#the lighting is weird here i got lazy~
Note
imagine taking care of riki while he’s sick and he can’t resist the urge to give you kissies all over bc he’s so inluv with you :(
[Vitamin C]uddles —⊹ N.RK (西村力) 🛏️
Pairing… ⊹ ࣪ ˖ sick boyfriend!niki x gf!reader
Warnings… ⊹ ࣪ ˖ kissing, lots of teasing, fluff
Words… ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 521 -> “I’ll take care of you. Duh.”
Despite his usually intimidating appearance, Niki was a huge baby on the inside, and those attributes were only amplified whenever he wasn’t feeling well.
The poor boy had been sick ever since he got back from traveling, so you took it upon yourself to care for him until he got better.
“Hey, this needs more soy sauce… I can hardly taste it,” Niki whined, taking a dissatisfied sip from the chicken soup you ordered.
“Niki, there’s already so much in here that the broth turned brown. Now eat up before it gets cold,” you said, placing a napkin on the table tray beside him.
“I will, but only if you stay with me this time.”
You turned your head at his words, “Aww, d’you miss me?”
“No, I’ve been in bed all day and I’m just bored.”
“Riigght,” you said, spoon feeding him a glob of the grape flavored medicine.
He made a weird face, trying to get over the bitter taste of the cough syrup, “My God, that tastes like poison!”
You giggled at your boyfriends words, climbing in bed next to him with a large plate of assorted sushi rolls, “Try some with wasabi, too! It might help unclog your sinuses.”
Using the chopsticks, you dipped a sushi roll into the chunky green paste, bringing it to his mouth with an airplane motion.
You must’ve put too much, because his eyes immediately started watering as he ate it.
“Do you have any other talents aside from torturing me everyday?” He asked, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Yup,” you said plainly, escaping his side, “I’m pretty good at leaving sick people to fend for themselves.”
He watched as you walked toward the door, “Byeeee… wait! NOO!! I miss you already!”
“But you just said bye?”
“I didn’t mean it, baby. Come back please!! You forgot to give me vitamin C.”
“Vitamin what?” You asked, turning to face him with your arms crossed.
“Vitamin C… for cuddles,” he clarified, pouting.
“Fine,” you said sharply, “but only if you promise not to say anything else stupid… or mean.”
“Ok, ok, just stop stalling and get over here already!”
You walked back to the bed, lying next to Niki under the covers as he put the sushi platter on the bedside table.
“Wahhh, you’re so warm,” you giggled, your silly boyfriend swinging his leg over your body.
“Okay, now what are you doing?”
“Making a cage for you, my naughty little kitten,” he smiled, poking your nose.
“But I don’t like cages,” you sulked.
“Well then pretend it’s a seatbelt instead,” he chirped.
“Fine…”
“Double FINE! Can I get a kiss now?”
“What? No, what if you get me sick?”
“Then I’ll take care of you. Duh… and before you ask, yes, I promise,” he chuckled, resting his hand on your neck before cradling your face in his hand, leaving feather light kisses all over your face.
“Thank you for not rejecting my heebie-jeebies,” he said in between pecking your cheeks.
“Well when you put it like that, it kinda makes me want to,” you teased, squirming in his warm embrace.
More like this: Kisses with Riki in the dressing room
౨ৎ Thank you for reading this quick little fic, and special thanks to the lovely anon who requested this piece!
౨ৎ Feel free to check out more cute and fun reads like this at the pinned post on my blog :3
౨ৎ Tags: kinda got lazy here but bear with me ~ @squoxle @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @nikisdubblchococake
update 12/03: Thank you all so much for 1,000 likes!!
#enhypen#enhypen niki#enha x reader#ni ki enhypen#nishimura riki#enha niki#niki soft hours#enhypen niki imagines#niki enhypen#niki fluff#niki scenarios#niki x reader#niki imagines#niki x you#nishimura niki#ni ki#ni ki fluff#ni ki imagines#ni ki scenarios#enhypen riki#riki imagines#riki x reader#riki nishimura#riki nishimura x reader#nishimura riki x reader#riki fluff#enha riki#ni ki x reader#enhypen headcanons#niki ff
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secret life has got so much going on and i need to keep track
there’s a lot of stuff. like there’s already so much what
this fucking symbol ‼️‼️
i can’t be the only one who thinks that this is like the watcher symbol, right?
and why does it glow when you fail a red task??
JIMMY RECOGNIZING THE SYMBOL
bigb’s task? WHY IS IT RED??
this is bigb's
and this is what everyone else's looked like
and the task bigb got is so weird??
it’s multiple lines, the sentences are split up weirdly, it’s super vague, and what’s up with the last sentence???
for comparison, this is grian’s; it’s simple, one line, and not vague at all
and from what i’ve seen, that’s the case with everyone else’s as well
grian said that “he asked for this seed to have end availability”. three guesses as to what bigb’s task is for?
it would also make that last sentence make more sense. who wouldn’t want to base on top of the end portal?
plus, the bordered area is within the first circle of end strongholds; if you’re in front of and facing the statue, you’re looking north and are at roughly (-530 68 1580), give or take some because i was too lazy to properly measure the coords
adding on, did you know that 3 end strongholds spawn 1408–2688 blocks away from (0, 0)?
this means that most likely there is, in fact, an end stronghold here!
the whispering from the taskmaster
the darkening of the sky whenever you get close
and didn’t martyn once say that “the watchers wanted to snuff out all the light” or something along those lines?
the taskmaster looking like a hooded figure
grian editing his face onto said hooded figure lookalike
the suspicious similarities to the official watcher account skin
the taskmaster in general, actually, what the fuck is up with that
grian saying that they “needed to let evolution take its course”
grian saying that quote “there are more surprises in store” in the intro
in conclusion this smp is going to drive us all to insanity and i’m loving it, this is so fun
#sirin liveblogs#lorekeeping#secret life#secret life spoilers#secret life smp#secret life smp spoilers#bigbstatz#bigbst4tz2#slsmp#slsmp spoilers#life series#life series spoilers#traffic life smp spoilers#sirin speaks#grian#watcher grian#life series 5#life series 5 spoilers
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“Hello?”
“Fuck, I needed to hear your voice.”
The triple header had been hard. A lot harder than either of you anticipated. You would’ve thought that after spending the whole summer break together, three weeks apart would have been fine and doable—but it was proving to be otherwise.
It hadn’t even been two weeks since you last saw each other and Lando genuinely thought he was losing his mind. Maybe he was clingy. Maybe he had separation issues. Maybe he just really missed having his girlfriend by his side after being spoiled with such for four weeks straight.
He wasn’t sure which one it was, but he missed you in a way that made his chest feel tight and a little part of him ache whenever he remembered you weren’t waiting for him whenever he got out the car.
And even with you being back in the UK and him being around Europe, the time difference wasn’t enough for him to be completely isolated from talking to you. But it didn’t make him feel much better being away from you.
You snorted, biting back a yawn. “We spoke this morning.”
“No, you sent me a voice note this morning,” he corrected, settling back against the headboard like he could finally relax. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s in the rulebook,” he answered nonchalantly. “Can’t argue with the rulebook, baby.”
“I am not awake enough to decode your weird messages,” you mumbled, your words interrupted by the yawn you were desperately trying to hold back.
His brows furrowed together as he pulled his phone back to look at the time. “Were you asleep? Baby, it’s only five.”
“It was a nap,” you defended.
“You won’t sleep properly tonight,” he retorted, a little light-hearted and teasing because if anyone was more likely to sleep anywhere at any time regardless of the circumstances, it was you.
“I already can’t sleep without you here,” you confessed in a muttered response, and the tightness in his chest returned.
He could imagine it so clearly. You would be buried under the duvet, laying on his side of the bed like you usually did when he was gone. Your face would be nuzzled into his pillow, basking in the lingering scent of him. The house would be too hot and you were probably prancing around in just a pair of panties and one of his hoodies, because wearing them comforted you like he was right there hugging you.
And he could just imagine slipping into the bed behind you, pressing up against you and enjoying the lazy kisses you would exchange because you were half awake but needy for his touch. Fuck, he missed how needy you were for him.
The pathetic whines you’d let out when his hands would explore your skin. The choked out gasp when his palm cupped your pussy, the heel of his hand pressed against your sensitive clit. The soft moan you would let out when he finally slid inside you, feeling the way you clenched around his cock. And the little high-pitched whimpers you would let out just before you—
“Lando?”
He blinked, his cheeks burning at just how quickly his mind ran south before he even realised. But you did that to him. You were nothing but a slippery slope for him and his dirty thoughts.
“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head a little as he focused on your voice on the other side of the phone. “What were you saying?”
“You seemed lost in thought,” you murmured, your voice a little lower and rougher, like the sleepiness was still clinging onto you. “What’s on your mind?”
You.
You were on his mind. The fact he knew the exact fucking state you were laying on his bed in, in his clothes. The fact your voice was a little husky as you spoke into his ear. The fact it had been almost two weeks since he had touched you and he was starting to lose his goddamn mind. And the fact he just couldn’t help himself anymore.
“Nothing,” he breathed out as his hand slid over the bulge forming in his sweatpants. “Just…stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” Fuck, it was like you knew what he was doing.
“It’s not that interesting,” he blurted out quickly, his head falling back against the headboard as he squeezed his length through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Tell me about your day.”
He just wanted to hear your voice. He needed to hear your voice. He just needed to pretend that you were sitting beside him, that you were actually there with him and your voice in his ear. Maybe he could even pretend his hand was yours, that it was you stroking and teasing him right now whilst you spoke.
“Baby,” you murmured before letting out a slightly breathless laugh. “Do you not think I know what you’re doing?”
He froze. “What?”
“You’re practically panting in my ear,” you said to him, and for a second Lando wondered if it freaked you out. If you were going to call him out on the fact it was a little perverted that he was teasing himself to the sound of your voice without telling you.
“Babe—” he started, his hand still moulded around his hardening cock, the outline now prominent and obvious.
“My poor baby just wishes I was there to make him feel good, huh?”
He swallowed harshly. “So fucking bad.”
“Yeah?” You hummed, and he could just imagine the mischievous smile on your face. “Like I did on the boat on holiday? You loved that. Maybe a bit too much.”
“Shit,” Lando hissed, his free hand pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down until they were pooled above his knees. His cock bounced free, hard and tip-swollen and so desperate for you. Always for you.
“I think about that day a lot,” you continued as you let out a wistful sigh. “I think about how pretty you looked when you were begging for me to touch you. You sounded so pretty, baby, it made me so wet.”
Lando let out a pathetic whimper, his eyes fluttering shut as his thumb teased the head of his cock, just like you had done that day on the boat. All of your shared friends on the other side of the boat and there you were, on your knees as you teased and taunted him until he blew a load all over your tits.
He imagined he was back there, sun beating down on him and his hands tangled in his own curls as he tried—and failed—to bite back his moans. The way you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, sucking and licking him until he was bucking up into you. The way you took him so well, letting him hit the back of your throat until he was a babbling mess underneath you.
Fuck, what he would give to have you with him now to recreate that day.
“I just wish we had enough time for more that day, baby,” you confessed in a breathy whisper. He imagined the duvet was pushed off your body, that you had pushed your panties to the side as you ran your fingers along your soaking cunt. “I wish we had enough time for you to fill me up, Lando, just wanted to feel you come inside me.”
“Oh fuck,” he whined as his tempo increared, dribbles of precum running down his cock as he listened to your breathy moans and filthy words through the phone.
“I wish I was there right now, let you fill me up all nice and good, baby,” you whimpered into the phone, your breathing a little heavier as you approached your release. “Fuck, I wanna feel you inside me, Lando. I need to feel you deep inside me.”
Lando let out a mixed sound of pain and pleasure as he came, his vision dotted with white spots as he felt the pleasure and ecstasy run through his body. He came in short spurts, his release now all over his thighs and stomach, and something in his chest tightened at the sight. If you were there, he could almost imagine the way you’d tease him before leaning down to clean up the mess with your tongue.
“I miss you,” he choked out, his chest heaving with the strength of his own orgasm as he tried to battle the immense desire he had to have you in his arms at that very moment. “I miss you so fucking much.”
“I miss you too, baby,” you murmured, your voice sounding as sleepy as it did earlier. “Just one and a half more weeks. Soon.”
“Soon,” he repeated with a sad smile on his face, unaware of the plane ticket in your possession that would get you in his arms in less than twenty-four hours.
.
#cece's smutober#lando norris#formula one#f1#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fic#lando norris one shot#lando norris smut#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one one shot#formula one smut#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot#f1 smut
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steve finds out reader hasn’t slow danced with a guy before… like maybe she never went to prom with a date and he makes it really sweet for her
when steve finds out you've never slow danced with anybody, he takes it as a challenge (fluff, established relationship, 0.8k)
Languishing on Steve Harrington’s couch, you rest your full weight against his shoulder like you’re trying to melt with him there. You vaguely hear him shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth while you stare unblinking at the black-and-white film playing ahead of you.
“Slow dancing is, like… really weird,” you observe in a quiet murmur, features all twisted in confusion.
“Whaddaya mean?” the boy beside you wonders through his mouthful.
“I don’t know,” you answer with a lazy shrug. “It’s just, like… swaying in place… really awkwardly.”
“It doesn’t have to be awkward.”
You wave your hand at the television across the room, where a couple of Old Hollywood actors dance like both of them’s caught the plague. “Look at that and tell me that’s not awkward!” you argue and turn your chin to look at him.
