drags you to the couch.
“fine,” you muttered with a bored expression, grabbing the remote to turn on the tv.
zoro furrows his eyebrow and snatches the remote from your hand. “what’s up wit’ you? you okay? talk to me.”
you shrug your shoulders. “i’m straight,” but your tone wasn’t convincing him otherwise.
zoro gives you a suspicious hum before pulling you into his lap. “what you doing tomorrow night?”
“probably homework,” you admit. “why?”
zoro can’t help but grin at you, flashing his gold canine pieces. “got us tickets to see that standup you been wanting to go to.”
your eyes can’t help but brighten at his words. “you lying.”
“i’m so deadass,” zoro laughed.
you kiss your teeth and slap his chest. “you don’t even like comedy!”
the greenhead gives you a shy shrug with a small blush flaming his tan cheeks. “they have an open bar, free sake so,” with a playful roll of your eyes, you kiss your teeth but smile. “so you gon’ stop giving me this bratty ass silent treatment?”
“whatever. you’re a whore for sake.”
“nah,” zoro shakes his head. “you ain’t hit me all week. you know what i had to go through not talking to you.”
you give him a sarcastic frown before pecking his lips. “aw, poor baby.” you move to pull away but are shocked when zoro grips your face and forces you back into his orbit.
how you found yourself half naked on his lip with your legs spread for him—you don’t know. damn mosshead was just that good.
“i got you,” zoro’s voice is all you hear as he steadies you on top of him with your back facing the tv. his one arm is all he needs to steady your body against his lip while he uses the other to start rubbing at you clit. “just touch me baby.”
a breath escapes from your throat as you find the courage to wrap your hand about his hard cock. his tip is an angry peach color as it oozes out pre cum, already excited from your touch. “like this daddy?”
“fuck, just like that mama,” zoro’s own breath hitches in his throat as he fights not to buck up into your grasp. “love the way you touch me. just like that baby. make me feel so safe.”
you’re almost shocked by the words leaving your mouth as you continue jerking him. the two of you hold an intimate scope of eye contact as you touch each other’s body, nothing being heard but the soft moans and breaths from your arousal.
“make you feel safe?” your voice is soft and sultry as you run your thumb over his tip. zoro can’t help but groan at his sensitivity, too late to even catch himseld. “feel safe when im loving you like this papa? you like that?”
“oh fuck, yes,” zoro whined, fully submitting to you. his girlfriend had never seen this side of him. every time he had sex with her, if he ever did, it was quick and to the point. no one was able to milk out this soft and vulnerable side to him but you. oh how you had his fucking heart and dick in the comfort of your pocket.
your legs are spread in front of zoro, giving him a complete view of what you were working it. somehow wanting to see you spread more, he grabs you by your thighs and opens you up more, practically salivating at the sight of your pretty clit glistening from his touch.
“you make me feel safe too,” you breath out with a blushed smile, trying to keep your pace with jerking zoro off. it was hard to do so when he was rubbing you nice and slow, just the way he knew you liked it.
at this point? it was all more than sex. zoro meant every word he uttered out, especially how you made him feel safe during his most vulnerable moments. only you bought this side out in him.
“fuck i’m almost there, zee.” you throw your head back and grind further into his touch.
“me too baby,” zoro breathed out, watching as cum oozed from his tip by the second. “you fuck me so good, no one does it like you—shit.”
you lick your lips as you lean over and spit on zoro’s cock, adding more lubricant to your already slippery movements. “like it when i stroke your fat cock papa? like this?”
“zoro bites his lip and nods his head. a whine fights to break through from his mouth as he lets out a broken “mhm. fuck, mama. keep going and you’ll make me cum.”
you take this as a challenge and speed up your movements with hopes to overstimulate him. zoro’s mouth falls open, and the tables inevitably turn when he’s shaking beneath you, watching you milk every drop of cum out of him. you hold your tongue out as he shoots his load upwards, droplets of his semen landing on your taste buds.
a greedy smile graces your lips as you continue jerking him off, more and more cum flying out from his sore tip by the second. “fucking hell—just like that just like that, fuck!” zoro moans loudly as he feels himself get drained.
you didn’t mind the fact that he came before you this time. watching this hard man come undone before you was enough to have you creaming all over his fingers right after. you too begin to breathe heavily as zoro maintians his circular movements against your clit.
when you’re both fucked out from your intimate session, zoro slides you onto his lap, your clit begrudgingly grinding against the base of his still hard dick. with his face in your neck, he breathes out, “i’ll break up with her. your eyebrows raise at his words. “if that’s what you want.” you waste no time in giving him a stern response.
“it is what i want.”
#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#plug zoro#plug!zoro#plug zoro x black reader#plug zoro x chubby reader#plug zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x black reader#zoro x black reader#zoro x chubby reader#roronoa zoro x chubby reader#roronoa zoro smut#zoro smut#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#one piece x black reader#one piece x black!reader#one piece x chubby reader#one piece x reader#one piece smut
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Hiii hope you are well ❤️💜💕💕you're a amazing human being and I love your work 😘💖 requesting sukuna fucking you from the back while holding you in a choke hold with his big bicep (true form or not it's fine)?
Have a wonderful dayyy😭😭💜
This is uhhhhhhhhh read at your own discretion (ILY nonnie ty for the ask<3)
Contains: fem reader, true from sukuna, double penetration, blood, so much degradation, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, hair pulling, passing out, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, blood, dacraphillia, cumming inside, talk of pregnancy, dub con if you squint, mind break, strangling, breath play
MDNI
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ
"Fucking." thrust "Take it." thrust. Sukuna fucked his inhumanly large dicks in and out of your holes at an almost intolerable pace. He had completely filled you up, not a single ridge inside your pussy was being neglected as his massive cocks abusing your sore holes.
He had two large lands gripping your waist, while he dug his nails into your skin, making pretty streaks of crimson blood drip down your hips and thighs. One hand was dangling by his side, occasionally leaving harsh slaps against the fat of your ass, while his other—arguably the meanest limb—currently had you in a chokehold.
The massive curse would squeeze his arm around your throat and completely constrict your airflow before he loosened it for a couple seconds, laughing at you while you gasped and sputtered, choking down the oxygen he allowed you to. You were positive he had ripped you open at some point, it had been hours and you still hadn't adjusted to his cock properly. Every time he pulled back his hips and thrust his cocks inside you, you felt like your guts were being shoved out of the way to make room for him.
You had gone numb to his nails that dug into the flesh on your hips, too focused on the painful pleasure you were feeling between your legs. "Fuck! Fucking bitch-" He cursed, squeezing your neck tighter and leaving a mean slap on your ass when he felt you cum around him for the nth time that night. The pulsing and clenching of your walls made the pace of his hips stutter before he got ahold on himself again. "Did I say" slap "You could fucking" slap "Cum?" he snarled, spanking your ass so hard you swore it would leave a permanent imprint of his hand against your skin.
"'M s-ooryy, sorry s-ahh!" You tried to speak through his heavy thrusts, but he was having none of it. "Didn't say you could fucking talk either," The king emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, that made you dizzy as you yelled out in pain. "Gotta shut you up." He growled, pausing his hips for a second before he cupped his free hand over your mouth, completely covering your mouth and nose as he once again squeezed his bicep around your neck. "Try not to die." He laughed menacingly into your ear before his hips started up a bruising pace.
Your eyes immediately rolled back into your head at the overbearing stimulation. You were thrown into fight or flight mode when you tried to gasp against his hand but to no avail. Sukuna kept his hand firmly pressed over your face to ensure that no oxygen would enter your lungs. "Aww, is the little slut crying?" He giggled, staring down between the two of you at the mean arch he had you in, watching his cock leave your asshole, lined with streaks of blood.
"You wanted this, kept fucking around so I brought you into my domain like you wanted." He snarled, gripping your jaw with his current hold on your face and turning it to the side so he could get a glimpse of your expression. Your face had gone pale, save for the deep blush that covered your cheeks. Your eyes had lost focus, continuously rolling into the back of your head with each thrust he gave you, and your soft cheeks were wet with your tears—those same eyes had begun to swell up from how long you had been crying.
He was right though, your fucked up body was loving this, you would scream that from the rooftops if he allowed you to, but right now it was quite evident he didn't want anything to do with your voice. "Oh fuck." He laughed, his four eyes all staring into yours as you did your best to keep yourself awake, trying to maintain eye contact with the curse to the best of your ability. "You really are crying." He bared his teeth to you as he smiled maliciously, both of his cocks twitching at your fucked up expression.
He watched intently with bated breath as your eyes fully rolled back into your head, your body going limp in his hold as he smiled, "Yeesssyesyes, fuck." He groaned, before releasing his hand from your mouth and simultaneously loosened his hold on your neck. Immediately his big hand started slapping your face harshly, "You don't get to get out of this that easily." He laughed, watching you slowly regain consciousness against him as you coughed and sputtered into the air when you came to.
"How was your nap?" His laugh vibrated your body, at some point he had picked you up a couple inches off the ground, and you internally thanked him as you had lost feeling in your legs quite a long time ago. Your moans echoed loudly in the space of his domain, whines turned into screams when he scratched his nails deeper into the skin of your thighs, reminding you of his hold there.
"You're a fucking mess." He chastized, as you gasped and cried into the space in front of you. Your smaller hands came up to grip his bicep, using the little strength you had left in your body you push his arms towards your neck once more, silently telling him to choke you out again.
Sukuna's eyes shot up in disbelief, were you seriously trying to order him around right now? You had balls, he would give you that. "Oh you want to die don't you, bitch?" He snarled, releasing you from the chokehold he had you in and instead used two hands to wrap around your neck and strangle you while he fucked his hips into you impossibly harder.
“You like this? Huh?" He growled as your cunt unashamedly squeezed around his cock, "Such a fucked up human I caught." He laughed to himself while you gasped and clawed at his hands, leaving angry red marks on his skin. "What's wrong? Gonna pass out again? Huh?" He cooed, feigning remorse while he felt your body try to fight back against him.
Despite how bad you had wanted him to choke you out, your body was going to register his actions as a threat no matter what. "God, stop fucking squeezing or I'm gonna cum inside." He said, making you panic slightly. You weren't on birth control, but you weren't even sure if a curse could get a human pregnant. Sukuna was a special case, which made you even more confused. Not like you had the brain power to go over the logistics of that right now anyways.
He felt your cunt and ass squeeze his cocks simultaneously at his words, also noticing how you tried to shake your head at him, warning him not to. "Oh does that scare you?" He asked, unimpressed when you continued your annoying moaning and babbling, not answering him. "I asked you a question, brat." He growled, squeezing your throat harder for a brief second before he loosened his grip, allowing you to breathe.
You gasped and choked on the oxygen, trying to turn your head to the side to look at him when you spoke, making little progress in your efforts as his hold on your neck was quite strong. "N-no, do-nt cum insdie." You cried, making him smile at your weeping face. "No?" He repeated, pouting his lip out at you in faux sympathy, "But I want to." He said, shaking your neck in his grasp and making your empty head shake around like a bobblehead toy.
You had no strength in your body left to fight him, opting to face your fate and let him have his way with you, you would deal with the consequences later. You couldn't lie that the thought of this terrifying man filling you up in both holes for the first time didn't excite you. The rational part of your brain was slipping further and further away from you the longer he fucked you. He was hitting all the right spots inside you, and at some point, the pleasure had started to overwhelm the pain.
He noticed your body had stop stying to fight him, falling limp to his ministrations as he pressed his hips flush against your ass and rotated it in circles, "You want my cum inside you, human?" He asked, his deep voice against your ear sent goosepumps down your arms. "Wanna be my concubine huh? Ill keep you here forever," He groned, his hips still rotating in circles and massaging your sweet spots, "Ill fuck load after load into your used-up cunt, till I get you pregnant." His voice was pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.
You knew this was fucked up but you couldn't bring yourself to care right now, he was working you over so fucking well. "Yesyesyes Sukuna~ S-sukuna pl-ease~" Your hoarse voice whined out, broken up by his thrusts. In any other scenario, he would've cut you down for using his name without permission, but right now, your cunt and asshole were milking him quickly toward his orgasm, he was too close to care. He groaned at your words, his large hands abandoning their place around your neck to grab your tits and massage them, digging his nails into the flesh there, hard enough to draw blood as he used your body to ground himself.
"Fuck- sloppy fucking pussy gonna make me cum-" He groaned. His eyes wandered up to your neck, and he shook his head at the dark purple marks that littered your skin there, he couldn't help but think how fucking pretty it looked. The sight brought him closer to his high as his hips started losing their pace against your ass. "P-please- c-can I c-cum" You wined. He smiled at you, proud that you remembered to ask before you so greedily orgasmed without his permission. He was the one who was so kindly fucking you after all, so he should get the say in weather you cum or not.
"You can cum after me." He challenged, wanting to see if you could really make it. From how hard and rapidly your cunt was pulsing around him, he didn't think you would last much longer. "F-fuuuuck fuckfuck." You whined as he fucked the moans from your throat. He shook his head in disapproval, "Such a naughty mouth, remind me to take care of that next time." He said in response to your cursing as one of his large hands abandoned its hold on your hip to push your lower back down into a meaner arch against him.
The promise of a next time almost made you cum around him at what was to come. You had no idea how you held yourself back, maybe it was your inner consciousness afraid of what he would do to you if you disobeyed him, but you managed to hold out long enough for the king to cum. "Fuck, take it all, if you let a drop go to w-waste, I’ll kill you where you stand." He promised, clenching his jaw together as the rope started to untangle in his stomach.
His head tipped back, his jaw going slack as the first suprts of his cum started flooding your cunt and asshole. The second you felt his seed fill you up, you came around him, your holes milking him through his orgasm as you came harder than you ever have. If it wasnt for his four arms that held your body up, you woulve gone slack against the floor, "Fuuuuck! Fucking" thrust "Take my cum" thrust "Yesyesyes" The curse groaned, biting his lip at the intensity of his own orgasm.
His cum filled you up to the brim, the feeling of his warm seed filling both your holes at once felt strange and uncomfortable, but also weirdly right, you felt like this was your purpose—like his words were true, maybe your purpose really was to be here and be at his beck and call whenever he needed to release his stress, or simply wanted to get off.
He didn't wait for your own orgasm to finish before he released your body from his hold, letting your weak body fall to the ground of his domain by his feet, his cocks slipped out of you with a lewd squelching sound as you twitched below him in your aftershocks. The mouth on his stomach smiled at you, matching his own expression before it opened to lick your blood and juices off of his orgasm, and swallowing it greedily.
Your eyes fluttered as you started to come down from your orgasm. The massive figure in front of you ran a hand through his sweaty hair before his heavy leg kicked you in the stomach, not too hard, but hard enough to make you cough and direct your attention up at him. Before you knew it his face was in front of you and his large hand was in your hair as he raised you up from the ground with that grip alone, making you wince and whine in pain.
He stood to his full height once more, dragging your head and pressing it flush against his dirtied cocks, smearing your cum and blood on the side of your face as he gave you a disgusted look, "Clean your mess, useless human." He spat, digging his nails against your scalp. You gripped your hands into his massive thighs, and looked up at him from underneath your lashes, practically looking at him with hearts in your eyes as you rubbed your head against his thigh before kitten-licking one of his dick's tips.
He huffed out a laugh of disbelief at how obedient you were. How did he manage to find such a perfect fuck toy? Let alone a human toy at that. He could work with this.
#this is so filthy#this came from deep within me#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#sukuna ryoumen smut#sukuna smut#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryoumen x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#ryoumen sukuna#sukuna scenarios#true form sukuna#gojo smut
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Killer Croc's little bro was apparently in Gotham.
How did everyone know? Because he was seen physically dragging said older brother out of the sewers and into the nearest cafe.
And Killer Croc was just. So docile??? He was shy, a bit nervous, amused, and was practically harmless. Which wasn't something anyone would have associated with Killer Croc.
And the fact that said little bro can lift him up easily too? What kind of parents did they have for their son to be able to lift up the Killer Croc so easily?
Meanwhile, Jack just doesn't get why everyone reacts negatively to his big brother, it's not like he was a ghost for goodness sake and yea he's working on not being like he was before his son revealed himself to be part ghost, but still.
His brother was still human, just extra.
Why did Jack come to Gotham? He was kinda maybe forced out the house to go and find his brother because he liked talking about him but never actually went out to find him.
Jack and Croc may be half-brothers, yes, but he's still family.
Jack strongarms Killer Croc into not living in, well, the sewers and at his house he bought when he came to Gotham and they both caught up with each other's lives. Jack told Croc about his family, and by extension the shit views he's had on ghost because it was a major part in their family dynamics, and Croc told him about his own life in Gotham.
Minus the more gruesome, parts.
Killer Croc lives with him for a while and notices that he didn't really seem to care for his life. Which is a major no to Croc, who tries to get him to gain some amount of self-preservation, yes he knows that his little bro is more durable than the average human has any right to be but please for the sake of your big bro's heart, please take care of yourself.
Jack is a bit floored by this, and tries to wave it off as a non-issue. But if Jack can strongarm Croc into living with him, then Croc can definitely strongarm Jack into things as well.
Busting through walls is fine, alright. He gets it, it's very fun. But please don't stick random things into your mouth that can kill you, nor follow strangers down an alleyway and shrug off a stabbing (Killer Croc had some choice words and actions for the person who did such a thing.), and please, please practice stranger danger, little bro. Please.
No, he doesn't give two, three, four, five or ten fucking shits if you have microsurgeons in your blood that gives you a superhuman healing factor, you can still feel pain little bro, and stop skipping meals and sleep to work on your inventions! No, you cannot substitute either for energy drinks!
The batfam keep an eye on the two brothers and find it to just be the both of them strongarming the other into healthy behaviors basically. (With a lot of verbal and physical "I love you"'s, the Batfam could NEVER. slash joke teehee.)
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc#dcxdp#Jack Fenton and Killer Croc half-brother's au#Just wait until Croc finds out about his wife and son cause oh boy are they just as bad as he is when it comes to self-preservation.#Jack strongarms him into living a normal life where he doesn't hide away and deserves to be treated as a person#While Croc strongarms Jack into having more self-preservation that he seemingly lacked.#Wouldn't ya know a lack of self-preservation is a common trait in the Fentonnightingle history since the days or yore#Their dad had it and Jack got it unfortunately#Jack would also like to punt his mother for abandoning his brother.#You know your self-preservation is bad when Killer Croc has to strongarm you into taking care of yourself
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lovesick┆gojo satoru
୧ genre: fluff
୧ wc: 1.4k
୧ synopsis: megumi is sick with a common cold, and gojo is simply lovesick for you.
Gojo Satoru convinces himself that he's not jealous.
How could he feel such a prickling and burning sensation in his lower tummy, slowly rising towards his heart making his blood boil and face grow hot just because you're nursing eleven-year-old Megumi back to health? The same little rascal that he had previously gotten into a spat with over something stupid and it doesn't help that the brat's sticking his tongue out and pulling down his lower eyelid taunting him.
But of course, you're too busy doting over sweet and innocent Megumi to notice. Too preoccupied with fluffing the pillows for the young boy to rest his poor head on, gently tucking him in with a cozy throw blanket, putting something on the platinum screen with the promise of brewing him a ginger-honey tea to make him feel better.
No matter how much Gojo tries to ignore Megumi, his facial muscles twitch and contort on their own in utter dismay and his Six Eyes zeroes in on the couch-ridden boy with his lips curling into a deep frown before sticking his tongue back at him.
"Come on, Satoru. Be nice to him, he's really sick." You say as you start the kettle and reach for a mug from the cabinet. Gojo's forced to acknowledge that Megumi wasn't faking the snotty nose and loud sneezes, but he still doesn't like the idea of losing to one smug child and giving him the satisfaction that he's secured his revenge which is your devoted attention. Maybe Megumi knew that his guardian would go a wee-bit insane being treated as a second thought but Gojo will never admit that it's working.
"Hey honey, you know what? I don't feel so good either. Here, feel my forehead." Gojo takes your hand and places it over his forehead to check if it's warm to the touch and he makes sure to do his best impression of looking pathetically sick—droopy eyelids, jutting his lower lip into a pout, and slumped shoulders to get your sympathy.
"Satoru, you feel perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with you."
"I swear I'm not feeling well. My throat feels weird and scratchy, my body feels flashes of hot and cold, my head is pounding and it's killing me, and.." Gojo tries to convince you that he's experiencing every symptom he could think of and you knew he was determined to be sick. Between your "uh-huh" and "right" you decide to humor him as you follow his explanation and tried your hardest to hold back a smile when he throws in an exaggerated detail or two.
"Alright, you big baby. We can't have you feeling sick now, can we? Can't have the strongest sorcerer out of commission for long, hm?"
"Nope, that'd be very bad. As long as you drop everything and pour all your attention on me, I should get better in no time. No pressure or anything, but the world does kinda depend on it~" Gojo flashes you a toothy grin then quickly remembers that he's supposed to be sick and feigns a cough or two averting your knowing glance.
"Hmm, okay I'll see what I can do. Now come here, let's get you all nice and comfortable so you can get your much-needed rest and get well again." You lead him to your shared bedroom and reflect the covers back for him to climb onto the mattress and ensure he's warm and cozy as you pull the comforter over him. For someone who's supposed to feel horribly ill Gojo sure can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. "You seem a little too happy to be sick, don't you think?"
"Just glad that you'll be the one to help me get back my strength is all." Through his fluttering lashes, he sports the most innocent and angelic expression he can muster and you can't help the soft giggle given his stellar performance up until this point.
"Alright, if you say so. I'll get you something to eat, okay? I'll be right back."
As you're turning on your heel to head for the door, Gojo pouts and protests. "Wha- No sweet kiss to hold me over? You might be a while and I'll get lonely since you're not here to keep me company."
"Aw, sorry baby. But you know there's no kissing until you're all better. Can't get myself sick now that I have to look after you and Megumi, right? I promise you I won't be long."
"...Not even a forehead kiss? :(" He murmurs under his breath as he watches your back to him and eventually disappears into another room. Once Gojo's left to his own devices, he wonders how long it would take you to complete your task on hand. He fiddles with his thumbs and counts the passing minutes. One minute becomes five, five becomes ten, then ten becomes twenty and he suddenly cannot bear to be apart from you much longer and checks on you.
"Sweetheart, what's taking you so long? I thoug-" And there he stumbles across the answer to his own question. Megumi is being spoon-fed rice porridge by you because he claims that his arms are too weak to do it himself and you couldn't leave him starved in his condition. Gojo appears crestfallen and disgruntled in the throw blanket draped over his lanky body and with a small huff he grumbles, "So that's what you've been up to. Fine, fine I guess it's up to me to take care of myself, huh?"
"What's wrong with him? Is he sick too or something?" Megumi asks nonchalantly as he watches his mentor's dejected form return to his bedroom to sulk. You gently shake your head and offer the young boy a soft smile, but you do feel a little bad that your husband has been acting unusual lately hence his needy and clingy tendencies.
"He's just going through a phase, but don't you worry about him and focus on getting better, okay? I'll find a way to make it up to him."
When you enter your shared bedroom with a platter of breakfast in your grasp, you found Gojo hiding under the covers in an attempt of giving you his silent treatment. You place the serving tray of food on the nightstand and situate yourself on the bed beside him, smoothing your hand over his covered shoulder as he's laid on his side with his face away from you. "Satoru, my love, I've brought you breakfast."
With a soft shrug of his shoulder, he responds with a strained hum but you know it's just him being melodramatic because he could never truly be mad at you. "Do you wanna tell me what's on your mind? I'm all yours if you come on out from under the covers."
