#my first answer was you. the distance between us is frustrating but my first answer was still you.
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My Little Flower
Yandere!Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Heavy yandere themes, rape (reader doesn’t know), hypno kink, tit groping, tit sucking, nibbling, hickeys, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, degradation, bimbofication, Reader is kind and a little bit dumb, male dominant behavior, virginity loss (both), violence (shoving), cervix-pusher, tummy bulge, 18+ characters (seniors in high school)
Note: I don’t know about you, but I didn’t bleed when I lost my virginity, so Reader doesn’t either just to make things less complicated. ALSO, someone bought me a coffee, so this is on my second account as well. You can read it here and on @sluts-assembled.
Synopsis: Your best friend of four years, Hitoshi, finds your dumbass out in a rainstorm. He escorts you to your room, and you only make his mood worse from there.
Word Count: 3K
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The rain wouldn’t stop pouring down like a waterfall, the drops relentlessly tap, tap, tapping against the window. It seems like the dreadful weather will go on forever at this rate. Not that Hitoshi really minds, although he would much rather be lazing away in a sun puddle. Instead, he is brought back to reality as the lightening in the sky catches his ever-so-distant attention. His pupils rolling upwards, watching as the gray canvas of midday bright up with electric cobalt and lavender.
What catches his attention even more is a peculiar little figure off in the distance, bending down by a flower bed just short of a few meters from the school. Ah, he’d know that body anywhere. Could pick that ass out of a crowd of a hundred people. It’s you, his lovely little flower.
Wait…you?! What the hell are you doing out in a fucking storm?!
Currently alone in the general studies homeroom, Hitoshi rushes out of the classroom, shrugging on his rain jacket and grabbing an umbrella on the way out. He makes his way down the levels of the school, rounding hallways quickly, not at all in his usual slow fashion. No, he needs to get to you before something goes wrong.
Your quirk was what allowed you to enter the hero course with such ease. Plant and flower manipulation. Hero name: Sakura. Hitoshi both admired you and was envious of you. Jealousy spiked him when he first learned about your abilities. Creating thick vines from your palms and binding villains, using plant poisons to disorient your opponents, sending flower petals their way to distract them, capturing them in gigantic Venus flytraps, even using an aloe vera plant cradle for healing purposes. Your quirk is extremely versatile, and as green with envy as he was, he only loved you even more. That’s why, when your dumbass does stupid shit like standing in the rain during a torrential downpour, it frustrates him to no end.
Suddenly, you no longer feel raindrops splashing against the hood of your slick coat. Upon straightening up and spinning away from the bed of flowers, your mind adjusts to the situation, and you take a deep breath and smile.
“Hitoshi, what are you doing out here?”
He doesn’t answer you right away, simply taking in the way your fitted yellow raincoat clings to your curves. The only skin exposed is between the hem of your jacket, which stops exactly at the length of your school skirt, and the top of your thigh high socks. He likes the looks of those socks molding to the shape of your legs even more than on a sunny day as they are soaked through and through.
“What the hell are you doing out here? Didn’t you realize that it’s raining? You could catch a cold or something standing out here like this,” Hitoshi scolds none too gently.
“Well, I wanted to see how the flowers were holding up in the rain. I was just trying to protect them.”
You’re so cute that Hitoshi could vomit. This is exactly what he means when he thinks about a kind person. You’re so selfless, too selfless. Willing to get sick if it means protecting something that isn’t even worth all that much. Flowers can always bloom again, but you aren’t ever that concerned about yourself, and it makes his palm itch to smack some sense into you.
“You wanted to see the flowers, so you risked your health? Really? I can’t believe you. Come on, we’re going back to your dorm. I’ll take you there. Can’t risk your dumbass getting distracted along the way.” Hitoshi reaches out for your arm, taking hold of your tricep and leading you towards the Class 1A dormitories.
“Oh, Hitoshi, you really don’t have to do that, but thank you. I appreciate you keeping me company. Hey, we should get some food after this. A cold day like this one calls for some ramen to warm us up.”
Hitoshi huffs in annoyance as he drags you through the rain, keeping the umbrella more so over you than him.
“Hey, Hitoshi, you’re not covering yourself with the umbrella. You don’t have to hold it over me. I have a hood. You should protect yourself-“
The lilac-haired teen interrupts you smoothly, his tone calm yet dominant, “It’s no problem. Be quiet.”
Hitoshi remains beside you, even escorting you all the way back to your room. Releasing a heavily pent-up sigh, he follows you through the door, where you both shed your raincoats and hang them on the back of your desk chair. As he places his closed umbrella next to your desk, you still don’t seem to notice the frown and furrowed eyebrows of his irked expression.
Walking over to your closet, you select a pair of jeans and a large t-shirt to get comfortable. Then, you realize that Hitoshi is still in the room. You look at him over your shoulder with a slight blush and full smile.
“Hey, Hitoshi, can you turn around? I want to get out of my uniform.”
It honestly baffles him. Why wouldn’t you order him to stand outside while you change? Do you feel so comfortable around him that you’d change in the same room as long as he’s not looking? You must not see anything wrong with the situation. Would you let anyone else stay in the room with you while you change? Have you done this sort of thing before? Hitoshi’s mind is suddenly plagued with your impropriety.
He reaches out and grabs your wrist firmly, locking eyes with yours. His mood has shifted, taking a turn for the worse just as the lightning cracks in the sky.
“Hitoshi?” You ask with your brows pulled together, confused as to why he has a firm grip on your limb.
“You just let anyone stay in here while you’re naked?”
And oh, he can’t stand it. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you answer with an affirmative.
“What? N-no, I don’t. You’re the first guy who has been in my room. My girlfriends don’t look at me in that way since we’re girls-“
“Oh, so you’ll just slut yourself out for anyone, guy or girl?”
“WHAT?!” You can’t help but exclaim as Hitoshi’s words grow harsher just as his hold on your wrist grows tighter. “No, no, Hitoshi, you’re not listening to me. I said-“
“I heard you. You know, I always knew you were a dumbass, but I didn’t realize you were this fucking stupid.”
His words hit your heart so sharply, like the bark of a dog. It causes you to wince, causes you to freeze up, makes you feel like you can’t even breathe as the purple of his eyes go darker.
“Hitoshi…”
You don’t hit the bed when he shoves you. Instead, he shamelessly pushes you onto the floor of your dorm room. You cry out when you land on your ass, crashing on your back. Hitoshi stands above you, towering like a tall pillar.
“Hitoshi, what are you doing?” Tears well up in your eyes, unused to this treatment from the boy who has always been so relaxed and well-mannered around you.
“Tell me something. Do you like being such a filthy whore?”
“I…” Something about you begins to fade, a part of your mind going blank like a sheet of paper with nothing on it. No words to make out, no illustrations to focus on. There’s just nothing.
With you in this state, you make it all too easy for Hitoshi to control, to manipulate like a little puppet. His cute doll that he can force to do whatever he wants.
Kneeling next to you, he undoes the buttons of your school shirt one by one, dragging his index finger down the center to the very last button. Your shirt falls open, revealing the baby blue color of your bra that the eighteen-year-old can’t seem to get enough of. He has never seen your cleavage before as it has always been hidden behind button up uniforms and sweaters. Hitoshi can’t help it as he finds himself licking his lips. He licks them as he tugs your bra down, your tits bouncing free of the blue cage.
Hitoshi can feel his cock throbbing in his pants as he palms himself. It strains against his trousers, creating a thick bulge. He humps slightly into his hand, releasing a suppressed groan. He needs you, needs to feel you, all of you, every inch. Every single fucking inch of you. He takes the liberty of leaning down, his lips working around the supple shape of your nipple. It’s been his dream to be in a position like this with you, only you, for as long as he can remember since the day he laid his lilac orbs on you four years ago.
His other hand reaches out to your free breast as he continues to suck on the left one. His tongue swirling around it as if it’s a delicious fruit just waiting to be eaten. How he just wants a taste so badly. His cock pulsating from the palpable lust.
Only, you lay there unconscious about what he’s doing, completely in the dark as your blank eyes remain unblinking. It’s as if you’re trapped in a place where time doesn’t exist, but Hitoshi has all the time in the world to play with you.
He squeezes your tit with his hand, harshly groping you, needing to get a good grip on what belongs to him. Everything about you, he needs right now. As he lightly takes the bud of your breast between his teeth, he bites gently, deliberately. His hand travels from your chest downwards. Fingers dragging past your ribs and abdomen, finding the treasure hidden between your legs. Your body involuntarily twitches, and for a moment, he thinks you’re going to snap out of the effects of his quirk, but Hitoshi has gotten stronger. He keeps his concentration, and you remain in the dark as he draws your clit between his thumb and index fingers, pinching hard enough to create the soaked pussy he wants.
Hitoshi can’t help but rub the crotch of his pants against your thigh as he leaves bite marks and hickeys all along your neck, all the while rubbing your pussy, gathering the juices on his fingers. It’s like a deranged need to get you as slick as he can before taking you for himself, all for himself. And when he pulls his hand away from the apex of your thighs, he sniffs the creamy substance on his fingers, and his eyes roll back. He shivers slightly from the pheromones; from the utterly erotic scent your core produces. It’s the milk of life he never knew he needed until this moment.
His tongue, ever so hesitantly, finds its way to the tips of his fingers. With a swift lick to the pads, he becomes a feral animal. His face dives between your legs, leaving behind all notions of your nipples and neck, leaving everything behind in the wake of his sexual desires. His nose bumps against your tiny bundle of nerves as his lips suckle on the nectar of your flower. Because that’s what it is to him in this moment, because that’s what you’ve always been to him from the very start: a beautiful and vulnerable flower.
You’re so innocently delicious and sweet, craving for you to sit on his face, but he can’t risk moving you too much and having you wake up. No, he needs to keep you as docile as he can until the very end.
Hitoshi groans, fucking into his palm through his trousers as he continues to eat you out. He’s torn between coming in his pants just so he can keep tasting you and completely taking you for himself.
With a low growl of frustration, he shucks his pants and boxers down, removing his clothes until every muscle is exposed. His toned body presses against yours, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh of your throat as he rids you of your panties, throwing them to the side once they are completely off. He plants your thigh between his knees as he hovers over you, pinning the pit of your right knee against his hip. His breath ghosts against the shell of your ear as the mushroom tip of his pink cock dips into your folds. Hitoshi closes his eyes, relishing in the luxury of your slippery cavern, each way he thrusts, your walls are just so tight on his sword, gripping like a fitted sheathe. Your virgin tight pussy feels like everything he could ever hope for, not at all knowing what it would feel like until this very moment.
“You’re such a damn idiot. A stupid little moron. The only thing you have going for you is your looks. How did a damn airhead make it into the hero course?” His voice is raspy, shaky, almost coming out in a hoarse whisper.
He thrusts into you, plowing deeper and deeper as he adjusts his grip on your knee, keeping you pinned closely to him in order to push your cervix. A guttural, lewd, and primitive moan escapes past his lips as he feels this new spot in the home of your womb. He glances down, sweat beading his forehead, and he smirks. He can see the bulge his twitchy cock makes in your belly, and every time he pulls back only to push in again, he sees it move under your skin.
Hitoshi tugs on your earlobe with his blunt teeth, laughing condescendingly at you in this state. “Fuck, it’s all the more reason to love you. Someone’s got to look out for you, protect you. You’re so goddamn lucky you have me on your side.”
He buries himself into you, his purple hair brushing against your H/C locks, hips pulsating as he manages to pull you even closer to him. Tired of holding your knee against the bone of his hip, he moves the pit of your knee over his shoulder, doing the same with the leg trapped between him on the floor. He moves your thigh into his hand, gently shifting you so that both legs are over his muscular shoulders. Hitoshi feels you, curled at the abdomen, taking his full cock from tip to base. He can’t help it as his hands travel underneath you, groping the hills of your ass, digging his fingers so deep into your flesh that there will likely be bruises when he’s done.
Numb to the world entirely, you are devoid of all thoughts, not a single one crossing that pretty, empty head of yours. You never thought the darkness could be so soothing, but you’ve never felt more at peace. Blanketed by a feeling of oblivion, you are completely unaware of the storm raging beyond the windowpane. A euphoric sensation cradles you in a dreamy haze as you remain in this tiny sanctuary. No, you do not wish to escape the safety of this wonderful cocoon in your mind.
The purplenet feels his cock twitch once, twice, and he immediately pulls out, knowing exactly what is about to happen. He watches as white, pearlescent ropes catch on your thighs. He sighs in relief, knowing that he caught himself before a bad situation unfolded. In the aftermath of it all, Hitoshi finds himself trying to clean everything up quickly. Toweling down your thighs, putting your panties back on, repositioning your bra, and buttoning up your shirt just the way it was when this whole ordeal began. He gets dressed back into his clothes. When he's all finished, he gently wakes you from the effects of his quirk.
“Hey, Y/N, you…passed out,” Hitoshi lies, feeling a sense of shame but unable to share the truth.
You blink up at him as he kneels over you. The last thing you remember was being pushed, nothing else.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I let my anger go like that. I promise, it won’t happen again.” He’s sincere, grabbing your hand in a desperate manner to make you know his regret for being violent. “I just needed to make you understand how dangerous what you did was. What if someone tried to take advantage of you because you let them stay in the same room while dressing? So many bad things can happen. You need to think.”
Feeling your cheeks flush, you nod your head in understanding. “Yeah, we all get mad sometimes. I…can’t say I’ve never gotten that angry before. You were really just trying to protect me?”
God, you’re so stupid. Such a gullible little flower.
“Yeah, I just needed you to see what you did was wrong. You must have hit your head and passed out when I pushed you. I’m sorry. It will never happen again. I swear.”
His words are as sweet as honey. How could you not believe your long-time friend? He’s always so well-mannered, it must have just been a one-time thing.
“Okay…I forgive you, Hitoshi.”
He smiles, his lips curling up as he wraps his arms around you, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. “Want to go get that ramen you were talking about earlier?”
“Yeah! That sounds great. Let’s go! I think I’ll just wear my uniform. It doesn’t exactly feel fair, you know, me being in casual clothes while you’re still wearing your school uniform.”
“Do what you want, Y/N,” he responds gently as he slips his hands in his pockets.
“Also, I’m really sorry, Hitoshi. I don’t want you to think I do that with people. I just trust you, you know?”
“Nothing to apologize for. Here, let’s get your raincoat on.”
Hitoshi pulls you up from the ground and grabs your yellow jacket off the desk chair, helping you put it on. As you stand in front of him, you catch a glimpse of the marks on your neck in the mirror, completely puzzled because you don’t know how those appeared. You also begin to feel a bit of an aching throb in your pussy, but you become easily distracted when Hitoshi turns you towards him and wraps a scarf around your neck.
“I don’t want you getting cold,” he explains in his usual lazy drawl.
You can’t help but smile. What would you do without Hitoshi looking after you?
#yandere#triggering content#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#triggering themes#yandere x darling#yandere themes#my hero acedamia#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#my hero academia hitoshi#bnha hitoshi#hitoshi shinsou#bnha shinso hitoshi#hitoshi shinso x reader#shinso hitoshi#hitoshi shinso#mha hitoshi shinso#mha hitoshi#mha shinsou#bnha#yandere hitoshi shinso x reader#yandere hitoshi shinso#yandere hitoshi shinsou
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on sunflowers; a platonic love letter
i knew you then. i know you now. but how i wish i could have known you in that space between the two. how i wish we could have grown together.
we were sunflower seeds in the dirt, and even then i knew you were something special. you were good, so good. (for a week, i was convinced you were otherworldly, more than human. because i had no other concepts to explain how seen, how understood i felt when i was with you.) i was a child longing for connection, and when you entered my life, i almost didn't know what to do with all of the joy that followed.
we knew little of the world. we had so much growing to do. and in another lifetime, maybe we could have remained side by side throughout.
but the wind scattered us just out of reach. and i had a tendency to release my grasp on every good thing. it was chance that led to distance, but it was my own fear that led to silence. and i am sorry for the time we have lost.
and yet. we grew, reaching for the same sun. we grew in parallel arcs, turning to face the light, unfurling our leaves to touch the world with gentleness and courage.
and now i see you, here in the sunlight. we ended up here. we ended up okay. we cannot look into the past to see what made us who we are. but we can see who we were. and we can see who we are.
and i can say to you:
i knew you then. i know you now. i am sorry for the time between. thank you for not giving up on me. i love the person you are. i am proud of us both. you are someone i always want in my life.
i hope the future is kind to you. i hope your best days are ahead of you. i hope you know how loved you are. and i hope we see each other soon.
with this letter, i am sending you hugs and smiles and candy and music and legos and cool rocks and funny videos of baby animals and all of the happiness in the world.
your friend,
vivid.
#b.#<- tag for THIS friend whom i adore#anyways. if you're the person this is dedicated to and you're reading this:#hi! <3 um. fun fact. i have actually dedicated a non-zero amount of poetry to you over the years.#also i was discussing the topic of a potential future wedding with my queerplatonic boyfriend and he asked who i would want to invite.#my first answer was you. the distance between us is frustrating but my first answer was still you.#anyways. you're awesome. ily. hope you have a fantastic day. <3
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Thought Contagion
Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: After a one night stand he ghosted you. When forced to talk, the lines slowly start to blur.
Warnings/Tags: hurt, angst, fluff in the end, mentions of a one night stand, reader has the ability to communicate via thoughts and move objects
Word count: 4.397
Authors note: I just love him. Do I need to say more? It's 4 am, and I'm dead. So this might make no sense at all, but hey I somehow managed to write this delusional on tiredness.
Dr. Raynor's office
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, almost matching your heartbeat.
"Did you dream of him again?" she wanted to know, eyes closely watching you.
"No, I haven't dreamt of him in a long time now... but he contacted me." you gave back, fingers interlocked, fumbling with each other.
"Did he call you? Text?"
"No, he contacted me through my thoughts."
"That he can do?"
"When the will is there, yes."
"There has to be a deep connection between you for him to do that."
"No... not anymore."
"So there was a connection."
"Was. It doesn't exist anymore."
"What happened between you two?"
"We slept with each other. And after he left without me noticing, I never heard of him again."
She nodded to herself, carefully considering what you told her.
"Do you have feelings for him?"
"I've had feelings for him for almost ten years now."
You knew it wasn't right, not like this. When you first saw him, it was at the museum, Steve telling you everything about him. How brave he was, courageous and caring. How he looked after Steve, when no one else was left.
You developed feelings for someone who didn't even exist anymore, at least that was what everyone thought.
Who would have known, that he was still alive, breathing and killing.
"Do you know him this long?" she asked, head tilted.
