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cleo-fox · 5 months

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Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable.

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest.

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

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gatorbites-imagines · 10 months

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Floor to ceiling windows

Miguel O’Hara x male reader

Smut drabble

I blame tiktok for this one.

Scent kink and sweat in this, so if that isn’t your cup of tea, oh well. I felt I probably should start naming my drabbles, so I named this one, enjoy.

The sun shined brightly in through the tall windows into Miguels apartment, the type of apartment you see in movies or imagine when someone says millionaire. With windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, and white furniture so expensive you wouldn’t even dare sit down in fear of staining them with your presence. All looked too pristine, too expensive, like something right out of a magazine someone from your tax bracket would never be able to afford.

Well, almost everything. It would all have looked too well, if not for the large man draped across it, arm tucked behind his head and legs spread in what you’d probably fall the most foul menspread you had ever laid your eyes on. Miguel was wearing a sorry excuse of fabric he claimed was a tanktop, barely covering anything as it hung from loose straps, leaving the armhole going almost all the way down to his wasit. The tiny shorts he wore wasn’t much help either, ending barely a quarter of the way down his massive thighs, the poor fabric stretching to its full capability to try and contain the muscle, one way or another.

Normally you would be ribbing on him for his posture, how he looked like the image that most of those alpha male podcasters tried to shine but always failed at doing. But your mouth was quite preoccupied at the moment, as Miguel’s free hand was buried in your hair and pulling you closer to his exposed armpit. The flat of your tongue ran from the bottom of the crevice to the top, brushing over the coarse hairs of his bodyhair as the salty taste of his sweat covered your tastebuds.

It was hard to pinpoint how you’d found yourself in this position, half kneeling on the couch as you licked and sucked the salty drops of sweat off Miguel’s sweaty body, his musk filling your very senses, so strong that it almost left your eyes rolling. Maybe it was when you had stepped in through your own portal, thanks to your watch since you were part of the whole spider team, and the first thing you had seen was Miguels tan body shiny with sweat. Or maybe it was how his hair seemed less styled than usual, falling in natural waves across his forehead, some of it sticking against his skin thanks to his sweat, all which could be blamed on the harsh sun that shined in through the windows.

But one thing led to another, and here you were, your own spidersuit tucked off your torso and tied around your waist like one would a jacket. Gruff Spanish left his lips as the hand in your hair tightened and pulled your head this and that way, leading your tongue in whatever direction Miguel wanted it to be. As your thoughts blurred, you could focus on nothing but inhaling his strong musky scent and licking his skin clean of salty sweat.

At one point he had moved you, using his large height and inhumane strength to pull you onto his other side, so that you could lather his other pit with the same worshipping treatment, his grumbled praise constant as you kept up your task. Only after licking his torso clean did you find yourself on your knees in front of him, looking up at him with a spit and sweat slick face, your hair mused and your pupils blown.

A moan left you as his hand buried itself in your hair once more, his half smirk being the last thing you saw before your eyes rolled back and fell shut, as his grip pulled you in close, burying your face in the crevice between his thigh and his crotch. Maybe barging into his home uninvited hadn’t been the worst idea you’d ever had, you surely didn’t think so, and Miguel didn’t seem to mind much either.

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monster-disaster · 8 days

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i’ve been really insecure abt my appearance which is just making my depression even worse. would you please be able to write something with a ghost or shadow monster bf comforting the reader in both a fluffy and smutty way?? no rush for this btw😊😊

ghost!boyfriend x human!Reader Good to know: angsty with comforting boyfriend, smut

A/N: I hope my story gives you a moment of peace and comfort. :)

By the time you arrive home, take a shower, and settle in front of the TV, you are exhausted and ready to do nothing for the rest of the night. You are utterly spent, both physically and mentally. You are at your limits and unsure how to take back your control of your own self. The reins slip out of your fingers no matter how tight you try to hold them.

There are days when you feel content and happy in your own skin, savoring the world and its offerings. These days, though cherished, are often very fleeting. Sometimes, sometimes more often than you would like, you have to face the difficult days when everything seems to go awry. The world around you feels too tight, pressing in from all sides to the point you can barely stand underneath it with your own overwhelming thoughts. These days demand more from you than you feel capable of giving. On these days, you need more strength and understanding, but it's not always so simple. It barely ever is.

You are nestled on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. The soothing scent of your favorite lotions lingers, and your freshly laundered pajamas are soft against your skin. The blue glow of the TV illuminates your small living room, casting a gentle hue over the furniture. The aroma of your favorite takeout on the coffee table drifts through the air. Though your stomach rumbles, you remain still. There is not a single fiber in your body that you can make to move; instead, you melt even further into the pillows behind you.

Sometimes, it's easier to take care of yourself physically than mentally, although definitely not always.

There are days, or even weeks when you can go above and beyond to break free from the shadows of your mind, but it's still not enough. Your brain remains trapped in this gloomy, exhausting place where nothing is enough and everything is too much. You don't do enough, and you are not good enough, while the world is too much, and sometimes you are too much, and even though you know deep down that it's not true, it's hard to remind yourself every now and again and again. These fights with your own mind leave you drained and spent.

Fortunately, you don't have to face these days alone.

You never have to be alone when you are at home.

You sense his presence long before you feel his touch or see the gentle shift of your blanket as he slips beside you. His presence wraps around you like a second layer, clinging to your skin with a warmth that sends tingles through your body. A relieved sigh leaves your lips, and you snuggle closer to the comforting feeling seeping into your bones.

"I'm fine," you break the silence. The memory of your exhale lingers in your words. His disapproval is clear and heavy in the air. You curl into yourself even more. "I will be fine," you correct yourself after a few seconds. You don't have to hear or see your ghost to know what he wants. You just know it.

The plastic container on the coffee table moves closer, but you shake your head, pulling the cover tighter around yourself. "I will eat it later." Another wave of disapproval washes over you, but he leaves the topic for now. Instead, his presence envelopes you even more, curling around your body and settling over your shoulders. Your eyelids fall shut at the caressing motion through your hair, massaging your scalp and drawing small circles on the nape of your neck.

Pulling your legs closer to your chest, you rest your head on the back of the couch. "Thank you," you hum.

"I don't know what went wrong today."

The moment you opened your eyes this morning, you knew you would have to face one of those days when your mind acts like your enemy while you try to drag yourself through your chores with heavy limbs and an even heavier chest. The clouds were dark and thick above your head all day, and nothing you did chased them away.

"I'm just tired," you tell him while the TV goes on in the background.

You tried to make your day better, to make yourself feel better, but it was a lost cause from the moment you looked at yourself in the mirror. Nothing felt right as you stared at your own reflection, finding every flaw with merciless criticism and unforgiveness. Your skin felt too tight, and your features looked too wrong. You changed your clothes again and again and again, but nothing was good enough. It seemed like every one of your dresses and blouses and trousers highlighted all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.

"I know they are not true," you continue, motioning to your head. "My thoughts, I mean. But it's so hard to make myself believe in the opposite."

The invisible hands go down from your hair to your neck and to the soft curve that leads to your shoulders. Fingers dig into your skin through your shirt, rubbing against your muscles. You lean forward automatically, letting your head dip to your chest with a soft sigh. The hands slip to your shoulder blades, following the straight line of your spine and spreading out to find every soreness and knot.

"Thank you," you break the silence after a while, keeping your eyes closed. You can feel yourself gradually relax under your ghost's ministrations. You know your problems won't solve themselves because of a massage, but right now, they move back to the back of your mind, letting you breathe again after a whole day.