Your faces are much closer than you thought. The tip of your nose threatens to brush the chiseled bridge of his. The proximity leaves you wishing it had.
Steve scoffs with a boyish scrunch to his features. “Well, those two have, like, zero chemistry! You gotta slow dance with someone you like, you know? Like, really like,” he explains, gesturing wildly with his hand and jostling you slightly in the process. “Then you got yourself a good time, alright? You’re pressed all close, holding each other’s hands, dancing through the sexual tension—”
“It’s weird,” you insist with a scrunched nose.
“It’s nice!”
“Let’s just agree to disagree,” you shrug.
Steve shakes his wild head and shoves another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Yeah, I can’t do that,” he says, muffled through the food in his cheek.
You snort a quiet laugh in return.
“So you’re saying you’ve never slow danced with someone before?” he wonders with his mouthful, then swallows. “Like, ever?”
Your face scrunches like it’s obvious. “No.”
“Not even at prom?”
“I didn’t have a date at prom!”
“I didn’t either!” he tells you, which you think is only half a lie. Nancy had just broken up with him then — whether he was too heartbroken or too lazy to find another date is still up in the air, really.
Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “The entire female class of 1985 was your prom date.”
“I’m just sayin’,” he insists, laughing quietly to himself. “You’re missin’ out here, babe.”
You scoff and reach for the bowl in his lap, stealing a handful of room-temperature popcorn for yourself. “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”
—————
The sound of vintage violins swells distantly in the otherwise quiet house as the film credits roll. Lit only by the amber stove light, you dump uneaten and unpopped kernels into the trashcan in the kitchen. A record crackles in the room over. A song floats gently on the midnight air.
Everybody loves somebody sometime…
Everybody falls in love somehow…
Your brows furrow when Steve appears in the doorway, rocking his hips back and forth and snapping his fingers to the languid beat. He sings the words quietly to himself, hardly trying but still sounding sort of decent anyway. “Something in your kiss just told me... My sometime… Is now…”
“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, biting back a chuckle.
“Dancing,” the boy answers.
Your brows furrow as he approaches you — hips still swaying, fingers still snapping. “…By yourself?” you question slowly.
He cages his plush bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head. With wide, warm palms, he smooths his hands over your sides. “Mm-mm,” he hums and squeezes your hips. “With you.”
His touch urges you to sway alongside him, but you tense almost immediately — a virtually immovable force. “No, Steve!” you scold through giggles, shoving him away with a halfhearted hand. “Steve, don’t!”
“C’mon!” he shouts over your protests as his chuckles entwine with your own. “Just dance with me! It’s not gonna kill ya!”
You make a faint grumbly noise of disapproval but don’t fight about it any further. With your face still scrunched in a childlike pout, you let him take one of your hands into his larger one and rest your other against his chest. With a palpable hesitance, you follow his subtle side-to-side movements.
Something in my heart keeps saying…
My someplace is here…
“This is so cheesy,” you giggle to yourself.
“But it’s nice, right?” Steve presses with raised brows.
Rogue chestnut hairs fall over his forehead, and you fight the urge to push them back. Your nose scrunches in a silent answer, and he laughs. You can feel the golden sound rumble in his chest.
“You don’t have to say anything… I know you like it.”
You roll your eyes at his smug grin. “Only ‘cause you’re such a good dance partner,” you tease with a knowing squint in your eyes.
His gaze swims with honey as his rosy lips quirk in a lopsided smile. “Don’t make me blush,” he jokes in a quiet murmur, already leaning down to kiss you.
Steve swallows your laughter with a pink, petaled mouth pressed against your lips — tasting faintly of popcorn, cheap beer, and adoration.
The song crackles quietly through it all.
—And although my dream was overdue…
Your love made it well worth waiting…
For someone like you…
#published by bug#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#st drabbles#stevie drabble
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This is a hypnosis story I've always loved:
“My friends and I were at a bar across town. It was dark, a little loud, underground, with dim red lights and drinks that cost too much. But there were lots of plush little booths and we managed to snag ourselves a corner, so we sat and got deep into drinking and chatting.
After an hour or so, there was a big commotion going on in one corner with people falling around laughing. Before we saw what was going on, everyone involved had stumbled away hooting and giggling. But my friend Rachel leads me over and there’s this young guy kind of holding court.
“What’s going on?” Rachel asks, over the music.
“Oh, I’m hypnotising people,” he says, casually, like people do that all the time.
“For real? You’re a hypnotist?”
“Yes I am,” he says.
Rachel thinks this is hysterical. I think it sounds ridiculous.
“We should dooooooo this!” she says, waving over the two other friends we’re out with.
“Should we?”
“We should! YOU should.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, but she’s already tugging on this guy’s arm… and pushing me towards him.
“Hypnotise Emma!”
“Yeah?”
“She REALLY wants to!”
He looks at me.
“Do you want to?”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure I’m un-hypnotisable.”
“Well,” he says. “Wanna find out?”
“You can try,” I say. I’m smirking a little bit. Silly me.
“Well, OK then. Here, take a seat.”
Like I said, I thought it was ridiculous.
There are two small wooden chairs facing each other and I sit in one. I smooth down the short, tight little dress I’m wearing. He – neat grey t-shirt, jeans, a tattoo of swirling black lines, like a soundwave, on one arm, a mischievous sparkle in his deep brown eyes, like someone who’s just had a sinfully good idea – sits on the other one, pulls it closer so our knees are almost touching. I’m a little nervous… but determined not to let it show.
“OK,” he says. He takes my arms and places them on the arm of my chair, palms up. He holds my hands with his and gives them a reassuring squeeze.
“You OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“This is going to be fun, OK?”
“Well, if you say so.”
Three of my friends are now gathered watching us. I hear Rachel say “I bet she thinks she’s a chicken five minutes from now.”
He lets go of my hands and wraps his gently around my wrists, his thumb on each, like he’s taking my pulse. He starts talking to me low and urgently, looking into my eyes warmly.
“So what’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“Where are we?”
“A bar.”
“What colour are the lights here?”
“Red.”
“Only red?”
“Some white.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Emma.”
”OK, Emma. We’re good.”
His thumbs are tracing circles on my skin.
His questions became… rhetorical. Think of my feet on the floor. Were they heavy? Did it feel good to just rest them there? Doesn’t it feel warm? Isn’t the chair comfortable?
It did feel comfortable. It felt like the second when an elevator stops descending and you’re that little bit heavier. I felt warm like sinking into a fresh bath. He put his hand on my bare shoulder. It felt solid and good.
Didn’t I feel calm? Isn’t it nice? Try closing my eyes. Keep listening to his voice. Even raised over the music is voice, is like a heavy blanket on a lazy Sunday. His hand slides to rest under my hair, on the back of my neck. Weren’t my wrists relaxed? Like they could rest on the arms of the chair forever. His other hand taps out a rhythm on my knee. Calm like warm sunshine on my skin. The sounds around me drift off into a dull hubbub. This was more relaxing than I th…
…I open my eyes and time has jumped just a little. Maybe it’s a few seconds later – or a few minutes? Which was weird. But it can’t have been long. My friends were all still there. And I still felt good. Calm. Nice. The rest of the world feels a little muffled, like the air is thicker.
“All awake, Emma?”
I nod.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel… fine.”
“That’s good.”
He rested his fingertips on my wrists and… oh.
“How does that feel?”
For some reason, it felt SO good. It was like one of those feelings that ran all through your body, like the feeling I get when my neck is being kissed, or my nipples are teased, or having ‘good girl’ growled quietly in my ear.
“It feels good,” I murmured. I was still sort of sleepy.
His fingertips started running slowly up and down my wrists, from my up-turned palms to the crook of my elbow. It was like the sexiest teasing I’d ever felt. Tingles rushed up to my shoulders and through my chest. I could feel my nipples getting hard under my dress.
“Do you like the way it feels?”
I nodded. The tingling was spreading through my tummy and between my legs. I was calm and floaty and burningly turned on all at once. He pulled his hands away. I bit my lip in frustration.
“More?”
“Yeah.”
He picked up his chair and moved it. I felt him sit down behind me. He leaned in close and whispered “Close your eyes…” into my ear. I did what I was told.
The moment his hands touched my back I gasped like lightning ran down my spine to my crotch. Every tiny hair on my neck stood up in reaction to his touch.
“Fuck.”
Each stroke of my shoulder blades felt like being stroked… everywhere, all at once. My clit was getting harder and more sensitive with each rub. My underwear felt hot and wet. I could barely control my breathing.
His hands slid over my shoulders and teasingly over my upper arms. It was like ecstasy. Just the fabric of my underwear against my clit was delicious. I slid my ass against the wooden chair instinctively trying to find some friction or relief. As he blew gently on the back of my neck I leaned back and spread my legs in the confused hope of being touched. I fucking ached with pleasure.
“It’s such a strong feeling,” he murmured in my ear, “when you think about it.”
He pulled his hands away once again. My heart was thudding in my chest, my nipples were hard through the fabric of my dress which had ridden up from my accidental grinding against the seat. Even with my eyes closed, I looked like a hot mess but I was so turned on I was beyond caring. I was just glad the club was so dark.
He puts brought his chair around to my side and just in front, so it was perpendicular to me. He sits in, close.
“How are you feeling?”
I open my eyes. I’m dimly aware of the giggling of my friends, and the gaze of some other onlookers over me. I feel a wave of heat as my face reddens.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says. “Look at me.”
“This is crazy,” I mouthed.
”I told you it would be fun.”
I’m speechless.
“Keep going?”
I was nodding before I even thought about it.
He scoots in front of me a little more. “Put your leg on my lap, Emma.” I lift my bare leg and place it tentatively across his knees.
His hand rests on my knee and a jolt of pleasure hit me. It snakes up my thigh to my wet cunt and fizzles deep me, my hips twitching. To my embarrassment I let out a moan of pure pleasure.
His fingertips are stroking my skin in soft, little circles. My thighs are starting to shake. Laughter among the crowd sends me blushing. He shakes his head in their direction and then looks at me.
“Emma, look at me.”
His twinkling eyes lock mine.
“You’ve been doing really well. Don’t worry about them. Listen to my voice.”
I nod in breathless agreement. His fingertips start drumming slowly on top of my thigh, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two three..
It feels like a fluttering feeling inside me and I scrunch my eyes closed in delight. I squirm in my seat, squeezing my thighs together tightly just for a hint of pressure on my clit.
“Emma, look at me.”
“You’ve been doing really well. I know it feels intense. It feels so strong…”
I’m trembling with each quickening tap. One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three…
“It’s getting stronger and stronger, Emma. Like you can’t hold back.”
The drumming moves imperceptibly up my thigh, to the edge of my dress and it feels 100 times stronger. I’m arching my back. My hands grip the arm of the chair like they’re my bedsheets when I’m touching myself. I’m so close…
“Emma, listen to me.”
“Oh my god.”
“Emma, listen.”
“I’m… please… I…”
“Let go.”
With those two words the orgasm hits me like an explosion, my thighs clamping together, the contractions in my cunt are so strong I bend double in my chair.
“Let go.”
It feels like I’m being fucked hard and deep while I cum, my g-spot is spasming with pleasure. I cry out helplessly.
“Let go.”
His hand gripping my thigh sends another orgasm shivering through my clit and then bursting inside of me. I feel a hot flood of wetness soak through my panties as I involuntarily squirt a little.
“Let go.”
I slump back in the chair as my hips jolt into the air. I can hear my friends shrieking with laughter as they watch me orgasm uncontrollably. I try to hold back but I can’t stop cumming. Each squeeze of my thigh sends another wave of powerful juddering contractions through my pussy, makes me moan, twitch, gush, gasp, grind, shake, cum.
I’ve never cum for so long.
“OK, you. Come here.”
He takes my leg off his lap and comes in close to me. He wraps his hand on my neck and pulls me toward him, my forehead resting on my shoulder, exhausted and trembling. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “Listen to my voice…”
I sink back into a calm darkness.
A few moments later I wake up, sheepish and embarrassed… but even so, I can’t stop grinning. He strokes my wrist one last time – no unbearable pleasure, this time – and smiles. I tentatively stand up, and my legs are like jelly. Rebecca grabs me incredulously and says “OH. MY. GOD.”
“I. KNOW.”
I tell her I have to excuse myself to use the bathroom and shakily stumble in that direction. It’s busy with girls streaming in and out, but in the mirror, I see my face and chest are flushed pink. And my hair’s a mess.
I shut myself in the cool dark cubicle and slide off my panties, down my ankles and over my shoes and step out of them. They’re so drenched from my cum I throw them in the trash can. I instinctively reach between my legs and fuck, I’m still so wet and sensitive. I lean back against the cubicle door and let my fingertips find my slick, hard, throbbing clit. It feel so good to finally feel the touch my body had been craving.
Around me were the sounds of doors opening and closing, girls talking, water running, the throbbing music from next door and the hand-dryer blowing.
I was so hungry to feel full inside and I greedily pushed two fingers deep inside, sliding in deliciously easily. My knees buckled with satisfaction as I slowly, quietly fucked myself. Each time the hand dryer switched on, I pumped my fingers in and out hard and fast, the noise of the motor covering the sounds of my wetness, until it stopped and I had to wait for more agonising seconds.