Gojo shifts his body weight around and tufts of white hair start to peek as he gradually pulls the blanket down until you meet his azure gaze and he receives your sweet smile. "Hey there, is everything alright? Did I do something to upset you?" The tender warmth of your hand finds its home on his cheek with a gentle caress and he sighs contently at the familiar touch. You're patient as you wait for him to gather his thoughts, your fingers moving to his soft tendrils in soothing motions and he inches closer to you.
"You've never done a single thing wrong ever. You are perfect," he begins slowly. "I just missed you and ever since I got back from my mission you were too busy with the kids (Megumi and Tsumiki) that we haven't had any time together and I just wanna be with you." Gojo confesses as he's playing with the hem of your shirt, feeling a bit vulnerable to look you straight in the eyes. "Oh, and another thing... I'm not actually sick I only said that so you'd notice me more."
"Thanks for being honest with me. And I knew that you weren't sick. For someone who's supposed to be good at anything he tries, I'm glad that you turned out to be a pretty bad liar."
Gojo's face heats up at that and he unceremoniously buries his face in your lap from embarrassment, as muffled words of "Oh, so you knew. I thought I was pretty convincing" managed to reach your ears.
"Tell you what, how about we have ourselves a nice picnic this weekend? Just the two of us, I'll find someone to watch the kids. And I think maybe spending an afternoon in the sunshine will do us some good. What do you think?"
Gojo suddenly lights up at your proposal. "I think you're wonderful for planning the perfect date."
"You're sweet for giving me so much credit." Your soft laughter quickly melts his heart and he returns your affections, feeling a little more in love with you as you're both sharing a moment together. "I love you."
"I love you so much more, my sweet angel."
#a lil extra: megumi makes an origami turtle signed 'truce?' to which gojo responds with his own 'truce' and all is right in the world again#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x you#jjk imagines#jjk x reader#jjk gojo satoru#gojo satoru#satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru fluff
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Can I has Mafia!Jenson x assistant!reader where she wears the body jewellery to a dinner of some sorts, or like an event, and Jenson is just completely speechless? They're in that weird cat and mouse game still where they both know the other has feelings but are too scared to admit their own but Jenson would kill whoever looks at her 👐🏼
A/N: HEHEHE
"I am, not wearing that."
Lewis snaps his fan closed and groans, cracking his neck as he glares at you. "Yes the fuck you are, now, go change." He pats your ass and throws you into the changing room. You turn quick and pull at the handle and groan when you realize the bastard locked it from the outside.
"I'll just stay in here!" You yell, a snort echos, as Lewis's boots click on the floor. "Fine you can stay in there, but Jenson will come in here, now wither I open the door with you dressed or naked, is your choice." Biting down hard, your jaw aches from the threat, blowing air out as you take a moment to calm down.
"I hate you!" "No you don't,"
Groaning, you hate that Lewis was right, you could never hate your best friend. Looking at the outfit you groan and quickly undress.
-----------------
"Goddamn, even I'd fuck you." Blushing at the words, Lewis smiles as he walks around you. Wearing black stilettos, a skin tight black dress that had a deep cut V that went down to your naval, your breasts holding perfectly it looked sinful, it had slits on either side that went up to the curves of your hip bones, you'd keep to yourself you weren't wearing any panties. But the silent killer, was this small but noticeable gold chain that layed on your sternum, but broke off at the end and wrapped under your breasts. It had gorgeous little pearls that adorned your skin, it looked classy yet a little hint of seduction. Lewis loved it.
"Well, okay," Lewis takes a breath and fixes his pants which has you slapping his shoulder but you both giggle, leaning in he kisses your cheek and brings you over to do a smokey eye and paint your lips a deep wine red. "Thank you," You whisper, feeling confident.
You might work for Jenson Button, one of the feared men in the Mafia world and even made him fall to is knees, but even you needed to feel pretty once in a while, and Lewis was always happy to dress you up. "For you," He whispers and kisses your cheeks.
"I have to go," You sigh, not wanting to head to this meeting. Jenson had asked you to come with and Lewis decided to make you gorgeous and confident and have all the men eating out of your hand.
And damn did he succeed.
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Climbing out of the car you say thank you and hold your little clutch and walk inside to the dark little restaurant. You didn't know where Jenson and the other men where, looking around for them.
Jenson was going to murder Lewis. He was going to kill him and maybe torture him, but he was going to do something to the man. Because explain to him, why he gorgeous, sweet, somewhat shy, and brilliant assistant was currently wearing a dress that was begging Jenson to fuck her in.
Biting his lip he groans, seeing you in that dress should be illegal and the fact he now had business partners here, to see you in this dress. He was going to rip their fucking eyes out. Seeing you look around lost and confused made his blood bump so hard he could hear it in his ears. "Excuse me," He slides out of the booth and walks up behind you, and feels his pants get even tighter seeing the finer details of the dress.
God he wanted to take his hand and reach into the slits of the dress and grab your ass pulling you close, having you sit on his lap and feel him grow hard underneath you. He wanted to slide the long sleeves off your shoulders and watch as you bounce, the body jewelry teasing him and god, he was going to come right here. "Y/n," You jump, and he has to control himself from wrapping his arms around your waist.
"God, Mr. Button, scared me." You blush seeing the way he was eating you alive. "I'm sorry, but...what are you wearing?" He steps closer to you. Body tensing you hate the way you lean forward, craving the warmth and the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.
"Lewis designed it for me," You whisper, as the two of you lean in closer, craning your neck to look up at him, as he looks down at you. "Come home wit-" "Mr. Button, you're table is ready for your orders," The two of you jump back as the waitress smiles, seeming somewhat annoyed and you blush looking away.
"Let's go," He whispers, and holds out his arm, which you gratefully take as he leads you to the table and stops. "Fuck, I can't." He moves to stand in front of you and shrugs his suit jacket off and laying in on your shoulders, covering your body, his hands tighten on the collar and pulls you in.
"Only I can see you like this, understand? Only me," He whispers, leaning in and you have the urge to lean in just a little bit, he smiles and bumps your forehead and moves away. "If they stare at you to long and make you uncomfortable, squeeze my thigh twice and I'll blow their fucking heads off," You nod, getting a smile from him, "Good girl."
#f1#formula 1#f1 fandom#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x y/n#f1 scenario#f1 fluff#f1!mafia#mafia!f1#mafia!jenson button#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#jenson button x reader#f1 x you#jenson button f1#jenson button imagine#jenson button x you#jenson button blurb#jenson button fluff#jenson button x y/n
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You're dead to me [6]
dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader
In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?
warning: english isn't my first language, barely proofread, i lowkey don't like this chap but it's cute, fluff and angst, silly siblings, sad Jake.
Word count: 3,1k
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Your flight back to high camp was amazing. Walking through the forest was something enchanting, out of a fairy tale, but the view from above was something so unrealistic. Colors of green, pink, and blue covered the ground beneath you, and the way the animals climbed the trees or flew just under you. You still couldn't believe where you were. You let go of the reins Neteyam told you to hold and you slightly get up from your seat, holding your body up as you tried to get a better view of everything around you. Neteyam frantically holds onto your arm, "sit down! You're going to fall!"
"As if you would let me fall, who will take care of my younger brother then?" You playfully hit him in the chest with your elbow. Lo'ak then came gliding next to the two of you, "bro! Did you already think of the excuse you're giving mom and dad by being late and bringing (Y/N) with us?" Neteyam groans in response, "I will think of something as an excuse. We are going to hide her in high camp until tomorrow morning by then." You huffed at his words, "hide me in high camp? What are you going to put me in? In a fucking woven bag?!" Lo'ak answered your question as a matter of fact, "I mean, you would easily fit in the bag?" You were ready to jump from Neteyam's Ikran right onto Loak's Ikran, ready to pounce on him. He might be your much younger brother, but you weren't afraid to fight the Na'vi right there and then. "Sis please!" Neteyam wraps his arm around your waist to pull you down, keeping you in place. Even though you were older than them, you had childish traits he thought you wouldn't have. Is this the effect of growing up early and finally feeling free? Would he get to experience that too one day?
As they approached high camp, the horns were heard through the night skies to notify the clan of a return, their return. Kiri facepalmed and looked at Neteyam, "well, there goes your plan. Ready to face the wrath?" His spine shuddered at the question, imagining the wrath of his mother if they took their sister to the clan, but they didn't have another choice now, did they? They couldn't leave you alone out in the open and you were supposed to get here tomorrow anyway, so might as well make you settle down, right? The three Ikrans land right at the opening of the mountains and your four Na'vi siblings climb off it with ease, meanwhile you struggle to get off the animal. You never rode a horse before, imagine a banshee ten times the size. Alright, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the banshees were huge compared to your human self. You huffed in embarrassment as you had a hard time getting off. You were one of the finest warriors and embarrassing yourself in front of a whole clan wasn't on your bucket list, definitely not. Neteyam held your legs as helped you down and you silently thanked him for doing so. The clan surrounded the five of you, standing in a half circle as they stared at you, either with curiosity or weariness. You felt watched, but not in a good way. You were a sky human after all, demon blood in their eyes. Neteyam stepped in front of you, half-shielding you from the prying eyes of his clan, "mawey Na'vi, mawey!" His chest puffed out as he spoke, shoulders broad. You watched him in awe. He was still a child, yet a fine warrior and respected by all. He would be such a good Olo'eyktan. The Na'vi made way as the Tsahik and her daughter passed through, moving to the front with ease as the clan parted like the red sea. You moved away from behind Neteyam, now standing right next to him as you brought your hand to your forehead, "Oel Ngati Kameie." You greeted Mo'at and Neytiri with respect once they were right in front of the crowd.
"I already expected your arrival, (Y/N) Sully." You're shocked that the Tsahik herself announced the news, just like that. The clan started whispering amongst themselves at the mention of the Olo'eyktan's last name and you felt yourself crumbling through the ground. Even Neytiri, your stepmother (?), looked surprised. You didn't know if that surprised expression was meant for the fact her mother announced it or the fact you're her mate's daughter. "I'm- thank you for having me." You bowed your head to show your gratitude, then your gaze traveled to Neytiri. She was already looking at you with those yellow eyes that had so much emotion hidden in them. You felt like she had a lot to say and you felt the same. "My people, mawey. Welcome (Y/N) Sully, daughter of the Olo'eyktan like she's one of our people. She's here to protect us from the dangerous sky demons." Mo'at had her back turned to you as she spoke to her people, emphasizing the fact that you're Jake Sully's child. If she did this to keep you safe, you are in debt to her. Yet, wouldn't something like this make it more complicated? Since you emotionally disowned him as your father? You did, right? You're getting pulled out of your thoughts by a hand harshly wrapping around your wrist. Your head turned to the person in front of you, it was Neytiri. She didn't say anything as she pulled you away from the crowd. Your breath hitched in your mask as you grew nervous, but you didn't complain. She didn't rip your head off, so she wanted to talk to you, right? Tuk looked after you as her mother pulled you away. She looked over at her big brother as she tugged his loincloth, "what is happening?" Tuk was still young, she didn't understand anything that was happening. "It's okay, Tuk! Let's get some food" Lo'ak patted her head, his hands running through her locks. Kiri nodded in agreement, taking Tuk's hand and pulling her to the fire to get their dinner. Neteyam looked after you as his mom and his sister entered their pod, hoping things wouldn't turn more complicated for you.
"Ma'am, what did you want to talk about?" You asked politely once you entered the pod, yet still tried to push her to get to the point. You still remembered how she acted when you taunted your father for questioning his parenting. Neytiri closed the flap of the entrance as she turned to you, cautiously walking over to you. Once she was close enough, she got on her knees for the height difference to not be too intimidating as she spoke, "You're my mate's daughter." You didn't know if it was a question or an extra form of confirmation, but you nodded your head yes. "And you're human." You nodded your head again. "I don't like you, you reek of demon blood." You rolled your eyes. You had to see that one coming."But tell me, child." Your head tilted to the side as you watched her in confusion. Tell her? Tell her what exactly? Neytiri could sense your confusion, so she continued explaining, "what happened, child. Tell your part." You knew it was a demand, yet you couldn't sense a lot of grudges. Her tone was stern and demanding, but not hateful. It was the voice of a wise woman, a wise mother. You decided to make yourself comfortable: taking a seat, sitting your butt on the soft woven carpets as you leaned against the wooden wall. "He was an amazing dad. He didn't see himself as it, but he tried. He tried for me and that's what made him amazing." You fiddled with your mask as you didn't know where to keep your hands, obviously nervous about telling Neytiri about all this. She nodded in understanding, taking a seat as well as she kept quiet to let you continue at your own pace. "Then he left so suddenly and he never returned. I had to hear from the people around me where he went. I waited for years and eventually gave up." Your hands were now lying in your lap as you moved your legs in a cross-legged position, much more comfortable than your last one, "until this day, I hold a grudge against him. He abandoned me, so I am giving him a taste of his own medicine." You didn't notice that your eyes were once again welling up with tears. Your left hand moved towards your mask to try and push it closer towards your face in an attempt to hide. Thank Eywa the mask wasn't transparent. Neytiri leaned towards you, even though she was very weary of you, she awkwardly extended her arm towards you to wipe your tears. Only for a few seconds as she pulled her hand away quickly, but your eyes still widened at the gesture, not knowing how to feel about all this, "you're a strong child with a strong heart, for a sky demon." She then got up and out of the pod. Now that you were finally alone, you once again got lost in your thoughts as you thought about your father.
Once Jake left to Eywa-knows-where, she turned to the backdoor of the pod, "I know you're there. All of you." Neteyam was the first to walk out with his ears flat against his head, followed by Lo'ak, Kiri and Tuk. She looked at her children with a sigh as they all held a guilty yet innocent facade up. "If she's dad's daughter, our sister.. would you hate her?" Lo'ak was the first to speak up. Neteyam wanted to honestly hit him on the back of his head for asking questions like that, but he continued, "she's putting her life in danger for us, therefore she's not so bad right? Dad would have wanted you to try if she's his." Those words hit Neytiri like a truck. Even if she hated sky demons, her mate used to be one and he changed a lot in just a few weeks. Why not her? Being the adorable girl that Tuk is, she chimed into the conversation, "Mom I want to meet her! Can I meet her? Another sibling yay!" Neytiri's canines pierced through her bottom lip as she thought. She still disliked you, also because you were a sky demon. She was conflicted with her feelings, but then she thought about Jake's sad expression. She would be willing to try, for him. Just like how he always tried for her.
From the corner of his eye, Lo'ak noticed how his mother left the pod, meaning you were alone now. At the same time, a horn went off, indicating an arrival. All their heads turned to the opening of the mountain, noticing a familiar ikran about to land. Their father. The four siblings exchanged a look and Neteyam spoke up, "Kiri get some fruits for her and get her away from there. Tuk, Lo'ak, and I will take care of dad. Go!" Kiri followed his orders as she ran to get some leftovers for you to eat, meanwhile, Neteyam immediately went to his father. Lo'ak crouched down to his youngest sibling, "Okay, so don't say anything about sis (Y/N) alright? Dad can't know yet, alright?" Tuk didn't really understand what he meant, but she just nodded as a response, "yes!"
"Sister (Y/N)?" You removed your face from your knees as you were sitting with your knees to your chest, "Oh Kiri, what's wrong?" She walked towards you with a bunch of fruits in her arms, "I got these for you." You chuckled at the small gesture, "thank you so much, but I hope you know I can't eat all that." She looked at the fruits in her arms, "I mean, rather too much than not enough, right? Come on, let's go to the Tsahik." It looked like she was in a rush and you raised your eyebrows at her, "Kiri, what's up? You look tense?" You got up from the ground. "Just follow me!" She already walked out before you could answer her, leaving you all confused and lost. But you obeyed her and followed suit after her.
"My children please just let me be for tonight, I'm tired." Jake wanted to be alone right now. His heart ached in his chest and his eyes were bloodshot red as his tears were drying up. He wanted to find Mo'at and talk to her. "We want to show you something, you must come!" Neteyam never asked something like this of his dad, not since he was ten years old. So this made him feel suspicious. "Yes! Tuk made something so beautiful and she wants to show it, right Tuk!" Lo'ak made up the quickest thing he could think of, eyes gazing down at Tuk who didn't know what to say. She glanced at Neteyam who nodded, so she looked into his eyes with determination, "Yes! You must follow us!"
You sat in Mo'at's tent as Kiri cut up some fruit for you. The moment the two of you entered the tent, she knew that you needed a moment for yourself and left the tent in your hands. You sat on one of the mats as Kiri sat next to you, cutting the fruits up for you to eat. You inhaled into your oxygen mask, letting the oxygen flow through your lungs before you removed the mask, took a piece of freshly cut fruit and popped it in your mouth, reattaching the mask to your mouth to gasp. Kiri watched you in awe as you chewed your food, "that's honestly so cool." She quickly finished up and put her hunter's knife back on her hip. "Eat well and rest up, alright? You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." "Goodnight and thank you" the two of you exchanged a smile as she left the tent. You continued eating your pieces of fruit in peace, listening to the sound of the clan talking as their laughs filled the air. You popped a fruit in your mouth before reattaching your mask, smiling as you knew you made a good decision. They deserved to be protected.
"What is up with the three of you?" Jake grew frustrated at his children. They were standing in the pod for at least twenty minutes as the three rambled about the most bullshit subjects. "Do you know that I made this flower crown?" "Yes, you told me last week, Tuk." He tried once again to exit the pod, but Neteyam jumped in front of it as he scratched the back of his head, looking at Lo'ak for any other excuse. He was the best at pulling bullshit out of his ass after all. But also Lo'ak was quiet as his ears were pressed firmly against his head. "Well then, if you have nothing to say anymore. I have somewhere to be." His two sons stood there in defeat as they let their dad through, but then Tuk grabbed onto her father's hand, "no you can't!! (Y/N) will be upset if we let you go to her!!" Lo'ak immediately put his hand over Tuk's mouth as Neteyam coughed through that sentence, but unfortunately for them Jake already heard it. To check if he indeed heard that correctly, he crouched down to meet Tuk's gaze, "Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, remove that hand from your sister. Tuk, what did you say?" Her eyes were now also pressed against her head, knowing she said the wrong thing while trying to help her brothers, "uhm.. I said.." she felt overwhelmed as her dad continued to pressure her into telling, making her lips quiver. That was the point when Lo'ak had enough, "you are a terrible father you know that?!" The young Na'vi exploded as he yelled into his father's face. "You abandoned (Y/N) in the most terrible way possible! And now you suddenly crave forgiveness?! You need to earn that! You can't just go around yelling your 'sorries' while sobbing and not do anything?!" His fists were balled as his ears perked up, his tail standing tall, "she has a right to be upset and instead of sulking around you need to talk to her without the need to use your excuses!" And off he went. If he was a cartoon, the steam would have been leaving his ears. He needed to cool off. Neteyam watched his dad's expression falter, knowing Lo'ak was right with every word he said. He silently told Tuk to come with him, as he raised Tuk in his arms, holding her against his hip. "Did I do something wrong?" "No sweetheart, this needed to be done." And the two left the pod, leaving Jake all on his own as he stood still like a statue, painful breaths leaving his lips. He thought it was impossible, but more tears rolled down. Then he remembered Tuk's words. You're here, his daughter is here.
And he knew exactly where to check.
Jake moved from healer's tent to healer's tent. He knew that if you were hiding somewhere, it was somewhere in this area, the healing tents. He swiftly moved from tent to tent in search of your small frame. He eventually got to the biggest tent right in the middle, Mo'ats tent. He ripped the flap open and there you were, sleeping peacefully with the mask on your face to keep you alive. The skin under your eyes were stained with dried tears and a sob left his lips. "My baby.." he moved inside and closed to flap. He knew you didn't want to see him, especially if you woke up, but Lo'ak was right. He needed to try with all his might now, not with only his excuses and words, but also with his actions to show you that he cared for you, like a father. He quietly sat down next you, taking your small hand in his. You moved a bit in your sleep, making Jake tense in his movements, but then you stopped as you rolled a bit closer towards him, towards the warmth you felt. A genuine smile finally plastered his face, he felt at peace.
For now, he decided to enjoy this moment,
not knowing if it would be the last or not.
A/N: another update!! Hope you enjoyed!! And thank you so much for the followers, almost at 2k is a huge achievement! Tell me what you thought of this part. <3 now I'm gonna go ahead and work on my novella fr.
Taglist in the comments!!
#dad!jake sully#dad!jake sully x reader#jake sully x daughter!reader#dad!jake x daughter!reader#dad! jake sully#jake sully x human!reader#jake sully x reader#jake sully#neteyam x sister!reader#lo'ak x sister!reader#sully family x reader#sully family#neteyam#neteyam x reader
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CAT-EYES
PAIRING: Runaway Groom!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Thief!Reader
SYNOPSIS: What begins as a normal day of stalking the back road for wealthy carriages, turns into a walking nightmare spanning three days. Who is this finely-dressed man stumbling about your woods?
WORDCOUNT: 13.3k
WARNINGS: Blood, injury, light gore, pining, intense banter, sarcasm, insults, kind of enemies-to-lovers but eh, angst, protective!John, light hurt/comfort, bittersweet?, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You were sitting in the branches again.
Lightly swinging your legs from over the sides, the rough bark at your spine shifted as you let out a tiny sigh into the chilled air. In your ears, you’re hearing the bugs fly past, and the large hart about fifteen feet away pushing through the undergrowth—built body just barely there as the puff of his hot breath wafts upwards.
Twirling the arrow between your fingers, your bow sitting carefully in your lap, you close your eyes and listen.
The years had come and gone and yet you remained here in this small corner of nowhere—resting in this old gnarled oak tree with its branches and leaves giving protection from the elements when nothing else would. Sure, you had a small home to call your own in these very woods, but your windows didn’t give a view of the back road to the East. Barely anyone took it now, and you think you’re partially to blame for it, but, well, perhaps those pesky nobles shouldn’t have been too prone to flashing their coin.
So it was their fault, and on your failing honor, the money always went to a good cause anyway. Who wouldn’t want a poor woman to eat?
But, no. There are rules that every thief follows, no matter how unsavory. You never killed anyone; you never harmed them, either. Just the money—a brandished dagger or an arrow to the side of a carriage wouldn’t hurt anything besides pride, and many of those you stole from had enough to last them multiple lifetimes.
“Greedy fellows,” you sigh under your breath before you stretch like a cat, arching your spine and spreading your arms high above your head. The few rays of sun you get through the leaves dance across your face, but still, the thick layer of cold air is present all around.
Shuffling a bit in your shoulder-wrapping, you yawn and fall back once more—licking your lips and thinking of warm stew and fresh bread from the inn down in the town. Shivering, your fingers move to play with your bow, tapping along the bend of wood as the trees are brushed by a soft breeze. The hart below huffs louder still—hooves crushing across the fallen twigs, and you think it’s a bit strange the thing is still here despite your scent clearly in the air, but your eyes are more focused on the road than an animal.
Until it speaks.
“Hells fuckin’ bells, this damn get-up is going to be the death of me,” the words are barked out quickly—laced with heated anger as a branch is slapped by heavy hands.
Startling, your head snaps below you rapidly; heart jerking inside of your chest so suddenly that you nearly send yourself off the side of your perch. Scrambling for your bow to make sure it doesn’t clatter to the dirt of the Earth, you force down a loud gasp at what you see.
“Bastard things,” meets your ears as you stare open-eyed at a bulky man as he stumbles out into the small clearing below your tree, looking behind him as he pants. Your jaw goes slack at the extravagant apparel clothing this sudden stranger—a red, black, and blue tartan thrown over his shoulder, pinned with the silver image of a great boar head, and the kilt has more than one bramble stuck into it as it swishes with his turn.