You are ready to fall asleep just like that, sitting with your legs crossed when his hands slip under your shirt like a light summer breeze. Your back straightens immediately, and you reach out to grab and stop nothing. Your fingers curl into your palm. Your nails dig into the soft flesh there.

The air freezes for a second. "Wait!" You gasp.

For a long moment, nothing happens. "I-" You want to say something to break the tension, but your words get stuck in your throat when the warm sensation from your side glides to your hand. You can feel his fingers slipping through yours as he lifts your arm into the air, and soon, you can feel his lips brushing over your knuckles.

You still don't know how a ghost can make you feel so much, but you welcome it gratefully.

He plants soft kisses on your hand until you calm down, and he can continue his way under your clothes. The soft fabric falls to the couch beside you silently after a few minutes. He moves slowly and carefully, letting you melt against the pillows behind you once again while the warmth of his touch creeps over your sides to find rest on your bare breasts. He cups the soft globes, stroking his thumbs back and forth over your nipples.

You know he is behind you, kissing up and down on your neck while groping your tits and caressing your heated skin. Your back arches, pushing yourself into his palms even more, and your mind is blank and hazy with pleasure. Shivers run through your spine with every circling motion and gentle tug on your nipples. By the time he decides to wander lower on your body, they are swollen and sensitive, and every small stroke and brush feels like a strike through your body.

Your breathing is heavy and ragged. Your legs open on their own when his hand slips under your pants and panties. Your head falls back on the couch, and an impatient moan escapes your lips. His fingertips brush over your slit teasingly, smearing your wetness all over your pussy before finding your clit. He draws small circles on your aching bud, making your hips grind against his invisible touch as you chase your rapidly approaching pleasure. You can feel your climax building. The familiar knot is hot and burning in your stomach.

"Please." Your plea is soft on your tongue in the quiet room.

Your ghost rubs and flicks your clit faster and faster. Your muscles tense, and your whole body jolts when he pushes you over the edge without any warning. Your world spins as you reach your climax with another mewl. It surges through your veins, urging your heart to flutter against your ribcage.

His lips are warm on your forehead as he kisses you while you are still panting and trying to recover.

And not even a second later, your food on the coffee table is pushed closer to you again.

Your laugh is weak and amused. "Okay, okay. I will eat."

You know your problems don't magically disappear because of an orgasm. The battles and demons that haunt you are still with you somewhere deep in your mind, demanding your attention and energy time and time again even when you feel too tired and weak to face them, but right now, the darkness of the night falls easier on your shoulders, and you know tomorrow will be another day. Maybe a better day, maybe not, but either way, you won't be alone.

So, you let yourself rest tonight, embracing the peace of the world and your mind.

#sweet asks #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #teratophillia #exophelia #ghost x human

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asmutwriter · 3 months

Text

The Gangsta's Wife (Part 5)

DESCRIPTION: A deal with the Shelby family goes wrong whilst you've been away. So you decide to take matters into your own hands

WORD COUNT: 2751

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List

WARNINGS: brief mentions of drunk people, pet names (love), swearing, talk of threat (meant in a commical way), blackmail, mentions of gangs, semi toxic relationship, smoking

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

This story does not follow the timeline of the show

You wake up in the morning from the party the day before. Bringing your hands up to rub at your face. Due to the party running into the early hours of the morning, plus the events you and your husband got up to. Its not surprising that you didn't get much sleep last night. Sitting up you see the bed empty next to you.

You pull the cover off of your frame. Swiveling your legs out and over the side of the bed. Getting washed and dressed before heading downstairs. You hear voices coming from the kitchen so you venture into the room. You see two of the guests chatting with each other as they appear to be making themselves some tea. You smile at them both, nodding slightly in acknowledgement before walking towards another room.

Heading into the living room you see your friend and husband sat inside. Both seem to be chatting with each other. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything" you say, a smile on your face as Vanessa turns to look at you. Smiling over the back of the sofa at you.

"No. Not at all. Do come join us" she scoots over slightly, gently patting the seat next to her. You sit down, hand smoothing over your dress as your friend continues to talk "Mr Shelby and I were having a lovely chat. Turns out we're very similar people" you smile softly as you look at her.

"Really? How's that?"

"Neither of us had much to our names when we were younger. But now? We practically have empires. Well, we could have empires in a few years anyway. If we so desired" you chuckle slightly. You bring a hand up and gently run it over your forehead

"I can't argue with that. Your both strong minded people. If you want something you get it" she smiles as your eyes glancing to your husbands. His blue eyed stare watches you. His legs slightly apart, head tilted, one arm resting on the end of the sofa as the other lies against the back of the plush furniture.

"Oh I like that. 'Strong minded people'. Makes us sound truly empowering" you chuckle slightly. Eyes going back to our friends as she smiles at you. She goes to speak but you hear the voices from the kitchen calling out her name. She smiles, letting out a sigh before she stands up. "Sorry. I don't think the drink of those two has fully worn off from last night and I fear they may break something if I don't go and see what they want"

"We should be heading home anyway" Thomas says, standing up and looking at your friend "but thank you for the hospitality"

"So soon?"

"I promised my sister that we'd be back early afternoon. She's handling all of my affairs today" her lip twitches slightly. A smile threatening.

"I'm surprised you haven't left it to your brothers" he smiles at her and shakes his head

"My sister is far more capable then my brothers at handling that side of my business" she smiles fully. Nodding slightly she holds her hand out for him to shake

"Well, its been a pleasure meeting you Mr Shelby. I do hope you come along to my next party" he meets her smile, shaking her hand before dropping it. She comes over to you as you stand up to say goodbye. Hugging you tightly as your put your arms around her. "You are a wonderful young woman Florence. I hope you strive in this new life you've chosen" she moves away, holding your shoulders as she smiles at you. Dropping your arms before she goes to see to her other guests.

"I need to pack but that won't take me long" you turn to your husband. "Give me 5 minutes and I'll be ready to go" you smile. Turning and going back to your room. Shoving your belongings into your overnight bag.

Your friend sees you out. After dealing with her other friends that is. Waving and blowing kisses as you drive away. You wave goodbye as you get into the passenger seat of your husbands car. Sticking your head out to watch her as she becomes small in the distance. Waving as a smile sticks on your face. Happiness of the past couple of days filling your body.

About 10 minutes pass of him driving. Your happy expression softening but the feeling staying. You expect for the car ride home to be silent. A comfortable silence. That is until your husband breaks that.

"I can see where you got your headstrong personality from" you chuckle slightly

"I'm going to take that as a compliment"

"It was meant as one" he smiles as he watches the road. "What did you tell Miss Smith about our marriage?" the sudden question surprising you. You look at him. Confusion on your face as you process the answer.

"I... I told her that we had met a few times and we got married after I became your neighbor" you turn to face him. His eyes watching the road. "Why the question all of a su..." you trail off before closing your eyes. Turning your head towards the road again "she asked you what your intentions were didn't she?". You look back at him as a soft smile appears on his face. "Oh my god" you hide your face with your hands. "I'm so sorry Mr Shelby. She can be a right pain in the ass sometimes" he chuckles softly.

"Its alright love. Its good to see that she cares about you" you face him again. Your hands moving to your chest, fiddling with the wedding ring around your finger.

"What did you say to her?"

"I told her that I have pure intentions with you and that I wish to keep you safe" you squint your eyes slightly.

"I feel like there was more to that conversation"

"Even though I assured her I wish you well, that still didn't stop her from threatening me". You shut your eyes. Leaning back on your chair in a hopes to hide from the situation your friend has caused.