When I couldn’t take it any more, with one last blast of the hand dryer, I frantically rubbed my clit, my other hand grabbing my tit, and then those commanding words “Let go… let go… let go…” suddenly reverberating in my head, until, my hand clamped over my mouth, I came for the second time that night, my legs buckling in shock, sliding down the cubicle door until I was sat on my heels, waves of pleasure still shuddering through my thighs.
I sat on the toilet for a few minutes and straightened myself out, until the red flush of orgasm had faded from my chest. Then I went back out to join my friends… embarrassed, sans underwear but oh-so-satisfied.
And when I’m alone, the words ‘let go…’ can still push me over the edge sometimes :)”
I would love to give proper credit to this author. If any of you know who wrote this please let me know so I can tag them and give them the credit they deserve.
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♡♡♡ | ˗ˏˋ Perv König ´ˎ˗
➳ 【K ö n i g ｘ Ｒｅａｄｅｒ】
❧ Warnings: 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐠/𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this was SUPPOSED to be headcanons. no clue what happened here, it kinda turn into word vom so if it's kinda shit dont come at me. also I made Konig bi hehe. I had some more ideas but this got a bit long and i got lazy so let me know if you'd like a second part to this ♡
Deprivation of touch and sexual attention is nothing unheard of at a location such as a military base. With little ways to relieve their frustration, most men are forced to resort to fantasy as they rub one out.
König was no different. And really, he didn’t have a problem with it. He was never a man who needed much to get going, the mental image of random men and women enough to have him cum all over his hand. It wasn’t desperation for him, just routine. Masturbation was just what helped him relax after a physically and emotionally taxing day. That is, until you came into the picture.
The first time König saw you, he wasn’t being too weird about you. Just watching KorTac’s rookie members walk on by, as he checked them out one by one, his steely gaze lingered on you.
Maybe it was the way you looked so pathetic, doe-like eyes wide as you shuffled along like a lost little deer. Or perhaps it was the way your combat cargo pants (despite not being meant to fit tightly) hugged nicely around your ass. You’d caught König’s attention.
It wasn't until you approached him that he really started taking interest in you. Being such a large man with a reputation for being ruthless on the battlefield did not make König a very approachable man, and he wasn't exactly keen on mingling with strangers either. So when you approached him for his help with a tangled strap on your gear, he was pleasantly surprised.
You apologized quietly and continuously, embarrassed you had to ask for help from someone with so much more experience so early on. Little did you know König was enjoying himself quite a bit.
With a gruff chuckle, his thick fingers started working on untangling the mess of straps and clasps, making him wonder how the fuck you managed to do this in the first place.
His fingers traced your back gently, the light shudder you tried to hide not going unnoticed to the large man.
God, you looked so fucking cute and petite sitting down under him like this. König's eyelids slid down as he sunk into thoughts, thinking back to your doe-like gaze.
Before he knew it, his fingers slid away from the straps to explore along your body, tracing along your sides. Your shirt moved up a little as he did, exposing your lower back. Your underwear was peaking out from under the waist of your trousers, just enough to let the teasing view settle in his mind. König felt his cock twitch in his pants, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue.
He was grateful he still had his sniper hood up. If anyone could see him, well... he looked fucking depraved.
His name floating from your lips snapped him back out of his trance, his large hands quickly dropping back down. He mutters a shitty excuse about checking the other straps, before finally untangling the mess. He excuses himself, and before you can get another word in, he's seen himself out.
That night, his cock felt ten times as sensitive as usual. König tugged it out of his boxers with little grace before fucking his fist animalistically. Where his mind was usually filled with faceless, nude bodies, the picture in his mind had now taken a clearer shape. It was you.
He thought of your pretty waist, how he could hold onto it as he fucked his cum into you. And that underwear, God.
As he bucked into his fist and the spurts of white liquid made his hand sticky, he knew something changed in him. Jacking off by himself like this wasn't going to keep him satisfied. He needed more.
The depravity got to König quickly. Soon, his masturbation sessions doubled. Where he'd usually only satisfy himself at the end of the day, he now found himself waking him hard as a rock with lewd fantasies of you drifting through his mind. Not bothering to wait until his morning wood dissipated, he instead decided using the material his depraved mind provided him with would be easier anyways.
Soon, when he wasn't busy himself, König could frequently be found overseeing rookie training from a distance, though there was really only one he had eye for.
Could you blame him? You were practically asking to be stared at, the way you kept bending over as if you were begging for him to come over and shove you to the floor and have his way with you right then and there.
Each of your little curves and movements were stored in König's memory, only for him to jack off to later.
At first he'd tried being subtle about it. Although he was drawn to you, there was some shame tied to his actions. Eyeing up a new recruit like this? And this often? People would start talking if he weren't careful.
But slowly, it was like he forgot he was supposed to feel ashamed for this. Where he used to find excuses to go to the training room to seek you out, usually claiming it was his turn to clean the training equipment, he now just started leering at you from the doorway.
After all, it was much easier to look at you where his view wasn't obscured by other rookies or equipment.
Then, eventually, just watching you bend your sweaty body in those positions wasn't enough for König. He needed you. Your essence. Anything that had to do with your body.
He didn't act on it. At least, not at first. König was not stupid. His perverse gazes could land him some social repercussions among his peers, but actually going behind your back to pleasure himself with your belongings? That could get him in serious shit.
But then the opportunity presented itself to him on a silver platter. You'd left the radio on your bed in a hurry, and you wouldn't have enough time to eat if you went out to grab it. But of course kind-hearted König didn't mind getting it for you.
Your barracks were empty. His heavily thudding footsteps echoing off the walls and breathing were the only noises he could hear. Your bed wasn’t hard to spot with the small radio thrown on the pillow.
But as he moved to pick it up, he caught a whiff of your scent. Immediately, his cock twitched in his pants. He’d been growing closer to you, and as he did, your scent became one of many aspects that reminded him of how much you turned him on.
But now, here he was, his stiff member forming a tent in his pants as he stood there, all alone. He felt his ears heat up at the realization what his body and mind were screaming for him to do.
For a moment, he convinced himself to just pick up your radio and force his legs to walk himself back out. But as soon as he leaned over to snatch it off the pillow, his shin bumped against the edge of the bed, and he clumsily tumbled onto the sheets.
As soon as his nose was shoved into the sheets, he knew he was done for.
He knew this was wrong. For the first time since he’d met you, he was struck by feelings of actual shame as he writhed around to make himself comfortable, before pulling his cock out and hurriedly pumping his hand up and down.
As he was lying down on your bed, those scenes of you doing sit-ups in those tightly fit pants started replaying in his mind. He whimpered softly as he pressed his thumb down on the head of his cock, the thought of you sleeping here tonight none the wiser of what happened only made him hornier.
A vein popped up on the back of his hand as the grip on the smooth fabric of the sheets tightened, pressing it over his mouth and nose.
Your scent drove him crazy. It offered him a figment of the proximity he imagined when he stroked his cock to your image every night.
His thumb rolled over the head of his cock, the digit gathering some of the precum leaking out the tip to lube up his rough strokes.
A loud moan muffled by the sheets erupted from his throat before his spend was spilling over his hand and abdomen. Thank fuck he'd pulled up his shirt a little.
A few drops leaked onto your bed, but he couldn't be bothered to clean those up. The thought of you sleeping with his semen under your sheets only turned him on more.
God, he felt so fucking dirty.
He knew he was done for. He'd never cummed this hard before in his life. Every single aspect of you turned him on, he needed you.
But you'd be none the wiser. He'd make sure of that, König thought to himself as he wiped away the fluids. He pulled his pants back up and fixed up your bed, before grabbing the radio and heading back out as if nothing happened.
𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
@rahmown @catou1305 @johfaam0 @tulipsbymybed
#call of duty#cod#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#konig x reader#konig#könig x reader#könig#♡.mlw#♡.mlm#♡.nsfw#gummyfang
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Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.
Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince
NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE
That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.
Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~
Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:
~
Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.
Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.
But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.
All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.
Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.
As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.
Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.
"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."
Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.
But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"
So this was the famous Arabeth.
"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."
The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.
He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.
"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.
"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"
And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.
It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?
Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"
She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"
"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"
"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"
"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."
"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.
"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"
Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.
Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."
"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.
Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?
But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.
It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.
By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.
"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.
"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."
"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.
"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"
Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.
Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.
She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"
"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."
She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"
"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.
"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"
This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.
You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."
But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."
She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"
"No! I'm marrying the prince!"
Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.
"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"
She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."
Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."
Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."
"Dad don't-"
"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.
He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."
"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."
"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."
"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"
"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.
He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.
Now all he had to do was ask.
#astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#baldur's gate 3#ascended astarion#astarion ancunin#im getting a little meta with these story lines y'all#this mother is half based off my own lol#i was thinking oh gosh am i making him ooc with all of this fluff?#reload my astarion romance save and remember no#the boy really does get down that bad#I literally got the thing in the game where he shits on you SO hard with that prince line so this is cathartic#i have like a fucking marriage/wedding/proposal kink or something man#I hate the reality of it honestly#all of it#but the fantasy has me in it's jaws#chomp chomp#seven more to go!#this one was a little out of my element but like i guess thats the point of the exercise of asks#right?
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ˏˋ°• jealousy, jealousy *⁀➷
summary: You and Sarah have been seeing each other in secret for a while. When she catches you flirting with Rafe, she gets a little jealous.
cw: smut 18+, sarah cameron x f!reader, fingering, oral, scissoring, light nipple play, some fluff towards the end, JJ is a pain in the ass
wc: 1.8k
notes: based on this request from @percyswhxre !! this was my first time writing sapphic smut but i loved writing this and i really i hope you enjoy it!!!
You were at the Chateau having a lazy day with all the Pogues and Sarah. JJ and John B sipped on beers while you all listened to Kie recall the time John B had kissed her.
"Remember how you just kept apologizing and then tried insisting I was acting weird afterward?" She laughed.
John B shook his head. "That's not entirely true! And in my defense, JJ was the one who talked me up to it."
"Okay, now that is true... but I thought she was into you, man don't blame me," JJ chuckled, throwing his hands up in surrender.
The rest of you rolled your eyes and laughed at their banter. Pope and Cleo sat closely next to each other, and you sat next to Sarah with your legs draped over hers.
"Okay, realistically, who'd make the cutest couple in the group?" Pope asked everyone as the laughter died down. Almost instantaneously, everyone's eyes looked over to you and Sarah.
The fire in the middle of your somewhat circle felt like it moved directly in front of your face. You and Sarah had been seeing each other, but haven't told anyone else. It's not that you were ashamed, but you just weren't sure how everyone would take it. After all, she was John B's ex, even though they broke up mutually and on good terms.
Sarah laughed before giving you a quick glance. "Why are you guys looking at us? Personally, I think we all know the real lovebirds are Pope and Cleo. Look how cuddled up they are. No love club my ass."
Cleo shook her head, denying loudly. "No no no, don't try and put everyone's attention on us. You two have been all close and cuddly for a while."
The fire crackled lowly as everyone waited for your rebuttal. You shook your head with a sigh. "You guys are crazy."
JJ jumped in, pointing at you both with skeptical eyes. "We may be crazy, but you guys are hooking up, no doubt about it."
You gasped, throwing a stick from the ground at JJ. "You're fucking drunk JJ." Sarah nodded in agreement, laughing. Her phone buzzed, and once she checked it, a smile formed on her face. "Come on guys, we're gonna go crash a Kook party."
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
The Twinkie finally pulled up in front of Tannyhill, and the music could be heard from a block away. Out the window, you could see the many bodies holding drinks, talking, dancing, and everything else Kooks did.
Upon entering, you guys got some sideways looks, but no one could say anything since it was Sarah's house. Everyone grabbed a drink and chilled outside. Topper came over and tried talking to Sarah, but she quickly brushed him off.
As you sat back, sipping your drink and people-watching, JJ leaned over and whispered, "I stand by my earlier statement. You know you could tell me." Referring to you and Sarah hooking up. You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, not wanting to deal with his pestering attitude.
A few minutes later, you stood up, announcing you were grabbing another drink. The inside of the estate was loud and humid. Rap music was blasting, and sweaty bodies were all around, drinking and dancing. After grabbing a Mai Tai out of the cooler, you see Rafe across the room talking to a few of his friends. Pushing the bodies out of the way, you made your way to him, smiling once he looked your way. "Hey Rafe, how are you?"
Rafe licked his lips and took in your body with a smile. It was known that he found you attractive, trying to flirt and make passes that you always ignored. "Hey pretty girl, I didn't know you were here. What can I do for you?"
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
Sarah tried to look into the house from her seat, wondering what was taking you so long. She went in after you to make sure there wasn't any trouble being started. When she walked in, she immediately saw you talking to Rafe. She watched as you placed your hand on his bicep and kissed his cheek before walking away.
There was a tense look on her face as you got closer to the door. You saw her by the door with her arms crossed. "Hey baby," you giggled, placing a hand on her hip.
She moved back, making your hand fall. "Don't 'Hey baby' me. You were flirting with my brother. You kissed him on the cheek!"
You tried to hide your smile but failed. "Aw, are you jealous?" Sarah scoffed. "Don't be mad! I was flirting just a little bit. For... this." You pulled a baggie out of your pocket that had weed in it. "I just wanted free weed."
She looked at the bag and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Next time you're gonna flirt with my brother for free weed, get enough for both of us. Plus you know he wants you," she stated rather than asked. You nodded, hands finding their way back to her hips, squeezing softly. "Yeah, but I don't want him. I want you."