"No. I met him, after Steve brought him back. I was there, when they brought him to Wakanda and I visited him during his rehabilitation. Then, when Thanos blib'd us, he was gone. And after he returned a few months ago, it just happened. I don't know if it was frustration, after Steve left us, or what else it was, but we lost control for a moment."
"Control over what? Your feelings?"
"He doesn't have any feelings for me."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Why do you think he ghosted me?" you chuckled dryly, brows furrowed as you looked at her like she was an alien.
You had to bite your lip not to snarl at her, send biting words her way. She was only trying to help you, had been for a few months now.
But sometimes, she didn't seem to understand you.
"Maybe because he was scared? Didn't know how to handle his feelings?" she suggested, cocking a brow.
"No, James Barnes doesn't have such feelings - only sadness and anger." you told her, the bitter feeling of guilt stinging on your tongue.
"Was it these feelings, that led to him sleeping with you? His anger, his sadness?"
"A moment of weakness, nothing more."
She wrote something into her notebook, before she tapped her pen on the paper. "What did he want?"
"He wanted me to help him."
You flinched, when suddenly a sharp pain tore through your head.
What the hell?
"Y/N?"
You believed you heard a voice, one that sounded painfully familiar.
"Y/N?" There it was again, and you sighed shakily, feelings starting to mix in a dangerous cocktail. "James?" you answered in a thought, eyes closing, as you tried not to betray your feelings with a quiver of your voice.
It must have taken him a lot to contact you through your thoughts.
You were a telepath, able to communicate via thoughts, as well as moving objects through the air. But it took a lot of willpower, to contact you through your thoughts, especially when it was over such a great distance.
And by someone like James Buchanan Barnes.
"Oh thank god." you heard him mumble, as your belly churned.
After you've spent the night together and he left, you hadn't heard from him. Why would he contact you like that of all ways? Why contact you at all?
"What do you want?" you returned coldly, teeth gritted, as you sat up in bed. You were just about to sleep, already tucked under your covers, when he contacted you.
The anger bubbling up in your stomach made it hard for you to concentrate, but the curiosity was the slightest bit stronger.
"I need your help."
Eyes widening, you fumed. Hands clenched into fists, the books in the bookcase started to rattle, trinkets threatening to tumble over.
Oh, the nerve he had - he had to be fucking kidding you.
"You need my help?" you seethed, not able to contain the angry chuckle that escaped your lips. "You have to be kidding me."
It was silent for a few moments and you started to think he might have cut the connection, when you heard him sigh.
"I-" he started, but was cut off by another voice. "What are you doing?" you heard the voice ask - Sam. "Are you praying or something?"
You could basically hear Bucky's eyes roll in their sockets, as he sighed angrily. "No, I'm not." he retorted, scoffing. "I'm-" he cut himself off this time, most likely rubbing the stubble on his chin. "I'm talking to Y/N."
It was silent for another moment, before you heard Sam again. "How? Where's your phone? Or are you communicating through prayers?"
Rolling your eyes, you shook your head.
"Forgot that she can communicate via thought?" Bucky gave back, sounding fed up. "That's possible?" Sam sounded surprised. "Over this distance? What do you want from her anyways? Thought you guys aren't talking."
Cocking a brow you huffed, and you heard Bucky stutter incoherently, eventually finding his words. "No- I-I mean, yes. We need her help if we want to find them!"
"Find whom?" you wanted to know, scrambling for the laptop that was under your bed, flipping it open, despite your better judgement. "What happened anyways?" Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the best of him.
Since when were they teaming up?
"Did you hear about the group 'Flagsmashers'?" Bucky asked, focusing back on you. "Of course, do you think I live under a rock?" you scoffed in return.
He rolled his eyes, you swear he did.
"Well, they plan something big and we can't find them." he explained, ignoring Sam who was still demanding an answer. "We need satellite pictures or video or whatever. Sharon can't hack into them."
"Sharon?" you retorted, huffing. You hadn't seen her since she had to flee, now knowing why. She must have holed up wherever Sam and Bucky where. "What makes you think I have access to satellites wherever you are?"
He hesitated, as you grew impatient.
"And what exactly makes you think I'd help you?"
He must have been very desperate if he contacted you of all people.
"After all I thought we weren't talking?"
He was frustrated, you could tell. You could feel it seeping into your bones.
"They are killing dozens of innocent people!" he explained, anger and frustration filtering through his voice. "Could you please help us? I wouldn't ask if I had another option."
I wouldn't ask you of all people.
"Already on it." you mumbled, as you were already typing on your laptop, telling yourself you were doing this for the innocent people he mentioned, ignoring your aching heart.
The group he was talking about was all over the news lately, gathering more followers each day. They were a threat, and no matter how much you despised talking to Bucky, you knew you had to help them.
Going through the various pictures, you scanned them for the group. "Found 'em." you announced, zooming in on a picture.
"I'll send Sam the location."
Bucky made a noise like he wanted to protest, say something like 'Why not sent it to me?', but he must have remembered that you weren't talking.
"Thank you." you heard him mutter, before he abruptly cut the connection, leaving you wide awake.
Closing your eyes you tried to hold back the tears. It was pointless crying over him, you did for a while now.
It never changed anything for you.
But, as Bucky was forming a plan with Sam, he could hear it clear as day - the single sob that managed to spill, leaving him wondering if he really heard it, or if he just imagined it.
"Did you help him?" Dr. Raynor asked, brows furrowed. She as well had heard about the group of terrorists, and she had talked to Sam and Bucky not long ago.
"I had to." you retorted, huffing.
"Why? Because he asked you to?"
"Because it was the right thing to do."
"Because of this group they are trying to stop?"
"Yes."
She nodded to herself, biting her cheek.
"How do you feel about John Walker being the new Captain America?"
Your eyes snapped to hers, hands stopping their trembling. "Don't call him that."
"Why not? Doesn't he fit your expectations?"
You chuckled dryly, smirking at her. "My expectations?" you wanted to know, leaning forward with a cocked brow. "Steven Grant Rogers was my best friend. He was my anchor, and when he left, living a life in the past with Peggy Carter, he fulfilled his greatest wish. Do I hate him for leaving me behind? Yes, I do. But I support him and his decision nonetheless. He gave the shield to Sam, who gave it away. Who am I to have expectations, when my biggest hope of someone worthy stepping into these massive footprints has been so utterly disappointed?"
Her forehead creased in thought, tapping the pen on the notebook again. The sound was so familiar already, that you had started to ignore it a long time ago.
"John Walker is said to be a good man. Don't you think he will make a good replacement for Captain America?"
"He can be good all he wants, wear the medals he obtained with pride - but he'll never be like us. The Avengers, people that gave everything for others, never once thinking about ourselves. Did we get any medals when we stopped Thanos? When Tony undid the blib, sacrificing himself? No. My best friend - my sister - died, forcing my dad to forever feel guilty for not dying in her place. Can she be replaced? No. Just as Steve can't be replaced. But Sam was the best option to be the next Cap."
"You're dad?"
"Clint. He took me under his wing almost fifteen years ago. He's the dad I never had."
She nodded, scribbling something down again.
"Will you talk to him again?"
Your brows furrowed, remembering the conversation you had with your dad only this morning.
"James."
Sighing, you leaned back against the cushions again, crossing your arms over your chest.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" you repeated her words, anger bubbling up yet again, as your eyes widened in disbelieve. "James Buchanan Barnes ghosted me after we had sex, only contacting me to get my help. After that, he ghosted me again. And you're asking why not?"
She heaved a sigh, glancing at her watch only to see that she had another thirty minutes with you.
It wasn't that she didn't like you, but you reminded her of Bucky in your stubborn and deflective ways.
"Maybe you should." she spoke, tilting her head. "Talk to him, demand answers as to why exactly he ghosted you."
Scoffing, you stood, feeling the sudden urge to leave, get the hell out of there.
"Sit." she demanded sharply, the tapping of her pen coming to a halt.
Groaning, you did.
"Why don't you help them in trying to stop this group of terrorists for starters?" she suggested, leaning forwards on her elbows, that were resting on her thighs. "And maybe you can talk to him afterwards."
You laughed at her suggestion, declaring her insane.
But you couldn't deny the aching in your heart at the prospect.
You yearned for his touch, his scent, his voice. The way his fingertips ghosted over your skin, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he whispered sweet nothings into it, hips connecting with yours over and over again.
Dr. Raynor smirked, like she was able to read your thoughts. She wasn't, though she still seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.
Cheeks reddening, you cleared your throat, deciding that you were in need of another topic.
"How was your weekend?"
____
You hated this.
Why exactly did she manage to convince you to follow them, again?
You were late, seeing as the whole scene was crowded, the Flagsmashers already captured, their leader dead. She was a young girl, barely old enough to drink legally.
You were standing at the rear of the ambulance, watching Sam and Bucky who were stood at the front, backs turned towards you. They didn't know you were there yet, talking to each other.
Your heart was thundering in your chest, and you were scared Bucky could hear it with his super soldier hearing.
You were contemplating if you should turn around and hurry the fuck out of there, but it was too late, when they turned instead, heading towards you.
They hadn't seen you yet, but when Sam looked up, his steps faltered, causing Bucky to look your way as well. He stopped dead in his tracks, jaw slack, before it clenched.
Sam hesitantly closed the distance, whilst Bucky was glued to the spot.
"Hey." he voiced, glancing back at the frozen super soldier. "I'll leave you to talk."
"What if I don't want to?"
"You should."
He patted you on the shoulder, before he left for someone that called out to him.
Your hands trembled, your whole body trembled, as you both stared at each other. Neither of you knew what to say, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
"Should have expected you to turn up here." he muttered, and you scoffed. "Believe me, I'm not here because I wanted to be." you retorted as equally cold, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket.
He cocked a brow, mimicking the movement, his arm reflecting the light. "Why are you here then?" he wanted to know, fighting the urge to lean against the ambulance.
He didn't want to come over as relaxed, because he definitely wasn't with you standing in front of him.
Not anymore.
He hadn't expected you to show up, he had hoped you wouldn't.
"I wanted to see if you need more help with the Flagsmashers." you explained, looking past him. "You already helped enough with the location." he returned, unwavering.
Nodding, you bit your lip, looking away.
He was shoving you away, again.
"Well, then I suppose I will go." you spoke, swallowing. "Should have expected not to be welcomed."
You didn't mean to say it out loud, really. It just slipped through somehow.
His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing. "Welcomed?" he asked, taking a step closer as his head tilted. "No one invited you. You didn't need to come."
Huffing, you nodded again.
"Well, and no one invited you." you retorted sharply, looking back up at him. "Yet you came as well, before you left without a word."
His jaw clenched, teeth gritted.
"But hey, lets not talk about it, its not worth mentioning anyways."
You wanted to scratch his ego, your own lying broken in a corner. It worked, as he took another step closer, head tilted. Lowering his voice, he spoke exactly what you were expecting him to.
"Didn't sound not 'worth mentioning' it, considering the way you cried my name out for everyone in the building to hear."
You shivered involuntarily, trying not to let him see, though.
He wasn't wrong, but you wouldn't have him know that.
"Really? Maybe I'm just a good actress."
He scoffed, chuckling dryly.
"Just as good as you're at sneaking out."
He fumed at your words, face hardening. His arm whirred quietly, so hard he must have been clenching his hands into fists.
You stared each other down, as your heart silently begged for you to stop. But you were caught in the moment, caught in your anger and hurt.
When neither of you said anything for a good minute, you shook your head and turned around, starting to walk away.
You should have known he wouldn't talk to you.
"Do you think it was easy?" he shouted after you, causing you to halt in your movement.
"Do you think it was easy? After everything that happened, being turned to dust, returning, only for Steve to leave me behind?"
You turned back around, scoffing. "He didn't leave only you." you reminded him, voice harsh. "He left Sam and I as well. He left us all behind, staying in the past to spend his life with Peggy - the only wish he ever had. He was selfish, yes, but he knew we'd manage."
He shook his head, biting his cheek.
"I failed him."
You couldn't help but laugh, frustration growing thicker. "Why do you think so?"
His eyes were glued to the floor, before he looked back up at you.
"I tried, but I didn't manage." he explained, taking a step closer, partly closing the distance you had created. "I spiraled downwards, losing control. I-" he cut himself off, eyes flitting to the sky above you, as he licked his lips, before he looked back at you.
"I lost the little ounce of control I had left when I let you in." he continued, shaking his head, as he bit down on his cheek, the sting momentarily distracting him from his raging heart. "When we- when we spent that night together, I panicked. I hadn't done something like that since the forties, and I didn't want to drag you down into the hole I was falling into."
You had to swallow, eyes stinging, even though you did your best to ignore it.
"And what about me?" you wanted to know, clearing your throat, as your voice quivered. "What about the hole I was falling into?"
His jaw ticked, and he swallowed.
When he didn't answer, you continued.
"You left me behind, in the moment I was the most vulnerable. I needed you, and you left - as well."
He shook his head, hand brushing through his hair. "You don't need me."
"I shouldn't need you." you corrected him, shaking your head with a frown, as you took a step closer. "When Steve first told me about you, showing me your picture at the museum I knew I was done for. Hell, when you stood in front of me, breathing and not dead, like you were believed to be, I thought I was dreaming. I envied Steve, because he made you sound like the best person on earth."
He scoffed, but didn't interrupt you further, eyes downcast.
"I wanted to get to know you, wanted to see if Steve was right." you continued, fighting a smile, losing. "He was, and when we spent more time together, I started to see what he saw. And then you turned into dust. The whole world tilted, for five years. You were gone, Sam, my dad and my whole family suddenly vanished. And when you returned I was so happy - only for you to leave me again. I know it probably didn't mean anything to you, but for me it did."
You breathed in shakily, stopping your own rambling, heart hammering in your chest, threatening to break through.
"You're wrong." he muttered, swallowing, as he locked eyes with you. "It did mean something to me - it meant the whole world to me. You didn't judge me, no matter what I did. You made me forget. You where there the whole time, accompanying me the whole way. But when Steve-" he choked on his breath, shaking his head with tears glistening in his eyes.
"I lost it. And I couldn't risk bringing you in harms way - my way. I didn't want to hurt you."
Sniffing, you bit on your cheek, almost drawing blood.
"But you did." you whispered, tears making your eyes burn, blurring your sight. "You did, when you pushed me away. You where the only constant I had left, and you pushed me away."
He nodded, sniffing as well. "I know, doll." he spoke, biting his lip. "I know."
Even though you felt a weight lift from your shoulders, it didn't feel as relieving as it should have. A tear fell, but you didn't brush it away.
You fell silent, lost in thought.
Somehow, you just confessed your feelings to him, stripped them bare for him to see. Leaving you even more vulnerable.
Your fingers tapped on your thigh in a nervous habit, wishing you could read Bucky's mind. Even though you were able to communicate via thought, you weren't actually able to read other peoples thoughts.
"Will you forgive me?" he suddenly rasped out, eyes staying a second longer on the ground, before they found yours, hope glistening in them. He sounded so broken, so vulnerable, like you never heard him before.
"Please, Y/N."
You swallowed at the nerves bubbling up, slowly starting to nod. "Yes, Bucky." you breathed out, sniffing. "Yes, I forgive you."
How were you supposed to stay angry at him, after what he just told you? After everything that had happened?
He breathed a sigh of relief, nodding to himself, as his eyes closed for a moment.
A tear slipped past his eyelashes, and he bit his lip. You had only seen him cry once, causing you to inhale shakily at the memory.
He wiped at the salty liquid, before his eyes opened again, his feet taking him closer to you, until he was as close as he was the last time you had seen him in person.
You could smell his familiar cologne, feel the heat his body radiated.
His flesh fingers hesitantly moved, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face, softly cupping your cheek. The action made you shiver, goosebumps covering your arms, as you leaned into his warm touch the slightest bit, eyes locked onto his blue ones.
"I'm so sorry, doll." he rasped out, eyes fighting to stay on yours. "I did what I thought was best for you, but I know now, that I was wrong. I'm having nightmares again, but I'm working on it. I'm working on everything, trying to get a bit of the old me back to life - the one Steve had told you all these stories about."
You knew about his nightmares, even though they were different now, thanks to the Dora Milaje who had managed to free him of the Winter Soldier state.
He didn't turn into him anymore, not for the briefest of moments. Something he would forever be grateful for.
"I'm an idiot." he mumbled, eyes leaving yours, his hand leaving your face, falling back at his side with his head downcast. "I never should have left - never should have let this happen. I should have listened to Dr. Raynor."
You cocked a brow at his words, head tilting to somehow meet his gaze. "What do you mean?"
He sighed heavily, swallowing, as his nerves got the best of him. "I mean that I should have talked to you, instead of just leaving you behind." he explained, tongue brushing over his lip, hesitating. "Should have told you how I feel."
You inhaled sharply, hands starting their nervous trembling at your sides again.
"What do you feel?" you managed to breathe out, and his eyes met yours again, the intensity of his gaze stealing your breath.
His lips parted, only for his tongue to wet them again. He searched for the right words, soon giving up and opting for the simpler option instead.
"I love you, Y/N."
Your breathing hitched, heart stumbling, before it doubled its speed.
"You're pure, soft and so lovingly." he continued, hands cupping your face. There the words were. "You never once judged me, not even in my darkest hours. You're the thing that kept me going, made me push through to get rid of the Winter Soldier. I wanted to be better - for you. But I fucked up, so badly. I fell into an old habit, pushing you away so you wouldn't get hurt, but instead I did exactly that: hurting you. And I'm a fucking coward for pushing you away, and not pulling you closer instead, now that I'm actually able to."
Words had left you, only tears managed to spill. He brushed them away with his thumbs, one cold and one warm, yet they were both so soft.
His eyes closed, forehead brushing yours. Your eyes fluttered closed as well, breathing him in.
"Working with Sam on this distracted me enough to forget it for a moment." he spoke quietly, leaving you to wonder how exactly that had happened. "But I was selfish when I contacted you, asking for help. I wanted to hear your voice, even if you would have just shouted at me, telling me to never talk to you again."
You bit your lip, more tears falling.
"I would have never." you told him, eyes squinting, even though they were already closed. "I love you too much."
His body moved abruptly, a sob breaking through his lips. It was one of relief and deep shame.
He nodded, his forehead leaving yours to press kisses to your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, until he finally met your lips with his own.
You tasted the salty remnants of your combined tears on your lips, but neither of you cared. Hands wrapping around his neck, brushing through his hair, you tugged him closer.
Something wet hit your cheek, but you couldn't tell if it were your tears, or his.
His hands on your cheeks tilted your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushed yours, an action so soft it left you yearning for more.
When his lips left yours, you sighed, eyes slowly opening to meet his blue ones. His lips were kiss swollen, but so were yours.
"He took the shield." Bucky breathed out with shining eyes, fingers dancing through your hair. Nodding, you couldn't help but smile. "I know. Finally."