"Jesus fuck" you bite your bottom lip. Letting it loose as you look at him. Your hands coming to rest in your lap "Please try not to take it to heart. She's done that with all my past boyfriends" he laughs softly. "She once threatened to feed one of them to the pigs. Then was surprised when he didn't stick around for long"

"Did her pigs suddenly get bigger over night too?" he jokes. Causing you to chuckle, playfully hitting his arm

"No. She doesn't even own pigs. That's what made the threat even better. She said she would buy some specifically for the purpose of feeding him to them" he laughs again. His smile growing wider. "She's such an idiot" you say, a smile on your lips as he nods.

"It probably wasn't the wisest choice. Like you said though, I wont take it to heart"

"I'm glad to hear that"

Arriving back home was a welcoming yet odd experience. Your sisters were extremely happy to see you again. The both of them nearly knocking you over with their enthusiastic hug as you exit the car. Ada greeting you both, hugging her brother before she comes over to you. Seeing Tommy grabbing your bags before heading inside.

“Florence” she smiles before she hugs you. You hug her back "you both seem in a good mood" you smile and nod. You sisters becoming attached to your sides.

“I hope that they weren’t to much of a problem for you” she lets out a mild chuckle

“Oh they were a pain the whole time. Running havoc all around the house” you chuckle

“Now that I do believe”. She smiles as she moves away from the hug.

“How was your weekend? How was your friend?”

“It was good. I’ve not seen her in a long while so it was good to see her again. I didn’t get to speak to her much though due to the amount of people there. But it’s always good to see her friends too”. You smile at her as your sisters cling to you again. One on each arm as you stumble into your house. Ada following behind and shutting the door. Letting out a soft laugh as she watches you struggle with your siblings.

Mr Shelby walks into the hallway. Hand going to his sisters arm as he looks at her “when were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what Tommy?”

“That we’ve been having problems with Mr Thompson”

“Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter” she lets out an annoyed huff as she rolls her eyes.

“I was waiting until you’d gotten settled back home before updating you on the business side of things”

“I’m home now. Tell me what I’ve missed”

“Come on girls” you say, ushering your sisters into the kitchen. Starting to make yourself a hot drink. Thomas and Ada going into the living room. Shutting the door behind them. Your sisters start bombarding you with questions. What was the food like? Did they serve alcohol? Was there live music? So on and so on.

You answer them truthfully. Smiling and laughing at the comments they make about your answers. Making conversation with them as you make a tea. Sipping it as they continue to natter to you

You watch down the hallway as you see Ada leave your house. Hearing conversation from the living room as she leaves the door open. Then a few more minutes pass. Arthur and John also exiting the living room. You smile at your sisters as it appears to go quiet. Placing your cup down on the side. “I’ll be back in a second girls” you head to the living room. Looking inside you see Tommy and Polly. Him standing, burning cigarette in his hand as his palms rest on the mantle piece. Facing towards the fireplace as she is sat. She looks at you from where she is. Her look goes from welcoming to closed off as she meets your eyes.

“We can discuss this later” she stands up. Holding her small purse like bag close to her person as she walks out. You look at your husband as the front door closes shut.

“What happened?” You ask. Your voice coming out so quietly you're worried he might not have heard.

“It doesn’t matter” he turns to face you. "Leave me Flo". His eyes have lost that friendliness they held earlier that day and are back to being cold and unreadable. A soft 'no' escaping your lips. A flash of anger goes through his eyes. "I said leave. This doesn't concern you"

"I said no" you speak. Not yelling, but matching his demanding tone of voice. Your voice wavering slightly as you try to keep up the domineering act. "You said I'd be more involved in the family business. Tell me what happened and how I can help"

"You can help by minding your own fucking business" his tongue holds spite on it as he speaks to you. Neither of you moving as he takes in a deep breath. Both of you refusing to lose your ground in the silent war you had. He takes a step closer to you. Reading your body language as he meets your eyes. You ball your hands into fists by your side under his stare

“It does matter. I was there at the meeting about Mr Thompson. I might be able to help now” he watches you. Your fists remain clenched by your sides. Refusing to break your eye contact though as you continue your statement “you said that you’d let me be more involved. To help build trust among you and your family. This could be how. Please Mr Shelby”. He pauses again. Mere minutes seem like hours passing before he speaks

“Harry Thompson has denied our terms of him leaving Birmingham and leaving our men alone. He proposed a deal this morning whilst we were away. That he will leave my family alone and that we'd be safe if we give him everything we own. The house. Our money. Every man we have on our pay role. Every woman we've ever spoken to"

“Fuck” you mutter, causing him to nod. Bringing the smoke up to his lips. Inhaling deeply as he continues to watch you.

"We could use force but he's a powerful man. I fear we'd lose some good men in the process. If I take the deal then at least they would all survive".

"You can't take that deal Mr Shelby. There must be another way" You pan your head down. Eyes frantically scanning the floor as you try and think of a solution. Then a thought comes into your head. A rumor you heard. One that you didn’t think much of until now.

“I think I have a plan”. You tilt your head up slightly. Eyes meeting his “I’ve heard a rumor. One that could be good to use against him”

“A rumor?” you nod. He scoffs. Shaking his head as he draws a quick smoke of his cigarette. The smoke falling around him as he speaks. "I'm not going to risk everything because of a rumor"

"It might work as blackmail. You could use it to make him leave" he draws a drag. Thinking more with this inhale. Exhaling the smoke and letting the grey air fill the room.

"Let's hear this wonderful plan then". You falter slightly. Your strong demeanor changing mildly to a more timid one

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you… it would be good to say that you don’t know so that you aren’t involved. In case it turns out to be false”

“Tell me. Now” His voice remained neutral but the power behind it made a shiver run up your spine.

“I- I’ve heard that he may have a second family. One that he values more then his current wife” he pauses. Watching you as he listens to your words.

“That’s it?”. He speaks matter of fact. You feel an embarrassment come over you. Going to your cheeks in a shade of pink.

“Oh please do sound more happy about that piece of information” sarcasm unintentionally coating your voice as you fold your arms. His stern expression breaks for a split second as you see a tint of humor crack at his lips, obviously amused by your reaction

“It’s not a lot to go off of love. He might have a family. Even if he does, what can we do about that?”

“Threaten them. If he cares about them as much as I’ve heard he does then he’ll do a lot to make sure they’re safe. Including taking the deal that you’ve proposed to him”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“That’s why I’ll go alone to see him about this proposition”

“No”

“It’s a good plan”

“No Florence. End of discussion”

“If I go alone and it turns out to be false then it’s seen as your wife being stupid and trying to help her husband. If it goes well then it’s seen as a threat by a woman who has just as much potential as you to cause his loved ones harm. If hes the man I deem him to be then he'll agree to your original terms and leave Birmingham”. Your husband stays silent. Instead his cold stare causes goosebumps over your body. "I'm willing to put my life on the line to have a chance of saving your family. I just need you to trust me and let me do this".

He looks displeased. Very displeased in fact. But nods slightly. Snuffing out his cigarette before he speaks. "How will you find him then, eh? To give him your new terms"

"He drinks at your pub every night. Hes been doing it since hes been here. So later tonight I'll go there" he goes to say something but you cut him off "I am aware of the danger of going there alone. But I am your wife and the people in the pub know better then to mess with the wife of Tommy Shelby. So I will be fine"

"I don't like this plan" you half smile at him

"Well you have-" you look at the clock on the wall "6 hours to think of a better one before I head to the pub"

Previous / Next

TAGS

@whorecrux-of-slytherin @kkrenae @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo

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theelazaruspit · 1 year

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Home

John Price x GN!Reader, no use of Y/N Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: Angst if you squint. It’s mostly fluff, I promise, but Price is inherently angsty, so there’s a little, but it’s vague. I’m still deep in my fluff feels, so have some Price fluff to soothe the soul. Loosely based on my ramblings to @yeyinde from a while ago, so enjoy!