Sarah stared at your lips, which had formed into a cute pout before she grabbed your wrist and dragged you upstairs into her old room. She closed and locked the door, immediately pushing you onto the bed. Her lips crashed onto yours, and she kissed you hard. The feeling of her soft lips made you moan as your hands slid down to grip her ass through her shorts.
The blaring music from downstairs seemed to fade away as she moved down to your neck, biting and sucking. You brought your hands to the front of her shorts to get them off, and she did the same for you. Next to go were shirts and bras, leaving both of you in your underwear. You sat up, taking her nipple into your mouth and massaging her other breast. The softness of your hands elicited a quiet moan from Sarah's lips.
One of her hands cradles the back of your head while the other slides down to rub your covered clit. "You're already so wet and we've just started baby." Looking up to meet her eyes, you smile. "What can I say? Seeing you all jealous was hot as fuck."
Both of you removed your final piece of clothing then Sarah pushed you down once again, getting on top of you in the 69 position. "I'll never get tired of seeing your pussy so wet and ready for me." she groaned, not wasting any time and sucking your clit into her mouth. You moaned loudly, copying her movements with your tongue.
Sarah's hips stuttered as you slipped a finger into her hole that was begging for attention. She started rubbing your clit as she felt her orgasm approaching. "Fuuuuck– baby don't stop!"
You sucked harder and moved your fingers faster as she started to fuck herself on your fingers for more stimulation. A gush of wetness spilled onto your mouth and chin as she came, her whimpers filling your ears.
"I wanna see your pretty face when you cum," she breathed out as she maneuvered her body so that she was scissoring you. You squeezed her thigh as she rocked back and forth at a speed that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Ohmygod– Sarah right there, right fucking there!"
The messy wet sound of your cunts sliding against each other was making your head spin. You pulled Sarah down to place a messy kiss on her lips, wanting her closer than what seemed possible. Her perfectly manicured hand found its way to your sensitive nipples, pinching them with a knowing smile.
The tight knot of pleasure in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. "I'm so close... please, I wanna come with you," you whimpered out. Sarah nodded, and the rhythm of her hips became erratic and sloppy. "You ready baby?" she groaned, and the look in your eye said it all.
Your orgasm took over your entire body, and you almost screamed, leaving your pussy slicked and spasming while Sarah tried to keep her hips moving as her orgasm hit her too. "Oh fuck– God, I love you!" Sarah moaned out, not realizing what she'd said.
She moved to lay next to you while you both caught your breath. When your eyes finally opened, and you looked over at her, you could see the blush on her cheeks.
"You love me?" you asked softly, not sure if it was something she said in the heat of the moment or if she really meant it.
Her head turned to you, and she had a sheepish smile on her face. "Of course I do... you make it hard not to."
You didn't try to hide the grin on your face as you leaned over and kissed her deeply. "You make it hard not to love you too."
The moment was broken when you heard your phone buzzing somewhere on the ground. When you found it you saw several missed calls and texts from the Pogues. They were all along the lines of 'Where are you?', 'We're about to leave.', and 'Is Sarah with you?'.
After rushing to get dressed and make your way downstairs, you hoped they didn't leave yet, or you and Sarah would be stuck with no ride. They weren't outside where you all originally sat. Walking to the front of Tannyhill, you saw the Twinkie parked in its spot with the doors open as everyone sat around waiting.
Kie saw you guys first. "Fucking finally! Where the hell were you guys? We've been calling and texting you both."
JJ chimed in, saying "I can't tell you where they were, but I bet I know what they were doing." Sarah flipped him off as she climbed inside the car.
"Topper and John B fought. Again." Kie said with an accusatory tone. John B shrugged. "He was being a dick."
You sighed at what seemed to be their never-ending rivalry. After a few minutes of silence, JJ tapped your knee. "So... where did you guys sneak off to?" he questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Give it a rest JJ." You groaned.
He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, fine! I'm just asking 'cause..." he looked at you with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure those are Sarah's shorts. And the hickey forming on your neck is a little distracting."
You felt your cheeks burn as you gasped, looking down at what were definitely Sarah's shorts. Everyone in the car— including you and Sarah— burst out in laughter. You flip JJ off in the middle of it as Sarah leaned in closer and kissed you lovingly on the cheek.
likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
#sarah cameron#sarah cameron x reader#sarah cameron obx#sarah cameron smut#sarah cameron x female reader#sarah outer banks#sarah obx#obx x reader#obx#obx smut#outer banks smut#outer banks#divider by: plutism#black writers#outer banks x reader
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Secret Love, My Escape
Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader
If nothing else, Lucifer was beyond faithful to his lover. He would do anything for the person he's devoted himself to. He would even risk death, all for the one he loves.
And in turn, his love would do the same...
You knew this was a foolish idea, terrible even. Sneaking out of Heaven to meet with the demons of hell. If you were ever caught, who knows what punishment you would be given? But you didn't care. You weren't just meeting with any demon, but Lucifer himself.
The love of your life.
He knew it wasn't the best idea, it would end so horribly if Heaven ever finds out. But he couldn't help himself. His love for you was far stronger than his worries.
It wasn't bad to worry, far from it in this situation. But, he couldn't let someone as wonderful as you go. He may live on forever, but he could not go an eternity without you.
He would do anything to see you, even if just for a little while.
Even if it happened like this.
This wasn't the first time you two had done this either. You've went down to Hell quite a few times, it was practically routine at this point. And you were excited every time you got to.
You loved Lucifer more than anything. You cherished him, you never wanted to go a moment without him by your side. The time spent apart, was heartbreaking.
You two are from two separate worlds, after all. Heaven frowns upon the demons and sinners in Hell, but for an angel and the king of Hell to be together like this?
You both knew what Heaven's reaction would be. And it wasn't good for either of you...
But you didn't want to think about that. Right now, you just wanted to enjoy Lucifer's company, in the little time you were granted to visit him.
This time, the two of you were having a bit of a lazy day. Normally, Lucifer would try to keep you entertained, while in the privacy of his palace walls, of course. But today, the two of you just lay together in each other's arms.
You both would talk about nothing in particular, though, you always liked hearing about his daughter Charlie and the hotel, as well as her friends, as weird and wild as they could be.
And of course, there was never a day you visited, that Lucifer didn't talk about his latest duck related creations. You didn't mind at all. You loved seeing his face light up with joy and excitement whenever he talked about them.
"So, I was thinking about making a new rubber duck. One that shoots fireworks from like, a little hat on it's head." Lucifer explains. "There have been some previous attempts, each resulting in a few tiny fires, but! I think I'm getting pretty close to perfecting it!"
You giggle. "Well, I'd love to see it once it's finished." Lucifer smiled, though it quickly vanished as he noticed the time. He sighed, you knew what that meant.
"Already?" You mutter. Lucifer nods, frowning. You sit up and breath a sigh of your own. "It seems our visits just go by faster and faster."
"Yeah..." Lucifer sits up as well. You put your hand on his. "I wish there was a way I could just stay here." As much as Lucifer would have liked to have you with him. He could not bare the thought of you having to be in this terrible place. You were better off in Heaven where you belong...
"Come on, let's get you home before the others notice." Lucifer says. You begrudgingly agreed, your chest already aching, and you haven't even left yet.
If only there were some other way...
Heaven was nice. No one could deny that. But to you, it never felt more empty without Lucifer. But that's not all. Heaven was nice. On the surface that is. You knew about what the higher ups were hiding though.
Lucifer had told you about the extermination, and the angels that Adam lead down to Hell, in attempts to destroy his daughter's hotel and kill those who called it home.
Speaking of Adam. He was dead, killed in that attack he lead. And of course, Heaven covered that up as well. So long as the citizens of Heaven were happy and unaware, there would be no chaos. No panic.
No questioning...
You knew better than to try and reveal Heaven's lies. You were only one person, after all. Though, the people of Heaven deserved to know just what kind of "paradise" they were living in.
That would only result in you being placed on trial, and eventually being forced out of Heaven.
However, speaking up would not be what caused for such a thing to happen.
No, unfortunately, you would be placed on trial, for something you'd hope you'd never be accused of.
"Y/n, for your sake, you'd better speak only the truth in this courtroom."
The head seraphim's eyes were cold and unforgiving as she looks down at you. You could only look back at her with panic, and a terrible twisting feeling in your chest.
"Have you been sneaking off down to Hell?" She asks. You open your mouth to speak, but your voice would not find you. Instead, you nod. The seraphim's eyes narrow. "And how exactly have you managed this?"
Still unable to speak, you cast your gaze downward. The seraphim's voice caused you to flinch, as she spoke your name with such venom in her voice.
"Y/n."
You look back up at her, defeated. "Sera. I think you know how..." You say weakly. Sera sighed. "This is entirely unheard of. Lucifer isn't just some ordinary demon. He is the king of of all evil. Risking your place in Heaven for him, is beyond foolish."
Your brows furrow. She speaks of Lucifer like he is some sort of monster. And you will not have it.
"You don't know anything about him." You start. "Not truly. Lucifer may be the king of Hell, but he is nothing like a demon. Deep down, he's still an angel. And you all refuse to see it, all because you do not understand him!"
You were going to be punished anyway. Might as well speak your mind.
"I love him! And I'd rather fall than go an eternity without him, and be stuck here knowing that Heaven is a scam!"
Sera looked at you silently for a moment before turning away. "Then so be it."
Your arms were suddenly being restrained by two exorcist, a third walking up behind you, sword in hand. Then you felt it...
The feeling of your wings being torn from you. You cried in agony, the sound of them falling to the ground with a thud nearly made you sick. Your arms were released, and you began to fall back.
Only you did not hit the floor, instead, you continued to fall and fall for what felt like forever.
Until finally, you collied with solid, hard ground...
When you opened your eyes, pain was the first thing you felt. Your back throbbed and your body ached. But you managed to pick yourself up, just barely keeping yourself standing.
You take a look around, and then up at the blood red sky. Yep, this was definitely Hell. You look back ahead, far in the distance, you could make out a building. Not just any building, a hotel.
You felt a twinge of hope as you start off in that direction. If this was indeed that hotel, you might have a better chance of finding Lucifer than you think.
Lucifer had started spending more time at his daughter's hotel than his own home as of recently. Only being at the palace for when you visited. If you were going to find him anywhere, it'd be there.
You walked for a long while before you finally reached the hotel. Just before the entrance is where you fell to your knees, exhausted. Your body was crying for rest, but your mind was racing. You couldn't give up now. You were so close.
Just as exhaustion started to fully set in, the doors to the hotel opened. And you make out a figure in the door way. Their voice was muffled, but you recognized just who the voice belonged to immediately.
"I'll be back shortly, Charlie! Just have to grab a few more things from home."
You forced yourself to stand, ignoring the new wave of pain and drowsiness that washed over you. Your voice cracked as you called out.
"Lucifer?"
It was indeed Lucifer. He turned his head in your direction, his eyes wide as he noticed it was you. He stood there for a moment, unable to think or speak clearly.
Was his mind playing tricks on him? How were you here? Why were you here?
You smile slightly and take a step forward. "Lucifer...Lucifer!" You cried running towards him with open arms. You stumbled slightly, but Lucifer caught you.
"Y/n...What are you doing here?"
You held onto him tightly, tears forming in your eyes. "I...I just couldn't stay away." You say before pulling away to look up at him. Lucifer stared back at you with concern, but mostly confusion. Just as he went to speak again, you leaned in and met your lips with his.
Lucifer became less tense as he melted into the kiss. He didn't know how this was happening. He was still trying to process you standing in front of him right now.
You pull back, smiling as you look him in the eyes. You move your hand up to his cheek. "I love you."
Lucifer opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as he felt something warm on his palm. He moved his hand off of your back, and his heart dropped at the sight of gold staining his hand.
"Y/n...Don't tell me they..."
You leaned in and rest your head on his chest. "I'm so tired Lucifer...Just, don't let me sleep for too long. Ok?"
"Y/n!?" Lucifer's panic grew as you went limp in his arms. How could he not have noticed right then?
Your wings were missing.
There was no time to ponder it now, he scooped you up into his arms and teleported back to the palace. No one else needed to gaze upon your blood, it would only raise questions and attract unwanted attention.
As soon as you two were behind closed doors, Lucifer stripped away the top of your outfit, grimacing slightly at the sight of the two long tears on your back.
He placed his hands on your back gently and inhaled. A warm glow emanated from his palms that spread throughout your back.
"Come on...Stay with me Y/n." He whispered desperately.
After a few seconds, the glow faded. He moved his hands away, the wound was fully healed. But you were still motionless.
"Y/n, please. Please come back to me." Lucifer holds you close to him, cradling your head with one hand, the other at your waist. "Please...Please don't leave me..."
Lucifer held you for hours after that, refusing to let you go or leave your side for even a second. The only hope he held onto, was the faint breathing that came from you.
He blamed himself for this. He should have just left you alone. He should have never snuck you down here like he did, for as long as he did. He should have just pushed you away.
At least then, you'd be safe.
"I'm so sorry, Y/n." Lucifer said softly. "You were hurt because of me. You fell because of me. And now, you're stuck here. And it's all my fault..."
"I'm such an idiot." Lucifer closed his eyes, tears stinging at his eyes.
"Luci...don't talk so badly about yourself."
Lucifer shot up, looking down at you with wide eyes. "Y/n?" You smile and slowly open your eyes. "Hi."