He chuckled quietly, before his lips connected with yours again.
"Now that this mission is complete, I'm all yours." he promised, forehead meeting yours again. "I won't ever do the mistake of pushing you away again, I promise."
You smiled, feeling the tears return, happy ones this time.
"I'm yours." he repeated, lips meeting your cheek. "I'm yours."
"I know." you returned, eyes fluttering closed.
"And I'm yours."
#marvel#marvel imagine#james barnes#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky#bucky barnes x reader#oneshot#imagine#winter soldier x reader#winter solider x reader#the winter soldier#winter soldier#bucky barnes
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cw: fluff, basically daryl being soft for you. (fem!reader x daryl dixon) 776 wc
DARYL DIXON had no idea what to do when it came to someone like you. to say the least, he didn’t quite understand you. you had proved countless times you could take care of yourself, so you weren’t weak by any means. still, there were small things that made him really question you.
after daryl’s group got settled into alexandria, they had many new faces to meet, including yours. even though he wouldn’t admit it, daryl was instantly drawn to you. with rosy cheeks, long eyelashes and an innocent smile, he just couldn’t help it. he began to notice small things about you, like the clothes and accessories you wore. although your closet was obviously limited, you always tried your best to make your appearance seem fuller. sometimes you found pieces of cloth or silk, to which you would make bows out of to place in your hair. sometimes you made jewelry, even making a bracelet for daryl. you weren’t really expecting him to wear it, but he did.
one day, you asked daryl if you could join him on a supply run. “nah, i ain’t babysittin’.” he said in a grainy voice as he lit the cigarette between his lips. you didn’t let up though, using those big puppy-dog eyes to plead with him. “damnit girl, don’t ‘ya ever listen?” he grunted, but eventually gave in.
on the way back, unknowingly to both of you, a walker that been stuck in the leaves grabs your shoe and causes you to trip. daryl quickly shoots the creature with an arrow and helps you up. he watches as you grab his hand and gain back your balance. he can tell you’re flustered, as your cheeks grow darker than normal and you fail to meet his eyes. a shy thing, you could be sometimes. he studies you as you thank him and stutter an apology for not watching where you step.
instinctively, you touch your neck where your necklace rests, only there’s no necklace. panic begins to build and daryl can see it written all over your face. “you okay?” you look up at him, shaking your head. “my necklace…” your hand begins to shake a little, and daryl realizes. you’ve worn the same necklace since he first met you, a rusty gold chain with a heart shaped locket. he heard you speak about it to carl once, explaining how it had a picture of your family in it. you drop to your knees and start looking for it, daryl about to join you when you both hear growling in the distance. a herd is coming your way, daryl realizes and touches your shoulder. “hey kid, we gotta go.” he tells you, but you shake your head and continue to search. daryl watches as the herd moves closer, his frustration building as you’re putting yourself in danger. “get yer ass up girl, we gotta go.” he pulls you up, yet his gaze softens when he sees the tears that have already fell down your soft cheeks. “daryl, i can’t-“ you start, but he’s already pulling you both out of the way of the herd and back to alexandria.
a few days pass, and all daryl can think about is you and that damn necklace. you haven’t been the same since you guys returned, and everyone has noticed. usually, you’re the most talkative person in alexandria, but recently you’ve only been speaking when you have to. daryl winces when he thinks about it, absolutely hating the fact that you’re any kind of upset. after stealing a glance of you through your window and seeing the sullen expression on your face, he grabs his crossbow and heads into the woods. a couple hours later, he finds himself standing at your doorstep.
he knocks, and you answer with a soft smile. “hi daryl.”
“uh,” he clears his throat, holding his hand out with the gold necklace in it. “i had to fix the chain but the locket is still intac-“ you cut him off as you throw your arms around his neck and embrace him with a hug. “daryl!” his eyes widen as he stands, unsure what to do with his own arms as he registers the body pressed against his own. “thankyouthankyouthankyou!” you pull back, taking the necklace from his hand and clasping it around your neck. you look down at it before you place a kiss on daryl’s cheek. his stubble tickles you and you give a slight giggle, pulling him in for another hug. he’s taken back at first, but eventually wraps his own hands around your frame.
“you sure are stronger than ‘ya look, huh, girl?”
#daryl x reader#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixion imagine#daryl dixon smut#the walking dead#the walking dead x reader#daryl dixon x female reader#twd daryl#twd imagine#twd fluff#norman reedus
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Partners
Summary: After a difficult 6-month partnership with Agent Peña, the tension unravels itself in an unexpected way.
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, degradation, sexism, physical violence, rough unprotected sex, powerplay/ light dom/sub dynamics, male-receiving oral sex - rough. sir!kink, semi-public sex (private but in an office/public place), maybe more PLEASE read at own risk.
Word Count: 2.4k
A/N: You guys ATE up my mean!Javi last time and made it my most popular fic so far! (nearly 900 notes is absolutely crazy and also over 100 followers thank you so much). He is so much worse in this LOL
@silkiers @tightjeansjavi
“You don’t outrank me!” You yelled at Agent Peña, and the way his eyes darkened when you pointed this out honestly terrified you.
“Maybe not.” He says through gritted teeth. “But this is my fight.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s everybody’s fight. We are partners, Javier. Equal partners. Stop acting like you are the only person with a stake here!” You respond, exasperated. Since you joined the team in Colombia as Javier Peña’s partner 6 months ago, this must be an argument you have had over a dozen times.
“If you had just obeyed orders they never would have gotten away!” He yelled, closing the distance between you in the already narrow corridor and stabbing a finger towards you accusatorially. “It’s your fault.”
“Get it through your head! There is no “obeying your orders” Javi.” You say through gritted teeth, before your voice raises to a yell, “You are not my superior. Get used to it!” You are enraged by his constant disrespect.
“Well I should be, though.” He seethes.
“What?” You snap.
“How many arrests do you have since you got here?” He challenged.
You scoffed and put a hand on his shoulder to push him out the way and rejoin your team, but he stood firm, not letting you past.
“How many times have I saved your ass in the field? Have you ever done it in return?” He continues.
You exhale with exertion as you continue to try and pass him, but he is steadfast.
“Answer me, hm? You really think you’re my equal in this job?”
“I’m not doing this, Javi. I’m not in competition with you.”
“Right. Because you know yourself that you can’t be.” He sneered.
“Stop it.” You urge him, your frustration growing by the second. “I earned my right to be on this team the same way you did.”
“Oh now that’s funny.” He scoffed, “I know who your father is. You don’t think him being head of internal affairs has anything to do with your appointment here?”
“How dare you.” You say, seething with anger at his insinuation. It's not like it isn't one you've heard behind your back, but it's the first time someone has thrown it in your face. “I didn’t even tell my father I was applying for this transfer. He has nothing to do with it.”
“Ok.” He stares at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Then who did you fuck to get the job, then?” The way the word rolls of his tongue makes it sound more vulgar than you could imagine, and before you can take a moment to stop yourself, Javi gasps in shock as your right hand connects with his cheekbone with an amazing amount of power. You just slapped your partner.
“You fucking bitch.” He spits.
For a second you honestly thought he was approaching you to hit you back, but even more strangely, he is connecting his lips to yours. To your own surprise, you are kissing him back. Roughly, and desperately, and it's as if all of your anger and disdain towards him has transformed into lust with the snap of a finger.
He was ripping at the buttons on your blouse as you fumbled with the straps and buckles on his tactical vest on instinct. Had this been it all along, and you had been totally blind to it? Was all the tension between the pair of you just sexual frustration this whole time, and once it was out your system your partnership could be amicable?
Who knows. But at this point it was worth a shot. It couldn’t make your working relationship any worse, as there was no way further down from where it already was.
He pushed you back against the wall where you hit your head roughly but neither of you acknowledged that.
“You’re gonna forget I’m not your superior when you’re on your knees, calling me sir, and begging me to fuck you.” He hissed into your ear and you froze up under his touch. He noticed, and you felt his lips tug into his signature devilish smirk as he continued to kiss you harshly, dominating with his tongue, controlling the pace of it all.
With your shirt fully unbuttoned he began to make his way down your body, leaving your lips to attach his lips to your neck, collarbones, lower to the curve of cleavage peaking out over your bra. You cursed yourself for wearing a sensible one, not planning on having it on show, but Javi clearly didn’t seem to care, groping you harshly through the fabric cups before slipping a hand inside one and freeing your breast from the top. As your breast sprung out of the fabric, your nipple hardened in the cold air and he flicked his tongue across it, sucking lightly. You gasped and bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning at the sensation. You figured that adrenaline and sexual frustration were adding to why you felt so sensitive under Javi’s touch, or at least that’s what you would tell yourself to explain why he was having such a dramatic effect on you.
As you got his tactical vest unfastened, you pushed it off his shoulders and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
He hissed at you to be quiet and it snapped you back to the reality of the situation. What were you doing? Were you really about to hate-fuck your partner just a few yards away from your entire team and a considerably large section of the Colombian police force and army?
You must have pulled away from him subconsciously as these thoughts ran through your head because the kiss broke and Javier was looking at you, his eyes questioning you. You considered him for a moment, and noticed how his expression had softened from before. Somehow this made you give in to your desires once again and you were reaching out for him, clutching his broad shoulders and pulling him back towards you.
He smiled. This was all the permission he needed to have his way with you now. He had backed off and you had re-initiated.
Javier had known all along that his attraction to you would be a thorn in his side whilst working together. It made him question his own judgment, it made him hesitate. It numbed his instincts in the field.
This was the tension relief he had needed for the whole 6 months you had been here, tormenting him with your mere presence. Your shiny hair. Your delicious scent. The way sweat would bead in the valley between your collarbones, inviting him to lick and suck and taste every inch of you. Now he was finally getting his chance. And you wanted it too.
You, of course, were oblivious to his thoughts and distracted from your own by his lips which were attached to your neck, sucking and nibbling lightly, making you gasp, whilst you worked at the buckle on his belt and then unzipped his jeans. He had a stiff erection that somehow both thrilled and alarmed you due to its size.
At this point he made good on his earlier promise and shoved you roughly to your knees. You gratified his silent command, wrapping your lips around the head of his hard cock. You took him further into your mouth, ever so slowly, retaining eye contact with him as he slid along your tongue and into your throat at a torturous pace for him. When you pulled away just as slowly, slipping him back out your mouth and teasing the underside of his shaft with your tongue as he glided across it, his patience snapped. In a moment he was grabbing both your arms, hauling them up and pressing them against the wall, pushing you back into it until there was not an inch of space between you. You kept watching him, expectantly, and then you opened your mouth widely and let your tongue drop out just slightly. He groaned at the sight and slammed nearly his entire length into your mouth. His pace was aggressive and you felt tears welling in your eyes after just a few of this thrusts as he fucked your throat.
"We're done doing things your way, you understand?" He grunted.
You watch his expressions, unable to respond. A vein bulges in his neck and a few of his curls are beginning to plaster themselves to his forehead with sweat.
"I asked you a question, agent. Do you understand me?" He repeated, partly through gritted teeth as he concentrated on not completely losing himself in the sensation of you letting him fuck your throat so well.
With great difficulty, you nodded your head slightly and hummed a response. The vibration of the movement and the sound had him grunting again, faltering inside you for a moment.
You could feel spit dribbling down your chin, your neck. You knew you must look absolutely wrecked and once again you considered being caught in this compromising position with Javi. Only this time, the thought didn't fill you with anxiety. It sent a pulse straight to your dripping core. The fear was turning you on.
He pulled out with no warning and you felt yourself reaching out to take him in your mouth again almost involuntarily. He removed one of his hands from their grip on your wrists and held your hair, tugging you back away from him and holding your head firmly against the wall.
"What a greedy slut." He taunted, his eyes watching you practically penetratingly.
You whined and he smirked. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me." You say breathlessly.
"Oh I will, pretty girl." His thumb is tracing your lower lip and gathers some saliva still dripping from his rough treatment of your mouth. He spreads it around more down your chin.
"But you'll have to ask me nicely." His tone is menacing.
You shake your head at what he is asking for and he laughs, dropping your hands quickly and pulling back from you, beginning to tuck himself away and reaching for the zip on his jeans.
"No!" You protest. "No, I'm sorry. No, please."
He pauses, waiting for you to give him exactly what he wanted.
"Please, Javi, I want you to-" But this wasn't enough and he resumes his actions, slower this time but still continuing to adjust himself in his jeans and tidy himself up. You whine again in frustration. You are already begging more than you want to. But you understand that he isn't going to indulge you until you submit even further.
"Please, Sir."
He finally stops preparing to leave you there and you can see satisfaction written all over his expression. You had given in to what he wanted and you knew you would never live it down, but your desire overruled this logical thinking part of your brain.
"Please, what?" He says, already with his cock out again, stroking it slowly in front of your face.
"Please, Sir, I want you to fuck me. I want you to use me."
"Yeah, that's right." He growls, gripping your shoulders and dragging you back to your feet.
He rips your pants and underwear down your legs hastily, throwing them aside and lifting you up, wide palms spread under your thighs, strong arms hoisting you up to be in line with his hips.
He plunges his erection inside you with absolutely no preparation. It would have been more painful if you weren't so wet and turned on, ready for him to take from you what he wanted. A strangled sound escapes you, something desperate and shameless, between a moan and a cry.
"Be fucking quiet." He hisses.
He is bouncing you on his cock, your body dragging up and down the cold wall. Your hair is becoming more untamed by the second. He doesn't take his eyes off of you, never checking out and focussing on his own pleasure, rather constantly observing yours. The way you bit your lip and screwed up your face in pleasure and pain was driving him crazy.
"This why you've had such an attitude all along, needed me to put you in your place, huh?" He growls in your ear.
You have never liked this kind of talk. But now, with Javi, it is turning you on more than you have ever imagined.
You nod and he tuts at you.
"What do you say when I ask you something?"
"Y-yes, sir." You gasp.
His pace is punishing and the angle is allowing him to reach the deepest part of you, every single thrust was overwhelmingly powerful in its effect.
You braced yourself with your hands on his shoulders and found the confidence to roll your hips against him in the rhythm of his strokes, finding just the right way to stimulate your clit. Whimpers escaped your lips rapidly and he was no less vocal, grunting and panting into your ear.
You felt your orgasm approaching you quickly and began to clench around him as the knot built inside you.
"Oh, god, that's it." He praised. "That's my girl."
Whether it was his words or the sensation of his lips and moustache tickling your ear, you weren't sure, but suddenly you were coming undone around him. You lost your grip on his shoulders and slumped slightly but he tightened his hold on you and picked up his pace, desperate to earn his release whilst your walls were still clenching around him following your orgasm.
Barely a couple of strokes later and he was releasing inside you, guttural sounds escaping him. He stayed still for a couple of moments afterwards, panting while he caught his breath. Unexpectedly, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.
He helps you down slowly onto your feet and laughs quietly when you stumble a little the first time he tries to let go of you. That's what snaps you out of your post-orgasm haze and you shoot him a glare as you hurriedly get dressed again.
With your back to him, you finish buttoning your shirt. "This changes nothing."
"We'll see." He challenges, taking his cigarettes from his jacket pocket and balancing one between his lips.
You shake your head, one more icy look sent his way for good measure, and then you return to your department, trying not to think about all the ways in which this event could come back to bite you.
#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfic#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena smut#agent pena smut#agent pena#narcos#narcos smut#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic#narcos fanfic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#javier pena x f!reader#javier pena x reader smut#javier pena x reader fanfiction
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I'm sure
"I told you it's not a good time to talk about this!" Pablo was groaning while you paced around his room angrily feeling both frustrated and tired from him.
"It's never a good time for you! When you want to be between my legs it's a perfectly good time but when I want to talk seriously about us, you're tired..or you had a hard training session..or freaking aliens invaded the platen Earth!" you said relying on sarcasm as you defense mechanism.
Truth being told, what you and Pablo had was nothing short of perfect...he was your childhood friend...your parents are really close...he protected you from all the boys in high school and now he became your man...or did he?
You were starting to feel very self conscious that many girls flirt with him thinking he is single, and even though eh never responds to it, it angers you that you're not official. You never really had a talk about it.
"Amor please! I literally can't feel my legs right now!" he said and that only angered you more. You wanted answers NOW and weren't backing up until you got them!
"Don't "amor" me Pablo! I couldn't feel my legs last night when you were in the mood for more but I still wanted to make you happy!" you blurred out not even realizing what you said until you saw his smirking face. Not the right time Gavira!
"I'm just that good, amor" he winked and you rolled your eyes really not in the mood for this right now. He needs to take you seriously!
"FUCK YOU GAVI! I'm done! You hear...DONE!" you grabbed your hoodie from the chair about to walk out of his room but he was already by the door blocking your exit path.
"I'm sorry amorcito..please..stay..I didn't mean to upset you this much..and don't call me Gavi..please?" his puppy dog eyes were working and you hated that fact. He raised up your head and you sighed shrugging your shoulders and walking back to sit in the chair.
"Please..come here???" he said opening up the comforter for you and you sighed moving towards the bed and slipping in still keeping your distance from his warm inviting body. Ughh how badly you wanted to cuddle him right now!!!
"If you're not sure about me...just say it...and maybe I can find someone who is" you spoke feeling your own heart break at the thought of being with anyone besides Pablo. He was your first and only boyfriend...one who took your first time...one who owns both you body and heart. Deep down you didn't want to lose that...
"W..what did you say to me!?" his dominant personality got triggered by that statement as his mind got clouded with images of another man having you...having what's only ever been his.
"I said..I can find someone else???" you smirked knowing that will get to his last nerve and it did as he was already on top of you growling and pulling your legs around his torso.
"I thought your legs were hurting???" you teased but he was in no mood gripping your things and making you whimper. FUck! You LOVED when he got like that!!!
"You can't do that!" he was yelling despite the fact we were in his house and his parents were right down stairs. Boy didn't care about anything anymore those words really sobering him up good right now!!!
"Why not???" you played dumb and he knew you were waiting for his words slowly raising up your hips to rub against him. FUck you were always such a fucking tease!!!
"I was the first one...hm...to get inside that tight little pussy...and stretch it up really nice for me...it belong to me princesa...you..you belong to me" he was doing his best not to groan when you teased him repeatedly trying to stay quiet enough not to be heard downstairs.
"And yet nobody knows that...do you know how many guys walk up to me thinking I'm single..wanting to take me back to their home...hm and bury themselves deep inside of your pussy?" you whispered into his ear licking it afterwards and he had to let out a groan after that.
"Amor! Behave!" he said sternly and you giggled rolling your eyes adn shaking your head no' playfully. He was mistaken if he thought you were gonna let him go so easily.
"Or what? I'm a single girl...I might let them?" you smirk and this time he lost it gripping your neck and moving down close to your face.