John Price is a practical man, one guided by logic and reasoning, strong and capable, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders with a grace that few others could. His house is a direct reflection of this practicality. It’s modest, perhaps a bit dull, a simple house built for one tucked away from the rest of the world. The size of the space was never a problem; if anything, it was an upgrade, a relief from all of his years spent living in close quarters while on duty.

However, despite being his own, a space for him to (attempt) to unwind before he is inevitably called away, it’s almost bare. What’s the point of personalizing a house you barely spend time in any way?

There are the necessities, simple furniture that favors function over style, enough food to last the brief periods he would be there, along with what few personal items he’d collected over the years, but there is very little else. It feels as though it’s nothing more than a temporary landing because, for a long time, it was. That is until he met you.

John was slow to let you into his life, hesitant, still not fully convinced that you were aware of what you’d gotten yourself into by dating him, but to his shock, no matter how much he pushed, you refused to stray. You understand the importance of his job and that he wouldn’t always be around, and you love him regardless, something that is still difficult for him to fully comprehend, but even with his doubts, he is reassured and wishes to spend as much time with you as he could.

When John suggested you move in together, you were surprised. Yes, you had been with one another for years but being invited into his space in such a permanent way made you apprehensive. You understood that contrary to popular belief, John is human and, like any other person, needs space and time for himself.

If anything, the fact that these well-deserved moments were so few and far between, often being punctuated by witnessing indescribable horrors, the ugliest aspects of humanity, only increased their importance, and the last thing you wanted was to intrude. Nevertheless, John assured you that your presence soothed him, reminding him that there was still good in the world, so you finally agreed.

When you first moved in, despite John’s constant assurance that you were free to do as you pleased, wanting to prioritize your comfort over uniformity, you hesitated to make yourself known in the house. You began with just the essentials, only keeping what you needed most in plain sight, not wanting to disrupt the meticulously ordered space.

But, over time, you began to settle, finally allowing yourself to explore as you grew more comfortable. The structure of the house, the foundation, remained unchanged, and yet the house John is greeted with feels like a different space entirely.

Having been away for months, he was finally back, and he felt a sense of relief. Before meeting you, longer missions never bothered him much. As strenuous as they could be, they were simply part of the job, and as Captain, he was expected to do whatever was necessary, no matter how long it took. But now everything is different; he has someone to come back to, someone to miss.

John hadn’t told you he was back yet, wanting to surprise you. So while you were away, he’d wait. When stepping through the threshold, an unexplainable warmth flows through him.

Before you moved in together, he worried the space wouldn’t be large enough for you both. It was a simple, single-person house that was never intended to house two people, but you reassured him it was fine, and despite his doubts and offers to find somewhere bigger in what was seeming to become a pattern, you proved him wrong. As he takes in his surroundings, all of John’s stress seems to melt away. It feels as though a piece he hadn’t known was missing was found because while you did not disturb his belongings, all of the additions felt so you, so right.

Upon entry, the warm, pleasant feeling in his body only grows as he is greeted with the soft scent of sandalwood and two pairs of house slippers.

The slippers came in a couples spa set and were accompanied by matching robes that presumably still hung in the bathroom as they had when he left. A ridiculous gift, one John had protested, insisting he didn’t need something so frivolous. Still, after you expressed your desire to be indulgent together– according to you and the woman at the shop, it’s the most comfortable set around– and seeing the joy they brought you, he relented.

You could’ve easily gotten them for yourself, but you were adamant about experiencing the simpler pleasures together, and you knew that despite being well deserving of them, John, ever the giver, would never seek out something like this if it didn’t benefit you. No matter how much he would deny it, seeing the fluffy shoes brings a soft smile to his face as he is reminded of the care and softness you’ve brought into his life.

Having already showered and changed after the team’s return to base, John was missing the bulky gear he typically wore. When he removed his boots, he stepped into the slippers, begrudgingly acknowledging that despite their appearance, they were not only comfortable but more practical than he’d care to admit, though he’d never give you the satisfaction of knowing that, already being able to picture your smug expression.

As he makes his way through the house, the warmth, the tight feeling coiling itself in his chest steadily increases, and he takes in just how much your presence is felt throughout the space even when you aren’t there.

From the multitude of new books lining the shelves to the soft lighting radiating from the lamps placed strategically around the house to your clothes hanging neatly in your side of the closet, down to the beautiful bar cart that held both your and John’s favorite drinks, it was comfortable, feeling more habitable, more lived in than it ever had before.

That’s not to say everything about the house changed.

No matter how long he was gone, you never touched anything in his office, seldom even going in when he wasn’t around unless he asked. It occurred to him that it seemed to be the only place in the house that hadn’t been touched by your presence, but he appreciated it. The division between you and his work felt correct, necessary even, as the files and notes within contained atrocities, things that even he found himself struggling with sometimes; no person should be burdened with learning about them, but especially not someone as precious as you. John was confident that no matter how curious you may be, you would never violate his trust, this fact being one of the many things he loved about you (there were too many to count).

And that is precisely why even with all of the changes that had been made and all the exploration you had done around the house, you had yet to come across the small velvet box nestled deep inside his desk drawer.

John realized early on that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you; he had never been more sure of anything. He expected to feel out of place when he returned and thought he would have trouble adjusting to living with someone outside of what was required for work, but that was far from the truth. Living with you felt natural; the idea of waking up next to you every morning he could, making meals together, or simply basking in each other’s presence brought him a sense of contentment he didn’t know he was capable of feeling.

Before meeting you, the house was simply that, a house. A place for him to lay his head and rest between assignments, nothing more. But now? Now he felt a true sense of peace, serenity, normalcy. After all of these years, John Price finally felt at home. So for now, in a rare reversal, he’d wait for you to return, so you could finally be at home, together.

#John Price #John Price x Reader #John Price x You #Captain John Price #Captain John Price x Reader #Captain John Price x You #Cod Price #Captain Price #Captain Price x Reader #Captain Price x You

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let-them-read-fics · 1 year

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Siyeon x Fem!Reader

AU: Non-Idol

Warnings / Misc. -- Smut, Jealous Siyeon ;)

Word Count: 3,348

Summary: With your three year anniversary imminent and the need for a get-away pressing, Siyeon organizes a romantic weekend trip for the two of you to enjoy together. Everything goes according to plan in the beginning, but when a night of clubbing breathes new life into her passion for you, things get a bit derailed.

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hello again, my lovely readers! Just stopping by to drop off this Singnie fic :) Jiu's story is next, so look forward to it! Hope you like this in the meantime 💖

◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚

Moonlight Bar & Lounge, 11:42 PM

As the two of you peered up at the establishment’s buzzing, neon lights, Siyeon had to make a conscious effort to prevent her hand from dropping too low on your ass.

She’d made a promise to you – back at the hotel and in her post-orgasm haze – that she would be on her best behavior while you were out celebrating as a way of repaying you.

You, in return, vowed to let her do anything she wanted to you once you were back in private, so long as she kept things tame and didn’t go back on her word in the meantime.

And, for what it was worth, she was really giving it her all.

But you looked absolutely divine in your formal outfit – radiant with a sultry undertone, capable of leaving her transfixed. It drove her crazy to know that hidden away beneath it, tucked out of view from prying eyes, your skin was painted with all of her marks. Splashes of color, hues of red and purple growing darker with time – her own personal claims on you. With how hard it had been for her to keep her mouth off of you earlier, she was surprised you had any skin left unmarked at all.

“Two more hours, Singnie. Think you can handle it?” You asked, glancing at her as you both approached the door.