Lucifer felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. Though, he couldn't stop smiling. He sniffled a few times. "H-Hi!" He chuckles. His laughter was quickly cut short.
"Y/n. I'm so sorry this happened to you. I never meant for you to be damned to his awful place. You should be up in Heaven, in paradise. Not down here with all the evil and scum that Hell has to offer."
"Lucifer." You start. "It's not paradise. Especially not without you. I never would have been happy alone up there. It killed me anytime I had to leave you."
"But now you're stuck here forever." Lucifer says weakly. You kiss his cheek. "We're here together."
Lucifer brought you in a closer embrace. You speak again. "Thank you for healing me, Luci. I'm sorry if I scared you." Lucifer shook his head. "I'm just glad you're alive. But..." Lucifer draws back to look at you. "Are you ok with this?"
"Of course I am. You're here, and now, I'm here. I love you way too much for it to be any other way."
Lucifer smiled and kissed you softy. "I love you too."
The two of you enjoyed each other's embrace that night. Only this time, moments like this would be forever.
#hazbin hotel#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer#lucifer magne x reader#lucifer magne#hazbin lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader
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Hii im new here! Found your blog by chance and I love how you write! Would you be able to write wanderer x jealous!reader on valentines day? Lets say Wanderer has got a lot of admirers from the akademiya and reader is just silently furious abt it but doesnt say anything. When Wanderer finds out he fucks them nicely and praise them/ reassures them <333
Apparently I struggle to do angry jealousy, I just make it sad... but it's light this time! And soft.
Also it feels so weird writing Wanderer as a name??
Want to skip the lead up? Look for the NSFW sign that marks the smut!
Valentine's with Wanderer
Character: Top!Wanderer/Scaramouche
Reader: Bottom!Gn // Genre: Smut, angst
Cw: Classic Scara misunderstandings, praise/reassurance, fingering, soft sex, slight angst(?) it's more hinted I guess
Plot: A little // Word count: 1.9k
Valentine's Day: a day of love, gifts, and showing appreciation for your partner.
Usually, everyone tries to take the day off, freeing up their schedule so that they can focus entirely on the occasion, however it may be that they want to spend it. Which is why you were quite surprised to find yourself alone in bed when you woke up in the morning.
Now, that's not when you started feeling doubt. After all, maybe Wanderer, your boyfriend of the past few months, was in the kitchen. Breakfast in bed is a traditional start to Valentine's Day, and an easy way to get in anyone's good books. But, when you heard nothing after a few minutes of waiting, – no clanking of cutlery or slamming of cabinets – you just had to go see where he was.
Unluckily for you, all you could find was a little note, hastily sprawled and left waiting on the counter:
"I'll be gone for a while, don't wait up for me. I left you some breakfast in the cupboard, it might need heating up if you stay in bed too long, but that's not my fault...
–Happy Valentine's Day."
As usual, his handwriting is kind of hard to read; quick and messy. But, at least he did technically make you breakfast, even if he also alluded to you being lazy.
However, what most takes your attention, is the blotch of ink that splattered right at the end of "fault". It was as if he were hesitating to let go, to pick up the pen and leave it at that.
Which is why you felt oddly warm at the fact that the last part was perfectly legible and obviously had been written slower than the rest.
Even though you know Wanderer isn't particularly fond of outright expressing his feelings, you thought that surely, today of all days, he could push aside his own pride for you. Even just a little. Maybe that was too high of an expectation. His ambitions never let him take a break, so why would he take one for a made-up holiday?
Well... at least he's aware enough of your excitement for the day to acknowledge it first thing in the morning, even if he wasn't there to actually say it.
But, you knew that with Wanderer, everything would be awkward and touchy the first time around. You had to move slowly. Baby steps, you remind yourself, as you head back to your shared room to start getting ready.
It's only the start of the day.
...
You wish it weren't Valentine's Day.
Every street was lined with couples, each and every one of them holding hands, carrying flowers... things that you should be doing with your boyfriend right now.
And it didn't help that you felt like everyone was judging you for being alone, especially when most of them likely knew who you were dating. It's not like you hadn't seen them staring before now.
You couldn't blame them, really. Wanderer had shown up in Sumeru suddenly and didn't feel especially inclined to explain himself, so of course people would be curious. You just didn't like the way that their eyes would... linger after him. Even when you were there! And on the rare day that Wanderer was comfortable enough to let you hold onto him in public, the admiring stares turned to full-blown jealousy.
Now, what was wrong with that? Shouldn't that be an ego boost for you? You'd thought so too, at first. But then you realised that just meant they'd want to try and steal him from you.
You thought you could put up with it at first. After all, you knew that Wanderer wouldn't stand for anyone else touching him or getting in his way other than you. You trusted him just fine. You didn't trust the average Akademiya goer, though. They all seemed to think they were entitled to have whatever – or whoever – they wanted, just because they'd gotten into the prestigious school at all.
You'd tried to bring up your concerns to Wanderer about the whispers going around and the jealous looks you'd get when walking through the streets or halls of the Akademiya. Almost instantaneously, he shut down your complaints, finding the words so easily that it almost felt as though he hadn't even tried.
"Tch... they're annoying and only want to waste our time. Just ignore them like I do."
That response was actually exactly what you'd expected to hear, and while you were grateful for his straightforward answer, you'd wanted a more... passionate outcome. Something to show he cared.
That definitely isn't what you got, considering he didn't even look at you when he said it.
After that, you didn't want to bring up the same problem again. Especially not on Valentines Day, even though he'll probably come home having been confessed to over twenty times in the past hour alone. Okay, maybe you were over-exaggerating a little, but it really didn't feel like it to you. Plus, it's the day of love! You're allowed a little leeway for feeling paranoid, right?
Maybe this evening will be better, when Wanderer finally comes come.
...
As you walk through the door, you're instantly met with a faint smell that you recognised to be the lavender lemongrass scented candles that you kept around the house. Of course, this clued you in to the fact that Wanderer must already be home. But what solidified this, was that when you walked through the doorway, there he was, waiting for you standing next to a vase of beautifully arranged flowers. It was mainly made up of your favourite flower, along with some of the famous Valentine's flowers as well, such as roses, carnations, and even some daisies.
Most likely, it was thought up by the florist that he went to. But at least he knew your favourite flower, as well as followed the tradition of buying them for you at all.
Often times, it was unusual for him to initiate physical touch with you; even though he was comfortable with you, he still just wasn't used to it yet. Tonight, however, he seemed to have no trouble in walking right up to you, taking your hand to guide you into the living room, where you could both just relax in each other's company. The calming lavender lemongrass candles eased your mood quite well, and you were happy that your Wanderer had really tried for Valentine's day.
...
You had a lovely evening with your boyfriend, cuddling on the couch as you spoke in hushed voices about anything and everything (even if he was slightly apprehensive to start), the lovely atmosphere of romantic music quietly flooding through from the street.
And even though it had felt perfect, as you get ready to retire for the night, the candles having gone out a while ago, you can't help but feel the uncertainty from before start to overtake your thoughts again.
Resigning yourself to forget about it, you get into your side of the bed, your Wanderer already having been waiting for you to return. But he can tell that something in your mood has changed almost as soon as he lays his eyes on you again.
"What's wrong?"
"... Nothing."
He leans forward, showing his engagement. "Bullshit. If you don't tell me, there's nothing I can do to help you get over it."
"I just... those people from the Akademiya... they're still bothering me." You look down at your hands.
He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, "I've told you to just ignore them. There's nothing I can do to control how people think of you, or me, or us."
"I can't just ignore them!" You whine, "They're always looking at us when we're together... it's making me worried..."
At that, he looks over at you, his eyes scrunching as he thinks your words over. "Worried about what?"
Not sure how to say it, you move yourself to lay against him. Your back is pressed to his chest now, and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck helps to soothe your thoughts just enough for you to find the words:
"...I don't want them to take you from me..."
Now, it's Wanderer's turn to be silent. Now, he realises the mistake he'd made in telling you to just ignore those insignificant people; by ignoring the problem himself, he'd made you focus on it more. Of course you'd be feeling worried about this, he'd shut it down the first time you'd tried bringing it up.
You didn't need to just forget about it. You needed to work through it so that you could forget about it.
After almost a minute of tense silence, you're surprised when you feel his lips press gently to the back of your neck, accompanied moments later by his arm curling around you, pulling you ever closer against him. His hand rests over the place where your heart rests, while the other intertwines your fingers with his against your stomach, as if caging in the butterflies that start to flutter.
"Allow me to try again..." He presses a kiss to your ear before speaking again, "you don't need to think about them, or what I think about them." The hand on your heart shifts to cup your chest, your breath wavering when his hand brushes over your hardening nipples. "Because I'll never want anyone but you."
Then, the night is almost a blur.
Wanderer sneakily pulls a bottle of rose scented lube from under the pillow, liberally gathering some as he starts to stretch you out on his fingers. The scent slowly fills the room, intoxicating you on the heady fragrance, allowing it to pull you deeper into the moment.
He steadily pushes his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you, never slowing until after you've cum around his lubed up digits. Your hand finds purchase with the one on your chest, tightening your grip around him as you come down from the residual high.
He's whispering short encouragements to you while you collect your breath, the moans you'd been letting out dying on your tongue. Wanderer slowly lifts your leg, allowing him to guide his hard cock to finally, finally press against your hole, not making you wait to feel him as the slowly pushes in.
You don't need to adjust much, the lube and his attentive fingers having done the work well enough that only the comforting sensation of being full registers in your core. He starts thrusting when you signal that you're ready, his pace is easy and the power behind his hips is controlled enough to pull a soft moan from you with each stroke. It's different from what you're used to, but it's good. So good. And what makes it better is the hushed and stuttered, "I love you," and, "You're the only one that matters," that gets breathed into your shoulder as you both approach your shared climax.
The next morning, you wake up to find your Wanderer exactly where he ended last night; right next to you in your bed. You close your eyes contentedly, knowing you'll never have to worry about him being taken from you.
He's your Wanderer.
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Thank you for reading! 🩷
#genshin impact#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#genshin#genshin imagines#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin wanderer#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x reader#wanderer smut#wanderer x reader#genshin scaramouche#wanderer x reader smut#scaramouche x reader smut#genshin angst#genshin impact angst#Writing for an ask~🩷
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How you get slashers to do the dishes
Ft jason voorhees brahms heelshire sawyer brothers Thomas hewitt Freddy krueger pinhead yautja and Beetlejuice
Jason voorhees
He was raised to be a good boy and help with household chores
He probally woudnt automatically do them without you he woudnt give cleanliness a 2nd thought
But you fluttering your eyelashes and asking him please will get him on it
Pls don't yell at him to do it he'll still do them but he'll get all scared
Probally likes doing them with you reminding him of helping his mom with the dishes makes him feel nostalgic
Would wear a frilly apron if you ask nicely
Brahms heelshire
Much harder
Spoiled boy
You don't ask him you make him
Won't throw a tamptrum but he'll be all huffy and moody
Do it with it ask him to help you and praise him for being so helpful
If you withhold kisses or affection for not doing them then he'll throw a tamptrum
Won't wear the frilly apron
Freddy krueger
Your dreaming and banging the dude in control of your dreams and you dream of dirty dishes
If it's some weird household domestic fantasy he'd still give you the side eye
Judges you for dreaming of dirty dishes
Hit em with a broom if you really want him to
Don't even try with the frilly apron
Nubbins sawyer
Don't he'd smash them while laughing then ask if he did good
Probably would wear the frilly apron for a second before ripping it off
Bubba
Please don't he's clumsy and will break them and then turn to you looking like a sad puppy that he failed you
Pls make him wear the frilly apron
He'd wear it even if you didn't mention ot
He may be shit at chores but loves wearing the apron and makeup mask pretending to be your housewife while giggling and stimming happy to have fun like this
Chop top
He'd just tap his head and go "still got a nice clean playe here" and walk off proud of his joke
Drayton sawyer
This old cranky man already running a buisness,making sure his younger brothers don't get them caught or do some stupid bullshit,cooked all the food,and making sure things run smoothly
He'd bring up how hard he works and how he had to raise three boys on his own after grandpa got to old how hard he works to keep the lights on
He won't even be guiltiling you after a bit he'd just be ranting and venting like your his therapist
After he got all that off his chest he'd just yell at you to stop being lazy and how everyone has their work and they better do it
He doesn't care your smooching him
Pls get him therapy
Thomas hewitt
Luda mae does the dishes anyway
You probally do aswell to contribute to the house since hoyt won't let ya laze around
But if you want help just tell him how much they piled out and how it's overwhelming and he'll help he won't do it on his own
If you want to give luda mae a break just tell hik how hard she's working to support everyone and how caring she is and how much she'd love it if her baby boy did the dishes and he'd be at the sink quickly
Woudnt wear the apron don't even ask
Pinhead
Your fucking a cenobite you probably aren't in any landscape that has a kitchen with dirty dishes
Beetlejuice
If he wants anything like you to say his name or do some weird sex thing just be like "hmm I dunno you haven't really helped out lately" or how your to busy with the dishes for it
If he still refuses just whack him with a broom
You can get him to wear a apron by wracking him with the broom
Yautja
New to Ooman chores
The dishes are so tiny against his hands
He'd break them and then get frustrated je isn't doing his precious ooman's task correctly
He'd break a few dishes and then either rage or sulk
Possibly get him to wear a frilly apron
#freddy krueger x reader#texas chainsaw massacre#bubba sawyer#drayton sawyer#drayton sawyer x reader#pinhead#pinhead x reader#nubbins x reader#choptop sawyer#chop top x reader#nubbins sawyer#brahms heelshire#brahms the boy#brahms heelsire x reader#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees#friday the 13th#yautja x reader#beetlejuice x reader
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the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader
summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: fluff, smut, angst
au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au
warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise
word count: ~12k
a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you
read on ao3
Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.