He has a sporran as well, made of dark furs with three tassels hanging, the metal also silver, as your experienced eyes can tell as they narrow in confusion.
“What in the hell…” You breathe quietly, leaning just a bit more over the edge of your branch slowly.
There were black belts and buckles, rich shoes of leather, and your gaze slowly drags to the hanging body of a sword strapped to his waist, swinging as the man rests his feet and looks down at himself with a deep annoyance. There wasn’t an inch of him not coated in dirt, mud, or sweat—all that deer-ish panting and huffing escaping his mouth in condensed clouds.
“Fuckin’,” he stops himself from continuing the curse, holding up his hands as he glares down at his form. “Jesus, this’ll never come out at this rate.”
This comment made your lips twitch, eyebrow-raising as your sharp vision filtered from one detail to the next—learning the brown shade of his cut hair and the strange way it’s kept long down the center, and short along the sides. He had a strong build to him, and the boar broach, while it may be something to distinguish a family line as he seemed wealthy, perfectly reflected the individual.
He was a being of muscle and stubborn willpower. All tusk and bristled fur.
Your eyes linger a bit longer on the silver of that broach—the thing that glints in the light alluringly. You hum under your breath, tilting your head softly. Yet, your impression was made, and your wits are about you as sharply as they always had been.
This was a formal outfit, for a formal occasion. So, why was this important man trampling through the woods where you were set to ambush the next unassuming noble on the road? Why was he looking over his shoulder so tense-like? Your curiosity had piqued the second you’d figured out the rabid crunching from the bushes wasn’t a deer but instead, a wealthy-looking man who wasn’t, you admitted, too hard on the eyes.
Blinking, you smile, fingers twitching over your bow as the stranger brushes his vest rapidly, growling down at the large mud stains.
“Lost, then?” Your voice makes him startle, skull whipping forward to the tree trunk until you whistle and lean forward; moving your bow to push away the cover of leaves. “Up here, now,” blue eyes immediately lock with yours and you hum, chuckling, at the moment of shock that shines through. “Poor bastard, look at you and all that mud. You’ve been through hell, mate, eh? By the state of you, I’d say you fought a bear and found yourself at the end of an unfortunate outcome.”
Your words are smooth—nearly sly just as they always are. There’s intent leaking out of every one of them until all that remains is a layered purpose, like that of a butcher peeling away flesh from a hide. You have to process that skin: lay it to a rack to let it dry before it can be stretched to the desired firmness, and, finally, softened.
You took as much pleasure in the mental hunt as you did the payoff. Where there’s money to be earned, there’s also knowledge—you were a thief of all.
The man watches you with wide eyes, those blues glinting as they blink, glancing around rapidly to check for any others like you that may be hiding. He steps back, a hand brushing his sword, and you think to yourself slowly, he’s smart.
You breathe down chilled air. Before he responds he checks to make sure it’s not an ambush—the man understands he’s out of his element here. He’s on edge.
The both of you stare at one another, before your face shifts, brow-raising up on your forehead.
“What, did I startle you?” Legs looping to hang off the same side, your body feels lighter than a feather as you send yourself over the edge, knees taking the brunt of the force as your head catches up to your stomach—grunting as you hold your bow heavily in one hand. The jostle moves the limbs of your arrows, kept in a quiver at the small of your back.
Standing fully, you huff and set an easy smile to your lips, all teeth.
“My apologies, Lord.” Your free hand finds your heart, and you bend your spine forward. “I couldn’t help but see you down here below my tree.”
“Best to stay where you are,” the stranger grunts, only giving you enough of a glance to deem you unthreatening, apparently. Your form straightened. He watches you warily on the next go-around, attention always drifting to every snap of a twig off into the trees or the breeze shifting the leaves. “No need to apologize,” is the hurried reply, caught on a rough accent and a hissed gravel huff. “I’ll be on my way once I get my bearings. I don’t have time for conversation—and you should find your way home before long.” Eyes dart. “It isn’t good to be out today...or tonight, I’d say.”
If possible, your intrigue gains strength like a saint in Heaven.
The man’s square face raves in a clench of his jaw, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Are you sure you’re not lost, Lord?” You continue, undeterred, and shift your bow to sling it over your shoulder. “I live in these woods, I’d have no trouble directing you to the road. It isn’t far.”
“It’s John,” he grunts, glancing over, out of sorts. He was tired—his limbs were shaking with exertion even if he didn’t realize it yet. You think that perhaps if he were more focused, he’d ask why a woman had just landed in front of him from the branch of an Oak; dressed in trousers and a tunic, with just a woolen wrap to keep out the chill. Dirt over her face and a cunning edge to her words. Or, maybe he did know, you wondered, and simply didn’t care at the moment.
“Just call me Johnny. And,” he shakes his head firmly. “No. Go home to your husband, Bonnie, this doesn’t involve you.” He blinks, staring with a line across his forehead, stubble pulling along his cheeks. “I know this place—there’s a road just to the…” he turns his head to the direction of your trail, blinking at the coverage of thick foliage. “Fuck,” the dark-haired stranger growls, blues sparking up in a feral display of desperate weight.
You can only see the winding bends if you have a vantage point—that was why you chose your tree in the first place. Your smile grows.
“It’s that way, Lord,” you breathe, pointing in the opposite direction of the road, back to the small path of brambles and bushes that leads closer to your home instead. “We pass my property on the way, I can offer you some drink for your troubles.” A chuckle wafts the air. “You look like you need it.”
There’s a large moment of hesitation, in which you begin to wonder if this prize might be too big to catch, but, then, as there’s a flash of something over John’s face, he grits his teeth and sighs.
“Aye, fine,” he nods, looking to the side as he lowers his tense shoulders and clears his throat. You’re offered a sincere expression that borders on strained guilt. “Thank you, Dearie. I…” John pauses, frowning. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much when I burst through the trees like that—I’m in a bit of a rush if you can’t tell. I need to make for the shore.”
“My,” you huff, shifting your body and motioning him to follow—he does, setting his feet carefully ahead of him with experienced movements; keeping a respectable distance away. Johnny wasn’t new to the woods, then. He knew where to place his feet, at the very least. “The shore? That sounds exciting.” You conclude, hiding your creased brows as you stare forward. “Making for the South? I’ve heard handfuls are leaving for the weather.”
Looking over your shoulder, you make sure he keeps on your trail as you push through the bushes. “More agreeable, they say. Less rain.”
John chuckles, though he’s still visibly aware of everything around him. He spares you a look, a small smirk taking over his slightly chapped lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I just might.”
You’re surprised by the genuine laugh that fights in the back of your throat. Humming under your breath, you shrug it off as simply as a dog does a fly. It was painfully obvious neither of you trusted the other.
John’s eyes were stuck on the back of your head, and yours were eager to slide back to his form on the off-chance you had to use the dagger strapped to the meat of your thigh, carefully hidden under your trousers and accessible via a cut in your pocket. He was all muscle, and already you know that any attack coming to you would be unwise to try and retaliate—slash and retreat was a much better escape plan.
You could outrun him.
“So,” your words bleed curiosity, eyes imploring as you glance over your shoulder. “Why are you out in the woods, Johnny? In such a nice outfit as well. Is there something going on around here?”
The dark-haired man tilts his head your way, sighing long. “A wedding, actually. Horrible thing, if I have to comment on it.”
Your lips twitch.
“Oh, aye. I’d heard about it in town not two days ago—something about a marriage of advantage? Who was the unlucky pair, then?”
John clenched his jaw, hand coming up to push at the smear of dried blood on his cheek, which you’d just noticed wasn’t dirt and instead the result of a branch slap. Pale cheeks were wind-bitten. Lungs heavy. You narrow your gaze before stopping the surge of questions in your mouth.
“Some poor bastard, that’s who,” he responds slowly, mostly under his breath, before blinking. “How much further is the road, Dearie? No offense,” he grunts, staring seriously at you “but I'd rather not be here for much longer.”
The boar broach winks at you.
“Not far,” you smile coyly. “Forgive me, Lord John—”
“Just Johnny—”
“—But I do hope you’re not a fugitive.”
Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.
“.... Negative, Bonnie, no, I’m not running from the law. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me,” he breathes, and not once does he look away from you. You have to commend the man, he seemed an honest fellow, and those, you knew, were very rare indeed in your time. “I just need to get out of these woods. You’ll never hear from me again after I’m gone.” He takes a breath, looking past you. “You have my word.”
“Is it worth believing?” You push, smirking. “There’s few dressed like you that I can say it is.”
John licks his lips as you both pass a fallen tree, standing more side by side than previously now that the density of bushes had dispersed. He huffs, sending you a side-eye before he seems to study your face, brows pulling jokingly.
“I don’t think my answer would make much of a difference, would it?”
You pause, enjoying this man’s company more by the second. “No, it wouldn’t.” The both of you stare, before you grin and pull your sharp gaze away, chuckling. “Follow me,” you motion a hand. “Before you fall into a mud pit and completely ruin what little is left of your outfit that’s sellable—” You fumble, faking a cough as you clear your throat and finish off with tension now in your spine, “Salvageable.”
“If I’m bein’ honest, Bonnie,” Johnny grumbles, either not noticing the mistake or simply not registering it. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ care if it got covered in horse shit.”
—
You open the door to your home, shifting out of your bow and setting it against the wall with your quiver following to rest beside it as two siblings should.
“You’re lucky,” you hum, “I just went to the well this morning—freshwater is in the basin, cups on the table.”
John’s eyes give a firm once-over, fingers fidgeting above his sword’s hilt. He nods once, moving into the doorway, and immediately goes to where you describe and grabs onto a carved cup, tilting it in his hands.
“Thank you,” he mutters sincerely, hand dipping into the collection of water. “Eh,” John puffs a laugh, “I’d imagine I would still be stumbling along if it wasn’t for you, little Lady. These woods are larger than I remember them.”
“You come from around here?” You ask, brushing down your wool wrapping as you pull at the burs in the fiber. “Don’t recall your face in the town, though I’m not there often.”
“Hm,” he takes down the water, and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as droplets slip from his lips to drop off his chin. Once he had drunk the entire cup, he removed it and wiped at his mouth with his forearm, blue eyes peeking above it. “I…wasn’t in town usually. Not really my place—the forests outside of my property took most of my attention.” He confesses, head tilting as the strange cut of his hair flops along with his skull. “Those, I could run blind.”
“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.
While the air was somewhat calm, there was still an underlying hesitancy: Johnny didn’t know who you were, and you didn’t know what he was running from. Both were important questions that needed to be answered. Yet, John seemed the casual type.
“Doubt me?” His eyes narrow, a smile brewing.
“I never said that,” you walk past him, also grabbing a cup before dipping it into the basin. Your finger points. “But it would be interesting to test.”
“Unfortunately,” John breathes, setting down his cup, “I’m occupied at the moment.”
“A groom would be,” you tilt your head, casually sipping at your drink. “Your wife must be fucking fuming right now.”
The room flips on itself, and the man is instantly frozen.
Johnny stares, shocked, and you see his feet instinctually ready a stance to either blot to the door, or to take up his sword. His expression is layered with secrecy.
“...What was that?”
“I said your wife must be fucking fuming,” you say louder, slipping your hand into your pocket and shrugging to make it seem meaningless—your dagger’s hilt is smooth under your flesh. “Or did you not finish the ceremony? Betrothed, then, Johnny Boy?” Your eyes glint. “Hell, the event must have been absolutely laced with wealth. Did you have wine imported? New fabrics for your wedding clothes? I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“That’s none of your business, Dearie,” he levels, glare heavy and firm while his face is stoic. You can clearly see his body wound up like a wild dog. “I think we’re done here.”
He backs up quickly, legs taking him to the exit until you’re suddenly right behind him, and the man feels the sharp press of a blade into the back of his spine.
Your lips are at his ear, and you chuckle. “Sorry, but we’re not done until anything valuable is in my hands and not on your body.”
“If you wanted me naked,” he growls, glaring from over his shoulder, as his form is rod-straight. “You could have just asked, Little Thief.”
“I’d call it heavy persuasion,” you chuff. “Sounds better, don’t you think.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Johnny barks, teeth gnashing. “Put the knife down before this gets ugly.”
“I’m not entirely sure I want to,” your answer meets the air. “There’s enough silver and fine fabric on you to feed me for an entire winter, even when the deer move to better grounds.”
John grits his molars, his neck bent as his fingers twitch at his sides, slipping along to his sword slowly.
“Money? That’s why you’ve got a bloody blade on me? Christ, my day just keeps getting better and better.” You glare, anger moving behind your eyes.
“Some people have to work for what they want, you—” Your hand is slapped to the side as John spins, and your dagger is sent along the floor in a loud clatter; a hand finding your upper arm as you gasp, and, suddenly, there’s the chilled edge of a blade at your throat.
Wide-eyed, you gape at John as the man smirks at you, yet his orbs are infected with annoyance.
“When you draw a knife on someone, you best know how to use it.” The edge is slightly pressed deeper and your body refuses to move. “You put it at the neck, Cat-Eyes.” John frowns, glaring. “Knew there was something about you—down to the bow and arrows.”
“What,” you growl out, a low embarrassment stemming in your gut as John’s puffs of breath move along your face. Your face burns, and your fingers jerk with anger. “A woman can’t have hobbies?”
“Not when I find ‘em up trees waiting to ambush any bastard that comes by wearing silver.”
“Mate,” you sneer, eyes glimmering. “At this point, you can keep your damn silver. It’s more of a reward to watch you stumble like a fool through the woods five feet from the road.” Johnny’s face tightens, yet there’s little time to fight like children anymore when the sound of breaking branches is echoing off the windows of the house.
Both of your necks whip to the door, yours a great deal more carefully as you’re slightly nicked by the sword's edge, but the drip of blood is voided. High voices carry over the air.
“Find him!”
“His tracks lead through here—get the hounds on it!”
“Here!”
Your brow raises, smirk getting larger as you chuckle under your breath. “Better get on your way quickly, then.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny snarls, all at once ripping his sword from your neck yet keeping his ruthless grip on your upper arm. He looks nervous now—his eyes jumping from one place to another, thinking. “Where’s the damn road, you minx.”
You shrug, eyes sharp. “What road, Lord?”
The strong man rages, eyes burning with a thousand suns as the sword is taken from your neck and re-sheathed in one motion—a second hand staples itself to your waist, gripping tightly. You blink, saliva swallowed down thickly at the dig of heavy fingers into flesh as your heart stutters.
“You’re going to tell me,” John levels, shifting the both of you back as the sounds of fast footsteps are echoed by the bay of dogs. “As much as I would enjoy being away from you in any capacity at all,” you smile humorously to him through his dead-tone monologue, “I need a guide out of these woods and across the land. If you won’t help willingly, I’ll just have to make do.”
You blink, confused.
“Make do?” Your body is taken up, and you shout as you’re ruthlessly flung over the man’s shoulder with a hiked toss.
Johnny’s smirk is lost to you, but his chuckle is not as he dashes to the door and slams it open, taking a quick left and looping the house—diving into the foliage as if a fish to water.
“Unhand me, you brute!” You scream, clawing and hitting at the man’s back—kicking even, as your knee speedily finds his ribcage.
“Ow!” John laughs, his grin highly amused as he turns back to look at you. The shouts from the trees get larger, but that doesn’t help you much as you’re both soon going deeper and deeper into the woods. “Jesus, you have a pair of legs, don’t you?”
“If I were marrying you,” you bark down at him, struggling with all of your might as your home disappears from view. “I’d be running instead of the other way around!”
“Well,” Johnny calls, his sword bouncing off of his hip. “It’s a good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it, you bonnie little thief? Your husband would be dead and all of his coin in your dirty pockets!”
“Stop calling me a thief!” You send a closed-fisted slap to the top of his head, and he grunts, balking to the side. “Learn how to handle a fucking lady!”
“Lady?” He breathes heavily, shoving into another bush as leaves get tangled in his hair—twigs stuck in yours as you scowl rabidly. “If you’re a lady, Bonnie, then I’ve got a beast waiting for me back at my ceremony.”
—
He stopped when the light of the sun was low, and your constant attack of his spine left an array of large, fist-shaped bruises on his skin.
“Easy,” John grunts, dropping you with a huff to a down-turned stump.
It isn’t long before you shoot back up, hands clawing for his throat. “Hells Bells!” The man ducks, boyish glint in his eyes as he darts to the side, stepping out of the way as you stumble on tingly legs.
“I’m going to skin you alive,” you yell. “Piece of utter dog shite!”
“Now that’s a bit strong,” John breathes, panting from his mad run for his single life. “Don’t you think?”
You take one step forward, and he takes two back—stuck in a game of cat and mouse. Your eyes are like tiny fires, illuminated with only anger and hatred.
“Give me one reason why I should even attempt to help you,” your screams rise above the trees, hands splayed as John puts his hands to his knees, taking down breaths as sweat dribbles down his neck into his vest. “You-you,” your tongue fumbles, “kidnapper!”
“Technically, it would be an abduction, Dearie.” You slap him across the face and see the man’s cheeks go red from the blow. Shoving your nose nearly right into his, you sneer.
“Correct me again, and it’ll be your balls I hit next.”
He swallows, blinking, before he smirks and pairs it with a chuckle as his eyes spark. “Yes, Ma’am.”
You growl as he holds up his hands, moving one to rub at the back of his neck and itch at the shaved portion of his scalp. That damned smirk—you despised it.
“Get me to the closest port,” John settles, getting to business as his expression mellows out. “And I’ll make it worth your while, I give you my word.”
“What?” You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation the longer the silence falls; realizing how serious the man is. “Oh God in Heaven, this has to be a joke.”
“Anything you ask for, you can have from me when this is over,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his mud-caked shoes. “I don’t need more than the fee to secure a spot on a good ship sailing away from here, and whatever is left I’ll give to you if you want it. You win in this situation, and I’m not trying to hide it from you.”
Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.
“Christ,” Johnny breathes, “I’d even give you my damn socks if that’s what it takes—I need to get out of here. Quickly.”
You stare, sneering. “Is your betrothed a damn witch or what?”
Blue eyes blink, and his words are firm as they meet air. “Are you taking up my offer or not, Cat-Eyes?”
“Of course, I’m taking the offer!” You bark ruthlessly, rolling your eyes as you kick at the dirt. Rocks and grass fly as darkness settles heavier. “I’m not a fool.”
“Well,” he sighs in relief, looking to the shadows along the ground. “I can’t say you’re that, either, but you are certainly something.”
You narrow your eyes at Johnny but don’t waste your time any longer as you turn and study what you can see.
You had grown up here—in this land. The woods knew you just as much as you knew them. Already you could pinpoint a general map of this section based on the large cracked boulder to your right, and the tiny cluster of trees across the way. You knew the way to town, and from there, the port.
“It’s a three-day walk,” you grumble, side-eyeing the man as he moves to lean against a trunk. He wouldn’t be moving through the night—you didn’t complain on that front either. “You grab at me like that again, and I’ll—”
“Let me guess,” Johnny raises a brow. “You’ll hit me in the balls.”
Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.
Shuffling past him, you frown and pull your wrapping closer, shuffling your chin into it. No fires for warmth, you know—not with people on your trail.
“I want an explanation,” you turn and dig into him, walking closer as John looks to the side. “If I’m sticking my neck out, I want answers as well as coin.” Poking him in his chest, you force your neck to find his gaze. “Why are you running?”
Johnny sighs, licking his lips as he nods with a low, “Fine.”
You tilt your head, and John moves back to sit against the stump, moving out his hands in an honest display.
“I was told I needed to marry and produce heirs if my house was going to survive, aye?” He states, and you know the story well. “My parents are gone, and my sisters are all married, but my estate is barren of anyone besides myself and the staff. To keep the peace, I gave my word that I would join into a union to secure my assets for my bloodline.”
It was all so formal, the talk of a wife and children—you never understood it. Why couldn’t people simply marry who they love and leave it at that? All this bloodline and assets. Don’t they ever get sick of it?
“What’s your last name, then,” you ask. “McDuff? Mackenzie?”
“MacTavish,” John shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. Blue eyes stay with yours. “John MacTavish, I have lands to the North.”
Your brows tighten, arms going to cross themselves. “You’re running from your home because of a union you can freely exit?”
“It isn’t free,” he grumbles, shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw. “My father’s wishes for his children were written down and sealed. I was to marry a daughter of Arthur Campbell when I came of age.” John chuckles face going a bit pink. “As you can see, I’m a good few years past that.”
You tilt your head, and while Johnny was certainly passed the normal age of a male in his position to be wed, it struck you as odd as to why he didn’t want to be in the first place. In marriage during these times, a man has little to lose when joined. Almost nothing else changes for them except another title is added to their long line of others already living under him.
John continues, and you stay your snake-like tongue for now.
“Wasn’t until I learned that by now, Mr. Campbell’s second born daughter, who was the only one near my age, had passed nearly an entire year ago—leaving only the oldest behind.”
“And?” You hum, intrigued to see where this goes. Johnny itches at his chin, scratching the stubble that lives there along with the dirt and grime. “What, I’d imagine the head of the Campbell family wanted to uphold the arrangement?”
“Aye, they did,” John grunts, nodding. “Fiona Campbell was the woman I was set to marry today.” He pauses, sighing heavily before looking to the side. Darkness had set, and there was little light by way to see the expression of guilt growing on his face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say I didn’t want to make such a mess of it, but there’s only so much a man can do when he learns his bride is not only twice his age,” John breathes, grunting, “but also just…” He stops himself, sighing.
You frown, gut swirling.
“She was blank, do you understand?” Johnny asks, motioning a hand in a display of unknowing explanation. “All she seemed to care about was children and wealth. A slate waiting to be filled with someone else’s thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want to be the one to fill it—I’ll not be some husband that runs a wife around like a dog. That isn’t right to me; it wasn’t how I was raised.”
Your mind twists on itself with an indefinable feeling—skin tight to your bones as if taken and tied by ropes. Your heart pumps blood a little harder, but just because this man seems less of a bastard doesn’t mean you like him. He’d dragged you into this hunting party of his grand problem, and the sooner you got your payment, the better and easier it would be to disappear.
“How noble,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Yet, your voice is hiding an under-the-breath shock. “So you bolted into the woods?”
Johnny rubs at his nose bridge, growling in annoyance. “Yes—it was the best cover I had. Been going through the trails since sunrise.” He slaps his hands to his knees and stands back up with a grunt and an ache in his thighs. His sarcastic voice peels the shadows. “Are we satisfied, now, Bonnie?”
“I won’t be until you’re out of my sight,” you level, moving forward. “So are you going to bed so I can drag you to the port or not?”
John’s body is heard shifting as you slip down the trunk of a tree, backside hitting grass as you settle in for a restless sleep—pulling your wrap tighter over your shoulders. Here you were: weaponless and in the company of a runaway groom still in all of his finery.
You wanted that damn boar broach.
“Sleep’ll be smart, we need to be up early,” John says seriously, his shoes shifting the leaves. Letting the chill seep in, you burrow into your fabrics and glare ahead. Johnny’s sly voice is so reminiscent of yours, that you have to wonder if the two of you were cut of the same cloth. “I won’t be opposed to a cuddle if you get chilly, Little Lady—”
“I should have stabbed you when I had the chance.”
Johnny’s low chuckles waft over the air, and then the silence settles fully.
Yet, you’re up far later than you anticipated…and you find this honest man’s confession to be bouncing inside of your skull like an enraged bird.
—
“Christ, did I do that?” A finger is pressed under your chin, tilting your head up as you strangle a gasp at the sudden motion.
Johnny looks at the tiny cut along your neck from the edge of his sword—the barely-there irritation of the skin that you’d been itching at as you walked forward through the trees.