She opened it, sending you a confident look all the while. “Of course I can.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

When you passed her, a smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. Her gaze had fallen to your ass, again, watching its every move in silent admiration as she trailed behind you like a puppy.

—

The reviews you’d read, though stellar, had failed to prepare you for just how nice the place was. Its intimate ambience beckoned you in at once, extending an easy-going hand, inviting you to look around and see for yourself everything that it had to offer.

Things were darkened inside, creating an aura of sensuality and mystery despite the openness of the layout. Hues of black and blue accented the furniture and decorations, in line with the established theme of intrigue. Large skylights were centered in the ceiling, allowing plenty of moonlight in to do as it so pleased.

A dance floor called from the far side of the room, comfortably crowded and taking up about half of the venue. Couches and chairs were situated around tables on the other side, strategically dotting the available area so as to award parties their privacy.

The bar was large, stretching out far and wide as it stood ready to greet you upon your arrival. A busy bartender met Siyeon’s eye when he glanced up, vigorously shaking a drink.

“Welcome, ladies!” He smiled warmly. “It’s great to have you tonight.”

You thanked him with a smile as well, and Siyeon extended the same courtesy. Her arm fell to your waist again mindlessly – completely out of habit as she turned to survey everything.

“How about we get a table first?” She suggested, subtly motioning towards them with her head. “Then we can dance for a bit, if you’d like.”

“Sure, babe. That sounds perfect.”

One Hour Later

Put simply, Siyeon seemed to be out to get you.

Though she was your girlfriend, the love of your life, your protector – something truly sadistic shined in her dark eyes as she peered at you from the other side of the table, smirking around the rim of her glass.

She watched you squirm in your seat a little, feigning oblivion as her foot traveled up your calf, teasing.

Somewhere between her first and second rounds of wine she had undone the top few buttons of her blouse, and the seductive way she pressed closer to the table, arms crossed just below her chest, put her cleavage on full display. The edge of her bra was visible, too, but that was a detail likely only perceptible to you, considering your proximity and inability to focus on anything else.

Every bit of her prior innocence was gone without a trace, eclipsed by the desire she felt, which was becoming harder and harder to maintain a grip on.

The alcohol in your system was weakening your inhibitions, too; coaxing them to vanish as her charm worked its magic, promising release for you the second you asked for it. It showed in her eyes – which shamelessly drank in the sight of you – and the subtle bite of her lip. She appeared collected, but you knew that in reality she was far from it.

You downed your last bit of wine in an effort to distract yourself.

As you lowered your glass, the ring on your finger shimmered, catching the attention of one of the club’s cycling lights. Siyeon looked at it proudly; it was the promise ring that she had given you this morning.

Wordlessly she reached forward, palm upturned.

The musing, pleased smile on her lips would be your demise. You were sure of it.

But even still, you extended your hand and placed it in hers, following her unspoken request. She held it close, rubbing her thumb across the back of it in soothing, easy strokes.

Nothing made her happier than knowing you were hers.

“Ready to dance?” She asked, trying not to sound too eager. The thought of having your body against hers was ruining her in all the best kinds of ways.

She was fiending for it.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what was to come. She knew that asking was unnecessary, but she took pleasure in seeing you squirm.

“Sure.” You swallowed.

Happily, she finished off her wine.

Leaving behind your empty glasses and appetizer plates, she stood up and led you to the dance floor.

30 Minutes Until Promise Is Completed

The DJ was a true professional at his craft, and you decided at once that he deserved the biggest raise imaginable.

…do DJs get raises?

Regardless, he was owed one.

His choices of song, paired with the seamless transitions and mixes that he conducted, set the mood of the lounge and kept everyone's energy high. A strong bassline carried throughout the place, thrumming consistently and so powerfully you felt it in your very being.

Like an undercurrent, it flowed around you. Pushing and pulling, leading you out just to lure you back in again.

Siyeon moved in time with you, hanging onto the rhythm as you let loose. She kissed you occasionally, swept up in the heat of the moment and unable to resist your beauty. Her hands wandered, impossible to control as they made it their mission to tempt you.

The couples around you all shared that sentiment as well – turning the air thick with sexual tension.

Some grinded. Others groped. It was a plethora of positions and strides, all writhing and searching for relief – a statement piece on the human condition, plucked straight from a movie scene. From your place within it, amongst the welcome chaos, you could only imagine what a sight it was to behold from an outside perspective.

A sudden buzzing tethered you back down to Earth, garnering your attention. It came from Siyeon’s front pocket, which was conveniently nestled right between your thighs.

The contact made you tense at first, not expecting it, but it felt good. More than good, even. And far better than you cared to admit, considering you wanted to hold onto some of your pride.

She felt it, too, but she didn’t pull away at first. Enjoying the show, she pressed it against you a little harder, coaxing your hips to gyrate, both to the rhythm of the song and in search of the vibrations.

But once the phone rang a fourth time, you pushed her away with a dismissing laugh, telling her to go answer it.

Your cheeks were flushed, and your heart was racing wildly within your chest. You covered your forehead with your palm, taking a deep breath as the people around you filled in the open space that her exit provided.

The loss of contact with her allowed you to sober up the tiniest bit and get your head on straight. She was just like a drug.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, shaking your head. This was ridiculous. Was going more than a few hours without fucking her really this impossible? You wanted it more than anything, but you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of calling off your deal. It was made to prove a point, and you intended to keep it instated for that very reason.

You stole a glance at your watch.

Only fifteen minutes left. That was doable, no?

Siyeon rolled her eyes as she slid up on the green button at the bottom of her screen. She had to fight the urge to just let it go unanswered.

Had it been anyone other than her boss, she likely would’ve.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Siyeon,” he greeted from the other end, a smile evident in his gravelly voice. “I’m glad I could reach you.”

She pressed her back to an open portion of the far wall, away from the more rowdy parts of the crowd.

“Of course, sir,” she sighed, withholding the attitude that she wished to lace into it.

She looked up at you, watching you sway gently in time with the music. The light of the room painted you beautifully – every shimmer and shadow fighting for its chance to cast across your skin. She couldn't help but admire you from afar.

"...yes, sir. I turned that report in to your assistant two days ago." She answered distantly, clearly not entirely focused on their conversation.

He launched into a response, but Siyeon suddenly tensed and stood up straighter – intrigued for a completely different reason.

A woman was making her way over to you.

Like a shark circling its prey.

The blonde danced along to the beat with a drink in her hand, sipping on it as she closed the remaining distance between you. Siyeon could only watch as she leaned down, smiling prettily as she introduced herself.

You laughed at something she said and nodded lightheartedly, amused.

“Siyeon? Are you there?”

Her lips pressed tightly into a line. “Yes, sir. Continue.”

He did, but again she couldn’t pay much attention. She was too focused on the two of you standing far too close for her liking, and the nonchalant way that the woman invited you to join her for a dance.

To Siyeon’s annoyance, you agreed and stepped forward.

She drew you in and briefly settled a hand on your hip as the two of you got accustomed to the new song that the DJ started playing. You followed her lead, allowing her to sway with you.

She was attractive, and the sight of you together stoked the fire of jealousy within Siyeon.

For what it was worth, though, you didn’t attach any deeper meaning to the exchange. You were simply dancing, after all, and you'd made it a point to flash your ring a few times to avoid any misunderstandings.

But Siyeon was in a different state entirely.

Her blood boiled, and her grip on her phone tightened audibly. The poor thing groaned and squeaked from the pressure, pleading for her to ease up.

The woman locked eyes with her over your shoulder, practically taunting her as she dipped you down. The angle provided Siyeon an achingly beautiful view of your body, tempting her to admire the lines and curves that you created; but she was sobered up by the fact that it wasn’t exclusive to her.