If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.
Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep.
So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too.
There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.
Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this:
Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942
He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him.
If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here.
He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day.
You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it.
Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you.
Except the one thing you ask him to.
He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit.
And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him.
You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one.
Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?
“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness.
“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.”
“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?”
Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to.
You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.”
“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.
“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.”
“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people.
“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.”
“I know.”
“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.”
When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take.
He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself.
The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…
“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again.
“Whatever you want, jagiya.”
You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want.
“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.”
He does.
The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can.
“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.
“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.
The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand.
You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you.
As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace.
Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice.
It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory.
He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are.
Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves.
When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it.
“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet.
“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm.
You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to.
He doesn’t.
The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart.
Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another.
It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body.
“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.”
Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his.
“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his.
He thinks they’re love songs.
He hopes you know.
You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you.
“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says.
“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late.
You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him.
Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks.
Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to.
Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness.
Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum.
Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.
Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you.
The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.
“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to.
“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.”
“Are you the peacock or am I?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.
He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours.
“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind.
You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream.
Seoul, South Korea — Present Day
“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh.
“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.”
Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting.
He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.
He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning.
“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep.
“What smell?”
“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.”
“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”
“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says.
“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.”
“You owe me now.”
“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin.
Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.
It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was.
“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious.
“Spain.”
Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.”
He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are.
He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says.
“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too.
“About a girl, mostly.”
“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”
“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.”
Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?”
Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”
“All of us?” Jeongguk asks.
“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin.
“But you have these dreams often?”
“Yeah.”
“And one of them was in Spain?”
Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think.
“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.”
Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now.
“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…”
Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913
The heat is relentless.
Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours.
Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you.
Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better.
They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.
As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first.
When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador.
It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color.
But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most.
Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what.
She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him.
Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him.
He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas.
She does. A lot of them.
He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you.
She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple.
At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition.
He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay.
As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you.
The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going.
Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else.
Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you?
For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…
She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar.
When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.
He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you.
Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds.
He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life.
The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought…
It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again.
It’s freedom.
After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for.
Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night.
He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him.
As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight.
“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road.
He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling.
“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”
You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever.
Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he?
“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.”
Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you.
Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day.
(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)
“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.”
And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers.
You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.
“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.
The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive.
He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.
And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker.
Seoul, South Korea — Present Day
“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second.
“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.”
“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”
Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”
“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”
“Shit.”
Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings.
When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades.
“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly.
“I know.”
“We’ll help you find her, I promise.”
Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist.
After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again.
It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.
They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it.
Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here.
Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him.
“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.
Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world.
He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine.
That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you.
Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931
In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it.
It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing.
You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you.
You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see.
Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment.
You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time.
It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon.
Like father, like son, as they say.
He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong.
Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you.
They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around.
You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.
Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly.
When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart?
Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate.
He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do.
After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave.
As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.
It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you.
There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright.
He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life.
Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe.
You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you.
Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you.
New York City — Present Day
Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head.
He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye.
It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace.
The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him.
He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person.
Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone.
He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear.
“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions.
Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking.
“Hi,” you say.
“Hi.”
“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying.
“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.”
“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter.
This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know.
“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.”
You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.”
“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.
“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks.
“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.”
“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?”
To his relief, you do.
It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there.
And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you.
“So… why the Met?”
You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation.
“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”
“The lions?”
His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”
“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers.
“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?”
Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too.
“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking.
“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise.
“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him.
You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan.
In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better.
Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination.
It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually.
“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms.
Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says.
Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest.
There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now.
“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.”
You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.”
“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks.
You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine.
Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had.
“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been.
You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him.
The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.
He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected.
You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.
It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now.
The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything.
There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt.
He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too.
Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.
Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family…
Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes.
Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.
Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.
#bts x reader#namjoon x reader#rm x reader#namjoon smut#namjoon angst#namjoon fluff#rm smut#rm fluff#rm angst#bts imagines#namjoon imagine#rm imagine#kvanity#bts smut#bts angst#bts fanfic#namjoon fanfic#rm fanfic
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Back on this account: Prefacing this that this work was wrote in like a day and like most of my things- i was too lazy to edit lol. The concept form todays work was injected into my brain by good old @auspicioustidings, check em out- they got some cool concepts and fics. (Particularly Firewatch- chefs kiss to that series), lots of soft, dark, kidnap-y, COD content 👍
Without further ado i present my impulsive thoughts on a page:
——————
“Committed to the Bit.”
words: 4.7k
Summary: You’re at an utterly boring halloween party, about to leave when some scottish man dressed as a solider comes slinking into the bathroom and really goes ham with his whole ‘This place is dangerous, you aren’t supposed to be here- we gotta get you to safety’ act. Weird pick-up line approach but hey it fucking works. He’s just charming enough for you to play along with his bit. Because it is just a bit… right?
This party was kinda dull. Which really was a shame considering how high your expectations were. From what your friend said- it was supposed to be an immersive experience. The hosts were apparently old collage buddies with your friend who were halloween fanatics.
You friend has absolutely hyped them up, talking all about how when they threw parties they got into them and would always play up whatever dynamic they were going for with their costumes. Even to a level of mild public humiliation.
She once recounted the story of how one year, when dressed as a pair of vampires, they full on acted as though they were melting when someone brought a side of garlic breadsticks with the pizza. Fully committed to the bit it seems.
Because of the hosts being so dedicated to their act, of course it wasn’t uncommon for guests to act in a similar manner. Even those who didn’t have a running gag for the night were overall relaxed and had a good time being apart of the fun. It was a non-judgmental zone, filled with pretty decor and open people.
So of course, after hearing all about the welcoming and fucking amazing vibes of these parties- you had agreed to meet up with your friend at one.
Normally, you weren’t really one for parties, especially halloween ones because it was typically full of judgey, horny, strangers who would consider you weird- and you’d have to small talk and the songs almost always sucked because of course they couldn’t play actual halloween songs even if it killed them.
But after many reassurances from your friend, including videos and photos she had graciously provided you- you went to one.
To say you were disappointed was an understatement.
The costumes were amazing- high quality and expensive, hell the place was fucking stunning, all decked out in halloween gear and dark lighting. Even the building itself seemed perfect for this sort of thing- winding corridors, random locked rooms, ominous men in suits. Oh and don’t get you started on the snack table, shit was heavenly even if you were the only one touching it. The aesthetics of the party were great, But…
The vibes were way off. There was no rambunctious fun laughter and people grooving on the dance floor. Everyone seemed oddly reserved. Committed to their bits for sure, but well… there wasn’t much ah, variety to everyone’s act.
They all shared a similar vibe of like- domineering power. Which was definitely pretty fucking hot when it came to some people, (looking at you fancy vanpire lady), but it got boring after a while.
Safe to say your attempts at socializing were pretty shot. And what’s even worse, your friend? Yeah she didn’t even show up.
Tragic truly. You would call her to see if she made it here yet, but your phone was dead- and talking to any of the other party goers was a song and dance you didn’t wanna attempt again.
So here you are, in the bathroom, sitting by one of the sinks and charging your phone.
How lame.
You sigh, standing up to check yourself out in the mirror. At least your costume is fun, it’s a reference that only really you and you friend would get, but still, it made you happy to wear. It was a royal outfit, you looked like nobility, nice and fancy. Perhaps a barron, or maybe a princess, or a king- really it was up for anyone's interpretation. You fix up the head accessory, then fuss with your hair just to have something to do.
Maybe you should just leave, you were getting pretty bored of everything.
And it’s at that moment, as you’re sinking down to the bathroom floor to grab your charger that the most interesting thing of tonight bursts through the door.
You look at him, blinking once then twice. He does the same.
Eye candy.
That’s the first thought that comes to mind. Without an ounce of shame you let your eyes rack over his form, fitted in some sort of military outfit, tactical gear and even a prop gun. He makes it look damn good.
And then you stop admiring the hunk of prime meat in front of you because starring is rude. (Even if he is fucking amazingly charmingly rugged and god damn what you wouldn’t give to run your fingers through that mohawk of his and just tug-)
“That’s a good fucking costume.”
He pauses, looking at you with something confused and a bit bemused. And like an idiot you just can’t keep your mouth shut and blurt out more shit.
“Did ya have to bust through the door though? I mean like- don’t get me wrong it was cool as shit- really adds to the character here, big, hot, ah… military? guy.”
You wince, you’re making a fool of yourself. Luckily the man doesn't seem to mind.
(Johnny takes one look at you, your bag in a sink, your phone charging in the bathroom outlet, your clearly partly homemade costume that shows way more care than any of the other people in this joint and easily figures out-)
“L.T, Found a civvie.”
He mumbles into a- oh shit he’s got an earpiece and everything. Now that is cool. You tell him as such.
“Okay that is so fucking cool. Dude does that thing actually work? Man. How long did it even take for you to get this whole costume?”
He studies you with an odd look for a moment. You wonder if there’s actually anyone talking to him in that earpiece. Must be with the way he pauses. Slowly, he speaks; gentle.
“Not a costume lass. We ought to get you outta here, it's gonna be a shitshow soon.”
You blink. And then, you smile.
“Rightttt, not a costume. I getcha.”
“Not joking bonnie. This place is dangerous, filled with snakes. How did a wee thing like you even get in here?”
You smile, a bit pleased to banter with the first person who isn't doing the same old same old, ‘i know more than you, ooo im so big and powerful and scary’ act.
“Took a carriage ride and promised my roommate I'd be back by midnight.”
He eyes your royal esc outfit, not cinderella by any means but it still makes him smile slightly. (And boy if that isn't a sight, him looking you up and down and looking at you like that?)
“Cute. Then allow me to be yer escort princess.” He jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom door.
The statement is said with just enough sarcasm to make you bite down a grin. Hes very committed to this whole military operation act. And honestly? You were ready to leave anyway. Not to mention this guy was the only one who’d gotten your interest all night.
You grab your things and stuff them in your bag, slinging it over your shoulder tightly.
“Follow me, and ye gotta be quiet. Cant let anyone see us.”
You are more than willing to go along with his silly bit. And so you give him a clumsy salute, with a good natured smile.
“You got it captain.”
“Sergeant.”
He corrects you with an amused little puff of air. Clearly- hes just as pleased to have someone indulge him as you are to have someone interesting to talk to.
“You got it sergeant.” You repeat back with a graceful little half bow and amused smirk.
He turns back to the door, hands on his gun and before you go out you grab onto his arm.
“Wait!”
He turns to you with a raised eyebrow, eyes sharp, focused: wow hes a really good actor and hes got really pretty fucking eyes-
“Lassie?”
Oh yeah you can't get lost in his eyes just yet.
“Can I have a gun? For safety and all that- totally.”
“Hen… i don't think-”
“please sergeant? I promise I won't break it or anything! I just wanna get more into character ya know? pretty please Sir…?
…
(Johnny is not a good man. And fuck when he hears you call him by his rank, sir, asking so sweetly- your hands clasped in front of you- looking at him with a sheepish grin and pleading eyes. He wants to give you a damn bazooka if it means you keep talking sweet to him. Ghost is in his ear, telling him he better not bloody dare.)
(So of course…)
“You keep that safety on boonie. Hold it like this. If you gotta use it, don't be shooting or you’ll blow yer eye out. You toss the bloody thing in the direction of whatever it is you’re tryna hit- or you hand it to me. Is that clear?”
You nod vehemently, assuring him with little, yep’s and sure’s, and got it-’s. He raises a brow, mostly cause hes not sure if you’re actually taking this seriously. You take it for something else entirely though and then quickly say-
“Yes sir. Understood.”
(...Johnny is both damn disappointed hes on a mission, and greatful as fuck, because the only thing he wants to do is push you up against that wall, sneak his hands down your silly little costume and tease you until you’re a squirming mess. Asking you if you understand how hard hes gonna fuck you and hear your breath hitch as you answer back with a wanton “Yes sir”—)
“Sergeant…?”
You stare at the fellow and his intense gaze, wondering if you took it too far. Hes committed to his bit sure, but you didn't mean to overstep and make him feel like he had to give you a gun. Clearly they were expensive props, detailed and metallic and heavy.
Instead of speaking to you, he speaks to his earpiece, “just a precaution L.T, what if her majesty gets cornered? Little lass don't have a lick of combat training.”
You -far to ready to add to this stupid little bit- chime in,
“Yeah, they only teach you fencing and the waltz where i'm from.”
Johnny grins, “Com'on L.T”
(As much as Ghost hates to admit it- Johnny is right. And so be begrudgingly relents. It seems everyone is amused by how utterly oblivious you are because Gaz spares a laugh and a cheeky comment after Ghost's gruff voice.)
“Soooo… what's the verdict Sergeant? Did your uh… LT? That's lieutenant right-? Does he approve?”
In response, Soap carefully positions a gun in your hand, telling you with an edge to keep your fingers away from the trigger. (Safety is on of course, Johnnys not an idiot all the time.) You nod, holding onto the gun and feeling so cool.