He frowns, glancing into your eyes as your body stills at the feeling of warm flesh.
It was the first day of walking, and the silence between the two of you had stayed. Not only were you annoyed at the situation, but also John’s story—you’d been mulling it over since last night.
But below that anger, you might have even felt a little wrong.
“Who else?” You sigh sarcastically to the man, trying to hide the rising flood of heated shock. Thick digits drag along your esophagus slowly in study, and John’s face creases the longer he looks. He’s hunched near you, too—and you can smell the low scent of leather and earth.
Johnny pulls back with a huff and slips a hand into his sporran. Your eyes watch with blatant distrust until a relatively clean rag is taken out by a steady hand.
He motions with it. “Come ‘ere. Let me get the dirt out of it before it gets infected, eh?”
You sigh lowly but decide it’s a good idea at the very least before nodding—John’s fingers return as the light from above leaks through the branches. The morning was cold, but not unreasonable; the woods gave shelter from the otherwise abusive wind of the open country.
“Look at that,” you breathe, “The first nice thing you’ve done for me.”
“Ah,” John lightly glares. “Not quite right—I carried you away instead of making you run with me.”
Your eyes roll, and Johnny’s chuckle echoes off the surroundings.
“Such a gentleman,” you grumble, feeling the rag press into your throat and the soft scrape of it across your scratch.
“So,” the man hums, blue eyes stuck to your flesh as he takes care of it far more nicely than you’d imagined someone to be. “Seeing as I’ve shared my sob story, Cat-Eyes, I think I’d like to ask after yours.” His voice is full of amusement. “As we’ll be keeping one another company.”
“It’s less as in-depth than yours,” your fingers twitch as Johnny moves back after the cleaning is done—returning the rag to his sporran as he blinks.
“I don’t believe that,” he raises a brow, as you ignore the remembrance of his touch and continue, paving the trail as the dark-haired man follows a close distance behind. “Can’t say there’s many times I’ve seen an unwed woman wielding a bow and thieving someone out of their money. I’ve seen a lot of things, Bonnie,” he laughs, “but never that. Scared the hell out of me when you dropped down.”
“You can add me to the top of the list, I suppose,” you puff a teasing breath. After an expecting pause in the conversation, you grow bored of the nothingness.
“I’ve lived out here my entire life—I do what I have to. That’s all there is to it.”
John’s face gradually pulls into itself, only looking away from you to glance at the path to make sure he won’t fall.
“No family?”
“None,” you tilt your head, shimmying under a low branch and pushing leaves off your shoulders. They sway to the ground softly as you brush an arm over your forehead, sensing Johnny’s attention.
The man grunts. “M’sorry.”
Your feet stumble for a moment, pace faltering, until you cover it up easily. You turn to stare, narrowing your eyelids as open blues watch silently. John’s shoulder brushes yours.
“It’s life,” you blankly answer. “Least I wasn’t married off. Where you had to worry about a blank slate, I had to worry about becoming a broodmare for a man who most likely would never love me.”
Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting to the ground. “Can’t imagine you like that,” he mutters, but it isn’t some joke—he’s truthful.
“Perfect,” is what his ears twitch to. “Because I’d sooner act like you and bolt from my wedding as well.”
“Would that make me the thief in your story, then?” Johnny asks, chuffing as he smiles towards you, reaching a hand above him to push another branch out of the way—separating it from your form as you bend under. “I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t be very good at it. All that dropping down from trees would have my knees screamin’. Not that they don’t already.”
Your laugh pierces his chest, and the man sends a kind if not a bit startled, show of interest to you. It sounded like a bowstring slapping a wrist—harsh and telling all at once: something to be known and understood even if heard only once.
John blinks at you, and his heart patters along in his chest.
“I think it would be more fun to think about you with a dagger,” you narrow your gaze at him, smiling. “A small thing like that would disappear in your hands, Johnny Boy.”
“Disappear?” He tilts his head, raising his hands to hover in front of him. “Ah, they’re not that big, are they?”
You shift, and, nearly without thinking, you slip your hand to sit above his. Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide as you reference the size of his grip under yours, but allows you to regardless. A blue gaze slides to your face, openly imploring, before they dart back down to your shared hands as the roughness of his callouses scraped against your flesh.
“Care to compare?” You smirk, lifting a brow.
Johnny’s lips parted quickly, blinking a few times as he tried to find the words to accompany his running mind. He clears his throat, but the small sheen of red pigment on his cheeks is undeniable.
Laughing, you detach the connection and pull ahead, leaving the man behind as he stutters with a fast pulse.
“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” is what he decides minutes later, a large grin on his face—he was enjoying this, for whatever twisted and flawed reason, he was. John’s adrenaline was pumping, his heart was pounding, and his feet were passing over the earth, yet, even better, his brain was sparking at a mile a minute for the woman who walked only three feet ahead of him. He watches you take these trails like an expert, not having to look down at your feet as stone and wood are passed as if you were water above them, whispering and nearly silent.
“At least I’m not boring.” Your eyes meet him, and in them, they create some horribly beautiful amalgamation of twin flames—two sparking fires that feed from the same ember. “You would never catch me becoming a housewife, Johnny Boy.” Your gazes never break. “There are far too many things to steal in this country, and so very few men who can keep up.”
John’s chest moves in the beat of his pulse—his attention wholly transfixed upon the sight of this wild-born woman whom he’d only met yesterday. There were leaves in your wrap, and brown-black mud coated up to your ankles, even sweat sitting at your temple, yet you moved with grace befitting a Lady: never seeming to tire of jokes or firm surety. Yet…you weren’t cruel—you weren’t without purpose.
Any accomplished thief would have just stabbed him and taken what they needed in your house. You offered John water, however, you chose to give him a chance to comply. It was such a small thing in the grand scheme, but Johnny was always one to analyze how one feather on a bird can affect the flight pattern, so to speak. One action that speaks volumes.
You liked creating games, and, lucky for him, John loved to solve them.
And that glint in your sharp-slitted eyes was becoming more and more enjoyable every second, he found.
Pushing back the strands of his wayward hair, John keeps up with you for every step, not unfamiliar with how to traverse unsteady terrain. He wasn’t lying in what he told you—he had spent most of his life in the forest beside his home: hunting, fishing, riding. There wasn’t an activity he didn’t enjoy when he was outside, though his mother was always heavy on him about the mess he brought back.
Blue eyes drop back down to your dirt-laced pants, and the man can’t help but give his best, lip-pulling smile.
Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he would say that you were something that made so little, and at the same time so much, sense to him.
“Well, maybe they just aren’t accustomed to hiking, Little Cat-Eyed Thief.”
There was something special in the glances you two would throw one another.
—
Your hands dip into the clear water, fingers open to feel the current drag through them gently.
“If you want a sip,” you say, cupping the liquid and bringing it up to your lips, “it’s safe. This river flows down from the hills—not perfect, but there’s only a small chance it’ll make you sick.”
John comes up and hums as he sits down beside you, folding his legs under him and leaning forward to submerge his arms up to his elbows in water. He sighs, and you hear the river gurgling as the man begins to rub up his flesh, getting rid of all the grime.
“Good to know.” Blue eyes spare you a look as he continues. “What’s this one called?”
“Woodney river,” you answer. “Old Man Jack Woodney ran a water wheel on this river a long walk West. If this place had a name before that, it won’t tell.”
Johnny washes his face, scrubbing at his stubble as the scratch of it plays in the side of your ear. You watch along the opposite shore, eyes going from trees to birds—even to the shadows of fish that quickly swim past. Sighing, you have to admit the beauty of this adventure. There were few times you could say you’d gone this far into the woods with no wealth to trade in with the townspeople.
You side-eye John and study him just as heavily as you do a wild animal.
He wasn’t unattractive, you admitted. Strong—sturdy. Johnny was capable in a way that most Lords wouldn’t be, some, you guessed, would already be complaining about the uncomfortableness of their clothes or the flesh of their blistered feet. But John was bright-eyed; more than once you’d seen him actively watching the stretch of the trees for any sign of his pursuers. He never complained. Not once.
“You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be,” you say. Frowning, your hands push back into the water and cup some of the chilled liquid. You let it drip before you extend your hand to your neck and feel your eyes droop in relaxation.
Johnny laughs, staring at you for a minute as he slowly raises a brow. His face shows amusement.
“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”
“I leave that for you to decide.”
John cracks his knuckles and shakes his head as he stands. “C’mon,” he drags, but the smile in his voice is clear. A hand is set in front of yours. “Sooner I get out the port, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”
Your face softens slightly.
“Am I ever going to get an apology for being tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Skin meets skin as you slip your hand into his, and the man pulls you to your feet as you smile. Calluses brush yours, and yet again, you find you enjoy this game—perhaps more than any other you’d played before.
And you don’t understand why.
Johnny’s fingers are firm over yours, curling as water drips to the ground below in reflective droplets, and you think back to the first time you’d met him—panting breath and rapid eyes. Your eyes glance to that boar broach, and find it attached to a man that is suddenly more of a mystery than a closed book.
“Easy,” John mutters, steadying you by your shoulders as you remember where you are. The dark-haired man squeezes your flesh and looks into you.
Blue eyes glint, and that smirk, you find, is always followed by a tiny tint of his head. “And what’s that look for, Cat-Eyes?”
“You called me strange.”
John’s brows furrow. “Aye. I did.” He looks you up and down slowly. “You are.”
You do the same to him, not wasting more than a moment. “And I find it funny that you haven’t said the same thing about yourself. You’re far more strange than I’ll ever be.”
“Guilty,” Johnny smiles, nodding slightly. His hands are still on you, and he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I don’t think a normal one would fuck off from his own wedding, would he?”
“Or kidnap a woman as a guide,” you state, pulling out of his warm hold even as your stomach flips as you brush past
“Again,” John’s hand motions through the air. “Abduct.”
“You’re just saying that because it sounds slightly better,” you grimace over your shoulder. “Like comparing a dog to a wolf.”
Johnny is hot on your heels, and when the river-eroded stepping stones to the other side of the water are the clear path to take, he’s already on the first and holding out his arm for you as a true gentleman would. You glance at him and hop to the first stone, liquid sloshing at your shoes.
Your smirk is stuck with his like two pieces of a quilt, and neither of you realizes it.
“You put a knife to my back first, Dearie.” John puffs and his face is right next to your ear as you both cross the stones—you lean into him and elbow his side before your arm slips into his. The man grunts, blinking as he chuckles above the slosh of water.
“So? Maybe I only point knives at the men I like.”
“Then I’d say you have every right to put one right at my throat.”
Feet move carefully over rocks and the spray of the water that coats them—a dance of wit in their own right. It was like animals circling one another, all sharp eyes and pulled lips trying to find weaknesses. Deadly flirting and addictive banter.
Where annoyance was such a common emotion, now there was a near expectation of jabs; of tantalizing quips for the glimpse of another's mind.
Neither of you could understand the other, which was exactly why you both reveled in the brush of warm flesh.
“Careful,” your feet meet the hard ground once more on the other side, and John only lets go when he knows that you don’t need him to steady you. “You’re engaged, Johnny Boy.”
Your tease slips in one ear and out the other, and the man watches you turn and begin walking again with sly eyes. John’s wide gaze stays stuck there for a moment—mouth eager to continue any conversation given. Watching you walk, his heart beats speedily.
“I think my, ah, reputation has all but ruined my chances on that front—”
There’s something unique about the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh that can’t really be forgotten. John had heard it many times—even been behind the bow that shot it; the slap of the string across his forearm, the set of his shoulder blades widening until the arrow disappeared.
But there’s something worse knowing that the sudden expulsion of air from lungs, in fact, belongs to you and not some wild animal.
You’re hit in a fraction of a second, down on the ground in less than that—your mind not even understanding above the immediate pressure and the slam of earth. You gasp loudly, and then the pain hits.
Hand snapping to your left bicep, your eyes slash down to stare as grass and mud fly into the air, rabid sounds escaping the back of your throat at the image that strikes you. An arrow was stuck deep into your skin—sticking out as blacked feathers flutter at the end of the shaft. The adrenaline hits rapidly, but the expression of horror still remains.
“Cat-Eyes!” Johnny yells, rushing forward, and unsheathing his sword, the sound of metal on metal harsh, but not as harsh as the sound of blood in the man’s ears.
You see the swelling of crimson, and, from under your fingers, the red of blood slips as your breathing gets hoarse. Biting into your lip, the quick sound of an under-the-breath groan of agony ripples.
But you’re not stupid.
Scrambling to your feet with the arrow still poking out of you, Johnny gets to you and pushes you behind him just as your shaking legs straighten—-your eyes slashing the woods in panic. Pain can wait.
The runaway groom spares you quick glances, pushing you further behind as his raging gaze darts this way and that. He yells into the trees, anger and order infecting his voice, “Show yourself!”
Just as suddenly, there’s a relieved call and a moving shadow. You clench your eyes tight and grit your teeth as a wave of pain rockets through you.
“Fuck,” you grind out, lost under the louder voice. Blood drips to the ground.
“My Lord!” Men burst through the leaves, bows, and swords aloft. “Quickly—to us!”
Johnny’s face is stiff; there isn’t an ounce of care, but the flash of recognition is swift, and in his chest, his heart, once beating so quickly, drops to his stomach.
Knights. His knights. Christ, the two of you hadn’t been fast enough.
“Stand down!” John spits, and cares little now for the thought of robbery or assault on his person—these men wouldn’t hurt him, but they were tasked to bring him back. “Fucking bawbags, the lot of you.”
His sword is sheathed by twitching fingers, and no sooner were those digits around you instead.
You pant hoarsely, face tight as your vibrating body tells you to run—eyes locked onto Johnny’s, the man in front of you ushers you over to the trunk of a tree hurriedly, uttering, “Just breathe now, Dearie—listen to me. It’s alright, aye?”
“What is this?” You raggedly push out, flinching as your spine meeting the bark jostles your arm painfully.
Your teeth grit, tears collecting in the corner of your vision.
“Knights,” John mutters as if his words are chased by wolves. “They’re after me—probably thought you were either holding me hostage or trying to lead me into an ambush.” The colorful fabric of his pinned tartan is dragged off from over his shoulder and shoved into your weeping flesh, and you lightly moan in agony, head falling back to the tree.
Tears slip from over your cheeks.
“Easy.” John’s concern is palpable. Worried eyes dart from your face to your wound. “Jesus,” he utters under his breath, anger flashing.
“Who is this?” One of the knights asks, taking a step forward as Johnny holds the fabric to your wound and speaks to you lowly, utterly ignoring the people behind him.
“I need to break the shaft off, okay?” Blue eyes try to keep even, and John’s other hand captures your cheek. He levels your face right in front of his, breathing lowly. The man clears his throat as your tight gaze flutters, tightening his grip. “Hey,” Johnny breathes. You grunt, voice a low grind.
“Just make it quick.”
John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”
His large hand swiftly moves to the arrow, gripping around it just where flesh meets wood, you hiss loudly, spitting and raging as your vision partially blackens. Pain sparks up and down your spine, racing like a cat after a mouse.
“Lord,” one knight tries again, coming closer and reaching out for Johnny’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to Castle Campbell—we’ve been hoping to find you unharmed for your future wife’s comfort. Everyone is in a panic!”
“I’ll count down to three,” Johnny whispers to you, breathing heavily as he swallows and steady himself, hand lightly clammy. He wished he had his hunting gloves with him, but this was the best he could do. “Eh,” the man grunts, eyes steady, “You listening, Bonnie?”
“I don’t care what you count to,” you nearly bark, orbs flashing. “Just break the damn thing off—!”
The wood snaps with a defining splinter, and your scream afterward has the man having to hold you up with his arms around your waist, muttering into your ear with his lips against the shell.
“It’s alright, you’re alright,” John hears the clatter of the shaft to the grass just as the knight’s hand is heavily placed on his shoulder. “Breathe. M’right ‘ere.”
You sag into Johnny taking in the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt—the musk that stays even as your ears start ringing and the voices start getting louder.
“Best get your hands off o’ me before I break ‘em, Mate” Johnny grunts from deep in his chest, shifting your body to the side and effectively ripping his flesh out of the knight’s hold.
All the others shift nervously—hands on their swords and looking back and forth between the strange scene.
Who were you? A mistress? A bandit luring their Lord away? Why was he with you out here; going in the opposite direction of where the ceremony was supposed to take place? They’d been given orders, and a knight is no good unless he can follow them.
John MacTavish was needed, and their duty was to see it through.
Johnny’s tartan had fallen to the ground behind the two of you, getting kicked by feet as they shuffle and as your blood slips off of your limp fingers. Mind failing, your pain-addled form shakes even as the knowledge of imminent danger is present.
You needed to figure out a way to get out of here.
Pushing your head up from Johnny’s shoulder, your eyes flutter but manage to analyze what little you can see clearly—adrenaline can take care of most of your agony, only leaving a dull ache as your heart continues to rage.
A group of four knights have their hands on their swords, and all of their eyes are on John.
Run, a deep part of you urges. Your legs are still good. Take off—none of them know the terrain like you do. You’ll be free.
You pant, your nostrils flaring with every breath as your sweat trickles off your jawline. Johnny’s grip on you tightens, head shifting back and forth, unknowing where to anchor itself, not understanding which is more important—your state, or your safety.
Free, free, free.
Your mind flashes to an empty house: silent woods. How you would go months without seeing another human face, but that was your own choice.
Wasn’t it?
Your eyes slip to Johnny.
“We’ve been tasked with bringing you back, My Lord,” the first knight says, looking heavily upon the runaway. “We have our orders. Please understand.”
“And I’m telling you your orders are utter shite,” John spits. “So back the fuck up and drag yourself out of this place. Now.” He glares, teeth snapping. “Those are my orders.”
Your arm is numb, and your chest expands as it sits on John’s own. And you think.
You knew you were a selfish person.
There was no debate about it—even when you’d stolen enough coin to feed you for weeks, there was still a part of you that longed for some chase; some challenge to your senses. You liked stealing. You liked the looks on people's faces when they realized they were being swindled for every valuable item they had in their possession. But there was something you liked even more than all of that—a challenge.
Johnny, to you, was that challenge. He was the largest challenge you’d ever faced. A Lord who was running from a bride, a man who held his beliefs higher than praise or standing…a blue-eyed stranger who matches your poking jabs word for word.
“Damn,” your growl, and John takes it as an exclamation of pain.
He grits his teeth and studies you, opening his mouth as his concern grows at the smell of blood.
“We need to tie it off,” he utters. “Bastards made me drop the tartan—I’m sorry, Dearie.”
Your lips are near his ear.
“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”
Johnny halts, attention snapping down. His fingers flinch around you, face open until the mask of sudden knowledge flies over it like a curtain. But it’s gone just as quickly—hidden by intelligent eyes that glint.
He doesn’t question you, and, in the crux of your shoulder, you get a near-infinitesimal nod from Johnny’s head.
The guards grow suspicious, all mulling closer by the second the longer you two remain so close—on opposite ends, you feel your heart mirroring John’s in a rapid and ravaging pulse: Thump-thump, thump-pump, thump-pump-thump.
Your attention is split three ways.
One: the rising numbness of your limbs and the heat of your brain. Two: the spread of Johnny’s panting breath across your sweat-slick skin and his hands tightening. Three: knights and the clatter of their armor. How they slide their hands across their weapons like intimate partners—the tension building in a hemp bowstring and the sound of arrows hitting off one another; one taken and played with between fingers so similarly to how you would act.
Your tear-stained eyes glare at the knight who’d shot you, your expression building into an act of hatred.
They take a step forward.
“Cat-Eyes—” Johnny begins to warn slowly.
“Go.” Your words are no shout. They don’t echo off the trees, which all hold their breeze in expectation, they don’t ring in ears except the ones of the man holding you. But they’re like the personification of a sword strike—like the release of an arrow and the impending thump of it hitting home.
The knights dash forward with calls for their Lord to stand down, but John’s already flinched away with a heavy grunt.
You do the same, your plan already formed—you would run the opposite way as Johnny, only slipping off when the cover of bushes had enshrouded the both of you to create two sets of tracks. With any luck, the guards would break off into two groups and pursue the both of you, and you could easily lose yours.
From there, circle back and find John: get your bearings before—
Arms never detach from your waist, and you’re once more tossed into a strong grip.
Eyes bugging, your focus breaks as gravity leaves and your head goes light. Johnny dashes away, and, just as the last time, you’re in his boar-like hold.
“You idiot!” You bark, the only difference to your predicament now is that you’re held in a bridal grip and not slung over his sweaty shoulder. There was only a small sliver of relief before the annoyance overtook you.
Johnny’s body crashes through the leaves, the shouts of the knights following as he gruffly raises his voice to the wind. The trees shake with amusement.
“Thinking you could hand over some directions, Dearie?!”
“Thinking you could put me down?!” You shout back, your arm sparking with pain as your opposite wraps the man’s neck firmly. “Damn.” Your lips twist in response. “My legs work just fine, you know—I wasn’t shot in the arse!”
“Acting like you were,” John grumbles, a branch slapping his cheek before you can. Despite it all, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his own joke.
An arrow whizzes through the air, and you yelp, ducking behind his body even more as your skull fits under his jaw. Your eyes snap to the visible terrain as Johnny’s legs push from one side to the other, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any more injuries.
“There,” your brows rise, fighting past the pain to find the familiar slash of a gnarled willow tree that whizzes by in brown and dark green.
Your head rises to see more of the woods, only to be pushed back down by an all-expansive hand as John utters a fast-breathed and firm, “Not the best idea.”
He shoves through brambles, and the sounds of rampaging knights are gaining. The second John sloshes through a low pool with a loud curse, you know instantly where you two are.
“Take a left near the overhang with vines coming down!”
“That one?”
“Yes!”
And so this game continued long after the knights had been lost to the woods, stumbling about without any sense of where they were, and the two of you came to a panting halt an hour later. Deep night was setting in on the second day, and, as your shaky feet hit the ground, John kept a heavy eye on you.
“Steady,” he mutters, sweat pouring off his face; saturating his clothes. He worriedly stares, looking you up and down.
Your vision swirls, the glade around you the exact place you both needed to be. There were hills here—surrounded by thick trenches carved by rivers long dried. The stars were out, and the moon was shining down; one thin trickle of a river was feet away, the sound of water on rocks addictive to your pounding ears.
All of it was null to the way your gut flipped at the humming agony of your arm.
Your hand snaps to the puncture and the flood of blood is enough to leave your fingers dripping with crimson glinting in moonlight.
There’s a heavy ripping sound, and then you find yourself sitting down in the grass as Johnny shoves the torn fabric of his suit into the small river. You hear the splashing as you glance down at your arm before rapidly looking away, biting at your lip as your spine hunches.
“Christ almighty,” you growl, glaring to the side as your fingers quiver. Tears well.
“The arrowhead is keeping pressure,” John hurries to speak, trying to distract you just as his own exhaustion is bare to see. The rung-out fabric is looped around your arm, tying off until you have to strangle down a scream at the tightness on your flesh. “We have to keep it there until there’s enough sterile material to fix it up.”
“Your knights are pieces of work,” you hiss, more from the wound than anything.
John gives a little look, blue eyes darting up until falling.
“Aye, they are.” His strong jaw clenches. “This shouldn’t have happened, Dearie.”
You stare as he finishes up, and you feel his fingertips slipping along your arm. Your eyelids droop, closing as your nostrils suck in shaky air. You take a moment to take in the silence that follows, John’s eyes not straying as your face is illuminated.
He watches the streaks of dirt along your skin, and, in a soft attempt to fix this, he stands and moves to the river once more—cleaning his hands. Johnny takes the rag out of his sporran and wets it, coming back to your body as the grass waves back and forth.