In that moment, anyone – including that woman – could see you looking so gorgeously spread out.

That was her final straw.

She abruptly excused herself from the call, assuring her boss that she’d dial him up again at the first chance she got, before hanging up without another thought.

Bitterness radiated from her with every step that she marched closer to you, practically fuming. She moved people aside along the way, providing an opening for herself to return to you.

You were uprighted by the woman at once and subsequently seized by Siyeon, who loomed angrily behind you. You were oblivious to the situation until you felt her presence as she entered your personal space.

She emitted tension, and the sensation made you tremble; the territorial look she gave deterred the blonde, who raised her hands in a show of innocence before smiling knowingly and ambling to another part of the dance floor.

Hesitantly, you went to turn around and face Siyeon. But her sudden grip on your hips prevented that, keeping you as you were.

Something firm pressed against your ass as she pulled you in, rutting with a restrained sort of gentleness that seemed difficult to maintain. It caught you off guard at first, but the swell of it, straining against the fabric of her pants, was something you'd recognize anywhere.

It was your favorite toy. She had secretly put it on before you left the hotel earlier. Cheeky.

How had you not noticed it before?

She ground against you again, aiming to give you a better feel for it, but made sure to remain somewhat inconspicuous to the people around you. Her hands caressed your sides, tentatively working their way downwards as she attempted to gauge your reaction.

Her lips brushed the shell of your flushed ear, upturning the slightest bit in triumph when she felt your breath hitch. Your head turned to the side and your chin tilted ever-so-slightly, granting her full access.

“Do you feel that?" She asked lowly, clenching her jaw. “What you do to me?”

She couldn’t have cared less about the promise in that moment even if she had wanted to. With you looking as good as you did and flaunting yourself like that… behaving really was no longer an option.

You nodded fervently, lacking the gift of speech.

“You’re going to take care of that for me. Right now,” she emphasized, taking a hold of your wrist.

Chest heaving, you turned around to face her. She shoved your hand between her legs, making you cup the toy as she pressed a harsh kiss to your lips. You melted into it, weak within her strong embrace. Obediently, you groped her again, making the other side of it rub up against her clit. You swallowed up the encouraging moan that she let out at the action.

She begrudgingly pulled away after a moment, but only enough to take your hand again and impatiently drag you towards the front door. Her movements weren’t the most graceful – seeing as that she bumped the two of you into other guests and nearly fumbled over her own feet along the way – but they were endearing. She wanted you so badly that appearing composed no longer mattered to her.

And that feeling was beyond mutual.

- The Parking Lot -

Although they gave it their all to be seen, the city’s bright lights were muted by the thick fog that covered the windows of Siyeon’s car; they were mere blurs in the distance, becoming increasingly dulled with time.

The steam served as an immediate tell of what was happening inside, just in case any particularly dimwitted onlookers failed to put two and two together after observing the rocking of the car.

Part of you was afraid the entire thing would fall apart at any moment, based on how roughly Siyeon was taking you.

Her body clung desperately to yours, only parting long enough for her to draw the toy out of you and drill it back in as she took you from behind. Her skin met yours repeatedly, filling the cabin of the car with filthy noises that made you wetter than you thought possible.

“Fuck, baby,” she cursed, pressing your head further down into the seat as the snap of her hips grew messier and more erratic. Her fingers tightened in your hair, making your eyes water the slightest bit.

You smiled triumphantly, feeling the cool leather soothe your heated cheek.

The decorative beads hanging from the rear view mirror clacked together, consistently colliding with the back of it.

Rhythmically, the press of your hips fell in time with her thrusts; you met in the middle, getting the most out of each and every move. Your muscles ached something wild, but you were beyond caring at that point; all that mattered was Siyeon, and ensuring that she got what she wanted.

“Does it feel good?” You panted.

“So good, jagi,” she groaned, voice raspy, as she lolled her head to the side.

Her hazy eyes landed on the hickies that she had left at the small of your back earlier, which she brought her free hand up to caress. Beneath her fingertips, your muscles flexed from the impact that she inflicted; they strained with the desperate, searching rutt of your hips as well, never stopping for a second.

You were such a whore for her; she loved it.

"I wish you could see yourself like this," she mused through heavy breaths, palming your skin. "Taking me so well. God, you're so perfect."

Her harsh thrusts mellowed into long, sensual ones as she focused on grinding against you. The ridges of the toy slid across your velvety walls as she humped, stimulating you further. She watched the length of it disappear inside of you repeatedly, only to reappear glistening more and more each time.

You reached a shaky hand out to brace yourself, aware that she was getting close by the tremble of her legs.

All of the friction her clit was receiving was pushing her closer and closer to the edge. The other end of the toy moved inside of her as well, heightening the effect of even your most subtle motions.

When your head fell forward and came to rest against your extended arm, she leaned down, seizing the opportunity to kiss your exposed neck. The way her body aligned with yours, completely bare and heated, made you moan.

She left new marks everywhere she liked, taking her time.

A soft, pleased grunt resounded in her throat when you lifted your hips and grinded back into her, languidly working yourself along the toy. She stilled her movements and let you continue for a bit, reveling in the intimate feeling.

"Head up, angel." She instructed, grazing her teeth across your pulsepoint.

You obeyed and raised it, fighting exhaustion.

Her lips found yours, and you immediately surrendered control of the kiss over to her. Despite knowing you'd grant it without hesitation, she still asked for permission by licking your bottom lip.

You opened up, sighing as her tongue met yours.

Instinctively, your walls fluttered at the feeling; she deepened the kiss, doing as she wanted.

She snaked a hand down your body and pressed her fingertips to your clit, toying with it. She spread your slick around, proud of the mess of it that coated your thighs and pussy. It dripped down your legs, only turning her on more.

Needing air, you broke the kiss. She clearly felt like showing a little mercy, as she allowed you the chance to catch your breath and kissed your shoulder in the meantime.

When the toy hit your g-spot again following a particularly sensual roll of her hips, you whined pathetically at the feeling.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Siyeon,” you exhaled shakily.

“And who's the only one that gets to fuck you like this?” She pressed, voice commanding.

You moaned, forgoing pride. “You.”

“That’s right, Y/N/N,” she grinned evilly, pushing herself back up. Her hands went to the small of your back again, applying a tantalizing pressure as you obediently arched for her, already knowing what she wanted.

She wasn’t even close to being done with you yet.

“Now, start counting. If you make it to twenty, I might just let you cum.”

The sound of her hand slapping your ass filled the car at once, intoxicating you in an entirely new way.

“...one.”

223 notes · View notes

russellrustles · 2 years

Text

Showbiz, Baby - Chapter 3

a/n: and it’s finally here… and it’s getting a little more convoluted… I must admit that I quite enjoyed writing this chapter. The usual thanks go out to @f1tingz for being a fabulous proofreader (and for threatening me whenever I stopped writing).

warnings: recreational drinking, swearing, flashback and description of a (racing related) crash, hospitals, mentions of (nearly) vomiting, a bit of a smutty buildup

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

showbiz, baby playlist

(adding some George tags once again because the first half features a lot of platonic George)

——————————

The hardwood floor of your apartment does a good job at sucking any of the final dregs of warmth and content out of you. Late afternoon sunlight illuminates the London skyline and filters in through the windows, but its steadily weakening rays do nothing but gradually drop your home into increasing darkness.

Sitting on the floor like a dejected child, you open the guitar case and lift up the acoustic guitar by the neck. The dying rays give the deep cognac a fiery tint, but the longer you look at the guitar, the further and further away your thoughts drift from London, and the closer they get to Monaco.