Like that the two of you are off, sneaking around the winding corridors and hiding.
Honestly? This is the most fun you’ve had since you got here. Its all you can do to not bounce on your heels when you follow Soap around.
He's just so into this, that you can't help but be sucked in. Speaking in low tones to his ear peice, making sure you stick close, talking about positions and other military jargon that goes over your head. Oh and he does it all with this charming smile, like the situation is serious yes- but like he's still making sure you’re having fun. Trying to keep you comfortable. The energy is tense but in a good way. Electric even.
You find yourself holding your breath whenever you hide behind a corner, or when he tugs you to him and holds you still- god it's just so thrilling. Maybe because you’ve had a boring night, and cause he's charming and fun in all the right ways- but you’re having a blast.
Even when things seem to get even more tense.
You and Soap are currently nestled away in a little nook, a back corridor, a dead end. Soap curses, speaking into his earpiece. You can hear footsteps, someones coming. And if they see you and Soap- you'll surely be compromised.
(Which means your little game will likely come to an end. Most of the party people here are judgmental, ergo they probably won't appreciate your little roleplay. Its in this moment that you decide- fuck it, you dont want this to end.)
“Sergeant!” You whisper harshly, tugging off your fancy coat and draping it around him, “I’ve got a plan- trust me.”
He looks at you, mildly conflicted, he's about to say something but the footsteps are getting closer and you really need a cover story for why you’re lurking in a dark corner away from the party. You can only think of one reason two people would sneak away at a party.
Sue you for getting too into this silly game of pretend, but adrenaline spikes and next thing you know; you’re kissing him.
Rough and messy, needy. You let out your best wanton muffled moan. His eyes are wide, and for a moment you spiral, realizing what you’ve just done. Sure you were playing pretend and he was committed to the bit but you just kissed him for fucks sake- sexually harsssed him!
Oh god hes gonna hate you and you just ruined all that fun banter and any shot at ever speaking to the only decent person you’ve met all night—
He’s kissing back.
With sudden haste he pulls you close, kissing you back with a ferocity that short circuits your brain for a moment. His knee slots in between your legs, entangling you two, and then there's a soft thud as his back hits the wall.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Your heart races, a slurry of adrenaline, of elation because he was playing along with your silly cover story, of something hot and molten because he was running his hands along your outfit desperately.
Amidst the heat of it all, the grinding of his knee between your legs- you don't even notice the fact that the footsteps stopped. Johnny does though. He breaks the kiss with a purposeful loud noise, when he sees your dazed and confused expression however- he quickly aims for your neck before you can say a word and accidently give away the clever cover story you thought of.
You gasp, the noise does wonders. He can hear whoevers about to round the corner shifting about, obviously realizing what's going on and debating if they should check to be sure or spare their eyes of the sight.
So of course, Johnny helps them decide by laying it on thick.
“Fuck atta girl hen, wanna hear you fall apart f’ me.”
He presses you against his knee, nibbling at your skin to make your breath stutter. Thankfully, you catch his words and seem to get at least to some level what he's doing.
So of course, because god damn it- you’re in the thick of this silly military operation act now- you’ve gotta commit. You moan out the worst thing you can think of to make someone go away. Which is of course—
“Daddy!”
(Johnny can hear Gaz fucking roaring with laughter over coms. It takes everything in himself not to laugh then and there. Luckily, having a pretty little thing pressed against his knee and trembling provides a good distraction. Still, he can't repress the grin.)
“Yeah? Need something kitten?” He captures your lips again, a quick kiss this time, just to leave you breathless for your next remark.
“Y-Your c-” Oh my fucking god you dont know if you’re struggling to speak because you’re trying your damndest not to laugh, or because you are painfully terribly aroused at due to his kisses and husky voice. Thank god he intervenes.
“Whats that kitty? Yer gonna have to speak up. Lemme hear that sweet voice of yours.”
He guides you across his knee, you tangle your hand in his hair, tugging that stupid mohawk close to kiss him again.
When you quickly pull away, you rush out the words, failing to hide the look of pure hysterical amusement on your face- luckily the rush of words is mistaken for neediness and not because you are seconds away from bursting into laughter.
“Your cock-”
He captured your laughter in another kiss, groaning to hide the sound of your stifled snickers.
Finally, after what seems like ages and yet too little time- he hears Ghost in his ear giving him the all clear. Not without clear amusement.
Johny backs off, panting heavily and listening. He hears nothing but empty air. Quietly he whispers,
“They’re gone.”
You pant as well, trying your best to keep your hysterical little giggles quiet. Johnny is right there with you, like fucking schoolgirls- the two of you giggle for a moment.
Ah but you should probably apologize.
“H-Hey im sorry by the way- for kissing you out of the blue like that, i didn't know if you’d be comfortable with it but uh- i kinda got invested in the whole-”
You wave a hand about as he backs off you, pulling his knee away from your heat between your legs.
“-‘Don't get caught’, thing. Sorry if i um- took it too far and make you uncomfortable…”
(Johnny looks down at you, pretty little oblivious thing, looking all sheepish and nervous as if there wasn’t the high potential you just saved both his and your asses with your quick thinking.)
“All good lassie. Good quick thinking.”
(As much as he’d love to tease you more about it- or even tell you just how much he enjoyed kissing you until you were breathless- he’s still on a mission, and you need to keep moving.)
(So for now, he settles for a hair ruffle and a wink. You smile all the same.)
The pair of you continue, and you are starting to wonder where you’re going. This ain’t the way you came in- though, you suppose coming in via the main entrance would defeat the point of the game. Which was of course: to sneak you out undetected. Walking through the hall of party-goers probably wouldn’t be the best call.
Still, it's odd when you find yourself stopping at a room. It appears to be locked, a passcode and everything. This doesn’t seem to be an issue though.
(“Intel says they left the hard drive here. Code is 269344041.” Johnny listens to Ghosts voice, inputting the code easily. He ignores the confused look you end him in favor of mumbling-)
“a’m in.”
You blink as he talks to his earpiece. Carefully and quietly as you enter the room, you ask,
“Um… sergeant? What are we doing in here?”
“Looking for a package hen.”
(“Should be in a small red box.” Ghost relays.)
“-Little red box. Help me look?”
You nod like the helpful little thing you are and begin to search the room. It’s a storage unit of sorts. Bunch of random shit, you even spot a cool ass box of skeleton bones. That you show to your newfound companion.
He grimaces and gently sets the box down away from your hands.
“Let’s not touch anything else alright lassie?”
It’s framed as a question but really it’s an order. You just shrug, and then remember your line was supposed to be, ‘yes sir.’
“Yes sir.”
The search doesn’t take long after that, a few minutes max before you spot a little red box high up on a shelf. All the things around it are collecting dust, but the dull red colored cardboard seems to be free of it. Placed there recently it seems.
Maybe this whole immersive thing was planned out, and maybe it was pure luck you got roped into it. Everything was awfully elaborate after all. With him knowing the code and stuff.
“Sergeant i think i found it.”
He’s on you in and instant,
“Where?”
You point up the shelf. “That it?”
He carefully grabs it, opens it up and shuts it before you can get a good look. Looked kinda like a flash drive? A flash drive inside a plastic baggie.
“That’s what we’re looking for alright. Good work lassie. Ye might as well be a recruit at this point.”
He’s joking it seems, so you smile back in turn.
“Lived a bit too cushiony of a life for military work i’m afraid.” You gesture once more to your royal outfit. “But i’ll consider the offer sergeant.”
He takes you by the arm, tucking the box into his vest and leading you to the door.
“Glad to hear it princess.”
After that, it’s more sneaking about, more little bits of banter whenever you can, and listening to him speak into his earpiece. It’s dreadfully fun, the most fun you’ve had all night and honestly? At any party ever.
Finally- Finally, you seem to make your goal as you feel open air on your skin. That took forever to get out, with how massive the place was, but by god it was fun sneaking around like a super spy with…
Oh. You come to the sudden realization that you don’t actually know his name. That and- you never gave him your name either.
Well, this is where you leave so…
“Hey i just realized i never got your name.”
He turns to you for a brief moment, his hands on your arm now, tugging you along away from the building so that the bouncers at the front won’t see you. The two of you stop a little ways away.
“Soap. Or Johnny if you’d prefer.”
He says it so simply, with such an easy smile.
“And you princess?”
You say your own back, and it sounds so nice on his tongue. So right.
“Um- if you wouldn’t mind-“ You’re fishing in your bag now for your barely charged phone, wanting to get his number because he seems like a stand up dude and-
Soap touches his earpiece, “Package and civilians secure L.T. Good to go.” He says it quiet enough you don’t hear it, too busy looking for your phone.
(“Roger. Gaz move in.”)
“-could i maybe get your number? After i find my phone, of course. it’s just uh, well i had a lot of fun. Truth be told the night was pretty shit before you found me so if it’s okay with y-“
Your eyes widen when you see behind Soap, several Military troops storming the place, all of them holding what look to be- very real guns.
“What the fu-?”
You start, dropping your phone in a shock and completely shattering the poor device against the pavement.
Johnny can’t seem to bite down his grin.
Slowly, and yet all too fast, everything clicks as soon as you hear gunshots.
At a snails pace your head turns towards Johnny. Soap. The sergeant. The real sergeant.
“I did tell ya it wasn’t a costume hen.”
You were such a fucking idiot.
——————
Awkwardly you sit in your chair, taken in for interrogation. Less that and more for protocol considering everyone agreed you didn’t know jack shit.
Apparently, you went to the wrong party and somehow ended up at a terrorist gathering, which would explain the weird vibes of all the guests. And the super big and confusing building. And the many locked doors. And the—
The more you thought about it, the more stupid you felt so at some point in the hours of being on this stupid military base, you stopped.
To your utter horror and humiliation: Soap was a real sergeant. On a real mission. And he gave you a real ass fucking gun. And you had kissed him and oh god he had his knee between your fucking legs- you called him daddy.
Physically unable to handle the shame and embarrassment, you make a noise similar to that of a dying cat and bury your face in your hands.
The person ‘interrogating’ you, (a nice man that everyone called Gaz), just laughed. At the very least your misery was amusing.
“I am- so, so so fucking sorry, oh my god i’m such an idiot.”
“Don’t worry about it love. It helped to keep you calm. Better than dealing with panicking eh?”
You nodded because he made sense. It didn’t mean you were happy about it- but it did make sense. Soap tried to tell you after all. Honestly it was probably for the best you thought it was all a joke. Who knows what you would have done if you knew it was for real, probably panicked and gotten both yourself and him killed.
Gaz pats your head, an amused but sympathetic smile on his face.
(God fucking damn it, were all sergeants just naturally this fucking charming??? …You don’t have a thing for military guys do you?)
When the captain of this whole thing walks in, John Price; with a smile like that of a damn koala bear and air of authority- you decide that, yeah. Maybe you do have a thing for military types.
Go figure.
“You're free to go love.”
You sigh with relief, mostly because you don’t physically think you can handle anymore embarrassment. Your face is starting to hurt from all the cringing you’ve been doing. How are you ever gonna live this down?
“Afraid your phones broken though. Do you know the way home?”
No. Obviously not. You were taken here via military truck with the other soldiers. Frankly you could be in a different country right now and you wouldn’t know because you passed out at some point from the sheer embarrassment of it all.
(Price of course, knows this. He just wants to see you squirm a little longer. Is it wrong? Yeah. But he’ll be damned if you aren’t the most fun thing to mess with.)
“Um no- sir.” You tack on the title quickly, unsure exactly what to call him.
“Alright. I’ll have one of my men escort you home.”
As long as it’s anyone but Johnny you should be able to survive a car ri-
“Soap.”
Fuck.
“Take my car and escort the little lady back home.”
…You just had to think it, didn't you?
(Price knows he’s cruel for messing with you. Mean and terrible really. But the face you make when he calls Soap into the room? Where you look like you go through every stage of grief before landing on depression in .5 seconds?)
(Priceless.)
——————
The car ride is just as excruciating as you thought it would be. Even worse- Soaps a good guy. Charming and fun, sweet even. He jokes and teases you but tries his damnest to make the car ride as comfortable as possible.
Hell he even offers to stop someplace and buy you something for the road. And offer you not let would refuse; but you were at the base for hours, and it’s like 2 AM and you are exhausted and hungry and embarrassed.
So the two of you get some takeout, and eat in Prices car. You would be worried about eating in the car, but Soap makes you comfortable, assuring you the captain would probably be more upset if he let you go home on an empty stomach.
The rest of the drive is cozy after that. He pulls laughter out of you, and embarrassed groans but it’s all in good fun.
By the time you get home, you’re most definitely a little unsteady on your feet just due to how tired you are. He helps you out of the car, and even walks you to your door.
Before he leaves, you awkwardly debate giving him your number. Just so you could buy him drinks or something later down the line to make up for your utter stupidity today- but then you remember your totaled phone.
Damn.
And then, a god seemingly hears your prays because he’s slipping you a sheet of paper.
Drowsily you blink down at it to find a king number string. A phone number.
When you snap your eyes back up to him, he’s grinning.
“You wanted it right lass? Give me a call sometime.”
And then, he’s winking and walking away. Just like that.
…huh. Maybe you should go to parties more often.