“Let me…” the man says slowly, and your eyes open back up as the chilled item is pushed to your cheek.
Wide orbs staring forward, you swallow as John concentrates on cleaning your skin carefully.
“Infection is my immediate concern,” the man says with a sigh, yet continues as your tongue stays tied; face growing more heated by the second. “But you mentioned it takes three days to the town, aye? That’s not unmanageable with two already under our feet.”
Blood, dirt, and sweat slip away with every drag of the fabric, and, stuck into his suit, that boar broach still sits—crooked now, but still there.
Your attention is momentarily taken by it, and your fingers twitch before you notice how very close John’s face is to yours.
The man focuses, relaying a plan as you’re stuck mute; your arm holding its own heartbeat as the grass shifts.
“I’ll use what I have to get you into a doctor. Make sure there’ll be no problems before I get going.” John blinks, tilting his head. “‘Course, that’ll decrease the amount you’ll get in turn.”
“Fortunately for you,” you breathe, voice strained, and blue eyes stick to yours. John pauses, brows slightly pulling up on his face. “I value my own life too much to complain about a man paying for my care.”
John’s rag stays where he placed it, right on the swell of your cheek as, this close to one another, you can see the scar on his chin—one that curves to the muscle and bone.
He was handsome, make no mistake about it. You knew it; you understood it. A lord with morals and the smarts to go along with the strength—now that was utterly unheard of. You liked that, truthfully. Someone who could think, and plan.
And, of course, follow directions.
“You’ll be fine,” John mutters, glancing to the side, yet his head doesn’t move back. He clears his throat with a sigh.
You roll your eyes, moving out and grabbing his hand with the rag. Johnny’s expression startles, arm tensing as you steal the dripping fabric from him. Water runs down your neck.
“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.
You push the rag onto his own face, and begin your cat-like approval of his character, washing away the grime just as he had your own. A blue gaze stays firmly on your flesh, the man’s shoulders loosening until he’s sitting just in front of you. Verident grass whispers in a language like a soft breeze, and you study Johnny’s skin until everything becomes a mosaic of scars and blemishes—stories woven into sinews holding as much history as the tines on an elk or the chipped tusks of a boar.
Two days and he’d become even more of a mystery than he had been before. Or maybe he always had been, and now your previous contentment had grown into an addictive curiosity.
He’d called you Cat-Eyes.
You couldn’t love a title more—not even if Lady were on the table.
“I settle my scores,” you grunt, tilting your head as you push back mud from his forehead, leaning in. “You wash my face, I wash yours.”
“Literally, then?” A sarcastic eyebrow makes you huff.
“Is that not what I’m doing, Johnny Boy?”
“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”
Your matching glares hold no venom.
Smirking, you lean back after the last swipe at his forehead, pushing Johnny’s skull back as he chuckles, moon-lit visage something you would see scrawled on the parchment of an old story-teller's sketches. A man not made for this age.
Your face softens slowly, and it is a strange thing sitting atop the sharpness of your eyes.
John’s chuckles fade, and his breath catches in his throat.
“You’re an odd fellow, John MacTavish,” you say, here, with blood from an arrow wound drying to crack along your skin.
Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.
John’s lips slowly pull upwards, and the water on both of your faces drips to the listening earth. This place is alive with possibilities, and all of them stem from the growing draw of twisted human souls.
A just Lord and a cunning thief.
A sharp-eyed cat and a strong-bodied boar.
A future and a past—riddled with arrow marks; long sword slashes.
“Well…then I’m thinking we make quite the pair, Bonnie.”
—
The third day was spent on the latter half of the journey. Re-correcting the course and giving the best directions you could with the numb ache of your arm spreading up your shoulder.
But the town came easily as the midday sun rose to crest your heads.
“Want to lean on me?” Johnny asks, standing close by, but you’re already shaking your head.
“Feels better to keep myself focused,” you mutter, grimacing. You look at the entrance to the town, and as you both walk it, the stares are immediate—shocked residents looking at the haggard appearance of two individuals.
“Alright,” John sighs, side-eyeing you. “Just let me know if you’re goin’ to keel over, yeah?”
“Duly noted,” you tilt your head his way. Your lips smirk like a smug child. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”
Johnny chuckles, shrugging his wide shoulders as his tattered finery is chock-full of brambles and leaves.
“Can’t say no to that.”
The Lord kept his promise—the doctor took the arrowhead, cleaned, cauterized the wound, and sutured you back up. For payment, as you lightly touch the bandaged section of your arm, you find your eyes freezing as a silver glinting reflects off the light through the window.
Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.
Widely staring at the prize being pawned off for your health, your heart stutters in heavy greed.
No, you rapidly think. No, that was the one thing that I—
Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.
The immediate thought is that he looks angry, but, the next and more accurate one, is that he looks sad.
John’s blues continue to follow the broach as it disappears into the doctor's pocket, and you see the weight fall back to his chest and arms—sitting heavy like a stone. The man’s feet shift along the ground for a moment, and he looks like he’s about to say something before he grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. John grunts, fixing his nose.
You blink, and then your heart twists in on itself for no reason at all.
Or maybe there was a reason.
“C’mon, Cat-Eyes,” Johnny sighs heavily, tilting his head as his arms cross. “Time to see me off, then.”
He walks out the door, and your eyes follow like a loyal dog.
Standing there for a moment, your lips contort your face into a deep frown, sharp eyes gaining a sheen of light anxiety. Yet, there was no mistaking it—it had been said a million times—if there was one thing you could do, it was play a game.
Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.
“Oh my,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head and stumbling.
The doctor starts forward quickly, grasping at your un-injured arm. “Careful now, Woman. Don’t rip my sutures.”
He tells you, getting you fully up as you chuckle, placing your hands above his thigh, fingers twitching on the fabric.
“Apologies, apologies,” you mutter, retracting your hand and cupping it against your abdomen with a meek smile. “Just a little lightheaded. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Best be off, now,” the man grumbles, and you’re out the door swiftly.
Your shoes meet the cobble as you shift your hands into your pockets, shifting your body to look along after the large form that leans against the home waiting for you.
“Ready?” Johnny asks, though his attention is firmly planted on the ground five feet away, lost in thought.
“Aye,” you sigh, nodding your head to the East. “Port’s that way—let’s get this nightmare over with.”
“Hm,” Johnny agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Quite the adventure for a runaway.”
“You can’t have thought it would be easy?” Your brows furrow. “You’re heir to the MacTavish lands.”
“I never said I thought it would be easy,” John moves at your side, a great hulk of honesty. He hands over his attention at last as you fiddle with the smooth item in your pocket. He huffs. “Just that it was an…experience, to say the least. One I’m not sure I’d want to go through again.”
“You’ll miss me,” you say confidently, meeting eyes with a smirk and a cocky shift to your form despite the lessening pain.
Johnny watches. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Aye. I will.” You pause, expression stilling. The man hums, and you swear there’s something special in the way you can describe his look as delicate.
“You were the one part that I don’t regret,” he says lastly to you as if the words aren’t spears laced with poison.
Your breath gets caught in a way it never has, and John seems not to notice as he pulls ahead, muttering about him seeing the docks. The smell of salt water slaps your nostrils.
The legs under you slow until they’re stopped, and you look after the man as he begins speaking to workers along the port, asking for a spot on the large ships that sit in the water, rocking with the winds.
Your eyes trail, seeing the way he talks with such confidence—openly offering physical labor as his payment for even the dark quarters with the other laborers.
After what seems like hours of watching, you see him shake another man’s hand, and, just like that, passage is earned. He jogs back over, smiling.
You open your mouth to say something, but find the words null and void. You don’t know what to express. For once in your life, everything seems to be moving horrifically fast.
“Well,” John’s expression slowly sombers. “I suppose this is it then. I said you could ask for anything, and, I suppose,” he shifts the sword on his belt off after a moment, looking down at it. He holds the item, testing its weight. “I suppose this is all I have left.” Blue eyes slowly meet yours. “If you’ll take it.”
Always a thief, never a saint.
“I suppose it’ll have to do, Johnny Boy,” you sigh, the pain in your heart outweighing the one on your arm. “Hand it over.”
The sword is transferred and slipped to your waist. Many a man on the docks gives you strange looks, and, you find you welcome it—none could compare to the admiration in Johnny’s.
You lick your lips.
“Do one thing for me, hm?”
“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.
You move forward, and place a firm kiss to his lips.
The man freezes, fingers twitching at his sides, before he sags and bends into you—his great hand capturing your cheek until all that remains in the sear of his heat and the scent of the earth.
You softly pull away, though not far enough as to where you can’t feel his breath on yours. Gazing into his eyes, you smile the widest you can remember.
“Don’t go running away from another wedding anytime soon. I can only save so many Lords until my reputation gets slandered.”
“You’re ruthless,” John growls, smirking as his eyes glint, looking you up and down. “Little Thief.”
He leans in for another kiss, but your hands only shift above his sporran before you dart back, chuckling.
“Always,” your hands brush his sword on your hip as you walk backward, grinning behind the strange pressure in your heart. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe it.
John takes a step after you, face open and raw—an emotion you feel like mirroring if not for your excellent control.
Not yet.
“I’ll take care of this,” you call, patting the weapon.
“Good,” Johnny calls, taking one more step forward before stopping himself. One of the shipmates calls from the dock, and his eyes snap there with a jaw tense. He looks back at you and blinks, brows pulling in. In the heat of the moment, he exclaimed, “I’ll be back for it one day, Cat-Eyes!”
“Lovely!” You yell, back turning. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I do hope you’ll be able to get through the woods, and, please, don’t keep a woman waiting! You’re much too handsome for any of that.”
And then you’re gone.
Johnny stares at where you were, his smile large and his face heated, and after a louder call from the dock, he’s forced to turn and jog to the ship, hurrying up the board until he can stand on the swaying deck with his two feet.
He looks around, chuckling to himself, and still, his eyes shift back to land without fail; hoping for a glimpse—a small shadow.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the man reaches into his sporran for his rag, intent to clean and set it to dry when he’s able to get the chance to settle in. It’s one of the last items to his name no matter how pathetic.
Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.
Johnny’s body goes as straight as a tree when his fingers caress smooth metal, and, slowly, his grip pulls out the silver of his broach.
It glints in his palm as he sets it there, and his breath is stolen in one great bound of shock and confusion.
“What in the…” He already knows.
Johnny’s feet take him to the railing gently, and his body stands there—torn wedding clothes and all looking over a town that begins to move as the ship sets sail. He holds the broach carefully, not intending to let it go for an age. He just needs to lay low for a while. He needs time.
John smiles.
“I won’t keep you waiting,” he mutters to the moving homes, and he swears he sees the glint of a sword from between the buildings, and two sharp eyes digging into him.
You’re there, of course. Hidden as always.
You want your trees back, and you think that a day of sitting in your Oak is a good idea.
There’s dirt on your face again—your lips are chapped and your face is bitten by the wind; scars and blemishes that time won't heal but make all the more visible as the ages pass by on bird’s wings and cat purrs. Yet here is an action held immemorial.
A gift given freely by a thief is one to be treasured like pure gold, and the man on the ship knows that more intimately than any other as he clips the broach to himself with a hum.
You both watch the other from opposite, distant points until there’s no sun in the sky left to see with. Just a faint hope lights the way: the hope that your eyes will grace each other's visage, at the very least, just one more time in your life.
There was never a story so willing to be experienced than that of a runaway groom and his cat-eyed Thief.
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Strawberry Jam (Pt. 3 Finale)
Dad Best Friend! Miguel x reader
WARNING: FILTHYNESS UNDER CUT. P in v, unprotected sex, age gap implied, Dad Best Friend Miguel, breeding kink, wedding night sex, rough sex, manhandling, oral, m receiving, f receiving, reader is 21+ , pregnancy.
Summary: You've married Miguel. Celebration ensues.
Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated 😊✨
If someone would have told you that you'd marry your dad best friend a few years back, you surely had believed them crazy.
Back then Miguel meant someone to stay away from, out of respect for your dad and the many years they shared as friends. But after that evening you had shared, with him buried deep inside you in the kitchen island, everything changed. And it went both ways.
It changed for good since there was no more restrictions and inhibitions. No moral code that prevented him for coming for you and sweeping off your feet. Your dad wasn't happy initially, and his anger lasted for a couple of months.
But slowly thawed when he saw Miguel also trying his best in being a good partner for you. His friendship was also put at stake and that took a while to fix as well.
Your dad was both disturbed yet relieved, to put it in words. Disturbed because one of his worst case scenarios had turned into a wicked reality. Something he had a hard time accepting, despite him telling you it was ok.
Being angry wouldn't make you both break up, and it only made his blood pressure to go up. But his role as a protective father had been long terminated ever since Miguel came to your life as your official partner.
He wouldn't have to worry for your wellbeing anymore. He knew you'd be more than fine with him.
It helped to soothe his nerves to see you close to Gabriella. Something that took you a while.
Gabi wasn't easily convinced, but seeing your unwavering and steadfast resolution to be with her precious Papa, and that you didn't want to steal him from her, made everything ten times better.
To starters, Miguel seemed happy that Gabi had accepted you, despite her initial doubts and complains. His relationship with Gabi was always a hundred percent honesty and trust. He could never hide something from his little girl.
Despite your age, and many people thinking you a gold digger, you remained on Miguel's side. Supporting him as he protected you from snide comments and jealousy from the people in Alchemax. While he got congratulated for finding such a lovely and delectable soon to be wife, you got the backlash from the women and upper boss' that either never had a chance with him, or were too much of a bunch of prudes to accept the fact you were marrying him.
He quit a couple of weeks later after you did. And no amount of money could convince him to get him back. It was simple.
"If you aren't comfortable working there, neither I am."
Of course he was tired of hearing things like 'I'll give them a year.' 'She just wants him for the money. Get him a richer dude and you'll see.' And 'She's so naive if she thinks he loves her. He's a perv old man.'
Only you knew how much Miguel loved you, and he knew you too well to pay attention to gossip and brickbats.
You both found a new job in a better place, even if that meant you'd move in definitely with Miguel.
You were concerned because no matter how many times he came inside, there was still no signs of a baby. To your relief, doctor explained that after many years of being in contraceptives your body would have an adjustment lapse for all the hormones to be flushed out of you. Pregnancy would come, eventually.
It was good and bad. Good cause Miguel fucked you dumb for hours almost everyday, and bad cause you couldn't wait to get a bigger family on your own.
Obviously you were excited and so was Miguel and Gabi.
But a new adventure laid ahead. Your wedding.
----
Miguel had invited a couple of his coworkers a woman named Jessica, and a couple of men named Peter and Ben. The only family worth inviting was Gabriel.
Gabi was the ring lady. It was a small and intimate reunion. Once you were delivered in the altar, Miguel held your hands. A sense of pride filled in his chest.
You looked absolutely gorgeous in that short silky dress. Like his own dream come true. And when the moment of saying 'I do' came, neither of you hesitated.
All the bad moments you both had gone through, quickly dissipated to be replaced with joy and love. He loved you.
Gabi loved you, and you couldn't be happier.
You were his queen after all.
----
After the private wedding you all went to celebrate to one of the most delicious and luxurious places in town.
"You better eat, mi amor. You'll need alot of energy."
He'd mumble in your ear as his hand caressed the suppleness of your inner thigh.
Gabi was left with uncle Gabriel, and with a final hug, your father let you go.
Your dad rolled his eyes and Miguel sniggered as you both went to his car.
"I'll take care of her."
"Shut up."
Miguel opened the door for you and kissed your cheek before letting his new wife to accommodate in his car. He then went to his seat and drove off.
"Bye dad!"
"Love you, cupcake!"
"We're married."
You giggled and he took your hand to kiss it.
The car stopped to a red light and he pulled your cheeks closer to give you a deep kiss. The kind of kiss that would mean he needed you. The kind of kiss that would turn into this raging ache for eachother that could be sated one way.
"Do you feel happy?"
"Obviously."
Your body shuddered upon the feeling of his dexterous fingers hovering your clothed pussy. Your legs spreaded for him to have more access.
"Can't wait to get to that hotel, preciosa."
Your hips humped softly his hand, earning a soft yet delicious friction.
"Pull that dress down, mi amor." He instructed as you quickly slid the straps of your silky white dress off your shoulders, spilling your breast for him. The idea of getting caught seemed even more thrilling when a group of people marched infront of your car. Of course they couldn't see what was going on inside.
His penchant for exhibitionism had rubbed hard on you. Just like his suck on one of your nipples. A wet patch filtered through your cotton panties.
Your hand wasted no time in squeezing his crotch. He gulped.
"I've always wanted to do this."
Your giggles increased as you unzipped his pants and peeled his cock our of his confinements.
"Are you hungry, cariño?" He heaved as you pumped him softly, earning a hiss and a low growl from him.
You kissed him once more before stuffing your mouth with his cock.
He threw an arm over your seat, relaxed as you sucked him.
"Fuuck- take deep breaths, Princesa" His eyes shut close for a moment, but the sudden mini concert of honks snapped his attention back to the road.
He drove carefully. Steady breaths huffed out of his mouth as you took him deeper. All that cock sucking training had been worth it.
"Jesucristo, hermosa"
His eyes drooped as your tongue focused on his tip. Wet sucking noises etched in his memory, and my God, he loved them.
"Lemme... lemme find a... Dios mío-" He choked as your hand pumped him faster as your lips busied themselves with his sac, "Lemme park. I can't-" He gasped when you took him whole once more, your throat shamelessly constricting against him.
"Yes~" He hissed as his hips bucked, trying to fuck your lips. You whimpered and let him go last minute. He took a fistful of your hair and pulled you to kiss him. Tasting himself in the process.
Smirking you went back to your seat after fixing his pants. Seeing him all rizzed and worked up made your boldness to spike. Your hips shimmied away from the cotton contraption, and you threw them in the back seat of the car.
"Miguel?"
His eyes immediately went between your spreading thighs. Your back rested against the passenger door and your fingers delved in between your slick folds.
His mouth gaped. His throat dried in dire need of a drink of you. A finger slid inside. The squelching sound it did sent shivers down his spine.
"Look at what you do to your poor wife, Miguel"
"That's so not fair, cariño. I'm driving"
He bit his lip at the sight. You were soaked and ready to be filled to the brim. Just the way he loved.
"Keep playing with it, though. Love hearing you cum"
Your soft moans and wet pussy made his insides tingle. All he had to do was wait to get to the hotel so he could actually get his revenge on you. And by God he would enjoy it.
"Wish it was you inside me" You whimpered as your fingers delved in deeper, tight hole melding at your finger's size.
"You'll have me, preciosa. Just wait."
Your soaked fingers toyed and curled on your insides, earning more coos and moans. His feet pressed the accelerator deeper as he drove through the streets.
"Faster, mi amor"
He instructed giving occasional glances at the mess you were creating between your legs. A mess he would love to stuff his face in right now. His cock twitched almost painfully at hearing you touching and toying with yourself next to him. He had ruined you in so many ways he couldn't help but feel pride. And now that you were his wife, none could tell him no.
A smirk stretched on his meaty lips when the hotel came into view
You quickly went through the motions, check in, people taking your luggage to your room and blah blah blah.
"Stop." You whined but complied. Your body could almost taste your orgasm. But seeing the hotel coming closer in your vision relaxed your aching cunt. You didn't care if he had to take you on the elevator, but he needed to do something, instead he took your fingers and licked them clean to then kiss you.
---
He locked the door after putting the 'Do not disturb' sign outside the door. A chill invaded you as his gaze fell on you. You ran with an excited squeal and he chased with a wolfish grin plastered on his face.
Graying strands bounced as he pounced on you. Hands took a hold of your dress and ripped it in half.
His lips mumbled desperately on yours as he removed his clothes. His hulking figure cornered you against one of the suit's pillars.
"Hey!"
"Cállate. Te voy a conseguir otro" (Shut up. I'll get you another one)
Hot and desperate mouth mapped your skin as one hand held you by the neck.
"Need you now, preciosa."
His tongue curled in your folds as his other hand kneaded your thigh, prying it open before he sunk his face in between them.
Your eyes clamped shut at the sensation of him prodding and tasting you. Spine arched against the column as he kneeled and ate you. His hunger grew urgent with every lick and lap he delivered to your quivering flesh.
You gasped as he placed you to sit ontop of your shoulders, your hand grabbing his hair to push him impossibly closer to your soaked and loved pussy.
One of his hands secured your lower back, as the other held tightly on your thigh, securing you in place as he hoisted you up. You rode his face eagerly, getting as much friction as you could from his lips and tongue. A firm slap on your ass encouraged you to ride faster. Your clit trembled with joy at every contact he did with his mouth. He groaned.
The low vibrations of his groans ignited the spark for your aching release. His slaps alternated between rough squeezes. Your thighs smothered his head, trapping him tightly. Lightheadnesss rushing through your brain, as your breaths turned shorts and shallow.
"I'm cumming!" You whimpered as your body went taut to then tremble. He drank from you, quenching his longing thirst. He placed you gently on the bed to then spread your legs.
The stretch his cock did inside felt deliciously painful. Legs wrapped around his narrow waist as he hoisted you once more against his chest to then hook your thighs on his forearms as his hands held you by your ass. Your arms went around his neck, holding onto him.
His hips rammed into you.
Your mouth went slack as your body trembled. Your insides kept constricting since you were still riding your high but he didn't care. He'd never get tired for the way your tight walls melted and shivered around him. It was addictive. Like the sheer and raw need for eachother you were basked in.
His hands guided your hips, a sweet and wet slap echoed into the room.
Your fingers sunk into his salt and pepper hair. His fangs pulling at your bottom lip. An iron grip squeeze and it was all he needed to rut in an air-knocking and jaw slacking pace.
Your head lolled to the sides, trying to grasp onto a coherent thought but none came. There was nothing but pleasure in your head. Each thrust reached deeper until his tip made out with your cervix. Nothing but the sounds of your drooling pussy taking everything he mustered at you and his low growls.
His pace increased into a faster tempo, and you curled into the crook of his neck, voice rasping and begging for him to not stop. The inside friction felt raw and hot, almost maddening at how well your walls welcomed him over and over. Inviting him to nest within them.
Sweat etched to his forehead and upper chest and back. Your meek attempts of marking him only added enough spice for his hips to keep wrecking your hole.
The feeling of your ass bouncing on his hands at every thrust he did and your breathless coos and begs, made him to grip tighter and fuck you rougher.
Mewlings turned into loud and choked wails as he drilled you through
"Give it to me, preciosa" He fisted your hair as he sheathed completely into you, and you creamed and gushed while your body convulsed.
"Such a fucking good girl,"
The contractions around his cock felt like a delicious kiss, just like the one he gave you.
He laughed softly at your state.
"You think we're done, Mi reina? How cute."
You panted like a fish out of water as he flipped you over on the bed and melded your body like putty.
His hand pushed your face deeper in the mattress as he planted his feet on each side of you.
"Levanta ese culo. Will fuck it like a husband should." (Raise that ass)
He slapped your quivering cheeks to lift your hips up himself. You were too high and cock drunk to listen to what he was saying. Your breast flattened against the bed, his feet planted on each side of your hips. One of his hands guided his tip inside you again to then hold at the metal headboard before him for leverage.
"M-Miguel!" You sobbed as he thrusted inside in a swift move.
"This is gonna be your treatment until you grow a fucking baby inside , sweetheart"
The relentless push had your eyes far far gone as he kept bullying his cock in such a brutal pace you'd thought he'd split you in two. He was so good at manhandling and stretching you open, and you were even better at taking it. Excelled even.
The constant slapping had you wheezing and your ass flushed. Your previous cum rolled down your inner thighs, it made easier for him to slid in an out.