"You're mine! Only MINE!!!" he growled before kissing your lips feverishly biting your lower lip aggressively that you whimpered in pain mixed with pleasure. YOu were slowly melting into his hands...fuck!
"Are you sure about that???" you said and he shook his head realizing that no matter what, you always get what you want...you really got him wrapped around your little finger.
"I'm sure! My girlfriend!" he yelled before kissing your lips and slowly moving down your neck and chest marking up your skin while you smiled satisfied for hearing those words leave his mouth ;)))
#gavigif#gavi#fc barça#fc barcelona#fc barca#pablo gavi x you#pablo gavi x y/n#pablo gavi icons#pablo gavi#pablo gavi x reader#pablo martín páez gavira#pablo gavira#gavira#pablogavixreadersmut#pablogavira
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housemate!kyle x gender neutral reader let's goooooo.
rating: PG-13 (for now)
pairing: eventual kyle "gaz" garrick x gender neutral reader
word count: 1.5k
TW: bit of swearing, fluff, mentions of original characters
AN: i fully plan on writing more of this, but i wanted to get the first part out before i start the next part. as always, barely edited so funky grammar and typos are still likely. this is completely self indulgent. please send love to @391780 for cheerleading me with this one!
–
your housemate sucks since meeting her new boyfriend.
your normally sociable, polite and reasonable housemate has turned into some kind of lust-crazed succubus since meeting dale, spending hours upon hours of her time shut in her bedroom with him. and if she doesn’t shut the fuck up in the next five minutes you’re going to kick her door in. or castrate him. or possibly burst into sleep deprived tears.
“oh! oh god! fuck! dale, baby, oh my god!”
jesus fucking christ. it’s 4.30am and ruby is wailing like a cat in heat at the top of her fucking voice. she’s so loud you could swear she and her soon to be castrated boyfriend were fucking in your bedroom instead of the room next to yours. briefly you debate yelling at the top of your lungs but you don’t want to disturb the neighbours any further, so with a muttered curse you snatch your pillow and duvet off your bed and stomp downstairs to the living room so you can sleep on the sofa.
you get settled onto the sofa and glare at the ceiling in the living room, the sound of rhythmic thumping and moaning still audible even with the increased distance between you and the nymphomaniac formerly known as ruby. you mutter and grumble to yourself as you shut your eyes trying to get at least a little bit of sleep before needing to get up for your job interview in the morning.
–
at midday you kick the front door shut behind you and shrug your coat off your shoulders as you step further into the hallway.
“hey i’m home!” you call up the stairs, “my job interview was an utter shit show so i’m thinking we get a chinese and a bottle of wine to commiserate, yeah?” you pause waiting to hear ruby’s usual reply reminding you not to order from the golden palace but silence greets you instead.
“huh. weird.” you mutter to yourself as you pass through the living room, dropping your bag and coat on the sofa as you beeline towards the kitchen. ruby’s probably making something for lunch while listening to one of her creepy true crime podcasts.
“hey ruby - oh.” you cut yourself off as you walk into the kitchen, no sign of ruby except for the used butter knife leaving a greasy smear on the counter and a pink post-it note stuck on the front of the fridge. you step forward to pluck the note off the fridge and squint at ruby’s loopy handwriting.
gone 2 stay w/ dale 4 a few days! look after widget for me - r xxxx
you huff a breath out of your nose and crumple the note into a ball so you can pop it in the kitchen bin with the crumbs you sweep off the side into your palm. ugh. it’s such a little thing but you feel frustrated tears well up in your eyes in response to having to clean up after ruby once again on minimal sleep.
a tiny high pitched mrr! interrupts your internal grumbling and you turn around to face the little tabby that is waiting patiently by an empty food bowl.
“hiya widge, have you been a good girl while i’ve been out?” you ask softly as you crouch so widget can bonk her head onto your outstretched hand. typically widget doesn’t answer but she chirps again before padding back to her bowl, politely requesting that you get with the programme and make with the biscuits before cleaning up the rest of the kitchen.
you sigh and push yourself up from the floor, just another half finished job left for you. great.
–
a week later, with no sign of ruby and your texts unanswered, your laptop chimes on the coffee table with a new email. you hope briefly that it’s one of the companies you’ve applied to responding to your application with an offer for a job interview, but your heart sinks as you realise it's an email from your landlord, john.
you skim over the email and you feel your eyes sting as select phrases leap out at you. “i’m sorry to inform you that ruby has decided to end the tenancy agreement at 141 hereford way early” ... “you can choose to remain in the property as a sole tenant after an additional credit check to ensure your affordability” … “alternatively, please let me know when ruby has collected her belongings so i can advertise the room to other prospective tenants”.
fuck. that utter bitch. she’s left you unemployed and now potentially living with a total stranger. fuck.
your hands shake slightly as you reach for your laptop so you can start composing your reply to john.
“hi john, thanks for letting me know. i haven’t heard from ruby in a week now, so i’m unsure when she’ll be able to collect her belongings but i think it’s probably for the best if you look at advertising her room as available to rent. i’ll start bagging up her belongings today. kind regards….”
it’s official. your soon to be ex-housemate really fucking sucks.
–
several days pass with a flurry of emails to john and even more unanswered texts to ruby, when a solid jaunty knock startles you out of the doze you’d dropped into on the sofa. you hiss as widget launches herself off your stomach using her claws for purchase so she can bolt up the stairs away from the noise. you swear under your breath as you kick one of the six black bin bags that line the hallway filled with ruby’s crap as you edge your way to the front door. the silhouette you can see through the frosted glass in the door knocks again just as you reach for the handle and pull the door open.
“yeah yeah i’m here -” you cut yourself off with an embarrassed sound as you get a good look at the man standing at the threshold. oh no, he’s fit as fuck is your first thought and you’re not wrong.
the first thing you notice, as you flick your eyes over him quickly, is that he’s in incredible shape. the stranger has broad shoulders and a muscular chest that tapers off into a narrow waist. the second thing you notice when you raise your gaze back up to his face is that he has a jaw dropping smile when he flashes you a friendly grin.
“hey, i’m kyle. your new housemate.” he says confidently, “john should’ve mentioned me.”
you shake yourself out of the slight daze you’ve found yourself in - seriously no man should have skin that perfect - and you offer your own tentative smile back.
“uh, yeah. sure. sorry i was -” you glance back into the hallway and cringe at the sight of the black bin bags “- um. in the middle of something.” you finish weakly, hoping you don’t look too obviously like you’ve been napping in the middle of the day.
your housemate - kyle - rumbles out a slightly bashful chuckle.
“no, no it’s fine. i would’ve been here earlier but i had to give a witness statement for the accident on the high street.” kyle reaches up and tugs at the brim of the scuffed blue baseball cap on his head awkwardly.
“oh shit, really? what happened?” you query him eagerly, your love of gossip overriding your mild embarrassment in a flash. kyle’s eyes crinkle happily at your tone and he leans in conspiratorially, letting his hand drop away from his face.
“some guy walked into an open manhole cover.” he says with a completely straight face.
you burst out a startled laugh. “no fucking way!”
kyle nods, his lips twitching in a poorly concealed grin. “yeah, stuck like winnie the pooh, i swear to god.”
you have to hold onto the edge of the open door to stop yourself from collapsing into fits of laughter. “how -” another gleeful cackle escapes you before you can compose yourself, “how the fuck did he manage to do that?”
kyle shrugs. “he just walked straight through the barrier, surprised the lanky fucker missed it really.”
you collapse into laughter again, feeling your cheeks ache from the width of your grin. holy shit, that’s the best thing you’ve heard all day. eventually your slightly hysterical laughter peeters out and you wipe at your eyes as you look at kyle who is grinning back at you.
“so, fancy letting me in then?” he nudges at the frankly massive khaki rucksack at his feet after a moment of silence as if to remind you that he isn’t just here to charm you with silly stories and his offensively handsome good looks. your embarrassment flares once again as you realise you’ve just been looking at him instead of asking him to come inside like a normal person.
“sorry, yeah of course.” you step back from the door and turn around so he can’t see the way your cheeks are now flushed from embarrassment instead of laughter. “sorry about the mess.” you say apologetically over your shoulder as kyle follows you into the hallway.
“oh i dunno, it doesn’t look too bad to me.”
you hear kyle kick the door shut behind him and you laugh again to cover up the way your stomach flutters at his tone. if you didn’t know better you’d say he was flirting with you, but you discount that as wishful thinking on your part as you lead him towards the stairs.
it is wishful thinking, right?
#housemate!gaz#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#gender neutral reader#is that p starting a new wip series based on a whim? why yes it is!#smut is coming (no pun intended) but i wanted to post the set up straight away#eventually i'll cross post this over to ao3#kg
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A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.
sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.
( lando norris x photographer!reader )
━━ part ten.
It all happens in a blur.
One moment Lando is hugging you. The firm press of his chest against yours, the grip of his calloused hand on your neck keeping your head tucked into him, and the pounding beat of his heart where your hands are trapped between the two of you. It’s such a familiar feeling— the warmth, safety, and comfort of it all. It’s like coming home.
And then the next moment he's jumping away from you like the touch of your skin against his has left him burned. Like he doesn’t trust himself not to cross the distance again if he stands a step too close—
“Erm,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and avoids your eyes as though the very thought of meeting them is appalling. There's an awkwardness about him that’s never existed before, even back when you were still far from ever calling one another friends. “Sorry. I should've asked first.”
“It's fine,” you answer. It is fine. It's been fine for years now.
You hadn’t been a particularly touchy person when you were younger— a byproduct of growing up in a family that never really cared much about or prioritized physical affection. You used to see other girls at school cling to one another in the halls, or link arms on the way home, or play with each other’s hair at lunch and it hadn’t bothered you that you didn’t have that same level of closeness with any of them, but it had confused you that friends could be so touchy-feely when your own parents seemed reluctant to spare even a pat on the shoulder.
Lando changed that.
Lando’s changed a lot of things, you’re realizing.
He grew up with three siblings and they bicker constantly, but they also have the easy closeness that you’ve always found so vastly different from your own friendships. They could be calling one another every name under the sun and then a few that you’re pretty sure they made up, and at the same time they’ll be clinging to one another like they can’t bear the thought of standing more than a meter away.
The first time Lando slung his arm over your shoulder, you’d nearly had a heart attack.
And then he just kept doing it.
By the time you realized that his hugging and draping and clinging had become a new norm for you, he was practically attached to your hip already and you didn't have the heart to question why he'd decided to bestow his physical affections upon you of all people.
“You don't have to apologize for stuff like that—”
“I know,” he interrupts. “I just—” he shrugs, still avoiding your eyes in favor of staring at a scuff on his shoe, “—didn't know if you still wanted me to.”
The reality is that a single explosive confession of your frustration and a hug doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t fix anything, in all honesty. You’re still angry and upset and, quite frankly, hurt by what Lando had said and the way he’d treated you, but it feels like a step in the right direction.
“Garrett Ward,” Lando starts hesitantly, sparing you a fleeting glance at the mention of your fake boyfriend’s name, like he’s assessing your reaction, “blackmailed you into your relationship?”
You nod. A month ago, getting to talk about all of this was all you ever wanted and, in the heat of the moment, it had felt good to just blurt it all out and get it off your chest. The relief of someone else knowing— someone like Lando, who knows your ins and outs like he’s charted the map of your very being— isn’t erased now that you’ve had a moment to calm down, but it’s been overshadowed by a fluttery feeling of nervousness.
“He threatened to completely destroy my career,” you tell him again. “He said he’d make up a rumor about misconduct, and there’s enough people that would believe him. He has a very… devoted fanbase, as I’m sure you’re already aware.”
Lando’s drunken words return to you. Nobody in their right mind would soberly agree to be Garrett Ward’s girlfriend, and what does that say about you? Extenuating circumstances or not, if you were smarter like Lando said he thought you were, you probably would’ve been able to find a way out of it by now, or you would’ve been able to completely avoid getting tangled up in it entirely.
You think back to all the moments Jack had offered to unite the other City players who were supposedly more than willing to back up your claims that nothing unprofessional or inappropriate at all had happened while you were working at Etihad Campus and with the team.
At the time, the idea of actually standing up against him had scared you. You were too stubborn and proud to admit it, but Garrett Ward scared you— still scares you. His fans were still on their vitriolic rampage of hate, filling your comments and DMs with insults against your appearance, your career, and every other imaginable aspect of your being. You’d been forced to sort through death threats, wishes of harm, and instructions to kill yourself and the idea of it being in any way worse than it already was— the idea of exposing yourself to the judgement of so many others, others who would potentially side with a footballer they find mildly entertaining over a random girl whose only claim to fame is a few viral photographs for a motorsports team— had been overwhelming.
The night you sobbed in bed thinking about it all was the night you turned the comments off.
But, had you taken Jack up on his deal immediately, then maybe it would’ve been soon enough to also argue against anything else having “happened” in the time you’ve since spent alone with Garrett out and about on your scheduled excursions for the paparazzi.
Garrett Ward is a smart man, though he shows it so rarely in a capacity that’s actually beneficial to anyone or anything that doesn’t pertain to him. The threats he made on that night in early January about misconduct aren’t as fool-proof when you’d have a team of other players corroborating a completely different story to his. But there are other things he could say now that are harder to argue against without it all turning into a muddled he-said-she-said clusterfuck.
Being back around racing cars and their drivers has been a good distraction for a time, but you dread the day when he turns those new threats against you and asks for more than you’ve already agreed to give him for his scheme.
Lando winces, probably also remembering his words, or at the very least whatever recount Daniel gave him if he was too drunk to remember it all clearly.
“Can’t you dispute his claim?” He finally looks at you again. “Does he even have any evidence?”
You frown, “It’d be his word against mine, unless he doctored evidence to use against me. But it’s not as simple as just saying he’s lying. He’s an athlete, you know how much sway someone like Garrett has. Even if he can’t prove anything, the hit to my reputation would be enough to ensure I’m never able to find a photography gig again, let alone another in the sports industry.”
You imagine that no matter what you do now, your at Garrett’s whim and have no choice but to adhere to the schedule he wants to follow.
You tell Lando as much. “I just have to wait it out.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a PR thing,” you say with a shrug. It’s your turn to look away now, awkwardly tracing the cracks in the pavement beneath your shoes. “He’s only with me to prove he can hold down a steady relationship and fix his reputation. He’ll end it eventually.”
You’re still pretending to be enraptured with an odd spot on the ground, so you hear more than see Lando take a break, like he’s preparing to speak again—
“Session’s resuming in ten, Lando,” comes another voice instead.
Oscar has the decency to look a bit regretful at interrupting the two of you, probably because it’s the first time in weeks that you’ve both tolerated being so physically close and he’s tired of the angst and tension that permeates when you’re both confined to the same general location as one another. Either of you could’ve just as easily taken to standing as far away from each other as you could, and though it would’ve been awkward, it wouldn’t have been very hard to pass the time in total silence. Oscar’s probably just glad you both can at least still hold a civil conversation without wanting to tear each other apart, which makes you wonder whether the earlier shouting had actually managed to go unnoticed beneath the busy sounds of the garage.
Lando nods. He spares you one final glance, that you meet for a fleeting second, before he disappears through the door.
Oscar lingers. He’s watching you with those all-knowing eyes of his.
“What?” You ask.
He shrugs, but his stare is expectant.
“I told him,” you say in place of his continued silence. “About the whole Garrett situation.”
“And?”
You grind the toe of your shoe against the pavement, stalling. Oscar isn’t scheduled to drive until the afternoon session, which means he doesn’t have anywhere to be, but a part of you wonders if you could bore him enough with your own silence that it would make him wander off back to the garage in search of something to do.
Except this is Oscar you’re talking about it, and he could probably exist in total silence with someone for days if he really wanted to—probably wouldn’t even need to try.
You bite the bullet and lower yourself down to the ground, beckoning for him to do the same beside you with a wave of your hand.
“I’m realizing that I don’t actually know how to read him as well as I thought I did,” you admit when he joins you. “He was my best friend— is still my best friend, and I thought I knew everything about him, but now I feel like I never really knew him at all.”
Oscar hums, “I think you do know Lando, better than a lot of other people can say. You’re just realizing that he’s good at hiding things when he wants to. Just think about it, he’s never had a reason to hide anything from you, so of course it would be easy to read him when he’s always letting you. He’s practically an open book for you, Y/N.”
“So I fucked up our friendship by holding him accountable for his actions and now he’s never going to be open with me ever again.” You run a hand through your hair and let your fingers tangle in the wind-strewn strands, letting the sparks of pain keep you from spiralling at the thought of having ruined the most important relationship you’ve ever had.
Oscar snorts, “That’s not at all what I was going to say.”
“Yeah, well—” you elbow him teasingly in the ribs, “—you’re a freak of nature, so forgive me for not understanding how your freakish brain works either.”
“What I was going to say, is that it’s a setback at worst. You keep talking about it like having an argument isn’t completely normal behavior for friends. Me and Logan used to fight a lot, back in our Prema days especially. But you’d never be able to guess it by looking at us now. I mean, my parents keep a picture of him on our family fridge, so…” Oscar stifles a laugh when you lift an questioning eyebrow at him.
“My point is,” he continues, “just keep talking with him. Give it time, and things will get better again. But if you want my honest opinion, I think Lando’s just realized that he overstepped and did something to hurt you, and because he doesn’t want to do it again, he’s trying to make himself smaller, in a way, to minimize the chances. My guess is that he kept his distance as a way of trying not to impede.”
You lean your head back until it thunks against the wall and you’re staring up at the overhang above you and the slivers of blue sky peeking through the slats. “‘Impede,’” you repeat as you do so. “There’s nothing for him to even impede on.”
Oscar makes another sound. “Just because he knows the reality of the situation between you and Ward now doesn’t mean he didn’t spend nearly two months believing otherwise.”
Which— he makes a good point. It’s a really good point, actually, but you don’t like what it does to the butterflies in your stomach. They always used to appear back when you still humored the idea of a blossoming romance being somehow possible between yourself and Lando. Their reemergence isn’t as pleasant as you fantasized about it one day being, so you shove the feeling back down and bury it deep, and Oscar lets you both sit in companionable silence until he’s called back to duty by his race engineer.
The rest of the day goes easily enough.
Lando finishes his allotted time without anymore issues much to the relief of everyone in the garage. When he hops out of the car with a big grin stretched across his face, there’s a collective sigh of relief given by the engineers and mechanics alike.
You note that, despite the cheerful smile, there’s still the underlying exhaustion that seems to be dragging him down. The dark circles are hidden only slightly better when his eyes are squinted with the force of his grin, and the sickly palor of his skin has only been covered temporarily by the red flush of his cheeks brought on by the combined heat of the car and Bahrain’s midday sun. Despite the energy he exudes, bouncing around as he debriefs with his race engineer, his shoulders are sagging beneath the weight of an invisible force that worries you.