Against your will, they take you back to all the evenings spent with you sitting on the floor and Charles on the piano stool, producing a bizarre, sometimes grating, sometimes mellow array of music. The oddity of the combination of the two instruments hadn’t bothered you in the slightest - all that you had cared about was that you had played together, as one, and had fun whilst doing so.

Shaking your head free of the thoughts, you rise to your feet and move to the spare room in which you hold the more miscellaneous parts of your life. You unceremoniously (yet still respectfully) place the acoustic on a stand amongst a rather hefty collection of guitars. If it will only bring back bittersweet memories, then you can leave it here to face them another day, when you’ll be more ready to accept what had happened and move on.

But deep down, you know damn well that wallowing in your own self-pity is the only thing you’re capable of achieving right now.

You scold yourself mentally, acknowledging how pathetic it must all seem from an outside perspective. Shouldn’t you be getting your life together, rebuilding yourself as an individual?

The familiar, yet unwelcome, ring of the doorbell forces you to leave the room and walk towards the door. You’re expecting an unpleasant confrontation, most likely somebody from a nearby apartment complaining about the volume of your music or the scraping of you moving your furniture around whilst impulsively remodelling your living space.

Instead, upon opening the door you find Gabi and George, both looking far too hyper considering the time of day. They’re not wearing casual outfits either - Gabi’s wearing a short, merlot-coloured dress that compliments her black hair whilst George is in a shirt and jeans that you specifically recognise as being some of his ‘going out’ clothes.

Oh no.

“Well, hello, hello!” Gabi beams, barging past you and into your home, already rushing over to the kitchen presumably to grab a drink or snack. George just gives you a small shrug as he walks past before following Gabi into the kitchen.

After having shut the front door, you make your way into the kitchen as well, observing the two of them pouring themselves glasses of juice and grabbing some snacks from the cupboards. Something like this isn’t a particularly uncommon occurrence for the three of you; however, you usually would have received a bit more prior notice.

“So, did you come over for any particular reason other than plundering my kitchen?” you ask eventually once they seem satisfied with their stolen collection of crisps, dried fruits and biscuits.

“We’ve come for a very good reason, now get to the bedroom,” Gabi replies, striding past you once again with George in tow as she heads towards your bedroom with her loot.

Slightly confused by what’s occurring, you attempt to add some humour to the situation, “Shouldn't you take me out to dinner first?”

“Hurry up!” George yells from the bedroom, clearly unentertained, and you don’t really have any other options than to cave in to their demands.

They’ve laid all the snacks out at the end of the bed and their drinks are on the nightstands. George sits on the bed, propped up against a pile of pillows against the headboard whilst Gabi is already rummaging through your dresser seemingly searching for something, but ruining your strictly-organised clothes instead.

“Can either of you please just explain what you’re doing?” you sigh, exasperated.

Gabi finally finds your stash of dresses, digging some out and chucking them onto the bed, before turning around to face you. “You made me cancel the birthday party plans after that France fiasco,” she begins, pointing a finger at you, “But that doesn’t mean that you get to sit around all depressed. We’re going out for some overdue celebrations, so pick a dress and get going.”

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble. Quite honestly, you had been aiming to do nothing until your next race, so this sudden upheaval of your plans is coming much to your distaste.

“She is very much being serious,” George responds, still sprawled out across the majority of your bed, “Now try some dresses on before we run out of time. You can start with that pink one.”

Groaning, you roll your eyes and snatch the dress from the bed, petulantly stomping into the en-suite bathroom. Slamming your phone onto the countertop, you begin stripping your clothes off and putting the dress on. It’s a blush pink bodycon dress, with nothing particularly special to it, but at the end of the day a dress is a dress.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door and walk back into your bedroom. Your posture is undoubtedly atrocious as you awkwardly stand before your miniature audience, wishing that you could just hunker down under a pile of blankets and watch films all night long.

Gabi and George are both reclined on your bed, sharing a pack of crisps, and irritating the hell out of you when you start thinking about how many crumbs they’ll be leaving behind. They look you up and down, and Gabi is the first to speak, “Next. This one just doesn’t have the razzle dazzle.”

“Alright you diva,” you laugh, before yelping as George throws an black dress with gold accents at you and it hits you in the face. You facetiously flip him off before scurrying off to the bathroom again.

This time when you’re about to leave, hand already on the door handle, your phone begins to ring. You turn around and pick it up, deciding that a few more minutes of waiting won’t hurt Gabi or George. However, upon checking the caller ID, your heart sinks.

Charles ❤️

You’re going to have to change that.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, debating whether talking to him is a good idea or whether it’d throw your mental state back to square one. After a few more seconds, you close your eyes and accept the call.

“I know you probably don’t want me calling you, but this is urgent,” he blurts out, his mellifluous accent slightly distorted over the phone in a way that makes it lose its familiarity.

“What are you on abou-“

“What’s taking you so long?” Gabi hollers from the other side of the door, knocking a few times to get your attention. You panic, gasping and hanging up before dropping the phone back onto the counter, feeling like a teenager who’s about to be busted for stealing alcohol.

A pang of regret shoots through you as you head towards the door and open it. What if Charles is being serious, and something has actually happened? Surely if you had made it clear that you no longer want anything to do with him, he wouldn’t be contacting you unless it truly is an emergency.

Gabi examines you for a second, before giving her opinion, “I like this one, this one’s good.” The two of you look over at George who’s tapping away at something on his phone. Gabi sighs, grabbing a hairbrush from the top of your dresser and chucking it at George with terrifyingly precise aim, sending the man hurtling off the bed not from the force of the impact but from the sheer shock of being hit square in the chest.

You try your best to stifle your giggles as his head pops up from behind the bed, and he quickly looks you over before raising a weak thumbs up, “Nice dress.”

“Wonderful!” Gabi exclaims, clapping excitedly, “You go get your shoes on, I’ll grab your stuff.” You nod and leave the bedroom, George standing up from the floor and following you out. Wordlessly, you both put your shoes on and just idly stand by the front door, not quite making eye contact, but not quite avoiding each other.

“So, who’s driving?” you ask, trying to start a conversation.

“We’re walking,” he replies simply, picking at the little bits of skin around his nails.

“Oh, okay.” Clearly the chances of a good discussion with him today are low.

Gabi comes over with a small handbag of yours in one hand and your phone in the other, holding it away from her as if it’s radioactive. “You might want to check that,” she mumbles, handing the device over to you as she puts her shoes on. You feel George leaning over your shoulder to take a look as you turn the screen on.

Written out across the screen is a disconcertingly straightforward text message from Charles.

You need to come back to Monaco.

George immediately takes a step back, and you look over your shoulder to see him pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing in defeat. In front of you, Gabi has a pained grimace on her face, deathly silent as she awaits your reaction.

It’s overwhelming, really - the sudden silence has a weight to it, a crushing sort of weight capable of making you feel utmost discomfort and borderline pain in your heart. You feel your throat tightening as you unlock your phone, feeling the need to type some sort of reply despite your mind being devoid of any possible response.

Without warning, Gabi lunges forward to grab your phone and throw it in your handbag. “Not tonight. Let him wait,” she chides, passing the crossbody bag over to you.

You find it rather humiliating that you have to fight back tears as you reply, “But what if it’s urgent?” Perhaps Charles isn’t perfect, but he surely isn’t cruel enough to fake an emergency.

“Getting back in time for your birthday date was urgent, but did he give a shit?” she retorts. Her brutal approach to the matter hits you with the force of a sledgehammer, but you can’t deny the fact that she’s correct.

Standing perfectly still, entangled in your thoughts, you eventually feel George put a hand on your shoulder and begin ushering you towards the front door with an emotionless comment of, “Come on, let’s get going to the first club.”