And just when you thought he'd stop, he'd just slow down to unleash an onslaught of deep and merciless thrusts.
You clung to the sheets for dear life as meek and muffled sobs escaped you with effort. Your throat felt scrapped raw, he smirked at feeling your walls twitching again.
The bead and headboard creaked at his rutting. Your toes curled in and your jaw clenched at the force you crashed down. You soaked him, making a hot mess of your cunt. But that didn't stop him.
He pushed deeper a few more times before holding your hips in such a steely grip you were sure you'd get bruises and spilled into you. Hot and thick blobs of his cum painting your walls white.
He clawed at your skin as he panted and growled. One of his hands slicked his hair back and sighed with a satisfied yet wicked smile, but frowned upon watching his cum rolling down your clit.
"No no. it must stay inside." He grumbled as his fingers collected his cum to push it back inside and then slapped your ass. Earning another whimper of you.
His arms cradled you as his body smothered you. His lips showered your flushed face in kisses.
"Te ves tan preciosa así." (You look so beautiful like this)
You couldn't help but squeal while you hugged Miguel upon seeing the two parallel lines in the pregnancy test.
You scooted closer in his arms with the little energy you had left. Letting your shaken brain to finally take a rest, letting his hushed 'I love yous' and his gentle caresses on your hair lull you to sleep.
----
All the raw fucking had finally paid off. He cupped your cheeks and kissed you.
"Told you I'd make a mami out of you. preciosa"
You giggled as you texted your dad.
He chuckled and kissed you again.
"What are you doing?"
"Making my dad feel old and giving him the news."
He placed a hand on your lower belly and smiled.
"Wait til Gabi finds out."
"I hope it's a girl"
-------
"Are you happy?"
"More than happy, yes. I'm gonna be a mom!"
"A wonderful one, for sure."
Taglis
@um-well @capmedusa @migueloharaslxt @thbidkbutok @joestarbitch @angelarcheangel @ewan-tef @gejo333 @hyunrelics @topreice @luvstich@loonalockley @allysunny @punk-22 @jesterglitch @sc4rltwitch @roselove105 @spikedhe4rt @tallmanlover @elfwoodfae @miaasmf @lainekyuu @keiva1000
@nianawrites @leviathxn @tatatida @gabrielarose29 @pedr0swh0r3 @
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara smut#spiderman 2099 smut#dbf miguel#Dad best friend AU#Older! miguel o'hara#smut#atsv smut#miguel o'hara fluff#t writes✨
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Ms. Kang Hyewon
IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 3 - Kang Hyewon
IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut
9,122 words
Categories | femdom, mommy kink, degradation, angry sex, choking
Content warning | blackmail, degradation, Hyewon isn't so innocent here
Well, well, well, look who came back with Day 3.
My promise remains. Expect more, but on separate days. I won't run away with your money like a certain pre-
Thread isn’t claustrophobic. It slips through spaces not even your fingernail could pierce apart. Effortlessly, too. It isn’t afraid of being knotted up. It just needs guidance: a pinch to lead it through the eye and a pull to seam it through the hem.
You wish you wielded the same fearlessness. It’s thinner and more fragile than you (highly debated) yet it’s hardened to its life. The only thing you’re granted as a similarity to it is the need for guidance, not all of that shit about courage.
Maybe that’s why you became a fashion designer.
Needles have their own strengths, too. They’re not cowards to inflicting pain for aesthetics. Why do you think they stab so effortlessly through fabric and silk and skin and whatnot? They sharpen themselves through softness, and all that edge goes straight into the process.
And sometimes, your fingers.
“Fuck.” Your reverie is broken at last. From your thumb, a trail of red leaks. You’re used to the minor cuts and wounds, but the blood really does something to you. It reminds you of how fragile human anatomy is. One uncalculated move can end it all.
“You good?” asks Eunbi.
Suck on your thumb. A metallic taste settles over your tongue. She peers at you curiously; wave your hand at her dismissively to tell her it’s fine. This is everyday for you, like you said. Your heart will pump anxiously but that goes away, too. It’s all a vestige of time.
Flatten the vest top on the table. Wait, it’s not exactly a top yet if fringes of thread splay from the edges. You still have to work on that. Nothing is something when it’s not completed. It’s either you finish it grandly or leave it in pathetic tatters.
“You sure you're okay?”
“Just a little nervous,” you reply.
“I mean,” Eunbi laughs as she fixes her short hair into a ponytail, “she is Kang Hyewon.”
Not that she needs to remind you. Your nerves are in a wreck already. You’ve been replaying the pros of the situation in your head like a favorite song. Working for Hyewon would look good in your resumés. If time sees fit, you’d have your own line and everyone would want to wear it. Your name could be a staple of fashion, the god of gods. Something like that.
It only sucks that you’re painfully new to this world. This is the first time you’re this far from your family and friends. Seoul’s a far cry from your humble town. It’s the home of everything that matters. Nights of staying up drawing and designing couldn’t harden you for an industry that sways and shakes out the unfit.
This is your chance to find out if you’re one of them.
“The superstar who’s about to wear my shitty clothes.”
“They’re anything but shitty. You have seriously good ideas.” Always, Eunbi comes in to reassure you. That’s why you see her as a mentor. “She wouldn’t turn down wearing couture if she didn’t see potential in what you make.”
See, you would never have agreed to any of this. You’re a fresh graduate from some fashion school, and the only models you’ve worked on are the runway rejects. Fixing a sloppy first draft on a stick-thin, soulless girl is different from designing and dressing up Kang Hyewon.
She’s everything—model, actress, singer, and idol. She’s a gem for every brand out there. They’re all dying to get her to be their ambassador. Every director with a complete brain wants to cast her for their new drama.
And it’s her who can lift you to heights in your career. So you’d be an idiot not to seal the deal.
“Have you worked with her before?”
As your needle sews a story of fabric, Eunbi’s words whittle her story with Hyewon. Turns out, this is only her second time working with the star. She confirms that Hyewon is truly gorgeous in person with those god-given full lips and hardset eyes.
Apparently, first impressions are right after all when it’s with her—she’s a silent, withholding woman who doesn’t talk outside of necessity. Eunbi tells you her nerves were in knots the first time, but also informs you that as long as you do your job for her properly, there isn’t gonna be any problem.
“Just be careful in what you do and say,” Eunbi whispers. She peeks over at your nearly finished piece. “That’s turning out really nice, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
Look proudly at your handiwork. It’s a sleeveless top fashioned from denim, with a V-shaped curve at the stomach. You’ve attached strips of more denim on the front that are sewn on with threads that match the blue of the ocean, embedded into the chest to prevent dullness. You think it’s turning out pretty good, too.
You would’ve gone on smiling if it weren’t for what you remembered. “Wait, why do I have to be careful?”
“She’s not, like, shy or anything. Just really unfiltered when it comes to feedback. She told me the eyeliner I did on her was shit, and that I shouldn’t come back if I planned on doing that again.”
Doubts about the beauty of your design rise. It might look good in your eyes, but what if it doesn’t in hers? She’d probably see the lack of color and call it a monstrosity. She’s got the type of power to get away with brutal words, to leave your little self-confidence in pieces.
The leg-hugging jeans and vest now look painfully average to you. There’s no debating that she’d look good in it, but there’s that constant back-and-forth argument in your head about whether or not Hyewon would like it.
“Were you hurt?” you ask.
Eunbi wipes red lipstick from the edges of her mouth with the mirror’s reflection as guidance, then smiles. “She’s the kind of woman I’d let do more than hurt me.”
-
You don’t know what that was about, but you’re not one to pry. You don’t have the time anyway.
Assistants have poured into the room. It’s your sign to put in more work—their arrival means that Hyewon is about to come very soon. They’re all dressed in their uniforms, the kind that looks good but not too good that it takes away the fact that they’re just staff.
Eunbi shifts her weight from one stiletto to another. “Are you done?” she asks. She gazes over at your sewing as she taps anxious rhythms on the vanity table. Notice how she’s taken off her acrylics and in turn shows her cruelly bitten fingernails.
You huff. “I’m trying.”
Stick a red-studded pin through the denim to keep the vest in place. What shade of blue did you use again? Staring for lengthy minutes at your messy table doesn’t help you find it. Your chalks have left pink powder on the wood. Your threads are unspooled and everywhere. In the midst of it all, the star’s vest sits, still waiting to be finished.
“She’s getting here in five!” Yena shouts.
“Any updates there?” Eunbi says pleadingly to you, eyes full of tears.
“I said I’m trying, Eunbi.”
“Then try harder, fuck!”
Her hands have abandoned their rhythms and are squeezed up into tiny, helpless fists. She keeps peeking out of the dressing room as if she’d die on the spot if Hyewon were there already. This is the first time you’ve seen Eunbi this beside herself. Even her crew is shocked. Her fear infects them too and now all sets of scared eyes are on you. They’re depending on your speed for their careers. If you fall short, they fall short, too. It’s a domino effect of failure.
Yena pushes aside the hangers of clothing to frisk for the makeup kit. Chaeyeon has her hands in her air while Minju whimpers behind her. They all know one thing for sure: you’re never gonna finish on time.
Your needle fits and slips, fits and slips, fits and slips—
“Can’t you go any faster?” cries out Eunbi.
The thread almost pulls the rest of the fabric along it when you pull furiously. “Unless you want me to get stabbed in the fucking wrist,” you say, “I can’t.”
You prick yourself multiple times trying to speed up. Push the layered denim down. It’s like drowning a needle, letting it go up from the waves of clothes for air, then drowning it again. However, you don’t care for any casualties right now. You don’t care for deaths either. All you want is to do is finish this piece.
You hear three short knocks on the door. Your world stops, but your sewing doesn’t. You can do this. You can still make it look somehow finished.
“Ms. Kang!”
Curl.
Thread.
Knot.
You’re done. It’s safe to turn around.
All of the women along with Eunbi have bowed deeply. Standing in front of them is the straight-postured form of the adored celebrity. The assistants look like they’re an estranged cult of some sorts who’s worshiping a goddess who’s come to earth.
Strangely, you find out that, as you stare at Kang Hyewon, you understand.
You can now grasp the idea why she’s ventured into so many fields: she can do it all. She can be it all.
Her hair is as black as night, and so are her irises. Her expression tells you no background, not even of a troublesome drive or a good meal. No, not any of that, for Hyewon’s face is a serious little look of professionalism. It’s the kind people of her status wear—celebrated doctors, movie stars, activists. But for some reason, it looks so much hotter on her.
It would take skilled mathematicians and scientists to find out what’s behind her neutral expression, but it doesn’t take a degree to know that she’s downright beautiful.
The pictures her dedicated fansites take of her truly don’t do justice to her attractiveness. Her face is smaller than a child’s. The nonchalant stare in her eyes makes her look out of this world, which could be said too for her preppy clothes. She’s a fashion icon for the younger generation after all.
A natural pair of plump lips doesn’t show a sign of a smile. Nevertheless, she’s a beautiful woman. You assume that it’s how it is for her everyday, just like drawing is your daily routine.
“Hello.” Hyewon’s voice is surprisingly feminine yet husky. She looks at you all indifferently, then places her bag on a nearby chair. Each action of hers is minimal and measured.
“Would you like to get dressed, Ms. Kang?” asks Eunbi, her voice a pitch too high.
She nods.
You hand over the jeans and shirt. Make a beeline for the exit. There’s a reason why an all-female staff was hired for Hyewon. You were taught in school that you best not dress them up directly if they’re a celebrity and you aren’t known in the industry yet. There’s all the reason to fear: hidden cameras and microphones, leaked footage, the like. While you’re not a man whose intentions are dark, you still follow protocol.
“What are you running away for?”
Your shoes stop paving the way to the door. Was that Hyewon? “What?” you say.
Eunbi winces. Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. You don’t state that in that tone to a woman of that class.
Hyewon sighs audibly. “Can you look me in the eyes when I talk to you?”
You’re cold yet trepidation prickles your skin like fire. Slowly, almost comically, turn around. Her coat is off, leaving her in a skirt and a sleeveless undershirt on which she’s crossed her arms above. So how can you look at her directly? That body of hers is shockingly easy on the eyes.
“You’re the fashion designer, right?” she asks.
Smile awkwardly. “I, uh—”
“Then why are you leaving? Come over here and help me. I want to see if you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m, a little, uh, actually—”
“You’re actually what?”
Your mouth’s dry. Eunbi and her crew look too scared to remind her that you’re an amateur. You haven’t dressed up a star and you definitely aren’t a professional.
But what can you do? Look at her—a woman who could crumble your career into shards if she said so and blacklist you from the industry forever—and tell her no?
So, you approach.
Is it a blessing that you’re granted the honors of removing her underclothes? Or a curse?
As you undress her, you’re given the affirmation that her body is more than easy on the eyes. It’s fucking to die for. Her waist isn’t concerningly tiny, but shows a defined curve that elevates to her torso. Her breasts are large for her frame, barely fitting the size of her lace bra.
“Woah, what are you doing?” you say, eyes wide at Eunbi suddenly unclasping said bra. You feel like a Victorian man catching sight of ankles.
Eunbi looks confused. “Didn’t you say a bra would ruin the look? And that we should use nipple tape?”
Hyewon stares at her, then looks at you, waiting for an answer.
“Oh, right.” You chuckle tensely. “Sorry.”
Your lips are pursed to keep you from hissing in embarrassment. Now you probably look like a creep. Your fright and wariness are taking control, and you have no idea what to do.
You conveniently close your eyes when the bra’s taken off. Take the vest from Yena and raise it above Hyewon’s head. No matter what, you’ll keep your eyes up. Not below, where her breasts are sure to catch you off guard; not to the side, where they might be assuming you’re everything bad; but up. Nowhere else.
“It looks beautiful on you.” Minju’s smile is less nervous now that the job is done.
Her remark is nothing short of the truth. The garment slips onto Hyewon’s body like water. The defined carve of her clavicle stands out above the conservative neckline. Still, her bare arms alone will already have people thinking of something. The jeans accentuate her slim long legs elevated by a pair of expensive heels. She doesn’t need makeup to look good in what you sewed for her. Her body and face do the job.
Hyewon doesn't respond to the compliment. She simply sits down on the swivel makeup chair, crosses her legs, and pulls out her phone. Her thumbs twiddle with a game you’ve seen her advertise before. She’s true to her endorsements.
Minju carefully fills the brims of her eyelids with sharp cat eyeliner. Hyewon still doesn’t look up from her phone. You guess she’s used to people adapting to her and not the other way around.
You like the touch of the fierce red lipstick Eunbi applies on her later on. It’s a bold statement, something that goes like: It’s me, Kang Hyewon; this is the face of a woman who can destroy you, and I promise that you’ll love it.
“You look great, Ms. Kang,” Eunbi compliments her cheerfully, clicking the lipstick back.
Hyewon stares at herself in the mirror. She’s a silent observer, taking in her reflection and studying it closely.
A lunar eclipse personified, a smile stretches on her lips that releases your held breaths. “I know.”
-
Mirrors lined with shining diamonds. Words that spell the house of fashion emblazoned in lights. Expensive makeup behind glass. Bags that are worth your tuition sitting on displayed pedestals as if they didn’t know their own worth. The event is a never-ending sea of vanity for the wealthy and the west. You can’t believe you’re playing a part in it, although you’re a sheep among well-dressed wolves.
Crowds of reporters and photographers wait at the main hall. There’s no questioning who they’re here for. Although Jang is undoubtedly a big name, so is Hyewon. They were right to recruit her. You’ve never seen a crowd this big, even for fashion. You wonder how much they paid her to be the ambassador. Must be millions when all the other houses are dying to have her. She doesn’t look like one who kindly allows lowballing.
Neither does this man. He’s grand in his custom Victoria Jang and shoes that have the glimmer of stars themselves as he stands at the center. He must be the MC; he has a name tag to his breast pocket and a mic in his fist.
“Dude, did you know Anya Taylor-Joy’s gonna be here?” Rafael tells you.
“The chick from that cool chess movie?”
“Yeah,” he replies. He gestures to the small screen that shows her holding a lipstick to her jaw. It would be hard to see it behind the scrambling reporters. Luckily, as the designer, you scored a nearby spot backstage. “Jennie, too!”
The two are gorgeous, but you’re honestly more interested in Hyewon. If people see she’s wearing your clothes, they’d want to hire you, too. She doesn’t follow the trend; she is the trend. Soon, you’ll see Korea filled with women wearing the same shirt, the same jeans, the same style…
“We’re proud to present Jang’s first store in Korea,” says the MC. Yep, you were right. “This is a monumental stepping stone for our founder, Ms. Jang Wonyoung. Please welcome her with a hearty applause!”
You know all about Jang Wonyoung. She’s a self-made woman whose passion for beauty got the attention of the public, especially the western world. She’s always busy despite her tender age of nineteen: performing onstage with her group IVE, traveling, founding a new school in meager areas. She’s almost at the same level as Hyewon in terms of stardom.
Wonyoung comes out from the background, dressed fashionably as always. A polite smile decorates her glossed lips. It’s caught by the flashes of cameras and the reporters’ cheers.
“Hello, thank you for coming.” She brushes back her fringe and folds her hands. “Opening a branch here in my home is an achievement I’m forever grateful for. I would like to thank you all greatly for the success it’s brought about.
“Please,” she says, “take the time to immerse yourself in our array of products. Try a new trendy look with Jang Beauty—”
She extends an arm to the variety of products protected under firm glass. There’s powder, eyeliner, and blush. Actually, there’s a little of everything. There’s colors fit for every complexion, dark or light, and a palette of rainbows.
“—or flaunt your own style with our new arrival bags and purses.”
See, they’re the bags which immediately give the impression of expensiveness. The accessories are reserved to warm or light hues accompanied with Wonyoung’s signature rabbit logo. One even features her signature, stylishly drawn on quality canvas.
“Our helpful staff are here to answer your questions and assist you, but for now, please meet our muses.”
The camera shutters multiply when Kim Jennie enters the frame. Another “it” girl, she’s from a globally loved K-pop group whose influence couldn’t be denied even by the worst liars. She made all the buzz for Jang when a news article that quoted Wonyoung’s adoration for her was released. As expected, social media received the news happily. They made parallels with Wonyoung and Jennie, created fan accounts, and bought from Jang, even if the house initially opened in the United States.
Wonyoung’s smile is wide. You think you see a little of yourself in her. There’s certain pride in seeing someone loved and adored wearing your design.
Jennie waves briefly to the crowd before settling in a poised stride stage left.
Anya Taylor-Joy comes in next. Rafael makes a joke about how the press would have a difficult time trying to translate her name into Hangul characters correctly. She answers a question from the crowd sweetly with a translator’s help, and stands a yard from Jennie. Seeing the two women side by side stuns you—Jang really did emphasize how there’s beauty in everything and everyone, including those from different sides of the world.
“And finally, we would like to present Jang’s new ambassador.” Wonyoung’s beaming positively. “Welcome to Jang, Kang Hyewon!”
Suppressed screams fill your ears. The women at the mall can’t believe a friendly outing to the mall grabbed them a chance to see her in person. She’s the kind of girl who’s everywhere, and still manages to make you look. To make you want to be her or be with her. Perhaps those two at the same time?
You stare at her. Hyewon is flawless. Her slight tan is a nice break from the whiteness of the cameras. Her eyes seem to single out everybody in the crowd. The ambassador stands next to Wonyoung, a hand on her own hip, and lets a slight Mona Lisa smile paint her face.
Perfection.
How does she do so little but still attract everyone? You’re not an exception. You find yourself forgetting that you made those clothes—she owns them now. They’ll be associated with her name and not yours.
Do you even have a problem with that?
“Jang’s vision is to highlight beauty in everyone,” Wonyoung says. “Ms. Kang Hyewon is the perfect ambassador. She is an idol, singer, dancer, model, muse, and everything you can think of. She is the personification of beauty and versatility. We are proud to have her.”
You would be, too.
You were here to make a name for yourself, not fanboy over her. Here you are anyway doing it.
Hyewon stands next to Wonyoung and nods humbly. “I’m honored to be named the ambassador for Jang.” She bows deeply. Her hands are together on her stomach. “Please expect more from us because we will deliver.”
Perhaps that’s a statement bolder than the red painted on her lips.
“To the name of beauty!” a reporter raises a glass and chugs it. You don’t know where that came from, but it draws collective giggles.
Wonyoung laughs. “To the name of beauty!”
Hyewon jokingly raises an imaginary shot high in the air. The simplest actions don’t bar her from being beautiful. Just look at how her hair falls perfectly over gorgeous shoulders, how her hips stick out at the sides of the jeans—
How the sound of fabric ripping loudly stuns the crowd.
Your eyes go wide. The left strap of her top has torn apart. The two aidless halves collapse on the sides uselessly. The attire sags from the front and leaks the view of one of her breasts. Maybe they should have told her to keep the bra on—her left tit with nothing but nipple tape on is painfully shown off to hundreds of people.
Hyewon’s eyes fill with alarm. All confidence is lost as she tries to cover her exposed breast up. But the deed is done. Worse, the flashes don’t stop. The photos will soon take to the internet and, regardless of her power to bend things to their will, can never truly be eradicated. The articles will go viral, too. No one will forget this moment of Kang Hyewon finally showing vulnerability.
“Ms. Kang—” Wonyoung says in a thin voice. She didn’t imagine this special day would take a drastic turn. She awkwardly laughs, because what else can she do? As rich as she is, she can’t pay a crazed scientist to implement a memory-erasing chip in these people’s brains. The event is officially ruined.
And it’s all your fault.
Still, she generously steps in front of Hyewon to help. Similar to every attempt to salvage her dignity, it’s useless. The ambassador she relied so much on is already walking away. She’s leaving everything behind and won’t look back. Tonight is a night of many firsts, and right now, this is her first time retreating.
Aside from the sounds of phones and camcorders, all that’s left to hear is the furious clicking of Hyewon’s heels. Her strides are short and quick.
One step, five steps, ten steps… then thirteen.
It takes a total of thirteen steps for Hyewon to exit and come to you.
You couldn’t be an unluckier dead man.
-
Hyewon is the grim reaper. She wields fury instead of a scythe, wears now defective clothes instead of a dark cloak. The imminent loss of life is frightening regardless of being faced with a pretty woman. Anyone would get on their knees and resort to the unthinkable to experience this with the celebrity right now. So why are you as cold as a corpse?
“You.”
One word is enough to make you want to die early.
You look forward while your steps go backward. Your feet can pave the longest reversed path and you’d still be left with no escape. Hyewon is faster than you are. The rest of the staff are in the crowd or in another room; they can’t help you. Nobody can tell her to stop.
You doubt she’d listen anyway, and you know because you’re looking in her face: the face of death. Gone is the blasé mood surrounding her, the mystery in her that people would pray rosaries to venerate. What’s taken its place is an Ares-born wrath that’s at odds with her Aphrodite visuals. Her eyes are large with anger and short angry rasps leave her mouth.
“Ms. Kang,” you say, your words a mute plea. “Really, I apologize—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Hyewon’s forearm knocks into your neck and catapults you to the dressing room door. The wood gives way, much to your horror. You barely make it on the plush chair with how your feet struggle to keep upright.
She looms over you hauntingly, tall in her black heels. It’s a reminder that she really is above you in everything: positions, status, wealth—
Intimacy?
Why is she straddling you? You don’t know what you’re supposed to feel, much more where to look. Adding to her center literally being seated above your crotch, she didn’t even bother to fix her wardrobe malfunction. There’s no might left in you when her fingers curl into your collar and tighten it up to your neck.
“You little shit.” She coils the fabric around your throat harder. Wracked coughs fight their way out of you. “An incompetent one, too. This is all your fault.”