#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#cod fanfic#tf 141 x reader#(kinda?)#Kissing#fanfic#go look at auspicioustiddings they’re cool#Read Firewatch#I don’t normally write romance tbh#Those were definitely probably not prop bones#Also reader 100 percent shows up with baked goods down the line#Bro is never gonna live this down#I wouldn’t either#The embarrassment could kill a man.
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EPISODE 11 ♡ KUNI AND HIS 3 RULES
HOW YOU GET THE GIRL — A SCARAMOUCHE SMAU
masterlist / prev ep / next ep / timestamps don't matter
not too long after you sent kunikuzushi that message, you see a familiar car approaching you.
you see, kunikuzushi actually has three rules that everyone (even his parents) has to follow whenever they’re going to ride his car:
one, always shake off the dirt off of your shoes before stepping in. especially if it’s raining. he absolutely loathed the idea of getting his precious car dirtied.
“just get in already. the rain might get stronger if you don’t hurry up," he says, awkwardly holding an umbrella over your head so that you won’t get wet as you get in the passenger seat. “but i thought you hated—”
“it’s fine. wiping off the raindrops is more annoying.”
two, never eat or drink anything in his car. the idea of doing so is already enough to make kunikuzushi shudder.
“here’s your drink. i didn’t actually get you coffee though, so that’s just hot chocolate.” the grande sized drink was offered. “huh? i didn’t actually expect you to actually do it, but i asked for coffee," you say, taking a sip. the hot temperature of the drink was enough to make you feel comfortable in the cold weather that the rain is causing.
“and let me guess, if i actually got you coffee, that’d be your third cup today, no?”
silence.
“thought so.”
and last but not least, three. always ask for permission if you want to play music in his car. although this one is simply common decency at this point, kunikuzushi started to get annoyed when your other friends would play music all of a sudden without notifying him first.
“here,” he says, his phone in his hand.
“what am i supposed to do with your phone?”
“play music, obviously. why else would i give it to you right now?”
oh.
“oh. okay, uhm.” it was awkward to say, at least.
this behavior or treatment from him isn’t new. but you didn’t expect to still receive it after... well, everything. scrolling through his list of liked songs on spotify, you decided to just hit shuffle. soon after, the little screen on his car says, “the way you look at me — christian bautista”.
with the calming piano tunes starting to play during the ride, the exhaustion from everything you did today started to sink in, and you eventually started to feel drowsy. choosing to close your eyes a bit, you unknowingly started to doze off.
what you weren’t aware of, though, is that the driver next to you would glance at you from time to time when the light was red. he would switch lanes as well, choosing lanes that would have just a bit of traffic just so he could admire the person next to him sleeping peacefully more.
kunikuzushi was content with this—to have you this close. the distance was enough for him to be sure that he could never love someone else after you.
meanwhile…
“huh? that’s weird. why did kuni turn right? he should’ve gone left since he was taking (name) home.” lyney says, looking at the life 360 of your friend group at the moment.
lynette just looks at his screen and proceeds to drink her tea. “leave them be, lyney. i’m sure kuni knows what he’s doing.”
extra notes.
omg heyyyy sorry for ghosting </3 i'll try to update more these days hehehe
taglist (open): @yinyinggie @blue-b3rries @ryuryuryuyurboat @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @lilikags @haliyamori @diorlumx @mamafly @zuunotsane @iloveosamuu @featuredtofu @kana-de @xiaoderrrr @f1orent1ne @alhaitie @yelleloww @brain-r0tt @jamieexistss @danfelions @e0nssadrift @lovemari @kunikissr @chluuvr @lazy-sanns @lxkeeeee @swivy123 @sketcheeee @quacking-simp @tiredslepz @vxcmx @kichiy0shi @yingofthemoon @feiherp @sicut-sol @mayuumine @xiaosoneandonly @xtobefreex @bananasquash @im-the-ruler-here @hiraethhv @yumiaur @oughhhhmamamia @beriiov @cindywasneverhere @klanxii @fangygf @draclula @aromaticism @shotosjupiter @lovelykrystal @lyzisbitchingagain @riraaya
#( smau — how you get the girl ! )#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact#genshin imagines#scaramouche x reader#kunikuzushi x reader#scaramouche smau#kunikuzushi#x reader
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ooh that prompt list is lowkey 🔥🔥
can i get a (squinting like im trying to order fast food) number 14 angst? it can be with any sauce (driver)
my kind of woman.
Oscar Piastri x fem!reader
in which formula one star, Oscar Piastri, and girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n, get into a fight over something extremely stupid.
warnings: FLASHBACKS IN ITALICS, extremely slightly toxic, shouting, mentions of Gods torture to woman because of what Eve did 🙄🙄, swearing!!!
prompt 14 on angst- “just… lay down with me”
“your my, my, my, kinda woman”
“don’t even bother coming Y/n” was the last words that came out of Oscar’s mouth. he’s called me shortened version of my name during an argument before but never my full name. my face dropped and my stomach sunk to my feet when i heard my boyfriend say my full name. that’s when i instantly thought it was my fault. Oscar was off to the Australian Grand Prix after the ‘fight’ happened. it wasn’t physical or anything just really verbal. i was scared of him. i couldn’t tell if he could tell i was. he really shouted. i don’t know why. i was on my period, which made things 10x worse. as soon as i heard the hotel door slam shut, i burst into sobs.
-
“Oscarr” i sung, skipping over to my boyfriend. it was day 3 of my period and i was in a pretty good mood because i hadn’t got any cramps today. it was around 7-8am and i wasn’t tired for some reason. “what” my boyfriend, Oscar, responded to me. i flinched slightly, but brushed it off and smiled. i wrapped my arms around his shoulders from behind him. he was sitting on the hotel couch with a coffee sat on the table in-front of him, going cold. i kissed his temple but instead of doing something nice in return, he grabbed my arms and shoved me off of him. i let out a quiet ‘oh’ as i felt a pang in my chest. “oh” he mocked in a weird, lazy tone. i just narrowed my eyes at him. “sorry?” i said, making sure i heard him right. “oh shush Y/n”. he rarely uses my full name on me so it was clearly serious.
“what’s wrong Osc?” i asked. “oh my god” he whispered to himself. i stepped back in disgust at my boyfriends new attitude. he turned his head around to face me “i told you to shush? didn’t you fucking here me?” he said a little but louder this time. “but i was just trying to find out what’s u-” i started. then he got up and really shouted. what had him in such a bad mood this morning? tears pricked my eyes as he shouted all horrible words at me. “O-Osc-” “no Y/n, i don’t want to fucking hear it”. i was really upset. i hadn’t done anything. have i? then i heard him mumble under his breath. ‘stupid bitch’ “Oscar what the fuck?!” i whisper-shouted, due to my tears getting in the way of everything. “you heard me.” he said. then i cried. “jesus christ… here you go with fucking crying” he says, throwing his hands in the air and letting them smack back down by his sides. making me flinch hard. he didn’t even care. “don’t even bother coming Y/n”
(hours later…)
my face was buried in the hotel pillows. i was trying to sleep but i couldn’t i just laid there, face down blankly. my cheeks were stained with tears. but i didn’t care. i just sat there for hours, rethinking and trying to figure out what i had done wrong that morning. until i heard the front door open, a bag drop and light footsteps coming towards the door. “hi baby” was what i heard. hi baby? the fucking audacity this man has to scream in my face and come back to say ‘hi baby’?? after not getting a response, Oscar walked over to the bed, took of his shoes, tried to touch my leg in a form of comfort but i just shook him off of me. he sat on the bed for a few seconds, most likely watching to see if i would respond. after still no reply he got up and turned the shower on. he was probably sweaty anyways. after a few minutes (because whoever wrote this, oh me, is lazy asf) Oscar came out the shower and put a pair of sweats on and a hoodie.
i felt the bed dip beside me and a hand went on my lower back. “are you okay?” he said. i just got up, grabbed a pillow and went to the couch. Oscar shouted after me “Y/n/n!”. still no response. he followed me out the room and to the couch. “what’s up sweetheart?” he asked. “what’s up? what’s fucking up? what do you mean Oscar? you fucking screamed at me this morning and now your trying to see what’s up?” i finally confronted him. he squinted his eyes at himself and once he finally remembered everything he ran a hand over his face. “i’m so sorry about that, my love, i was just really tired” “that’s not an excuse to shout at me Oscar, i was really upset” i whimpered. he just had a-lot of sympathy in his eyes and left me there, sitting on the rather uncomfortable couch.
after minutes that felt like hours, i got up and went to the bedroom me and Oscar had set in. i cracked the door open slightly. “Osc?” i whispered. “yes?” he replied. “can i sleep in here? i’m sorry i tried to sleep on the couch”. even in the dark i could tell Oscar was smiling. “please, just… come and lie down with me, i want to hold you” so that’s just what i did. “i love you Y/n/n, so much and i’m sorry i lashed out on you like that. it wasn’t okay and i will do everything in my power to make sure it will never ever happen again. im so so sorry and i love you so so much” “i love you too koala” we both giggled and lay there, holding, kissing and touching each-other. not sexually. just like we had been touched starved our whole lives and we just wanted human contact. i love him and i trust he wouldn’t do it again.
-
AUTHORS NOTE: sorry this is short :( it’s midnight after all and i have an assignment due at 9 that i haven’t actually done so i will 1000000% be doing that… AFTER I DO SOME OTHER REQUESTS 🥳🥳 don’t worry its not an assignment that matters. i’m already trained in Marine Biology (my dream job!!) and can’t wait to pursue my career!!!
#f1#f1 x reader imagines#spotify#lando norris#lando norris fluff#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#cl16#nolan hansen
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Omg imagine Jamie with a partner who collects flowers to put in her book. so when Roy and Jamie are out training in the morning Jamie looks for flowers and picks them and Roy’s like wtf and then Jamie explains that his partner collects them. So Jamie comes home with a coffee and a flower you don’t have yet ever noting.. ahhh I don’t know if this is good or not
THIS IS SO CUTE SO SO SO CUTE
Here's a little baby drabble
"What the fuck are you doing?" Roy barked when he realized Jamie wasn't behind him.
Jamie was walking through the garden of some stranger's house. He was parading around, carefully stepping over bushes and flowers.
"Gotta find a new flower," he said simply, looking around himself.
Roy grunted and rolled his eyes. "Look Jamie, you can garden in your own time, now we have to finish our run."
Jamie waved Roy off. Roy looked around and huffed, crossing his arms as Jamie continued to step around the garden.
The porch light flicked on, and a middle age man opened the front door.
"What are you doing in my garden?" He asked, looking between Roy and Jamie. "Hang on, you're Roy Kent!" Roy growled. "And you're-"
"Jamie Tartt, yeah, can I take this flower," he pointed at a weird looking purple flower that had several thin petals sticking out from its purple bud.
The man shrugged. "Sure."
"Mint, thanks, mate!" Jamie reached down and delicately picked the flower. "What's it called?"
The man came over and took out his glasses to look at the flower. "Oh, good choice, that is a Spider Daisy, a lovely color, the latin name is Osteo-"
"Cheers, mate, gotta dash," Jamie cut him off, stepping out of the garden and starting his jog again, carefully shielding the flower in his grasp.
Roy let out a sigh, thanked the man, and started to run off after Jamie.
...
You woke up to the sound of your alarm at 7:30 in the morning. It was criminal to be awake this early, especially when Jamie wasn't home yet. You grumbled and shoved your face back into the pillow.
As if on cue, the front door opened and Jamie was calling your name. You only let out a loud grunt in return, hoping he'd come in there and drag you out of bed.
The first thing you felt was his lips on your temple.
"Morning, love," He chuckled, brushing his fingers through your hair.
"Mmmm," you groaned back.
"I brought you something."
You rolled over onto your side and saw him holding out a cup of coffee. You let out a muted squeal of glee as you shuffled to a sitting position. You took a long sip of the coffee before letting a lazy smile come onto you face.
"Better?" Jamie chuckled.
"Better," You responded, nodding. "Morning, Jamie."
He grinned, leaning into towards you. "Morning."
You cupped his jaw as he leaned in to kiss you. This was a beautiful way to wake up wasn't it. You couldn't imagine a better way to wake up.
"I, uh, got you something else," Jamie mumbled. It was then you noticed he hand an arm behind his back. You cocked your head, motioning for him to continue. He pulled out the flower he'd picked up.
You're eyes widened as you smiled. "Oh, wow! It's gorgeous!"
You put aside your coffee to delicately take the flower with both hands. Jamie looked at your face as you gazed at it, reveling in his success in making you light up.
"The bloke said it was a Spider Daisy," Jamie told you, glancing between you and the flower. "I thought it looked cool."
"It does," you echoed. You traced the flower and it's interesting shape and look. "I'll press it right now."
She handed the flower back to Jamie and flew out of the bed, now suddenly much more awake. Jamie laughed as you ran to your desk and pulled out a book. You weren't wearing pants, your hair was wild, and he was pretty sure that was a wine stain on your shirt but he didn't care, he thought you looked beautiful.
You flipped through the pages, full of different flowers and dates.
"This one is so special, Jamie," you mused, coming to sit next to him on the bed. "Thank you."
"Anything for you, babe," Jamie murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He was aiming for your lips but you were too excited to press your flower and turned away. He grumbled and flopped back on the bed.
This was so cute! I hope you enjoy!
#jamie tartt#jamie tartt x reader#ted lasso#ted lasso show#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt x y/n#jamie tartt fanfiction#drabble night#drabble#fluff
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