You’d be a liar if you said you weren’t still frustrated. Lando knows the gist of the situation. There’s a lot of finer points that he’d need to be filled in on if you wanted to talk about it with him in the same way that you discuss it with Jack, but he at least knows the story. Even still, he hasn’t apologized for his part in any of it— for the pain and distress he caused you when ignoring your calls and texts, for the hurt and shame he made you feel when he tore you apart in his drunken rant.
There is so much you still want to say to him, so many mean things you want to bring up from your worst days hiding in the bathroom at work or your loneliest nights curled up in your flat.
You imagine you’ll have your chance to get it all out there eventually, but as vindicating as it would be to scream and rage and throw the tantrum you believe you are justified to have, you imagine it would feel so much nicer to go back to how things were.
There will be more confrontations and you know that it will have get worse again before it gets better, but in the meantime you can take the win for what it is and celebrate that it’s still something.
And right now, Lando needs you as a friend as much as you need him.
It’s easier said than done, however.
You aren’t avoiding him, exactly, but he’s busy. In the past, you’d make yourself comfortable in whatever space he’s occupying and wait for him to get done, but you’re currently trying to maintain a bit of distance for both of your sake. There isn’t any lingering spite or desire to be away from him— there’s never been a desire to be away from him, if you’re being honest with yourself— but you’ve been able to come to terms with the fact that you really just want to hug him again and keep hugging him, and that might become a problem if you’re not careful. You can’t afford to just rush back into things.
Because the thing this, you might be stubborn and set in your ways, but you know that Lando is such a key part of your life and has been for so long— like a drug that you can’t live without, or rather don’t want to live without— that if given the opportunity to do so, you might unknowingly let everything go and dive head first into your revived friendship too fast just for the small chance of experiencing that normalcy again.
So you keep your distance. You stick on one side of the garage and Lando, after showering and changing out of his fireproofs, is kept on the other with debriefs and technical talk. He glances over a few times and meets your eyes, offers tentatives smiles that seem so much more tame and reluctant than his usual upbeat self, and hovers at the imaginary line separating your side from his, but before he’s ever able to cross over there’s someone else pulling him away to discuss one thing or another.
It’s as you’re making your way to the shuttle from the circuit to the hotel that you finally get your opportunity. Lando’s voice calls your name and stops you in your tracks.
Though Oscar had driven for the remainder of the day, and there wasn’t much else to worry about on or off the track, he looks even more exhausted in the darkness of the night, with the shadows cast by the streetlamps darkening the bags beneath his eyes and further accentuating his paleness.
He catches up to you quickly, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Um,” he nervously stutters out, “I know there’s still a lot that we need to talk about and things aren’t completely fine between us yet— and that’s fine,” he hurries to add on, “you deserve to be mad at me. I just—” he cuts himself off and casts his gaze downward to watch his fluttering fingers pick at an already bloodied hangnail. “I’m sorry. You deserve a better apology and I’ll give you one when we’re not stood in a dark carpark, but for now I’m sorry for everything. Most importantly, I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t value you as… as a friend.”
He falls quiet, still staring down at the mess he’s made of his cuticle. You gawk at him for a moment in surprise.
“Um,” he starts again when you don’t say anything, shifting restlessly on his feet like he’s contemplating whether to stand his ground or dash off. He glances up at you shyly, and you never thought you’d ever really describe Lando with the word shy, but there’s no other way to refer to the soft look he spares you before quickly diverting his eyes back to his hangnail. “I was wondering, would you wanna come crash at my hotel room and watch stupid TV with me? I can order us cheap wine off the room service menu, or something.”
You recognize the olive branch for what it is.
Lando’s never been the greatest with his words, he’s always excelled at replacing what can be said with what can be done instead, and this is his way of asking to make it up to you— of asking to be let in to at least prove to you that he’s serious.
You take in his downtrodden appearance however, and realize that maybe it’s also his way of asking you not to leave him alone anymore. You remind yourself of your earlier observation: Lando needs a friend as much as you do.
You nudge him with your shoulder after a moment, causing him to lift his gaze once more and meet your eyes again.
“I’d love to,” you answer, offering him a gentle smile back.
━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght @bellezaycafe @whentheautumnleavesfall @mess-is-my-aesthetic @ssprayberrythings @landosgirlxoxo @lifelessfan @81ja @wcnorris @a-disturbing-self-reflection (CLOSED).
━━ a/n: this story has reached a frightening word count that i never imagined it reaching (28k), if i'm being honest, but the more the merrier right? my sincerest apologies for taking so long to get this up, though. i've been a bit ill as of late, which has just completely zapped my energy to do anything that isn't rot in bed all day. i'm feeling better, hence finally getting around to finishing the last home stretch of this part, but i feel bad for how long it took me and i'm hoping the next part won't take me as long as this one did.
#formula 1#formula one#f1#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula one x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#social media au#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#ln4#oscar piastri
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cw: afab reader + she/her pronouns, creepy stuff, yandere ig??, very very very brief and extremely mild use of phone as a vibrator, if you've seen gravity falls this is inspired by the soos and the real girl ep 💀
You pause and exit out of the app right as you open up the video call link, ignoring the twinge of guilt you feel at leaving during such a steamy scene. It's not real, you remind yourself, like you have a million times in the past month. A part of you wants to find the coziest corner of this library and play until you've leveled up all the memories you can and gone on all nine claw machine dates you're allowed to, but it's time to unplug.
Besides, you have an actual date.
"Hey!" your boyfriend greets as soon as the video loads up, grinning when he sees your face. "Are you in the library?"
"Yeah. Booked a room all for you," you tease, setting your phone down to focus on your laptop.
"Wow, I'm flattered. So what's been up lately?"
You sigh. "Nothing much. Same old boring stuff. What about you?"
He starts talking about his new job, the entire reason that you and he have been long-distance for the past few months. You're not going to lie to yourself—it's rough. It feels like torture, not being able to see him and hold him and kiss him. You've really, really missed him. That's probably why you've turned to dating sims of all things in the first place.
Your phone buzzes while he's talking, and your eyes flick over to the screen.
new text from alien boy <3
Your brows furrow in confusion. This app doesn't notify you about new texts, because they only come through while you're on the app itself. And you never just get texts, unless you've leveled up on affinity, which you haven't in the past half hour.
Whatever. Probably some new feature or event you don't know about yet. You turn your attention back to your boyfriend.
"—And my break will be in two weeks," he finishes his story, then smiles. "Which means in two weeks I'll be seeing you, pretty girl."
Eyes lighting up, you lean in so you can blow him a light kiss. "I can't wait. I already have the whole weekend planned out. We'll go to the park, the museum—I thought we could go canoeing if you wanted to—"
Once again, your phone buzzes.
alien boy <3: didn't we have plans that weekend?
Your stomach flips unpleasantly.
Huh?
"What is it?" your boyfriend asks, noticing your struck expression.
"N-nothing, just—this app I downloaded, it gave me a super weird notification. For a second, I thought it was, like, listening to me."
He chuckles. "Creepy. What app is it?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, not sure if you should even tell your boyfriend that you've found solace in fictional characters during his absence. "Just some stupid game."
This time when your phone buzzes, you jump a little in your seat.
It's not a text. Someone's calling you. Your shoulders almost sag until you notice there's no name on the caller id, just a small spaceship emoji.
"What the hell," you mutter under your breath, putting one finger up to the camera. Your boyfriend nods in understanding, leaning back and muting himself while you swipe and answer the call. "Hello?"
No answer.
"Hello-o-o?"
Still nothing. You almost hang up, until the barest of sounds makes your ears perk up. If you strain them and press the phone so close it's smushing your cheek, you can hear something. It sounds like someone whispering, but you can't make out anything.
"Hello? Um, your audio is super low, I can barely hear you. Hello? Can you hear me?"
With no change, you hang up, frustrated. It might be a prank call. You're in the library on a Friday night and there's barely anyone here, one of your friends might've thought it was hilarious to mess with you.
"Spam call." You shrug uneasily, slipping the phone down between your thighs this time instead of on the table. He nods in understanding, then starts saying something.
"You're still on mute, sweetheart, I can't hear you."
He makes an oh face, then leans forward a bit to use the mouse. After a few seconds, though, his eyes narrow in focus and he shakes his head. He looks up, mouthing can you hear me now?
"Nope. Can you still hear me?"
An affirmative nod. Weird. It's still showing that he's muted on your end. "What, is it not clicking?"
You see him look back up to the screen, whether to nod or shake his head, you don't find out, because the screen glitches out for a moment, and all you see is a door.
You shriek, clamping a hand over your mouth.
His face is back in front of you again, and you still can't hear him, but he clearly sees how freaked out you are, because he tilts his head up concernedly, as though to ask you what's wrong.
You didn't scream because of the glitch.
You screamed because you've visited your boyfriend at his new place before, and that door was his door.
"Can you hear me? Is your door locked?" He only looks more confused, shaking his head like you're the one who's muted now.
Your phone lights up before you can grab it and call him, and you gasp when it buzzes against your core and doesn't stop buzzing. It doesn't vibrate this much when you get a call, and there is no call on the home screen, nor text, nor any kind of notification. It feels like it presses itself into your skin more, and you grip the table with one hand at the brief jolt of pleasure before snatching it and unlocking the screen.
Before you can click the phone app, Love&Deepspace opens. You groan in frustration, trying to swipe up to no avail. Did you accidentally click on it? It wasn't even in the list of apps on your main page.
Movement from your laptop catches your eye. Your boyfriend's looking forward, but not at the camera. He's looking at—at something, and he backs up in his chair, looking terrified all of a sudden.
"What is it?" you say as loud as you can, but even if he does hear you, he doesn't respond, and instead, his mouth falls open in a silent scream.
The screen goes black, and then so does the entire library.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." You look back down at your phone, ready to crack it if it doesn't swipe up and get out of this stupid app—
There's no one there.
Your heart stutters in its chest.
There's always someone in the Destiny Cafe.
There's no one there.
And on the little white armchair in the background, there's a dark streak of red dripping down and staining the cloth.
"What the fuck," you whisper, eyes wide. Your laptop screen flickers.
The facetime has been replaced by grey-blonde hair, that gently brushes against baby blue eyes with a soft, unassuming smile.
"You shouldn't pause me," he coos, "now, where were we?"
a/n: i hope no one tells me that people don't put their phones between their thighs while sitting bc i very much do. also. i'm talking to a guy on FT in the library tomorrow. hope i don't have gift of foresight. or maybe i hope i do muwahahaha. this is actually mad goofy and not scary at all
#love and deepspace#l&ds#lads#xavier fic#yandere xavier#xavier x reader#lads x reader#lads xavier#l&ds x reader#xavier#l&ds fic#xavier x you#xavier x mc#xavier x y/n#love and deepspace xavier#valkyrie stories
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kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool
banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1
⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.
⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok
⚜️rating: mature, 18+
⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut
⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.
⚜️word count: 10K
⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.
i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕
previous chapter final chapter
Hyeri is curious.
She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.
Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.
But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.
The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.
“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”
“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.
So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.
When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.
And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather.
You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage.
“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”
Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand.
“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”
You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.
He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.
The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him.
The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside.
“Your Grace?”
You blink.
“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”
“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”
“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.
“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”
“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”
“They certainly are not.”
And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.
Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.
“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.
The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.
And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.
Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.
But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.
The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.
On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch.
“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes.
They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.
Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.
Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.
The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field.
“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”
It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends.
The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.
It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.
“Has the King spoken to you about it?”
“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”
“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.”
“I could never think that of you.”
There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours.
“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”
“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”
Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.
“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”
You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question.
Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over.
Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.
“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”
“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”
There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once.
“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”
“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”
Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.
The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.
So this is how they will decide the victor.
“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”
“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.
The King is first to take his turn, of course.
He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye.
The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers.
Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.
The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on.
You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment.
The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.
It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung.
The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.
Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target.
Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow.
And it misses the target entirely.
It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.
“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”
You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind.
You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.
“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”
“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”
The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for.
But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance.
There is no sign of Lord Jung.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale.
He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.
But there is something different about him tonight.
Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed.
You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.
Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men.
Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact.
You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.
But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.
The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night.
Your face flames as you think of it.
What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it.
You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence.
If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.
And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.
It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts.
Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning.
The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze.
The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.
Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.
But perhaps you should have been more mindful.
Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.
It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother.
You swear. Loudly.
You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.
That is, until someone coughs.
“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”
You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.
Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time.
“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”
“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?”
“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.
You clear your throat.
“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”
“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”
The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.
“What’s this, Min?”
At once, the gesture dies on your lips.
Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact.
The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts.
“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.
“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.
“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”
“Yes, of course.”
Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks.
Inhale, you twit. Exhale.
“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.
Is he – is he angry with you?
Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty.
If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you.
The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.
“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”
You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.
“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”
With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks.
You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.
“Your Grace.”
The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.
“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
A storm is coming. You can feel it.
Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.
“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”
At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.
“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”
You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.
“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”
The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.
“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”
“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”
“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”
Every muscle in your body tenses at once.
“Oh?”
“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”
Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.
The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child.
That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.
“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?”
Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.
“Often enough, I suppose.”
“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”
The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.
“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”
Is he – is he toying with you?
What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.
“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”
The color drains from the King’s face.
You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.
“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”
The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you.
And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in.
Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.
“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”
Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse.
Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.
“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”
“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”
And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again.
There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.
Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.
So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.
But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin.
In spite of the heat, you shiver.
There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution.
You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric.
You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else.
In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs.
What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?
These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too.
You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it.
But can you reach it?
Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential.
In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be –
A clap of thunder explodes in the sky.
Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing.
And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit.
Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows.
The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
“Magnificent, Your Grace.”
Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”
It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn.
Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.
“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”
You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face.
“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.”
Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.
“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”
It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles.
So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.
By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.
You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.
“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”
One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.
“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”
You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage.
But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.
“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."
The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?
You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.
Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.
But then the King stands.��
He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.
He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.
“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”
“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”
You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.
“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”
The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room.
The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see.
You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.
It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.
In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.
Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.
Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.
The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous – if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night?
You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.
Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.
You swallow another large sip of wine.
“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”
You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.
“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale.
He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.
And now you have.
The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.
“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”
“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”
The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.
And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display.
It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.
The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.
You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.
You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away.
You would recognize him anywhere.
Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait.
And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action.
If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.
But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.
The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence.
It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.
He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.
As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.
Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.
What on earth?
You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.
He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.
“Anyone could have seen you.”
“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”
The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.
“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?”
A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.
“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”
“I don’t know,” you admit.
“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”
But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.
“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”
Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.
He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.
“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”
“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.
Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.
“No.”
And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done.
“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”
All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it.
“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”
“I – ”
“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.
“You’re mad.”
“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”
Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.
“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”
You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.
Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.
“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”
“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.
Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.
“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”
Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.
“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”
“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether.
Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.
“And so am I.”
i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕
#hoseok smut#j-hope smut#bts smut#hoseok x reader#j-hope x reader#bts x reader#hoseok#bts hoseok#bts x you#hoseok x you#bts scenarios#bts au#hoseok imagine#bangtanarmynet#thebtswritersclub#bangtan
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Not really a sexual request but… thoughts on Daryl coming home upset? Like genuinely hurting over something or anxious about something. Personally I think Daryl would have some level of anxiety that every now and then can get bad so maybe something happens with that? Idk I just love your writing and wanna see your take on sad Daryl🫶🏻
UGHH I’ve been CRAVING some sad Daryl for a while I have this idea of Daryl having a mental break where he isolates himself from everyone because he has no clue how to properly communicate his feelings so instead he decides to stay in his own space and silently drown to death alone in his own thoughts.
Normalize holding adult men like babies because obviously thats what they are
I feel like lately my writing has been kinda bad?? 🧍🏾♀️Maybe this is just too short idk but something is OFF.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
It had been two weeks since Daryl locked himself and your heart in the basement.
He needed some space, that much was obvious, but the worrying started the first week when Daryl didn’t touch the plates of food you or Carol would leave outside the door. He never left the room, never made a sound either. If it weren’t for the years of a living in an apocalypse, you would’ve thought he was dead.
Daryl felt dead, his bone weighing heavy with emotion and anger he just didn’t know how to get out. Years of bottling up everything now seeped through his grimy skin, mind running two miles a minute as his hands fisted his greasy matting hair.
He almost felt like a teenager again, rotting away feeling sorry for himself in bed while internal screaming at himself because lord knows he couldn’t do it vocally. He pushed everyone away, he needed to. Nobody needed to see him like this. Nobody needed to deal with him like this. Nobody needed to help him like this.
Daryl knew you and Carol left food outside his door, but he felt like he didn’t deserve to eat. Didn’t deserve to drink. He didn’t wanna open the door one day and see one of you standing there with a pitiful look on your face. He didn’t need pity.
He also didn’t need the jarring sound of pounding at said door. “Go ‘way” He mumbled, but instead the door creaked open, softly shutting. Maybe he should learn how to use a lock.
“Daryl” You voice was soft against his burning ears, however he felt a twinge of anger surge through him. “Get out. Don’t need anythin” He pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and only glancing over at where you stood with your arms tightly folded. “It’s been weeks”
He knows. “So? Gonna be another weeks too, now leave” You stood firmly in place, not budging.
Daryl screamed at himself for trying to throw you out, you of all people. Only his internal monologue didn’t match the one coming out his mouth. “Dammit woman I told ya ta leave!”
You stared at him silently, taking a few steps towards him and not faltering when he stood up, merely inches from your face. “Don’ need ya in here feelin’ fuckin’ sorry makin’ me feel worse”
“Well if it makes you feel any shitter I feel sorry for you inside and outside the door” You shrugged up at him, looking at him with a more causal expression than anything. “Why are you pushing me away Dixon?” Daryl bared his teeth at the question, angry at himself cause he didn’t know why. “Why’re ya in here?”
“That’s not answering my question” You scoffed, and Daryl turned to frustrated kick the night stand. “I don’ hafta answer tha’ stupid fuckin’ question! Why can’ ya jus’ leave me tha’ fuck alone?” He began pacing around the room, trying to put distance between the two of you continued to stubbornly close it. “Because I give a shit? You don’t get to suffer in here alone because think you deseve it”
You shoved Daryl’s chest, and surprisingly he shoved back, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Why not?!”
Your face softened and you grabbed Daryl’s hands, holding them tightly in yours. “Fucking stop!” He tried pulling himself out your grip, shaking his head as more traitorous tears spilled. Daryl grunted as you pulled his arms towards you, causing him to stumble which gave you the opening to finally capture him in a tight hug. “Get offa me” He mumbled even as his body desperately melted against yours. “It’s okay sweetheart” You whispered the words and walked backwards, lying on the bed when the back of your knees hit the mattress.