Her voice is rougher when she’s angry. It’s like she has a switch that she clicks on and off to be what she has to be: the Kang Hyewon everyone idolizes; and the one people would be afraid of. It doesn’t take a wicked guess to figure which one you’re encountering now.
“Ms. Kang,” you say weakly, “please.”
You inhale raggedly through your nose. Hate how comforting her expensive perfume is to your senses when she’s doing everything but making you at ease. Hate how attractive she is. Hate how you ruined the day that was supposed to change your life forever. Hate how a small part of you doesn't hate being under her.
For others to understand you, they need to put themselves in your shoes. If an A-list star who’s as gorgeous as Hyewon was snugly seated on their lap, wouldn’t they feel the same? Wouldn’t they feel the stir in their pants, the heat in their chests?
You’re fucked in the head. But she is, too. You’re a match made in the depths of hell.
“I-I can explain.”
Your pulse beats beneath her palm. Its faltering rhythm brings cruel satisfaction to her, making her face spread into a wicked smile.
As Hyewon’s almond eyes close into tyrannizing slits and her lips pull at the ends into a closed smirk, you realize why she rarely grins. You’re fucking terrified. It’s a simper reserved for little satisfaction and great anger. How can a woman be this beautiful yet this cruel?
“Explain then,” she allows. The ampleness of her lips has little distance to your mouth. “But if you think for one second I’m letting you go, you’re as dead as your career.”
Your career never started. You were young once. You had dreams of making yourself known and making your family proud. If today never happened, if your needle seamed the thread just a bit tighter, you still would have had a chance to go on.
Now you’re neither young nor old, with neither a future or past.
Your dreams are broken, just like her clothes.
“Please, Ms. Kang. I was in a rush. I didn’t think it would undo like that.”
She laughs. It’s another rare occurrence that scares the shit out of you. It transforms into a sarcastic little scoff when she meets your eyes again. “I gave you days. I gave you a fucking chance to prove your worth when I could’ve hired any dickhead out there. And what did you do? You screwed it up.”
With each word she spits, your collar wrings around you more compactly. You feel hot and breathless but to Hyewon, your skin is deadly cold to the touch. Nevertheless, she doesn’t let up.
“I’ll pay for the damage,” you offer bleakly. “I’ll apologize. I’ll admit that I was wrong to… hahk, to the media. Just please don’t blacklist me.”
She shakes her head. “That isn’t enough.”
It isn’t? What could you do? You’ve already said you’ll pay more than you can to amend. You told her you’d go to the press and bare your wrongdoings. What else does she want? She already has everything.
“You wanted to see me naked, didn't you?” Hyewon snarls. “You planned it all out.”
You choke, and it’s not because of her hands digging into your flesh. “N-no! I swear—”
In the olden days, prophecies were told by an oracle. People would go on quests and seal their fates in accordance with them. Now, they’re in the little things, like jokes that suddenly bleed into reality, and, in your case, deja vu.
You say deja vu because you know the sound of ripping fabric all too well.
It interrupts your words and catches you by surprise. Hyewon has wrenched apart the buttons of your shirt down to your stomach. The band of your underwear peeks out above your pants, as well as the stomach you haven’t taken the time to tone in a while.
“There,” she says. She slinks down your lap till her knees touch the floor and she’s tearing your pants, too. More buttons are sent flying in the air. “Now we’re both naked. Isn’t that what you wanted? To get to say that you fucked Kang Hyewon?”
Your pants add to the pile of clothes and buttons on the ground. You can’t even blush or protest; Hyewon is unstoppable when she’s angry. Her soft hands, unlearned in the ways of hardship, somehow have the strength to cut and slice and pull at your clothing. She’s not leaving one speck of fabric on for modesty.
“I, I don’t want to fu– to have sex with you, Ms. Kang.”
“Baby.” Hyewon deadpans, laughing a little as she traces the curve of your cheek. “Everyone wants to fuck me.”
She takes off her shirt and tears off the nipple tapes. Her pretty brown nipples are uncovered, and you can’t stop staring. Her body is a model of perfection in every category. You’ve got her flat tummy, curved waist, wide hips, and breasts that really should have a warning sign lest you harm yourself looking at them. Unfortunately, they don’t have a warning label, and Hyewon catches your wandering eyes.
“Fucking pervert.”
You look away, but there’s nowhere else to stare, so you say, “No, please, I didn’t… no, I didn’t—”
“I know what I saw.”
“I’m sorry, I really am.”
“That’s not how you say it.” Hyewon suddenly wraps her hand around your stiffening cock. Her squeeze is painful. “You sit there, bow your head, and say: ‘Sorry, mommy.’”
You’re flabbergasted. “What?”
You yowl when she squeezes harder and starts to pump you to full mast. It’s a painful pleasure, a guilty danger. Hyewon’s eyes trained on you are even more so.
“You heard me. If you want to save your career, do as I say.”
You whimper into the eerie silence as the woman curls her fist around your member as if she were choking it. How did you land into this situation? How were you so fucking stupid that you thought a week would be enough to finish the piece?
Now you’re here, in this enclosed dressing room, with a celebrity cruelly torturing your penis and demanding that you call her mommy. Look to the right then to the left and see that no one’s coming to your rescue. This is the real world, and as absurd as it is, you’re on your own.
Hyewon’s fingernails threaten to pierce the sensitive skin. “Be a good boy,” she growls.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, mommy.”
(You mean it, you mean it, you mean it.)
“That wasn’t so hard. But I’m not done with you just yet.”
She leans forward. Your face twists while she wraps her soft tits around you. Her cleavage is so deep, so full that your length is completely lost in it. You moan embarrassingly, and it’s too late to cover your mouth when she’s already smirking.
“Because you wanted to see my tits so bad,” she says, rubbing her tits in opposite directions on your member, “I’m gonna fuck you with them. I don’t care if you cum like a little bitch or not; I’m not stopping.”
You’re starting to leak. Hyewon’s sweat combined with your precum lubricates you and allows for more delicious, slippery friction. She pushes herself up and down repeatedly, continuously trapping your cock between her amazing boobs. She could do this forever. On the other hand, you’re close to losing it.
“I’m not gonna stop. You brought this upon yourself. You understand me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
A deserved silence. Her eyes speak of an immediate death that follows a wrong answer.
Close your eyes. You know what you’re supposed to say. “Yes, mommy.”
Strangely, she’s exactly the type of woman who deserves that title. Her stony expression doesn’t evaporate from that beautiful face although sweat’s started to roll down it from how mercilessly she titfucks you. She shows no signs of sympathy for your situation. Why would she when she’s accustomed to control, and you’ve just taken that from her? You took her control from the people who’ve made her famous. This is your punishment.
Each pleasured expression you make draws a haughty smile from her. It’s as inspiring as critical acclaim to her, for she cups her tits tighter around your shaft and pumps away. You’re her toy for tonight. If she can’t regain her control over the public, she’ll show you why she deserves to have it:
One, she’s tireless.
Her lower lip is under her teeth as she spills effort into persecuting your cock. She’s unblinking—she’s too focused on your reactions to close her eyes. It’s not like she’d care if your reaction is violent or pained or good. Hyewon would still go on fucking you.
“Of course you like this.” Spit covers your cockhead, a sign of her distaste. “You perverted virgins are all the same.”
“I’m not perverted, mommy.”
“What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re not a virgin?”
“I’m, n-not a vir—”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
She continues grinding her pillowy breasts on you. Their undersides touch your balls while her nipples brush against your stomach. Whatever move she does makes you shiver.
If you had no escape from the enigma that is Kang Hyewon, neither did your cock. Her bust makes sure of that. It surrounds it as if determined to suffocate an ejaculation out of it. The precum from your tip just isn’t enough.
Two, she doesn’t rely on anybody.
Nobody told her to fuck you. Nobody told her to strip and use you. Those are the choices she made by herself, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t perform them with dedication. She doesn’t need anybody’s help in ruining you when she can do it herself.
So she does. Hyewon sinfully lets saliva drip from her chin and onto her chest to help speed up what’s already a vicious pace. The cold drool makes you hiss. Her warm breasts are both a reprieve and retribution. They carry out soft comfort but give out your quick punishment at the same time. It’s funny to think how they’re as versatile as she is.
Three, she’s the only one who’s ever made you cum like this.
“Mommy!” The word was never intended to be said. But it’s unavoidable; Hyewon’s too hasty, and it’s becoming too much. You can’t hold back on letting her know her ownership of you.
You can’t hold back the messiness of your cum as well. Bursts of white jet her chest and her neck. You whimper to your wits’ end and she doesn’t stop in spite of it. She keeps overstimulating you till the leak of semen becomes a mere dribble.
Hyewon climbs on your lap again, her vagina placed just in front of your spent shaft. “You’re getting used to it, huh?”
Your eyes are on her, as everyone else’s are when she’s under the lens of a camera. You’re horrified; almost every part of her torso is covered with your cum. Her tits are coated grandly with strong splashes. The white liquid drools down her tummy, then to her jeans.
You just came on Kang Hyewon.
Push her away, cursing quietly. You’ve no reputation left to save now. No dignity, no image, nothing. You should have fought back. A junior stylist shouldn’t be getting intimate with a superstar.
“Ms. Kang, I should go,” you stammer. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
None of this was supposed to happen. You wish you could have turned back time and stopped yourself from going to fashion school. If you didn’t go, you wouldn’t have gone on the path of designing and wouldn’t have accepted her invitation to design for her and Jang. It’s all so fucked up that you’re actually reconsidering religion.
Hyewon considers this. To your relief, her professional tone returns. You’re able to breathe now. It’s over.
“You’re not gonna help me clean up?” she says finally.
“Oh… yes, I’m sorry.”
There’s no tissues or washcloths around. You have to be resourceful. It’s painful wiping up something so inappropriate with the shirt you designed, but it’ll do. The semen embeds into the denim during your dutiful clean-up. It’s humiliating—the only thing that comforts you is that, after this, you and Hyewon will part ways and never speak again. You both have something to hold over the other. Keeping your mouths shut will keep you safer than sorrier.
More worries surface. Did someone hear or see you? Are there hidden cameras here? You’ll have to inspect the place, especially after you think you don’t remember Hyewon locking the door.
“Thank you.” Hyewon crosses her arms and looks down at the stained vest that started all of this. “Now suck your cum out of it.”
You want to cry. This is far from over. You’re not done here, and you won’t be until she says so.
She cocks her head. “I paid for it, and I don’t want flaws,” she says matter-of-factly. “So you either suck your filth out now or I might just drop the Somun magazine editor a visit.”
Stare at her with tear-filled eyes. What can you do?
Attach your lips to the blemished denim. Suck on it forcefully. The taste brings more tears and some even slide in pathetic drops down your face. How did it all come to this? The amount of hard work you put in school surely did not earn you this, right?
You were raised too soft. Maybe hanging out with the rebellious boys back in elementary would have saved you her domination. You could have negotiated with her, maybe even argued that you weren’t allowing this to happen to you. But those happen in parallel universes, where you’re a little stronger, a little wiser. Here, you’re just a man who’s not particularly excellent.
“Good job,” Hyewon says. “I guess you’re not that much of a lost cause.”
Her backhanded praise is sweet to your ears rather than mocking.
She clicks her tongue. “All that cum should have went in my pussy, you know.”
You hang your head to hide your blush. You’re glad thoughts aren’t visually presented. Otherwise, Hyewon would put you down further.
Hyewon places a finger below your chin and tilts it up. You’re forced to meet her eyes. There comes all the hate again. It pours into your heart freely like a fountain. It’s not hate for her, but for yourself. If you didn’t crumple that easily for women like Hyewon—women who like control and give orders and get a kick out of humiliating other people—maybe a whole other fate would have been in store for you.
Fright always gives way to yearning. She’s a bitch who thinks too highly of herself, although understandably so. She hurt you so much and through it all, you still want to hear her praise you.
She smiles.
Yep, Kang Hyewon is irredeemably, irrevocably evil.
“And you owe me a whole lot of it,” she says, and adds, in a sickeningly sweet voice, “baby boy.”
No horror film can scare you like she does. She’s a phantom of beauty and power who will haunt you forever. All this could be done and you’d still think about her. You’ve become another one of Hyewon’s fanatics who allows her to do anything and everything to them.
Hyewon shoves you on the dressing table. The cold white surface cools your skin, but you know it’s about to get heated soon. She’s spanned her legs over your hips again. Her aggressive hands grip your shoulders. Somehow, you never want them to leave your touch.
Then you’re kissing her. The other way around, you mean—Hyewon initiates it by closing the distance and biting your lip. She’s a starved kisser who devours you like a wolf. Her tongue curls around yours and she dives in deeper. You’re deprived of any breath, any source of oxygen. Part your lips to kiss her back, but she’s already locked her mouth on them.
Hyewon sweeps her hair back, readying herself for the final act. If mirrors could blush, you have no question that they would upon seeing her. Attractiveness is a natural thing to her—you can see it in the sway of her arms, the thickness of her thighs, and the way she carries herself. She acts like she’s entitled to everything, and that includes your cock.
She’s too fucking hot that you’d ignore all her cons and give it up to her.
She knows that. She circles her core around your tip. You moan immediately. She feels so good, and you’re not even inside her yet.
“You like that?” she sneers after she pulls away. “You like my pussy on your cock?”
She grinds her slit along your cockhead. Her moans are surprisingly sensitive, high in pitch and airy. You’re granted exclusive listening to them when you hit her clit. She moves it there particularly, because those moaned questions she asked you are just for her own ego. She only cares for her own pleasure, and it just so happens to be ignited by a weak man whose type is crazy, unhinged women. Whose type just so happens to be her.
She’s so wet that sounds of drenched squeaks fill your ears. You’re nothing else except certain that she really, really gets off on being such a bitch. Her wicked leer couldn’t ever fade from her face, not if you keep flashing those exhausted needy expressions.
“Answer me,” Hyewon says. She glides her fingertips from your broad shoulders to your neck. A threatening grip, a deadly fate. “You know mommy doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
“Yes, mommy.”
“Do you want me to ride your cock, hm?” Every fragment she speaks makes her choke you harder. She’ll send you to heaven then hell, where you’ll meet her all over again. “Do you want me to keep you inside me until I’m all done and satisfied?”
“Yes… oh fuck, please!”
“I fucking thought so.”
She sinks herself down in one go. You cry out. Hyewon’s tight pussy welcomes you and traps you right up to the hilt. The hard grip of her cunt disallows you a break; her pace is one of anger that’s unrelenting and harsh.
Her thighs crash down on your lap and rise, a cycle that never ends. You’re left even more breathless by her soft breasts smothering you. It’s the best way to go out. They bounce marvelously in front of your face, your nose pressed to the little space between them and your mouth kissing wherever it can. You lick at her tits until you’ve licked all the cum that might have remained on them.
Your lips attach themselves to her nipple. As an effect, the star’s cunt clamps around you with the hold of a guilty pleasure, a taboo vice. It doesn’t intend on letting go unless you decide you want it to go. But you have the feeling that your probable pleas won’t budge Hyewon’s heart.
“Mommy’s baby boy,” Hyewon says. Her tightness grows and so does the volume of her heavy gasps. “Mommy’s slutty baby boy who’d do anything to get this pussy.”
You want to tell her that what she said is far from the truth. You didn’t want to cause a wardrobe malfunction. You didn’t want to anger her. But now, when presented with the heat of her impossibly wet vagina, you realize you actually would. You try to meet her expectations, nursing on her nipple and guiding her movements with your hands on her wide hips. What you want is for this to be enough, but it just isn’t. Hyewon always wants more.
You can see it in the crash of her butt on your thighs, the shouty cries that she lets go of, the grip on your neck that she doesn’t. A woman accustomed to the scrutiny of the public eye would never let a strand of her hair go knotted. But when it comes to punishing people, to making them the accessory she carries, she doesn’t care anymore. Her usually prepared and counted movements become frantic. Her quietness isn't a case of the current times when she’s using you as her little fucktoy.
Kang Hyewon is a mess, and you are, too.
“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Your yells crack and fade—she doesn’t.
Hyewon doesn’t let up. Her fluttering walls make sure to leave your legs stagnant. You can feel her manicured nails scrape your skin and her thin legs hug your hips. The hours she spends in the gym can’t be that long for her stamina to remain this strong. Maybe she has a personal trainer, a healthy diet. Maybe she owns some weights around the house.
Maybe she owns you.
“You sound pathetic. Just keep sucking those tits.” She removes her hand from the base of your neck, but leaves you asphyxiated anyway when she pushes her face into her breasts.
The mirror bears your combined weight. You try to lift your head. Hyewon chases your movements. You’re forced to inhale through your nostrils, taking in her powdery perfume and lightly sweaty scent, and keep your mouth busy on her boobs.
You flick her nipple with your tongue. She holds you to her chest and promises no escape. To be fair, you could stay here, smothered by her breasts forever. You’d have little complaint when they’re heavy and soft and sweaty. Your mouth stays attached to them and brings her on the road to orgasm.
“Greedy little boy,” Hyewon scoffs. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you? I bet you held it out just so I could keep riding you.”
Your cock feels sore already. Although her insides are warm and soaked enough for the entering and leaving to be slick, you’ve been trying to hold back for so long you think you’ll cry. You have to tell her. Perhaps it’ll lessen her anger.
“I’m gonna cum, please, mommy.”
She cruelly bounces faster. Her hips are that of a veteran dancer’s, grinding to and fro and rotating. You’ve figured it out: the reason why she’s never had a dating scandal is that no man would be able to handle her. She’d drain him nightly. She’d treat him like a sex toy to use when she pleases. Everyone wants to be hers, but no one is ready for her.
“Do you deserve to cum inside this perfect pussy?” she asks. She splays her lips and grinds upwards. You groan loudly. “You’re lucky if I even spit on you. What makes you think you can explode in mommy?”
“Please, I’ll do anything!” You tighten your core to hold it back. It’s useless. Your orgasm is coming anytime now, and Hyewon won’t let it happen. “Mommy, let me cum, mommy, please!”
She slaps you across the face. Why did the sting turn you on? You’d argue her words sting more. “You made me look like a cheap slut out there!” Hyewon shouts. “I gave you a chance and you ruined it, you little shit. So now you have to earn your fucking worth!”
Her riding becomes intense by the minute. She was angry earlier, and now she’s furious. You’re her canvas for a fuming painting. But in her eyes, you’re not a masterpiece. She’ll do away with you to the point of destruction. You’re very near to crumbling.
“I’ll do anything, please!”
You’re desperate. Your stomach’s starting to ache from the violence. You can’t quite feel your legs. All you feel is an impending heat that squeezes your insides. Your hips jerk needily and tears fall from your face. This is the first time you’ve felt this humiliated and aroused. Something about Hyewon makes the two emotions merge and leaves you wanting more.
Hyewon’s close to cumming, too. She’s shaking as her chaotic bounces are sloppier than before. “Say it, say you’re my little boy toy! Say you’re a slut for mommy!”
You’re a quivering body beneath the celebrity. You’re letting her use your cock and choke you and slap you, all without repercussions. There’s only one kind of man that would let someone do that to them. You can’t believe you’ve become one.
“Yes, yes, mommy owns my cock!” you scream, nodding over and over. “I’m her toy and she can do w-whatever she wants to me, I won’t mind!”
Her juices roll down your cock and wet your pubic area. She’s spiraling out of control. The only thing she can control is you, making you say the most humiliating things. Her wild eyes lock onto yours, and through them you could finally see some backstory: Kang Hyewon was born into wealth and control, and she’ll die with them, too. She’ll always fight to have them when they’re taken away from her. She isn’t afraid to cross limits.
“Yes, yes, yes! More!”
“I only want mommy’s pussy even if I don’t deserve it! I only do what she says, I’ll give up everything to be mommy’s plaything, please!”
When she cums, she looks frenzied, shaking all over the place and spasming around you. Her cries of pleasure become erratic. They almost sound not human. A human would not dare do what she does to you. She fucks you like an animal, frightens you like a supernatural phenomenon, and moves like the waves of the sea.
Kang Hyewon is out of this world. You’re an unnamed rock floating in the galaxy she navigates.
You bust just the second she removes herself from you. Abashing strings of sticky whiteness land all over yourself. They’re paired with needy groans that you can’t stop even if you wanted to.
Hyewon observes your ejaculation unamusedly. She takes a step backward when a jet of cum sprays in her direction. Look down at yourself—look down at your lap and the table blotted with your orgasm—and think of how dirty you are. You’re so dirty and pitiable that you came all over yourself, like you just masturbated in front of her. That’s why she doesn’t want to touch you.
“Y-you didn’t let me cum inside,” you say disappointedly. You did everything, said everything, and risked everything for nothing. An orgasm isn’t worth it when it isn’t done inside Hyewon.
“Like I said,” Hyewon replies, apathetic, “you don’t deserve it.”
Stare at her. It’s through staring at her with surprise that you realize you’re dirty on the inside, too. Hyewon can live her life secludedly and fade from the industry. She can leave this country, reinvent herself, marry somewhere, and you’d still be thinking about her. You’d always think of this night that left her appearance and yourself ruined.
That’s her charm. She’s permanently going to be in your mind—you’ll always picture her wet cunt, her alluring breasts, her beautiful face. You’ll strive for her again and again while she doesn't even care if you live or die.
Women like her… why do they have to be who you want?
“You have no future in this industry,” she continues.
She pulls her jeans up her legs and slips the button through the hole. Oh, you really will remember this night. You see you and Hyewon in the little things. She searches through the closet for a spare shirt. Watch her slim fingers that previously wrapped like ribbons around your throat now wrap around a hanger. She slips her arms through the tweed coat and seals it around the front.
“But your drawings aren’t… horrible,” she says. That’s the best compliment you can get from her. You know not to expect more. She shrugs as she closes the buttons together. “Maybe you’ll end up as a painter.”
A painter? You’re a fashion designer, not Van Gogh. Dresses and pants are your forte. You can’t switch to a whole new job when sewing is what you know.
Your heart sinks. You really broke the first step to a career you worked your whole life for. It’s just not your path to take anymore.
Hyewon looks around for something to write with. She settles for the eye pencil lying on a table. She forces you to open your palm and writes something on it. She closes your fingers above it.
“There you go. Consider this a farewell gift.”
She came into your life fast and she exits it just as fast. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of yearning. After all she’s done, you don’t want her to go. Why do you despise her departure when you prayed for it earlier?
Who would take you now?
You sigh. Peek at your hand curiously. In tidy handwriting, Hyewon’s message says:
KIM MINJU - CURATOR
XXX - XXX - 2001
#kpop smut#smut#kpop fanfic#fanfic#kpop fanfiction#fanfiction#kpop fic#fic#izone smut#actress smut#kang hyewon smut#hyewon smut#izone hyewon smut#male reader#x reader#reader insert#idol x reader#idol x male reader#kpop x reader#kpop x male reader#pov smut#kofimission#commission#iz days of christmas#iz days of christmas 2023#iz days of christmas 2023 day 3
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five more minutes: Dick Grayson x fem!reader
I'm (not) sorry, but that smug face fits right into this fanfiction!!
request/summary: Dick getting clingy when the reader needs to go somewhere
A/N: so, I think I'm back? Two weeks break and I'm getting into the swing of things again, so please go easy on me with this story......
***
When she wakes up in the morning something seems off almost instantly.
It only takes a second to realise that said thing took the form of Dick Grayson, her beloved boyfriend, the man by day and the fearless vigilante by night. The protector of Gotham and its people.
Well, if only the people could see him now.
Sleeping in a weird position with the imprint of the pillow on his cheek, messy hair and some dried saliva in the corner of his mouth.
He so cute and adorable like that. Y/N does the quick scan of his face and body in the search for any injuries he might have obtained during the patrol but her heart rests easy when she noticed him being all in one piece with no blood or stiches. Either it was a quiet and peaceful night or he already took care of himself. Her bets are the latter, but since it’s work day she doesn’t really have any time to wait until he wakes up to blame him for not being careful.
As quiet and swift as she can, Y/N tries to move out of bed, but since Dick’s senses are heightened she doesn’t really get far, when his arms wraps around her, keeping her in place.
“Dick……” she mutters
“Mhmmmm……” he mumbles into the pillow
“Come on, I have get up!”
“no you don’t.”
“I gotta get to work!”
“I’m the only work you need……” he grins, still half-asleep, but so full of himself and she almost rolls her eyes at the joke
“God, please stop…. I need to earn money you know? Not all of us have a billionaire daddy!”
“You’re dating the billionaire oldest son, isn’t that enough?”
She wonders for a moment. On a second thought maybe it is. Dick seems to use that heartbeat of hesitation, shifting his body weight on her, pinning her to bed, his eyes still closed, but this little shit knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Dick!” she gasps feeling all those muscles crush her “shit!
“I like it when you call my name in such a desperate words. Do it just one more time and the neighbours will hate you forever.” He chuckles and his makes her skin tingle.
You’re heavy…..” she squirms trying to break free, but it’s no use. “You brought it on yourself….” The girl mutters poking on his ribs in the place where he’s extremely sensitive because of an old injury.
“Hey!” he yells, trying to defend himself and letting go off her in the process.
Y/N is quick to jump out of bed and rush towards her wardrobe, grabbing her jeans and t-shirt and struggling to put them on.
“Not so fast!” Dick tears her clothes from her hands and holds them high out of reach.
“Not fair Grayson!”
“You called me fat.”
“I called you heavy!’
“Same thing!”
“It’s not….. You know what, fine. I’ll just wear something else….” She shrugs and runs towards the drawer, but before she could reach it Dick grabs her from behind and holds her tight to him
“Dick…….” She whines stretching out just to grab something to wear. Anything.
“I know. I’m irresistible.”
“A pain in the ass is what you are!”
“I can make you breakfast….” He tempts
“You’re not Jason, Dick. Making me breakfast means putting cereals In the bowl and poring some milk over it in your dictionary. Cold milk. And that is only if I bought both cereals and milk.”
“did you?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Can’t you see how hard I’m trying? Just for you. Come on, you are like an employee of the month. Or even a year. Stay…..” he kisses her neck playfully “you can call in sick.”
“I used all my sick days because of you.”
“How about casual leave?”
“and what may be the emergency?” she sighs in defeat, her body going limp as she drops the fighting knowing well enough she won’t win it. “Clingy boyfriend?”
“You called me boyfriend!” he grins again and she facepalms herself.
“We’ve been together for a year Dick. Why do you seem surprised?”
“I could never get bored with hearing that word from you. Makes me proud that you’re mine.”
“trying to sweet talk me? Won’t work. By the way, you are soooooo cheesy Grayson.”
“And?” he asks
“ And? What and?” at this point Y/N is confused, her eyebrows furrowing as she turns to meet his gaze
“And you love me?” he insist, spinning her around in his arms so that he can get easy access to her kissable face.
“Yeah…..” she smiles dreamily “yeah, I do love you, you idiot” she trails with a love sick puppy expression. But it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stay and be you babysi…..ah! Put me down!” she yells suddenly feeling her body lift of the ground without her knowledge or will. “Put me down Grayson! What are you……?! Damn it…!”
Dick does not listen or does not get impressed by her poor attempts to break free. He’s Nightwing. He’s got so many ways to immobilise the opponent. Or, in this case, lover.
“Dick I swear I am going to kick your ass if you don’t….!” the threat dies on her lips as he throws her onto the mattress and kisses her softly shutting her up in the process.
“Stay?” he pouts looking at her with those pretty doe eyes “Pretty please?”
“You act like a five year old!”
“A five year old that wants you. A five year old that misses you…”
“I’ll be back, you know……” she brush the strand of hair from his face. She’s already gone but still tries to keep the appearances.
“Yeah, at 6 p.m. or later. It’s almost the time when I get ready for my night shift…… Please…..”he whines nuzzling his nose over her neck “stay…..”
“please…..” she mimics his whining, caressing his cheek “let me go……”
“But I need you…….” He hide his face in her belly and his hair tickle
“Why do you always need me when I am supposed to go to work?’
“It’s a terrible and uncontrollable disease…..” he laughs
“Is there a cure?” she laughs back
“I can think of something….” He closes the gap between them, nibbling on her bottom lip. “and it may be working…. But I;m not sure. Need some more testing” he repeats his action. “Mhm, yes, it’s definitely working… You don’t want me to be sick, do you?”
“Not really. You are whiny and attention seeker when you are sick.”
“I am not!” he shouts in denial “ok, maybe I am. A little. But come on, you can stay some more time with me……”
“How long, dickie?” she smiles at him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“five more minutes?”
“ok. Five more minutes. She sighs deeply, letting go of any of her objections, letting Dick lay beside her and act like a big spoon, while holding her tight to his chest and caressing her sides and belly.
“You’re not letting me go, are you?” she whispers closing her eyes and getting lost in his touch.
“Never.”
And she’s pretty sure she can live with that.
#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#dick grayson x oc#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x you#nightwing x y/n#nightwing x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson fanfiction#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson fic#nightwing fanfiction#nightwing imagine#nightwing fluff#dc x reader#dc fluff#fluff
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King!Konig absolutely railing his darling till she can’t think after the assassination attempts, stab wound be damned (it probably only makes him more horny let’s be honest) is all I’m dreaming about this morning
He is a nasty man tha I unfortunately want 😔
What do you think he's calling her for??
You're led to the king's private drawing room, something small, comfortable, official off the throne room. The court physician is speaking as politely and hurriedly as you've ever heard a person, to a man that dwarfs him in every possible way even seated. You enter the room and König stands, ignoring what you assume is his physician's advice as well as the man himself. Your eyes dart to the blood soaking his shirt, the torn fabric that may as well be torn skin the way it bleeds. Your eyes are forced lower by the strain of König's pants, the bastard is hard.
"On your knees," He commands as you take a breathless step into the room. Your eyes snap to his, that dark malevolent gaze chills you, but it's not for you. You turn your attention to the physician, and see König tips his head curiously as you start to regain your composure.
"Get me some gauze," You order, moving to inspect the herbs laid out on the low table.
"I-" the physician looks nervously between you and your imposing patient.
"Now!" You snap at him. Above you König nods. You turn your attention to König, his eyes crinkle at the sides, smiling even under his chainmail hood. You narrow your eyes, and grit your teeth against the swell in your heart, "Lay down."
"Du bist herrisch, das gefällt mir." König's teeth flash through the tight chain, but he settles onto the couch all the same. The physician hands you a bundle of clean cloth as you drop herbs into the hot water bath a servant is placing on the table. "Everyone out," König bellows, as you dip the cloth into the makeshift tea. There's a scramble for the exit, and a grunt of pain as König strips his shirt off.
"Pants too," You tell him without looking up from your work. He doesn't argue, and you're quickly maneuvered onto his lap. König looks far too pleased with himself as you shift to find a comfortable position.
"You'll never get it in like that Liebling," He hums, gripping your skirt and ripping it up the middle. You press the soaked cloth against his wound in retaliation and he tips his head back with a hiss. You can feel his cock twitching under you, and just as quickly as you stanch the bleed he's lifting your hips and holding his cock against your entrance.
"König," You warn, ducking your head as your face heats, you wish he didn't have such an affect on you.
"I fucked you this morning liebchen, you'll be fine." He pushes into you and your fingers curl tighter into the cloth. You whine, feeling ever fat inch of his cock stretching you out, filling you full. It burns, just at the edge of too much, each lubricious inch of skin against your walls forcing you to make room for him. He scrapes against something deep and achingly tender and your back arches, your head tipped back as you swear.
You lean your weight onto his wound and he bucks up into you, filling you in one good thrust, hitting you so deep in your stomach you can't do anything but gasp. König murmurs some distant praise as you try to get your bearings, try being the operative word. The way he holds you down against his hips, forces you to put your weight either onto his cock or onto his wound, a vicious seesaw of pleasuring yourself, of pain-pleasuring him, makes you shiver, makes you beg for more. You're kept in place as König fucks into you, shallow but devastating, angling your hips so he hits exactly where he wants.
You squeeze your eyes shut, panting out moans and feeling an agonizing warmth churn in the pit of your stomach. A pressure that doesn't stop building, only lessons when he allows you a break, when he diverts your focus back to tending to his wound. You lean against your hands, attempting to get away from some of the pleasure he thrusts into you. You feel the squish of fabric, the flex of his muscles, hear the low groan of your king.
"Harder meine engel, or you'll never stop the bleeding," He sounds pleased with himself, breathless and excited. The new angle lets you feel the tight drag of him in and out, your cunt clenching to try and keep him where you want, while the rest of you aches and trembles. He's right, you know he's right, but you hardly have the mental fortitude to push as hard as you need to. Not with him moving you like a toy, hitting everything perfectly so that stars burst behind your closed eyes.
König's hand grasps the back of your neck and pulls you down tight against his chest. Your fingers press hard against the cloth, your body keeping pressure on as König growls, and plants his feet on the couch to fuck you harder. You shake against him, breathless punched out moans dripping from your lips, every muscle tensed until they aren't. Something drips between your legs, watery and slick, forced out by König's thick cock. It only eases the slide of his cock, lets you feel how absolutely destroyed you are for him.
"Giving orders like a queen, look at you now," König grunts, "coming on my cock like a whore." You nod, rub your cheek against his shoulder, lave your tongue against the taut lines of his throat. You can feel his chain mail draping over your forehead, your cheek. "This time-" König mumbles to himself, thrusting hard into you and stilling, "this time."
You feel the flood of heat as he spills into you. You whine, clenching around his cock as he breathes through his orgasm, fucking you with shallow thrusts as you milk him for every drop. His hips buck short, jerking with oversensitivity as he settles you back onto his lap. You swallow, try to get your head on as you tip it back to look at his covered face, his closed eyes, you rise and fall with his steady breaths.
"Does it hurt?" You fret, attempting to sit up enough to check his incredibly recent stab wound.
"Your pussy? No, it's very warm actually."
You could smack him, but he's already injured enough. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny." He opens his eyes to smile at you and stops, making a soft pained noise. "Oh, liebling," He coos, switching his grip to swipe his thumb against your cheek, "don't cry, I'm alright."
Are you crying? You reach a damp, bloody hand to check, though it doesn't do more than smear the crimson over your cheek. You can feel the tightness in your throat, the sting in your eyes, even without seeing the tears. You pout at König, at the concern, at the interest, in his eyes. You hadn't even realized you were upset enough to cry.
"I'm fine," You tell him, wiping your cheek with your shoulder and refocusing on your work, "Don't look at me."
You're not surprised when he doesn't follow that order.
#cod x reader#x reader#x oc#cod x oc#könig cod#könig x reader#könig mw2#könig call of duty#König x oc#könig x f!reader#f!reader#oc: liebling#call of duty modern warfare#mw2 fanfic#medieval au
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Dancing with One Piece Men
ACE
The only one on this list that can actually dance or at least has a real sense of rhythm I'm so sorry
He's not shy about dancing either
Is shy about slow dancing with you in front of people, that's just for yall
Loves dancing with you during celebrations on the ship!!! HE WILL LITERALLY GRAB YOU FROM YOUR SEAT AND SWING YOU AROUND
His joy is your joy and vice versa and will keep you laughing the whole time
Gets really close to you, especially when he's drunk, like noses almost touching
Did I mention spinning?? He'll spin you around and around until you're both dizzy, flushed and sweating and then wobble over to a seat with you to recover and laugh with everyone
LUFFY
Have you ever seen the OG Disney Jungle Book movie? Remember the orangutan? Yeah? That's how Luffy dances. Lots of arm swinging and shimmying
Doesn't mind dancing but like...food first
Man, all that dancing worked up an appetite! Time for more food!
You might have to see Chopper the next morning because of how much he pulls your arms while dancing your poor shoulder joints lol
So unserious about it so there's no reason to be self concious because Luffy's already acting a fool enough for both of you
You both end up falling asleep wherever you are, completely tuckered out. Zoro will inevitably have to carry you both to bed except Luffy's hand is still holding yours so you're definitely sharing a bed
SANJI
Okay, but the hilarity of trying to grind up on this man? He'd die. Cause of death: blood loss lol. It's okay, he's had a good run
He's such a romantic, I think he'd actually prefer to slow dance with you and is kind of bummed it's a party
Would definitely inspire him to slow dance with you more
Holds you really close
Hands on your waist or lower absolutely lower
Can't actually dance though and looks incredibly goofy, as long as no one says anything zoro it'll be fine
Can dip you though and it's really hot
You probably don't dance for very long because he's a horny gremlin but you love it
ZORO
"Pleeeeaaaassssseeee"
"Over my dead body, y/n"
There ain't no way you're getting this man to dance
Pulling him off the wall or out of his chair is like trying to pull a mountain from it's spot
Will tap his foot though
Really likes watching you because it's hot and because you're happy and let's be honest Zoro wants to see you happy
You're the best view there besides the sake
Make him jealous and dance with another guy? Well, y'all won't be at the party much longer because you're fucking in the bathroom
If hell froze over and you did get him to dance it's so stiff and terrible you burst out laughing immediately
LAW
It's only because he loves you that he shows up at all, dancing is pushing it
Dance on him and he will switch himself with a chair at least he won't let you fall on your ass
You can try pulling him up but you won't get very far either. He might swing his arms with yours lamely but that's it
He will slow dance with you alone in his room or the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning and actually really likes holding you close
Dancing is so foreign to him and it shows lol, you got him to dance once in private because you were insanely curious and Law genuinely has no memories of ever dancing in his 26 years of life and uh...he kind of dances like Wednesday Addams but it's cute to you
He'll dance with you in private now but it has to be a very very special circumstance
#zoro x reader#luffy x reader#law x reader#sanji x reader#ace x reader#one piece x reader headcanon#one piece x reader#one piece
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Falling for Bodyguard Mizu
Pairing: Mizu x Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, very suggestive, secret relationship, bodyguard work, kissing, hickeys, literal sleeping together, groping, teasing, bodyguard!Mizu
A/N: Just saying... I wouldn't be professional with her.
When your father hired bodyguard!Mizu to watch over you there was a lot of competition prior. She wasn't the first choice but she was the one who won the competition. At the very least you knew the reputation alone would keep people away from you. It was awkward to get along with her because of her cold attitude but she was also respectful.
Bodyguard!Mizu is in front of your room first thing in the morning. She doesn't come in because she presents herself as a man so she figures you wouldn't be too comfortable with her there. Plus she's a complete stranger to you. Other than that there's nowhere you go without her following you.
Naturally she had no plans of falling for you and has deflected your advances. She said no to prostitutes before, she can sure as hell say no to a rich, spoiled princess. But bodyguard!Mizu does warn other men not to try anything with you, not because she likes you but because it's just business to her. Protecting you includes protecting you from unwanted advances.
As soon as bodyguard!Mizu feels herself going soft for you she tries to talk your father into finding someone else to guard you. When that doesn't work she tries to make you hate her. Which is hard because you like her very much, enough to kiss her back when she does it suddenly to try and startle you. Besides you're the one with the upper hand here, you're not scared of her, she was the one who kept you safe every day when you went out.
She still kept it professional when you're in public, there's no way she would ever allow anyone to know she has a soft spot for you. Bodyguard!Mizu never lets you touch her much but she does let you kiss her all you want when you're alone together. She's fine with hickeys as long as you put them on places she can cover up. It's very hard for her not to laugh when you bring up sleeping in the same bed and pregnancy.
Enjoys sleeping with you but wants to be the little spoon. It would be reverse if you knew her secret but this way she doesn't have to excuse her lack of morning wood. You do notice she keeps a bit of distance from you when you make out. Bodyguard!Mizu likes touching you a lot, it's how she makes up for the other lack of contact. That and her leaving bite marks on your inner thighs after she's done making you moan for her.
If you're in a crowd bodyguard!Mizu can get away with pulling you close without consequences. She has to pretend she hates it when you kiss her as a thank you but you find her grumble adorable. You calling her adorable is something she actually hates but she can't really stop you either.
Bodyguard!Mizu keeps you in her lap while making out, she does like keeping you close. And besides as your bodyguard she's doing a very good job making sure your body is safe in her arms, no one can say she's not doing her job she's just going about it in her own way. It's also not like you hate it, you're the one calling her in your room every evening.
If she has to cut someone down she doesn't want you to see her covered in their blood. Her duty is to keep you safe, that includes the things she does in order to make your safety happen. Bodyguard!Mizu sneaks into your bed after getting cleaned up. You notice that she's more clingy after she cuts someone down, like she's trying to make up for the death with her gentleness and love for you.
She sticks around more then she thought she would. Turns out she likes her job quite a bit and not because it pays well, but for your company alone. If you want bodyguard!Mizu to stick around for a while longer, perhaps until you fall in love with someone else who will protect you just like she can, she will do so. Well after you've been with her you don't plan on marrying anyone else, its just a matter of convincing your father now.
#blue eye samurai#mizu#bes#blue eye samurai x reader#mizu x reader#mizu blue eye samurai#bes x reader#blue eye samurai imagine#mizu imagine#bes imagine#blue eye samurai headcanons#mizu headcanons#bes headcanons#blue eye samurai fanfic#bes fanfic#mizu fanfic#blue eye samurai fluff#x reader#x female reader
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a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader
word count: 1.4k
warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood
a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!
next part
The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.
At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.
Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.
Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.
You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.
After all, monsters don’t knock.
You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.
You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.
“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.
Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.
“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.
“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.
“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”
It never is.
“But are you hurt?” you press, still.
He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.
“I told you. I’m fine.”
You shake your head.
“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”
Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.
Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.
“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.
You don’t push it.
“Do you want to take a bath?”
Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.
Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.
They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.
“I would like that.”
Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.
“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.
If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.
“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.
You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.
What you are, is alone.
And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.
It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.
It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.
“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”
It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.
You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.
“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.
Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.
His eyes drop to your lips.
Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.
He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—
He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.
That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.
“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.
“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.
You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.
He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.
“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”
But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.
“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”
You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.
“I’ll be waiting,” you say.
You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.
He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.
“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.
“You too,” he says, knowing you will.
And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.
next part
#hyunsu x reader#cha hyun su x reader#sweet home#sweet home netflix#cha hyun su#sweet home x reader#sweet home season 2#hyun su x reader#cha hyunsoo#cha hyunsoo x reader#hyunsoo x reader
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johnnie guilbert x reader
johnnie writing zombie about you
idea by @beansnsoup !
➷ you and johnnie have known each other for almost two years now, you two hang out at least once a week, normally to do a video since everytime you two collab the video gets at least 100k more views.. but also because you guys get along so well. everytime your together you both laugh so hard there are tears and unlike jake you keep your space clean so videos don't need a whole cleaning crew to sort out the mess afterwards. either way you two have become pretty close, and when johnnie told you he was working on a new song you were so excited. you love all his music and you always try to watch every cover post he does on tiktok.
you showed up to jake and johnnies place to sleep over since you live an hour away and you are free both today and tomorrow so you might as well stay longer. you normally sleep in johnnies bed and johnnie sleeps on the couch since they don't have a spare room, you are fine sleeping on couch but johnnie insists everytime that you get his room.
the moment you came in the house something felt a little off, like as if there was an unusual energy in the air or that there's a secret between them that your not let into. you don't let it get to you since you were about to go on jake's live.
"jake no offence but why do you always make me eat the most unhealthy shit ever", you say as the live was ending. " okay y/n that's just mean, this is my diet your talking about ", " next time I'm on your live and you like faint from too much sugar ill refuse to drive you to the hospital, I'll just leave you there and take your room so johnnie doesn't have to sleep on the couch when I stay over" jake rolls his eyes. "so basically what your saying is that you want me dead so you could be roommates with johnnie instead.. I see how it is..." you shove him slightly and he screams dramatically and grabs his arm in fake pain. you laugh and the both of you say goodbye to chat.
"that was great, I think that was our best yet!" jake says cleaning up the mess he made. "I think so too! I wish johnnie could have joined though". you noticed how jake immediately got a massive smile on his face, " hey what's that smile for" you say giggling. "oh nothing" jake says winking before starting to drive you both back to the house.
a few minutes after coming back johnnie comes up to you, wanting to show you something. he leads you to his room and sits down on his bed. he starts petting the spot next to him, letting you know you can sit. as you sat he leaned behind and pulled out his guitar. "oh yay are you going to show me your new song!" you say doing a small clap. "yup! it's the one I've been talking about the past few weeks!" he says, you notice his voice is a little shakey but you figure it's normal when singing to a person alone. he cleared his throat and began singing.
Blood red sheets are my favorite
I could be your greatest weakness
'Cause she's got me so damn nervous
I'm a zombie, baby, what's my purpose?
you were enjoying the song so much you were barely taking note of the lyrics, at the end you gave him a massive hug. "johnnie that was great! I think this is my new favorite song of yours, you better be putting it on Spotify".
he blushed slightly, "I'm glad you like it! but I wana ask like.. what do you think of it". you tilt your head to the side a bit confused, "wait what do you mean?". " it's, uh, never mind don't worry" johnnie says putting his guitar away giving you a weak smile.
the energy was really weird now, the feeling you had before was 10x worse and you had no idea why.
a few hours later you said goodnight to the boys and got into bed, you had sat on your phone for a bit when the events of the day really started to sink in and you hated that there was unresolved issues, so you texted johnnie asking if he's awake. as you sent the text you saw a light flash on the bed. you check and it's johnnies phone
y/n 🧟♂️ ♥️:
heyy, i don't want to wake you just incase your asleep but if you aren't can we talk?
you laughed at the fact he put a zombie by your contact name, but as you were about to get out of bed to give him his phone it struck you. johnnies song is literally called zombie, maybe that has something to do with the emoji by your contact name. you immediately tried to recall the lyrics of his song,
I want your heart
I want your brain and that body
'Cause you got me going too insane
You can't control mе
I want your heart
I want your brain and that body
'Cause you got me acting likе a fucking zombie
y/n you absolute dumbass, johnnie wasn't just playing a song for you! he was singing his feelings. it all makes sense now, you know for a fact that johnnie gets really anxious when talking about his feelings and if he ever did want to ask you out he probably would be to shy to say it outright, jake probably knew and that's why the energy was so awkward today!
you immediately jump out of bed and go to the living room, you see johnnie typing something on his laptop but when he notices you he smiles closing his it, "you okay? it's pretty late" he asks as you sit down next to him. "johnnie can I ask you something?" you say biting your lip. "sure what's up".
"who was the person you wrote zombie about?" you said, ripping off the bandaid. at first he opened his mouth but then shut it again looking away, even in the dark you are noticing how he is getting flushed. "johnnie?", he didn't answer and instead put his arms under yours and held you for a soft hug, " it's you y/n, I wrote it about you" the hug lingered for awhile just like the silence in the air.
"johnnie I feel the same" you say after the hug finishes. "wait, really?", you take his hands in your own, "yes, really". he says nothing but then leans in for a soft kiss that you reciprocate, his hands gently fall onto your waist, as your kiss started turning more intense johnnie pulls away taking you off guard, "wait, before we carry on its my turn to ask a question" you make a confused face. "can I call you my girlfriend?" you let out a little laugh, "yes, yes yes yes!!" you say as you leaned in again, and this time you can feel his smile through each and every kiss.
❣
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