“Ya shouldn’t- Ya shouldn’t see me like this” Daryl buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling an unfamiliar lump form in his throat. He no longer felt anger, but saddness. He was sad, so sad that he didn’t know what do to other then straying away. His chest hurt, and he felt so vulnerable in your arms that he just exploded, body shaking as sobs racked through him. “I’m here now babyboy, it’s okay” You, quite literally, tangled your fingers into his hair, soothingly scratching the scalp as Daryl’s tears ran down your skin and soaked your shirt.
It hurt so bad yet felt so good to finally, finally let it all out.
You moved to sit up against the wall, bringing Daryl along with you and positioning him to lay across against your shoulder, brushing hair out his red as he sniffled. You wiped his tears with your hand, staring down lovingly at him as you stroked his cheek. “Tell me what's hurting you” You whispered, listening to his soft whimpers and snotty sniffles. Daryl leaned his head against you, eyes flickering up to meet yours as he searched your face. He felt so grateful to have someone like you, caring about someone like him.
“Jus’ everythin” He whispered back.
You kissed his forehead, letting your lips linger there. “Anything in particular?”
Daryl shook his head, soaking up every ounce of attention you gave him. Each tear was wiped away by soft fingers, followed by a gentle kiss.
For the first time, Daryl felt like a little kid, huddled up sweetly in your arms as you ran your hands across his back, slowly rocking his frail frame.
He cried harder than he ever has, muffling sobs into to the fabric of your shirt. You only stroked his hair and told him that it was all okay.
And he believed you.
Daryl could physically feel the love radiating off you, seeping through his clothes and filing his weakened body.
It was so peaceful in the room beside from Daryl’s sniffing, he felt like you were the only people left on earth. As he glanced up at you through clumped lashes, he wished that you were.
“M’sorry” He mumbled.
You quirked a bow. “For what?”
“Fer pushin’ you”
“Away or earlier?” Daryl shook his head slightly.
“Both” He responded.
You playfully rolled your eyes. “Ugh. I guess I forgive you”
Daryl cracked a small smile, one of his fidgety hands reaching for yours. His fingers were cold compared to yours.
“I love you” You whispered, squeezing his hand in yours.
He searched your face, eyes glassy as they once again filled up with tears. “I- I love ya too”
｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★
#the walking dead#daryl dixon#the walking dead daryl#daryl fanfiction#norman fucking reedus#daryl x reader#daryl x female reader#twd#daryl dixion imagine#daryl dixion smut#twd daryl dixon#daryl twd#twd daryl#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfic
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Kleine Schatten
He was frustrated. The little shadow was still following him. Sometimes openly and other times, hiding and peeking around corners, usually after he has blown up on someone else. He works to control his temper, wanting to tempt them closer before he goes on the offensive. When you get about ten feet behind him, he suddenly spins on his heel and covers the distance between you in a split second, taking just two strides before he picks you up and pivots again, pinning you to the wall. He leans in close, eyes hard. "Why are you following me?"
You gulp, trying hard to meet his eyes. "I was told to, Colonel. It's part of my training. S-sorry." You barely managed to whisper the words, voice failing you by the end.
He freezes, grip gentling as he lets you slide down the wall, supporting you when your legs would buckle. Crouching down to be at your level, he asks, "Who told you to do this and why?"
It takes you several tries to answer, but König waits quietly for you to speak, not rushing or admonishing you. He gently rubs your arms in an effort to comfort you. "Sergeant Soap. He is training me in scouting and stealth."
"How is he training you, Kleine? I have not seen him assisting you." You fidget under his glare, and his eyes soften. He stands, "Let us talk more in my office. It is less exposed than the hall. More comfortable." König leads, and you follow, his shadow once again. He locks the door behind you and sits behind his desk, gesturing you to a seat. He sits quietly, watching the clock. You open your mouth, and he shakes his head. After several minutes, he turns to you. "So, he was not watching over you at a distance. I had hoped he would reveal himself."
"He... he made it quite clear that he had better things to do," you whisper sadly. "He said stealth was better learned in action, following a target in their home environment, and I needed to learn how to blend in while scouting." He wonders at your continued whispering, logging it away while he focuses on the information.
"I am sorry, Kleine. He did you a disservice. What would you like me to do about it? I can report him if you want, but retaliation is likely." You're already shaking your head.
"No, I would rather learn on my own than try to get him in trouble... I don't know where to start, though. I can tell I'm crap at this."
König snorts. "You are bad, Kleine Schatten, but I am willing to teach you. You will learn to sneak up on anyone by the time I am done. I am afraid that I can not easily teach you how to blend in. I prefer to stand apart and remain apart. That will not work for you, but we will find a path forward."
You excitedly nod. "I would love that!" Your voice is still a hoarse whisper, but you could swear he smiles back under the mask at your excitement.
"Ok, first we will..." He lays out the general plan, assigning you several books and films as teaching material. You tear through them and report back in a few days. He is pleasantly surprised, assuming he had given you at least a week of material. Your determination warms his heart and makes him even more determined to help.
Over the next few weeks, you learn more than you ever knew was possible about stealth and working covertly. He ensures that you put the lessons into practice, practicing stalking him. You find yourself getting better, surprisingly fast, and he praises your quick improvement while encouraging you to improve even more. You've never felt so driven by so few words.
In one of your talks, you admit that hand to hand is not a skill you excel at, and he assigns you sparring practice with him each morning while the others are eating breakfast. You lose, constantly. But he shows you how a successful move feels during each session, and you slowly improve, even managing to get the upper hand for a few moments once. His praise after that round makes you light up, the words repeating in your head all day long.
Soon, König is teaching you every skill he knows and you are teaching him the few things you know, showing him how to speed read, and as you learn, teaching him how to blend into the background better. The latter skill is his favorite as he loves scaring the other men on the team, especially Soap with his newfound stealth. He imitates a pillar rather successfully you find.
König has assigned you to avoid Soap completely as your new stealth mission. He wants to see how long until Soap comes looking for you. A full three months after he takes you under his wing, Soap finally asks König where his shadow is during lunch. König decides to have a little fun at his expense. "What shadow? I got rid of a spy a couple months back that kept following me around," he says calmly. He watches Soap's face blanch and König stands with his tray, striding off quickly. Soap tries to follow him but trips on his face. He lays there for a full thirty seconds, confused, before looking down and seeing his shoelaces tied together.
Your exit is unremarked upon and nearly unnoticed, but König is waiting outside in an alcove, a grin under his mask. "Kleine Schatten, that was a good trick. I think your lessons of sneaking are at their end." You try to hide the disappointed look on your face, but he chucks your chin gently. "Do not worry. You still need remedial lessons for other things. Your previous taskmasters were poor at best." He winks when you look up at him with your blinding smile.
Just then, Soap bursts out the door with Ghost following behind him. Soap is so focused that he storms past where the alcove you are standing, hurrying toward Captain Price's office. Ghost stops on the sidewalk near you. "Good job on the shoelaces, you two. Mind how close you get to the target and those around them. Your body heat is detectable for those of us on alert."
"Yes, sir," you whisper.
Ghost turns his head to look directly at you and König. "Thank you, König. I will deal with Soap. You, though. How is your marksmanship? Given how many shite teachers there are around here, I am worried."
You smile. "Better than my explosives work, but worse than my hand to hand combat."
Ghost smirks under his mask. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I will coordinate with König to teach you. I know he is good, but just as he is better at hand to hand, I am better at marksmanship. No offense, Bruder." With that, he walks to catch up to where he can hear Soap going off, likely in Captain Price's office.
König exchanges a look with you. "It seems you must make a decision, Kleine." You look at him puzzled. "What kind of mask will the newest sniper wear?"
"Sniper? I want to be an insertion specialist now."
He grins down at the shadow he has become attached to. "We shall see, Kleine Schatten. We shall see."
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The bond of DIR EN GREY - WOWOW Interview Special (2023)
"There are many things that only the five of us have been through together, and that is the connection between us." — Die
Notes before reading:
This is the last five minutes of the interview. ★BGM:カムイ
The five members were interviewed separately.
Repost and share are welcome.🙌 I translated it all by my ears, so please feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.☺️
--- --- ---
►The bond of DIR EN GREY (DIR EN GREYの絆)
【Kaoru】
Of course sometimes we talk about stupid things, that's nothing special.
We must always maintain equal relationships so that all can communicate with each other. But everyone has that personality, so it'll be a little bit… it's gonna be hard (laugh).
Well, we all had different periods. Even so, we're still five people, spending time together in each other's lives.
I still think we have to be aware of each other and move forward.
Well, all I can say is that it's a pleasure to be in a band with them.
*(一緒にやってくれてよかったなと思って)
【Shinya】
A balance of not being too deep and not being too shallow relationships with the members would be great, wouldn't it?
Maybe during the periods when we were together for a long time, it was a little bit awkward, like a decade or so ago.
Now it's just right.
【Toshiya】
I think it is necessary to consciously maintain a certain distance. Considering this, it should be the most natural feeling now.
Although we have been together all along, we have not had unnecessary conversations. Of course, human beings communicate with each other through conversations, but at the same time, they get unnecessary information.
Personally, if my work and private life are mixed together, I gradually feel like I'm misunderstanding something, and I don't like that.
As for the connection between us, when (everyone said) "Okay, let's go!" (before the live show), there’s a very strong cohesion. I feel that way.
【Die】
I am often asked, "Do the members have a good relationship?" "After all this time, you've become like family members, right?"
It’s *troublesome to answer. *(めんどくさい / mendokusai)
The time we spend together may be longer than that of family members, so do we have a good relationship? Or a bad relationship? It has nothing to do with that. We're beyond that.
There are many things that only the five of us have been through together, and that is the connection between us.
We've been through all kinds of things in the band, happy things, going overseas for the first time, getting frustrated. We've been through a lot together.
We all hit the wall together, rushed forward together, and then hit the wall again.
Precisely because the five of us have experienced many things together, this kind of relationship can only be understood by the five of us. It has nothing to do with whether we have a good relationship with each other, nor are we family or friends.
In DIR EN GREY, there are some things about our relationship that only the five of us can understand.
【Kyo】
I guess I like these guys. *(人間が好きなんじゃないですかね)
There's something to honor in everyone, and I often think that they're amazing.
Maybe even if we didn't form a band, but just meeting and getting to know each other on ordinary occasions, we'd still be friends. At least I'd do that.
It's just that we're connected through music now, even though we don't talk a lot... Yeah.
I guess it's because they all deserve respect.
【Narration】 (cv: Morikawa Toshiyuki)
Although always a *solitary existence, DIR EN GREY has been going on for a quarter of a century. The trajectory of the past 25 years has never stopped and continues to move on to a new path.
The five people connected by the bond of music will bring us deeper pain and hope of being alive.
*(孤高 / ここう / kokō)
(END)
— — —
My Blogger → English Translation / 中文翻譯
#dir en grey#kyo#京#kaoru#薫#die#toshiya#shinya#interview#interview 2023#translations#translation by yinfu#diru translation#video translation#diru wowow 2023#WOWOW interview#relationship#💜❤️💛💙💖
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Ocean Eyes
Neteyam/Ao’nung x Fem!Metkayina!Reader
PART 2
Summary: Only child of high-ranking parents, Loran is tasked with teaching Neteyam the basic Metkayina ways, much to the frustration of her close friend Ao’nung.
Notes: This is my first time ever writing on Tumblr, so feedback and encouraging comments are appreciated! Reader is named Loran, meaning elegance/grace in Na’vi (this is because I'm really bad at using y/n in my writing). All three main characters are aged 16. I sometimes switch between present and past tense words, not sure if that's an annoyance to anybody but it's a flaw in my writing that I can't seem to fix. Been working on this for almost a week, so please enjoy 💙!
Words: 2.54k
Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, mild swearing, jealousy, tiny bit of arguing, Ao’nung being an ass what’s new
Your parents always made decisions for you, almost never letting you share an opinion about it. This time was no different. Couldn’t Ao’nung and Tsireya teach the Sully children by themselves? Your parents didn’t think so.
You’re positioned next to your father, listening intently to the Olo’eyktan’s words after the Sully family’s arrival. Your mother nudges you forward, causing you to stumble and nearly fall.
Catching yourself at the last moment, you stand next to Ao’nung and Tsireya, doing your best to mask how unprepared you were for this. In the corner of your eye, you notice your father whispering something to Tonowari.
“Loran, Ao’nung, and Tsireya will show your children what to do.” Tonowari states. Ao’nung protests, but is immediately shut down by his father. You stay silent and keep your expression neutral, knowing that you’re not in a position to complain.
You notice the tallest boy staring at you, immediately fascinated by the golden color in his eyes. He grins when your eyes meet, causing you to turn your head quickly, not sure how to feel about the attention. You glance up at Ao’nung, who has observed the brief interaction. He’s already annoyed with the arrival of the forest people, but this upsets him further.
“Come! I will show you our village.” Tsireya says cheerfully, a smile on her face. I follow behind her, Ao’nung huffing and reluctantly doing the same.
࿐ ࿐ ࿐
All three of you dived into the water, Tsireya and Ao’nung taking off into the water. Remembering what Ronal said about how they’d be slow in the water, you decided to swim slower than your normal speed, falling behind the two other free-divers.
Eventually, all of the Sully children jumped into the water. You giggled at their awestruck expressions of the aquatic life.
You looked back towards Tsireya and Ao’nung, who had paused to wait for you a short distance away. “Why are you swimming so slow? You’re usually faster than both of us.” Ao’nung signed. “I’m waiting for the Sullys.” You responded, allowing the children to catch up more before swimming to Tsireya and Ao’nung.
After swimming for a short while longer, the three of you turn around and notice the siblings surfacing. All of you briefly look at each other, slightly confused.
“Come swim with us.” Tsireya signs to them with a smile, although they don’t seem to understand what she’s saying. You wave them over, Tsireya doing the same. After taking a few more breaths, they come back under the water.
Only a short while later, they once again surface. “What’s wrong with them?” You ask the two, looking at the both of them. “Those guys are bad at diving.” Ao’nung answers, a small smirk on his face. “Stop! They’re learning.” Tsireya tells Ao’nung, frowning. He rolls his eyes dramatically in response.
The three of you surface, facing the Sully children as they take a few breaths for air. “Are you alright?” Tsireya asks the siblings, concerned. “You’re too fast, wait for us!” Tuktirey responds, her voice tired. “Just breathe.” You say with a nod.
“You’re not good divers. Maybe good at swinging through trees, but- ow!” You and Tsireya hit Ao’nung on the head at the same time. “Don’t be rude.” You glare at him, irritated. Seeing my expression, he quiets and looks down.
“We don’t speak this finger talk you guys,” Neteyam motions with his hands. “We don’t understand what you’re saying.”
"I will teach you.” Tsireya chimes. You nod in agreement, not minding the extra task. Ao’nung lets out a heavy sigh, not saying a word but showing lots of attitude.
࿐ ࿐ ࿐
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” Ao’nung crosses his arms as you walk through the village, taking a short break before the ilu lesson. You laugh and look at him. “And how does he look at me, exactly?”
“It’s a stupid, dumbfounded look,” Ao’nung huffs. “Like he’s enthralled by you. I don’t trust him, I think you should stay away.”
“That’ll be hard to do, no? I’ll be in very close proximity to him during the ilu lesson, right?” You tease Ao’nung, provoking him further.
“Then I’ll be his partner. You can teach the youngest.” He states and begins to walk faster, making you raise an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, you don’t make decisions for me.” You put your hand on Ao’nung’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“Right, but your parents do all the time,” He taunts, making you scowl and storm away. He follows and grabs my arm before I walk too far. “Hey! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know it’s a sore spot.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you said it,” You yank your arm out of his grasp. “Learn to use your damn brain before speaking, skxawng.” You pushed his head back with your finger. You chuckled at his surprised expression.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Ao’nung grabbed both of my hands, standing in front of me. “But you can’t stay mad at me forever.” He smirked, caressing your knuckles. He always did this when you were mad at him, even in childhood, and it worked every time. “Am I forgiven?”
His goofy, adorable smirk and mesmerizing way that he massaged your hands made your resolve crumble. “This is the last time I’m gonna let that work on me!” You laughed, knowing that it was a lie. Ao’nung smiled, wrapping you in a hug.
“I’m still not letting you decide who I train with though.” You looked up at him, head rested on his chest with a mischievous grin on your face. “I know Loran... you’ve never been easy to convince.”
࿐ ࿐ ࿐
The ilu respond quickly to Ao’nung’s call, swimming around him as he begins to speak. “These are ilu. If you want to live here, you have to ride.”
Looking over at Ao’nung, you wade my way over to Neteyam. “Need a partner?” You question, bringing an ilu over to him. “Yes, thank you.” He beamed at you, making you smile as he slowly got on the ilu. You felt your cheeks getting warm but pushed the feeling away and began teaching.
“Make the bond gently,” You ordered, watching him closely. Once the bond was made, you continued. “Feel his breath, feel his strength.” Neteyam closed his eyes and breathed slowly.
After he opened his eyes, you guided his hand to the handle attached to the ilu. “Hold here. Position your legs securely around the ilu’s torso. Not too tight.” I was surprised when Neteyam followed my commands correctly.
“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” You joked, impressed by how quickly he was adapting. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.” He shrugged with a chuckle.
“When you’re ready, start moving. I recommend taking it slow-” Before you could finish your statement, Neteyam was off. Only a few seconds into riding, his brother Lo’ak had disconnected, but Neteyam did not. In fact, he continued to pick up speed and did a few simple maneuvers before circling back to his starting position.
Tsireya and a few others applauded him, but he only kept his eyes on you. “Loran, how’d I do?” Neteyam asked, shaking his head to dry his braids.
“That was incredible! I’ve never seen a finer display of skill in such a new rider,” You were amazed, clasping your hands together with delight. “I think the two of you make a fine pair, give him a treat.” Neteyam smiled as you handed him a small fish. The ilu chirped and clicked with delight, gulping down the fish and allowing Neteyam to pet its head.
You found yourself staring at Neteyam as he pet the ilu. His smile was bright and his laugh was contagious, and made you do the same. The way his wet skin glowed under the sun, accentuating both his obvious and subtle features. How the top of his ears would twitch every time the ilu made a noise. You just couldn’t help yourself.
Neteyam glances at you and smirks, reminding you of the way Ao’nung does the same.
“Loran! Don’t you think it’s time to move on to the next lesson?” You felt Aonung’s hand rest on your shoulder, snapping you out of your trance. He tried his best to fake excitement, despite him shooting daggers at Neteyam. “Yes, yes! Of course, as long as Tsireya is ready.” You look over to her, and she nods.
࿐ ࿐ ࿐
“Breathe in,” Tsireya started, taking a deep breath along with everyone else. “And breathe out.”
“Imagine a flickering flame, you must slow down your heartbeat.” You continued where she left off, speaking slowly and calmly. Tsireya put her hands on Lo’ak’s chest and stomach, repeating to him the breathing exercise. “Your heartbeat is fast, did you hear what Loran said?” She questions, making you and Neteyam giggle. Ao’nung rolls his eyes along with Kiri. “Sorry.” Lo’ak says, embarrassed.
“Ao’nung, practice with Kiri.” You say, gesturing towards the girl. Ao’nung hesitates, watching you put your hands where Tsireya put hers on Lo’ak. Eventually, he looks away and tries to teach Kiri. Before Ao’nung can put her hands on her, she stops him. “Trust me, I’m good.”
“Your heartbeat is also fast.” You look up at him. “Try to focus, ok?” Neteyam nods, and you try again. “Breathe in, breathe out. Let your mind go clear.” His heartbeat slows down slightly, but it’s still not enough. “I think that we should try something different.” You say, taking your hands off Neteyam’s torso and stand up.
You stand at the edge of the rock and call the same ilu over from the previous lesson. “Let’s have a little fun.” You wink at Neteyam, grabbing his hand and jumping into the water together. You’re followed by Tsireya and Lo’ak, Ao’nung joining last.
When everyone has connected to their respective ilu, you dive into the water. Your ilu circles a large coral formation, waiting for the rest to join you.
Once everyone is under the water, the ilus begin to play together and chase each other. Neteyam’s begins to chase yours and he reaches out to you. You dodge his grasp, weaving your way through a tight, cage-like structure.
Ao’nung’s ilu sneaks up on you from behind, startling you. He snickers, teasing you a bit before swimming away, encouraging you to chase him.
After a few more minutes of underwater play, everyone surfaces. Lo’ak and Neteyam laugh between breaths, making you and Tsireya smile. “You are learning to breathe!” She says, more so directed to Lo’ak.
You direct your ilu toward Neteyam’s, stopping beside him. You reach out and gently squeeze his hand, grinning. “I had fun teaching you today.” You say, looking at him with a warm expression. “I had fun learning from you. You’re a great teacher.” Neteyam responds, his thumb rubbing my knuckles.
The familiar feeling of heat on your face returned, another reminder of Ao’nung’s own actions towards you. You had never felt this way when Ao’nung did this to you, why was it so different when Neteyam did it?
“Loran, it’s getting late. We should head back to the village.” Ao’nung’s voice came from behind you, making you jump. You let go of Neteyam’s hand and turn around. “It’s not that late...” You respond, looking up at the sky. Eclipse wasn’t far off, but you still had time.
“We should head back to the village,” Ao’nung repeated, his voice more serious. “I need to talk to you about something important.”
You groaned and turned on your ilu, swimming up next to him. “See you around, Neteyam.” You beam at him before going back to the village with Ao’nung.
“I don’t think I can watch you drool over her any longer.” Lo’ak says to Neteyam with a sneer. “Shut up skxawng,” Neteyam glares at him. “You look at Tsireya the same way I look at Loran.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, laughing at Lo’ak’s flustered expression.
࿐ ࿐ ࿐
“What the hell was that?” Ao’nung asks, face contorted with rage. “This is why I told you to stay away from him!” His voice is barely below shouting volume as you walk through the village.
“Firstly, I need you to take it down about one hundred notches,” You say, looking Ao’nung up and down. “If you want this conversation to continue, you need to stop yelling at me.” He lets out a long sigh, dragging his hand down his face.
“Fine, I’m calm.” Ao’nung breathes, voice back to normal, although still laced with anger. “Like I said this morning, you will not tell me what I can and can not do. I can be around Neteyam as much as I want and talk to him as much as I want, understand?” You cross your arms, scowling.
“I know. It’s just... I think he’s bad news. Neteyam likes you, I can tell by the way he’s always staring,” Ao’nung pauses before continuing. “And I think you like him too.”
“What makes you say that?” I hesitantly speak, moving closer to him. I know what he’ll probably say, but I want to hear it.
“You’ve gone out of your way to partner with him in almost every lesson. The diving one is barely an exception,” Ao’nung crosses his arms. “I saw you two holding hands on the ilus. You seemed so... infatuated by him.” You slowly nod, not knowing how to respond.
“To clarify, this isn’t me trying to tell you how you should move forward. All I’m saying is there are other, better guys that you can choose. Guys like-” Ao’nung stops himself. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Ao’nung,” You grabbed his hands, looking up at him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” You ask, not being able to shake the feeling that your best friend is hiding something from you.
“No, it’s nothing, I promise everything’s fine,” He looks up at the sky in its darkened state due to the eclipse fully setting in. “Come on, the last thing I want is for you to get in trouble because I kept you out too late.” Ao’nung gives you a small smile, his hand on your back as you both walk to your family’s marui.
Ao’nung greets your parents respectfully, apologizing for not returning you sooner. After a short and polite conversation, he departs.
The rest of the night is relatively quiet. You tell your parents about the events of the day, eat dinner, then get ready to sleep. However, your mind can’t seem to quiet down. What was Ao’nung trying to tell you? What were these new feelings you felt for Neteyam, who you’ve only known for a day? Was Ao’nung... jealous? The last thought makes you bite your lip.
Across the village, Ao’nung was having the same problem as he tried to sleep. He was afraid of telling you about his true feelings. Close contact with you made his heartbeat quicken and thoughts muddle. He had become skilled at suppressing these reactions, fearing that you’d notice.
However, Ao’nung had become tired. Tired of hiding his feelings for you. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take you being completely oblivious to the love he had towards you.
࿐ ࿐ ࿐
Additional Notes: I hope you enjoyed reading! I would love to continue this fic and hopefully it doesn’t have too many flaws. I had so much fun writing it and I got a bit carried away with jealous insecure Ao’nung.
#avatar the way of water#james cameron's avatar#neteyam x reader#ao'nung x reader#aonung x reader#loak x reader#lo'ak x reader#jake sully x reader#avatar 2#neteyam#ao'nung#aonung#avatar twow#atwow#avatar x reader
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𓅨 Eros: Chapter Five
Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…
Warnings: Flashback of Oneiros lurking as Reader sleeps, Explicit Language, Explicit Material.
To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.
Word Count: ~2.9k
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Oneiros lies beside you, his body still humming with the lingering sensations of your passionate encounter. The soft glow of the room casts gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes as he gazes at you. He is lost in thought, tracing patterns on your bare skin with his fingers, his touch tender yet insistent, admiring the marks already forming upon your beautiful flesh.
“Tell me about yourself, αστέρι μου,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody that wraps around you like a warm embrace. The endearment, meaning "my star," rolls off his tongue with a reverence that makes your heart flutter.
You shift slightly, your mind racing with thoughts and memories you aren’t ready to share, that you can’t share. You turn your head to meet his gaze, offering a soft smile instead of an answer. “There’s not much to tell,” you reply, attempting to brush off his inquiry.
Oneiros' eyes darken with a mix of frustration and determination. “There is always more to tell,” he insists gently. “You are a mystery to me, and I wish to unravel you.” His fingers brush against your lower lip, knowing you taste divine, a forbidden fruit ripe to be devoured.
As his touch lingers on your lips, a shiver runs down your spine, igniting a fire within you that you thought had been extinguished by your prior fervent carnal passions. His words stir something deep inside, a yearning for connection that both thrills and terrifies you. You know the dangers of revealing your true self, of who you would come to be to him, yet the longing in his eyes beckons you to let down your walls. Oh how you want to tell him everything.
“I am but a simple wife, waiting to go home.” That is as close to the truth as you can get.
But Oneiros isn't satisfied with the surface-level explanation. His eyes search yours, piercing through your defenses until you feel laid bare before him. You technically already are. He can sense the inner turmoil, unspoken secrets that weigh heavy on your heart.
"You carry a burden in your soul," he whispers, his voice a velvet caress in the dimly lit room. "I can see it in the way you hold yourself, in the shadows that flicker behind your eyes." His hand moves from your lips to cup your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that has escaped your control.
“I am not here to relieve my burdens, my lord,” you tell him before slipping out from his hold and sitting on the edge of the bed. You stand and take a step forward, not knowing what to do. You are naked, without clothes, and have a complete mess between your legs.
Oneiros watches as you distance yourself, a mixture of understanding and frustration clouding his gaze. He knows there is a darkness that clings to you, a weight that seems to crush the light out of your very being. But he also sees the flicker of strength in your eyes, a determination that refuses to be snuffed out.
Silence settles between you, heavy with unspoken words and unshed tears. The air in the room feels charged, as if the very essence of the night holds its breath in anticipation of what will come next. Oneiros rises from the bed, his movements fluid and graceful as he approaches where you stand. His hands reach for yours as he steps up to your back. You tense as you feel his presence behind you, his warmth seeping into your skin even before his fingers graze yours. His touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as if he fears you might shatter beneath his fingertips. But there is a determination in his actions, a silent promise that he won't let you fall apart. Oneiros intertwines his fingers with yours, his touch a lifeline in the darkness that threatens to consume you.
“Indulge with me then,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear as the deep and silken tone of his voice makes you shiver. “Be mine, if only for the duration of Panathenaia.”
Rather than respond, you turn in place and stretch up on your toes as you bring his lips back to yours.
Oneiros stands silently in the corner of your dimly lit chamber, hidden in the shadows of the late night. The flickering light from an oil lamp casts seductive, dancing shadows across the room, teasingly illuminating your bare skin as you sleep peacefully. Outside, the distant sounds of the Panathenaia festival echo through the streets of Athens, a celebration of pleasure and indulgence. And here in this room, Oneiros can feel his own desires stirring as he gazes upon your alluring figure.
The satin sheets draped over your body glimmer under the light, revealing tantalizing glimpses of your curves and contours. Your hair cascades over the pillow like a river, framing your face in an ethereal glow. The scent of blooming jasmine fills the room from the courtyard outside, mingling with the heady aroma of incense burning in the corner. The gentle hum of nocturnal creatures provides a seductive backdrop for Oneiros' fantasies.
Each night, he is irresistibly drawn to you, unable to resist the magnetic pull you have over him. It seems as though you are intentionally avoiding him, but that only makes him want you more. As he stands there entranced by your beauty, a primal urge consumes him—a desire that is both carnal and cerebral.
He hungers for you, his gaze devouring every inch of your body beneath the sheer chiton. He longs to touch you, to claim you as his own. But he holds back, knowing that such an action would only deepen the mystery that surrounds you.
In your dreams, he finds even more enticing secrets—stories and places that hint at a future he can't fully grasp. Each night he spends watching over you only intensifies his longing for you, his need to consume every inch of you—body and soul. You are his puzzle to solve, a mysterious enigma that drives him wild with desire.
The soft breeze from the open window carries the faint scent of saltwater and distant laughter, a reminder of the festivities happening outside. But here in this room, Oneiros is consumed only by his insatiable longing for you. The slightest movement from your sleeping form causes his inner being to stir, imagining all the ways he could make you moan and writhe beneath him. And as the night wears on, the moon hanging low in the sky, Oneiros remains steadfast in his watch over you—ever lost in his dreams and desires for you.
You are in dire need of a bath, certainly after Oneiros had his way with you and left you a mess between your legs. Not that you are complaining, but you do care that a servant might see you in such a state. The mortification you’d feel! So you extricate yourself from Oneiros’ embrace and saunter towards the private baths in his grand quarters. You only have to look over your shoulder once, your eyes meeting predatory silver ones, to silently convince the Endless to follow suit.
The private baths are a luxurious escape from the bedroom, which has long since been perfumed by the smell of your activities. With a lavish marble basin filled with steaming water and fragrant oils, you let out a relaxed sigh. You choose a few of your favorite scented oils and watch them swirl into the water. Finally, you slowly step into the tub, the hot water enveloping your body and washing away the remnants of your passion. You lean back against the side of the tub, ignoring the lurking Endless.
It isn't long before Oneiros decides to join you in the bath, his dark eyes burning with desire and longing. He steps down into the water, carefully at first, as if not to disturb the bubbles that have formed atop the warm, scented water. His silver eyes meet yours over your shoulder, reflecting the faint light from the bathing chamber's candles, and you can see the heat of his desire in their depths.
In the dim light, he approaches you slowly, his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he kneels before you. His hands reach for your body, and with mere finger widths separating you, you can feel the intensity of his lust. His touch makes your skin tingle, as if he were stirring the very essence of your being. He traces his fingers along your wet shoulder, down your arm, and finally makes a loop around your wrist, gently pulling you closer.
You can't deny the intense gravity of his desire, and your own passion surges within you like a raging storm. As he brings your lips to his, you feel not just the heat of his kiss, but the primal energy emanating from his being. His tongue dances with yours, a desperate exploration of intimacy that leaves you breathless with need.
The moment your tongues intertwine in an erotic dance, you press your body closer and closer until the water around you begins to churn. Beads of water form on your flesh, and your skin seems to come alive with a shimmering, ethereal glow. Breaking the kiss, Oneiros weaves a hand into your hair and pulls your head back, his lips finding the droplets of water snaking across your flesh. He captures each droplet within his mouth, tongue running along your skin in search of more as he feasts on the nectar it holds. The sensation of his wet, warm lips and tongue savoring the remnants of the water sends shivers down your spine, making you crave more of his teases.
With your head still tilted back, he begins a slow, tender kiss along the line of your jaw, enjoying the sensation of your skin against his lips. His hands explore your curves, gently gliding from your hips to the sensitive skin at the small of your back. You sigh softly, arching your back to allow his hands full access to your body.
Oneiros' hands continue their exploration, sliding over the curves of your breasts, gently brushing over your nipples that harden under his touch. The intensity of his desire is palpable as he cups your breasts in his hands, kneading them gently while his lips trace a path from your neck down to your collarbone.
You can't help but gasp softly as his mouth moves lower, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as Oneiros' tongue flicks against your sensitive nipple. The sensation is electrifying and your breath catches as he suckles on it, teasing it with his teeth in a way that heightens the pleasure to a new level.
“You better not start anything you cannot finish in the bath,” you tell him, feeling almost breathless.
Oneiros chuckles softly, his lips still dancing along the curve of your breast. "I make no promises," he replies, his voice low and seductive. "But I can assure you, I intend to pleasure you in ways you have never experienced before."
Leaning down, he continues to lavish attention on your nipples, carefully nipping and licking at them, sending waves of pleasure surging through your body. With a small gasp, your body is moved through the water until Oneiros is lounging on the seat of the bath and you stand with your back to him. You swallow thickly, your eyes staring straight ahead as devilish fingers caress your back in appreciation.
“You are true divinity,” he whispers. “Every touch, every kiss, is a gift I am honored to give and take.”
His hands move to your hips, gently pulling you backwards until you straddle him and your back is pressed against his chest. Your eyelids flutter and breaths quicken when you feel the hardness of his body pressed against your most intimate area.
Oneiros slides his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, holding one forearm beneath your breasts and the other so the palm of his hand lays just under your navel. His fingers begin to trace delicate patterns on your abdomen. Sweet torture. The water ripples around them as he draws, his every touch driving you to the point of madness.
"Oneiros," you gasp, arching your back and jerking a hand to cover the one on your stomach.
“Do you know how much I want you?" his voice is a husky rumble against your neck and you can feel the subtle scrape of teeth. "How much I crave your touch, your taste, your very essence?"
Oh, you have an idea, but you are also a glutton for punishment. Certainly with this side of your husband you have never experienced before.
"Then prove it," you whisper, leaning back into him. Oneiros lets out a low growl, his grip on you tightening slightly. His lips brush against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
"With pleasure," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with promise.
With a gentle swivel of his hips, you feel his cock pressing against you, stiff and throbbing. Your eyelashes flutter only once before your body is dragged down against his erect cock as Oneiros pushes his hips up. A strained and ragged gasp emerges from your lips at the sensation of his cock sinking into your body.
His breath is hot against your neck, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he moves in and out, each motion a calculated move choreographed by desire. You arch your back and meet his every thrust with an eagerness that leaves you breathless.
"More," you beg, wanting him to be deeper, harder, faster. Oneiros obliges, but not in the way you wish. His thrusts become deeper, more punishing even, and that has your free hand latching onto his thigh in a death grip. His mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck and the Endless bites with the intention of marking you as his.
With teeth sinking into your flesh, an electric current runs through your body and mingles with the fierce pleasure of his relentless thrusts. You cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure, your heart pounding in sync with his rough rhythm. Oneiros' lips meet the wound he has just created, soothing it with his gentle kisses. In that moment, he withdraws and you gasp for air, your entire body electrified from the force of his claim. Your head drops against his shoulder and you whisper, "I'm yours, Oneiros. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours."
As the echo of your whispered affirmations hangs in the air, Oneiros slows his pace, finally pulling out completely. He gently lifts you off of him and aligns you in front of him, nudging you down so that you are facing him when your legs straddle him. Your legs still tremble and your breaths are still heavy with the aftermath of passion, but your eyes meet his, filled with hunger and desire. He looks so hungry. Oneiros guides your hips, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He pulls you flush against his chest.
“You asked, beloved,” he purrs and his hands find your waist once more. You can't help but feel the same fierce need that had generated your initial plea. You give him your own desirous gaze, your desire mirroring the intensity in his eyes.
"More," your word speaks in clear demand and the predatory smirk upon his lips grows. He thrusts himself back into you, his unrelenting need and hunger for you consuming him. You’d extinguish his pain, you’d soothe his hurt. His nails dig into your hips as he pushes deeper, driving himself into you with a fervor that leaves you breathless.
Your fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulders, urging him to take you with more force, to claim every inch of your body. The sound of your strained and ethereal moans reverberates off the tiled walls of the bath, a testament to the intensity of your pleasure. Oneiros' hips continue their relentless thrusting, his intense gaze never leaving your half-lidded eyes. Your expression is beyond celestial, as if you are in a state of euphoria from his touch.
Oneiros watches as love and desire consume your entire being. He knows he will never get enough of you.
Your moans turn into a primal cry, your ecstasy imminent. With a final force, Oneiros thrusts into you, pushing you higher until you are soaring together. A cry departs your lips and your ecstasy mirrors his. For a brief moment, the world disappears, leaving only the two of you in the purgatory of your passion. You collapse against his chest, arms barely hanging limp over his shoulders as your legs tremble in numbness. While you catch your breath, he gazes at you, his expression softening. In this intimate moment, the passion between you feels overwhelming. His fingers gently caress your cheek, tracing its delicate contours as if to memorize every line. No doubt he will. They dig into your hair, stroking the strands and caressing your scalp.
You let out a sigh and drop your cheek to his shoulder.
"Would you help me wash up, my lord? I seem to have lost control of my legs."
You almost hate how smug he looks upon doing so.
Date Published: 5/29/24
Last Edit: 5/29/24
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#the sandman#the sandman netflix#morpheus x reader#sandman x reader#dream the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream the endless x reader#lord morpheus#dream of the endless#morpheus
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Enemies to lovers with König and witty reader? I don't know if you also write about him so imma leave this here
Answering two anons at the same time lmao
Say my name (König x witty! Reader)
Pt.2 now!
🐥 The first time König appeared on my drafts was when I was making my last Reyes x Reader fic and um... I kind of wanted to keep doing lmao so here it is. Sorry for my broken English-
Angst/ SOCIAL ANXIETY/ slight nsfw/ open ending (if you guys want a part two and this short gets some attention)
⚠️ I still picture König as Lee Pace ⚠️
.
They say you transfered from SpecGru to KorTac because you simply wanted a change of airs. But it couldn't be that simple. Why were you so simple?
As antisocial as he seemed to be, König was well aware that a bond between teammates was needed in order to sync and function properly during missions. He wasn't the best at striking up conversations and never intended to improve on this aspect either, often trying to figure people out from the distance, he only approached them if he had questions about their character. Horangi once said it was weird but König frankly didn't care about what was socially accepted or not, he just made the effort to know his team because it was expected of him, and as great as it would be to have friends, he struggled socializing and had given up trying ages ago. König was paid to kill, not to make friends. And as far as his interactions went with his teammates, the only one who gets his game and could be considered his friend is Horangi. But you?
He had tried to investigate you, even going as far as using his position as colonel to gather as much information from your background to understand you without having to make any awkward approach. But nothing he found explained why you changed factions or why you behaved the way you did. You had a normal childhood, went to a good school, graduated being top of your class... Jesus you had a rabbit called Mr. Whiskers, even the deepest info given was borely normal. No trace of trauma or any mental disorder.
König begun studying you like a biologist would to a newfound species and got more and more invested and frustrated the more information he gathered, because he simply couldn't excuse your... Well, your everything.
He approaches you one time during morning drills, looks you up and down as you stretched, ignores the flirty comment you shot his way, because what the fuck is your problem? You don't know him. Then König proceeded to mouth the first thing he ever said to you, one of the main questions he had on his head as to why you would behave so strangely. And it goes like this: "Do you have any mental illness, hm?"
"I might have, yeah."
And you said it so casually. Do you, though? Are you being sarcastic or... God he hates you. Why can't he figure you out!? Why do you smile at him so much? Why do you flirt so much with him? Do you flirt with the others the way you do with him?
That new question made him observe your body language around others and listen carefully to any interaction you had and found nothing but your enchanting witty self. Of course you teased other members, but never so bluntly like the way you flirt with him. The colonel felt weirdly relieved at this. Maybe he liked the attention given? Scratch that, or course not!
One time after a tiring mission in Barcelona, Spain, König approached you with a bottle of water, you thanked him with a wink and he watched you swallow the whole thing before he proceeded to ask you the second question that plagued his mind: "Do you perhaps hide some secret trauma that permanently changed your behaviour, using sarcasm, smirks and jokes to protect your scared inner child in order to not get hurt again?"
"Hmmm... The day I found out my mother was Santa Claus I went bananas, but I wouldn't say it scarred me for life. Do ya want an M&M, colonel?"
He fucking hates you. He hates you. König aggressively snatched a handful of M&M's and stormed away. That night he swore he could hear your laugh echoing inside his head. Why couldn't you leave his fucking mind? What was it with you? Were you doing it on purpose?
_____
You were definitely doing it on purpose.
You have to be patient with König. But he was so hilarious and scary, it thrilled you to watch the two meter tall behemoth of a man walk near you and sneak watchful, calculated glances your way when he thought you weren't looking. If someone dared to ask, you'd easily answer with the honesty everyone knew you posses: You'd fuck König without a thought.
He's so feral in battle, so demanding and intimidating on the comms. His ridiculous voice made him all the more adorable contrasting with his appearance. Oh fuck that. Even his appearance was ridiculous, he looked like the red guy from that creepy show called "Don't hug me, I'm scared" or one of those executioners from the Shrek movie. But he was HOT, with that slutty waist accentuated by his bulky back, those long slender arms that could lift anything on his way, you saw him lift a fucking car a few inches so an injured woman could scape, and as she cried of relief you could feel your pussy crying as well at the sight. And oh his hands... The way he used them, so elegantly but rough, they'd make a beautiful necklace. His voice, as unfitting as it sounded coming from this KorTac monster, made you itch to hear more, his accent was so attractive that it quickly made you addicted to sound of it and your brain pondered on how he'd sound while doing other things. Lucky you, when the stars aligned and you two coincided in the gym you made sure to be close enough to hear the quiet grunts and sighs from the colonel as he trained, to your surprise he never moved away as if he knew what you were doing and thought nothing much of it. Safe to say, you'd gladly eat whatever interaction König graced you with with a speck of salt.
Though, when you begun paying attention to the details (because it was hard to guess his thoughts without seeing his face) You noticed a few things about the colonel that indicated he had a severe case of social anxiety. The way he self isolated, how he forced himself to interact with people resulting in very awkward conversations that led to him coming up as rude to what he got frustrated and scaped the scene, how he loved his job because you were convinced that he thought he was only good at killing. That made you wonder if he had other hobbies... It's funny to imagine a tall, muscly guy like him baking or making origamis.
______
Today you saw the ultimate signal that your big crush wasn't a people's person.
You two were on a meeting with some other KorTac members. König was peeling an apple and had finished it rather quickly as all of you spoke, but he spent ten minutes with the remnants of the fruit slowly browning and drying on his hand, so you decided to test your theory by walking to the near trash can to throw a random paper you crumbled quickly, after a few seconds König abruptly stood up to throw the dried fruit remnant, the tall Austrian glanced your way before he sat again and kept to himself. Okay, so judging by this and how stiff he looks, König doesn't know exactly what to do with his body around people, he needed an excuse to stand up and throw the finished apple so he waited for anyone to use the trash can to go after, BUT he waited a few seconds to stand so he wouldn't look like he was waiting. Must be stressful to be on his shoes. Interesting, but maybe you were overthinking too much, so you decided to do a final test that would definitely tell you if what you thought was right. You didn't want to come to this unless it was really necessary... You'll probably have to apologize later.
You directed all the attention to König by asking a number of things, (obviously work related) that caught the attention of everyone in the room taking the poor colonel by surprise, his cristal blue eyes widened for a minute before he composed himself answering everything you asked with a professional tone until you spotted the tremble on his hands, poor König noticed your attention drift to his hands so he slid them under the table. That's how you knew it. He couldn't handle being the center of attention for prolonged amounts of time. Your poor baby...
You gave him a sympathetic look that again took him by surprise, but by that time König had called the meeting over, gathered his things and walked out before you could approach him.
Damn you and your stupid beautiful voice and worried eyes trying to comfort him discreetly.
Gloved hands fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist. König remembers the little girl who gifted him said thing. The day him and his team rescued her and some other orphans from a building about to explode, the worried colonel spent a few minutes comforting the little girl until she pulled the orange bracelet from her small SpongeBob backpack, he chuckled at the gesture and had never taken it off since. They even shared some letters from time to time, he held a piece of little Astrid in the form of a cute bracelet and she held a piece of him in the form of sweet spoken letters.
König saw her kind eyes in yours and it squeezed his heart so much he felt suffocated. Why would a teasing little vixen like you have such kind, gorgeous eyes? It was weirdly comforting that someone would look at him so softly like he wasn't a monster for once after so long.
His heart begun beating faster, his head was so full of questions about you it infuriated him. Long legs carried the colonel to the gym absentmindedly, like his body craved to ease some tension, but at the last minute he turned to the left corridor further from the gym, went to the right and finally approached the shooting range's door.
"Scheibe..." König cursed lowly, he could have very well bursted the door out of it's hinges, his gloved hand (still a bit shaky) took his favorite riffle from the top right corner of the shelf while he shot a backward kick to push the metallic door closed. He spent fourteen minutes shooting targets while mauling at your last interaction, rage swirled his insides and yet he couldn't fully hate you for asking questions, after all it was work-related, and the last soft gaze you gave him spoke volumes that you didn't want to advert all the attention to him out of malice. König was reloading his sniper rifle when he heard a gentle thud indicating someone had entered the room.
"You'd make an amazing sniper." You spoke softly trying not to startle him.
"You come to mock me? Laugh all you like. I'm well aware I'm too huge to be a sniper." He spoke in resentment over his shoulder before redirecting his focused gaze to the target ahead.
"I always say size doesn't matter! As long as you know how to handle your weapon, you'll make any girl blush."
Your dark humour takes König by surprise and he misses the dummy's head, he tries to hold back the chuckle that threatened to spill from his hidden lips. Luckily the shirt he wore as a mask shielded his face enough to make it look like he was holding in a cough or a sneeze but you weren't stupid. When he turns to face you placing the riffle to the near table he gets startled by how close you are, the smirk accompanying your lips as you weaseled close to his very sacred personal space made him curse lowly in his mother's tongue. The tall Austrian stepped back and you rose your hands in mocking defeat.
"Alright, I get it, personal space. Jus' wanted to hear ya laugh..."
"I didn't." He hisses.
"Didn't ya? I thought I heard it, must have been the wind."
Your sarcasm often infuriated König who never seemed to get a good grip on his English, so it was hard for him to detect when you were being serious or just pulling his leg. His hands flex on his sides, tiny waist move side to side as he balances his weight before he crosses his arms and leans his back to the wall. König raises a brow when your smirk morphed into a sincere apologetic smile as you admired his stance six feet apart from him.
"I'm sorry for what happened back there." You said honestly, he sucked in a breath. "Didn't want t' put ya on the spot."
The Colonel's cerulean eyes widen in surprise before directing his gaze to your tank top blinking rapidly. It was easier to listen if he wasn't looking directly at your eyes. "König..." Your voice was honey making shivers run up his spine and his skin erupt in goosebumps, his hands trembled even when he fisted them on his crossed stance. "Why don't we start again? Call me paranoid, but I feel like there's tension between us and not the type I'd like."
König wasn't shy, he wasn't, but that last line of yours made him feel like it, and it wasn't an ugly feeling? But it was a little uncomfortable, foreign, it squeezed his heart in a suffocating way, his hands were clammy, he felt weirdly light like if it wasn't for his tapping foot on the floor he'd float away. König understood what you were saying and it comforted him that you were on the same page, the weird unsteadiness between the two of you becoming rather unbearable and a constant topic on both your minds, it was relieving that you thought the same way. Suddenly the ugly anger he had for you quieted down.
The colonel lifted his hand your way offering you a handshake you took with mirth.
"I'm colonel König. Y-you are...?"
"Goddamn. Ain't your parents bit' egotistical? Namin' their baby boy 'king' in their native language." You say with a snicker shaking his hand. He takes it back abruptly but you don't flinch. "I'm Sargeant (c/n). My name is (y/n) (l/n). Is König the name written on your birth certificate or were you called somethin' else?" You press.
König is taken aback by this. When was the last time someone had asked the colonel his name?
"I am..." It tasted foreign on his tongue, like he had forgotten the sound of it, the taste of his own name on his tongue. "My name is Andreas Dobler. That's... That's my name." His name wasn't König, he remembers the man he left behind all those years back, the man under the dark cloak. Before things went to shit, before becoming colonel König.
"Andreas. What a curious name, never heard of it-"
"Say my name again." König interrupts. His voice weak but demanding and desperate. He loved it. He loved the sound of his name on your lips. It was strange, sweet... Arousing, even.
You blinked angling your head up to take a better look at his half-lid eyes. This time König didn't look away, your eyes met and suddenly the ugly tension from before was morphing into another type of tension, your heart beats faster in sync with his. You didn't know you were getting closer until König placed a hand on your waist and then the other, not pushing, not pulling, he simply laid them there and it came so naturally, your playful smile wavered slightly as your hands landed on his shoulders, he shivers. You tilted your head to the side and he was so lost in you, your aroma, your eyes, your lips, your touch, he didn't realize he was returning the head tilt.
Your lips parted, pink tongue darting to hydrate your dry lips until your pearls were visible from the gap, and his eyes catch every movement your mouth makes when you whisper "Andreas."
"Again."
"Andreas-"
"Again..."
"...Andreas..." Your hands slowly move to his chest, his breath hitches. His name has never sounded so sensual whispered by anyone's mouth. You were... You...
"You..." He isn't sure what to say. You are not sure either, suddenly your wit has abandoned you it seems. "You intrigue me." He decides to huff out, accent heavily pronounced.
There's a thousand thoughts swirling on König's mind, he has shared his name but it suddenly didn't feel enough, he wanted to show you who he was, his past, his thoughts, his hopes and dreams, even his face. How can a simple woman like you make König feel so much? Because you were no simple woman. That's why when he felt your small hands slide up his chest to the hem of the shirt that composed his mask, König didn't tense up, in fact, his shoulders relaxed embracing the touch of your fingers gently feeling his neck under the cloth, his stubble, his chin, his high cheeks... Gloved hands grab your wrists.
You stop, still looking up at him noticing the heaving of his chest and how lost in awe his gaze seemed.
"Not yet?"
"I-i... Do not..." Mind. He didn't want to refuse your touch but at the same time it was so overwhelming.
You give a small nod, König lets go of your wrists and you take this opportunity to nuzzle his cheeks, he gasps landing his hands on your waist once more, squeezing the flesh over your tank top. The feeling of your fingers on his face was so foreign it felt like you were touching a piece of his soul.
"Don't you worry, darling..." König lets out a small whimper at this. "I'm rushing things ain' I? We were just getting on the first name basis and I had to screw it all..." You wanted to sound apologetic, you promise, but it was so hard when your colonel was practically purring at the feeling of your soft hands scratching his stubble.
König was putty on your hands, he has never felt this way. His cheeks burn in embarrassment, he tries to move back but remembers he's already against the wall, and you, a small thing like you have him cornered like a honey badger hunting a lion. His lip wobbles and he tilts his head to the side as he feels your hands massage and explore his neck and jaw in long, gentle motions.
"Shy lil' thing... Aren't you pretty hiding under there? Maybe you are too beautiful to allow anyone the pleasure of a simple look. Like a sweet Ferrero Roche firmly wrapped and ready to be eaten." You whisper, voice raspy before you chuckle when his Adam's apple bobs with a swallow. Your body is now pressed compleatly against his, your dear colonel's hands tremble on your sides as he fists your tank top. He's nervous, he's shy, but you know he is enjoying this judging by the way his teary, half-lid eyes blink slowly every time you feel a new inch of skin.
"...Sag bitte mehr, ich flehe dich an..." (Say more please, I beg you.) König moans out, his german accent so strong masking how weak he was feeling at the moment.
He loved your voice, your touch... Your everything. The colonel ran his fingers on your lower back encouraging to continue, meanwhile he very slowly tilted his head higher allowing you more space on his neck to massage and scratch. You chuckle darkly feeling his member poking at your belly, your body instantly pressing harder against his cornered torso.
"You like the sound of my voice, colonel?" You humm, he makes a small noise. "Andreas...?"
His shoulders shake with the force of his shiver, nails digging deliciously on your lower back, you chuckle delighted at the sight tilting his chin to the other side to feel his nape, his ear and some locks of hair. "ich begehre dich..." The Austrian groans, his member now fully erect twitched delighted by the delicious pressure of your torso against it and your soft ministrations to his neck.
Both your radios churr alive until a voice breaks the static, a random operator checking on the comms. König almost knocks you over with how fast he straightened his back and the way his strong grip held you back, his chest heaving fast, eyes wide and vulnerable. You take the opportunity to grab him by the hem of the shirt he uses as a mask.
"Wait-..."
König freezes when he feels cold air hit the heated skin from his neck. You had lifted a portion of the cloth revealing the part you were previously massaging, caressing and scratching. His head moves up to the side trying to hide from your touch, his hands shoot backwards planting on the wall as if a force had taken them from the previous grip he had on you.
"I hope you can forgive me colonel... Can't help it..."
There's a long gash on his neck, a very old scar that seemed to be product of a knife fight or even a bullet, it's crocked and it goes up probably to his right ear. You lean close on tiptoes because he couldn't crouch due to how shocked he still felt, and you planted your wet lips on the surface of the sensitive scar. König's throat rumbles with a groan, his powerful hands finally make the move to take you, to cage your body impossible closer to his. A hard roll of his hips make him gasp in relief and you loudly huff when he handles you to where he was previously caged, his hands soon making small effort to lift you up, both legs wrapped around his waist and he THRUSTS. You are still kissing, licking and nibbling his neck, your hands exploring the long bulky surface of his back, König moans delighted at one particular bite until-
"Shit."
König turned his head back so fast you are sure his neck is rotatory, two pairs of eyes look in shock at Horangi who is standing there holding the rifle König had previously left before all of this happened. Your colonel was frozen in embarrassment his shaking hands still held you up and his boner was no longer stabbing you, the thing died at the speed of light.
"Jesus Christ. You gonna keep staring or you wanna join us, tiger?"
König snaps his head back at you comically fast, icy eyes glare in surprise, horror and astonishment.
"As fun as that sounds I'll leave you two to your games... 'sides, I don't think you'll be able to handle König alone, imagine the two of us. We'd ruin you." The Korean's response made you laugh enchanted with his wit, he walked out the door in quick strides leaving you two alone once more.
König huffs glaring at the wall behind you. The sudden unwelcome presence of his friend seemed to had robbed the magic from the moment. Your Colonel's body shagged slowly lowering your body, and the moment your heels touched the ground his head leaned down falling to the crock of your neck, the feeling of the warm cloth of his mask made you humm. He kissed your clavicle over his mask and you ran your hands to his shoulders until König slowly retrieved.
He took two steps back, with a very noticeable defeated look.
"Hey. We can keep going whenever yer up to. Don't look at me like that, sweet thing." Your voice carried a playfulness that comforted him from the sudden feeling of defeat.
König couldn't meet your eyes, his voice was shaky "I'm just not like this-..."
"Andreas-"
"DON'T -...!" He barked, startling you both.
It was too much, too sudden, too weird, too suffocating. He liked it at first but... König couldn't put into words what he was feeling right now. He hated that the moment was cut short, he hated that he felt like it was his fault and he hated the way you are looking at him with so much concern like when you two were at the meeting.
"Verzeihen Sie mir." He muttered giving you a final short glance before he rushed out of the place leaving the door open and your startled self still leaning on the wall.
You recognized those words even if you didn't know much of German.
"Forgive me." You translated in a whisper.
Will you?
#call of duty modern warfare#cod#witty reader#konig x reader#konig cod#konig mw2#konig call of duty#konig x reader angst
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