—————

The three of you enter your first destination after a brisk walk in the fresh early-night air. You find yourself immediately surrounded by blaring music and colourful lights, the venue filled with the sort of pounding bass so loud that it seems to shake your organs.

As much as you want to take this as a chance to step away from everything going on in your life, at the forefront of your mind you find the usual thought: what if someone recognises you or George? Obviously it’s not necessarily a bad thing if it does happen, but it doesn’t always look good for your public image if photos of you drunk in some random club start circulating around the internet.

Gabi grabbing your hand forces you to pay attention to her instead of your own thoughts. “Come on, George will get us some drinks,” she tells you, dragging you off through the throng of people as George disappears into another direction. She only stops leading you once the two of you reach a slightly quieter section of the club.

“So, the plan for tonight,” she begins, turning around to face you and hold both your hands, “You’re going to have some fun and finally let go of all the recent drama, even if it’s just for the night, yes?”

You nod in acquiescence - it’s not like she’d let you argue anyways.

“Have some drinks, find some random guy that suits your fancy, go wild. Me and George will get you back home, don’t you worry,” she concludes.

Being given this much free-rein would normally be an exciting opportunity, but tonight it only seems intimidating. Perhaps a part of you is concerned that if you truly let go, you won’t be able to rein yourself back in.

It doesn’t take long for George to find you both, making his way over with three drinks in his hands and passing two over to you and Gabi. You don’t bother asking what it is, and instead just take a sip, immediately realising that it’s something on the stronger side as you savour the burn in your throat.

You spend a few minutes leaning against your friends, occasionally sipping your drink or making small talk, before you decide that it’s time to get moving instead of just standing there. Gabi and George seem delighted that you’ve finally decided to do something of your own volition, absolutely beaming as they follow you while you weave through the crowd and towards the dancefloor.

Letting the music flow through you, you begin an awkward sort of dance, but you don’t really care about what you might look like right now. The music and dancing are borderline hypnotic, making you completely lose track of time as you move your body. You’re not particularly aware of where your friends are either, only seeing them occasionally when they come over to take an empty glass and give you a new drink.

When Gabi comes over with your third drink you spend a few minutes dancing with her, the alcohol beginning to kick in and filling you with a steady sense of euphoria. “I knew you’d have fun eventually!” she rejoices, squeezing your cheeks before shoving the drink in your hand and moving away.

For quite a while, you remain on the dancefloor, dancing next to girls you’ve never met before and grinding against guys you’ll never see again, no longer bothered about protecting your reputation or public image - the media has already done a good job at shredding it, so having some fun can’t possibly do much more damage.

However, at one point you start getting a little lightheaded, not just from teetering on the edge between tipsy and drunk but also from the suffocating heat and roaring noise of the venue. You leave the blond guy you had been dancing with without saying anything, ignoring his brief protest, and start winding your way out of the packed section of the club.

You spot George leaning against a wall, and you assume he’s taking a breather from the energy of the crowd too.

“Hey Georgie, where’s Gabi?” you ask, leaning against him as he brushes some hair away from your face.

“She’s been dancing with some group of girls for the past ten minutes, I don’t think either of us will be able to get her attention any time soon,” he laughs. Typical Gabi, always managing to make herself the life of the party. “Are you alright?” he says, turning his attention back to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I just need some fresh air. Hold my drink.” He takes it without complaint, covering the top with his palm and you give him a smile before heading to a door.

The frigid night air is refreshing, a pleasant contrast to the hellish heat inside. For the first few minutes you just stare at the passing cars, but soon enough you get bored and dig around in your bag to grab your phone.

Much to your dismay, despite having gone unnoticed by the public so far tonight, one person certainly hasn’t forgotten about you.

5 missed calls from Charles.

You groan, throwing your head back and stomping your foot on the concrete beneath. Now you’re really starting to get concerned, still unsure whether he just wants to talk or whether something is actually going on.

But, on the other hand, he hadn’t cared when you had tried to contact him while he had been out with his friends. Maybe you’ll just be lowering yourself to his level by ignoring his calls, but what right does he have to ruin your fun after everything you’ve been going through because of him?

Still, you feel the savage jaws of distress chewing away at you as you make your way back into the club. Perhaps trying to limit your contact with him is doing you more harm than good.

By the time you’re back inside and nearing George, you’ve given up trying to contain the tears, needing to vent the conflicting emotions in some way. Unsurprisingly, George seems rather alarmed to see you reentering the building with tears on your cheeks.

“What happened out there?” he inquires as you snatch your drink back from him and down the rest of it. Screw pacing yourself.

“Charles keeps calling me. I don’t know what’s going on.” You try to remain blunt, laconic, distancing yourself from the situation at hand but clearly failing to do so.

It’s at this point that Gabi makes a sudden reappearance with another drink in her hand, passing it over to you absentmindedly before suddenly catching a glimpse of your face and realising what’s going on.

“Oh, not again, girl,” she whispers, her voice heavy with pity, “This is your night, you can handle anything important tomorrow morning. Go crazy, and ignore what’s going on.”

You nod weakly and take a sip of the new drink.

—————

“Just fucking suck it,” George groans, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail and shoving the lollipop back into your mouth. After another round of you crying in a corner of the second club you’d visited after thinking of Charles, Gabi - currently the most sober of the three of you - had come up with the bright idea of buying a pack of lollipops as you walk back to your apartment with the sole intent of shutting you up.

Gabi comes out of the small store for a second time, this time carrying a massive bottle of ice tea. She makes her way over to you and George sitting on a bench outside the store and hands the bottle over to him. He immediately takes a few big gulps before passing the bottle over to you, and you do the same. It’s a slight attempt at sobering up a little, and you appreciate Gabi’s help as she slips into her ‘mother of the group’ mode.

Eventually, after a few more minutes of you and George giggling like fools as he passes you lollipop after lollipop, she herds the two of you to stand up and continue the journey back home.

The three of you head down the near-empty streets, holding hands and occasionally stumbling, with complete disregard as to how loud your obnoxious laughing or occasional shrieks are. Let people think what they want, let them take photos and videos and spread gossip around, you don’t care anymore, the alcohol having killed off any final traces of self-consciousness within you.

When you encounter a streetlight, you take turns recording each other as you twirl around it, and then Gabi ends up on the ground, laughing hysterically as you and George mock ballroom dance in the light it gives out. There are few people to witness the scene, and the majority of the people who pass either just give a disapproving glare or smile a little to themselves with amusement.

By the time you’ve made it back to your apartment (and have presumably woken up every single other resident of the building), it’s well past three in the morning. None of you can shut up, still cackling and giggling, yelping as you trip over your own feet once you finally open your apartment door and the three of you haphazardly enter your home.

Immediately after shucking off your shoes, you all pile onto the sofa, dizzy and lacking total control over your own limbs.

“Film?” you ask, not quite ready to end the night just yet.

Gabi and George nod, mumbling some comments of assent. You quickly find some random film to put on, but it’s rather difficult to focus on the rapidly moving images on screen, and, soon enough, you find yourself drifting off.

You don’t wake up until the sun is streaming in through the windows and onto your face, rudely yanking you out of your sleep. Groaning and rubbing your eyes, you try your best to wiggle out from the awkward tangle of limbs that’s taken over the sofa, George sprawled out on his back with one arm dangling towards the floor while Gabi is curled up on the other end.

A faint ringing draws your attention to the kitchen, and you slowly tiptoe over towards it with the intention of grabbing a glass of water whilst you find the source of the noise.

Discovering the culprit isn’t terribly difficult - your phone lays on the kitchen island, abandoned after last night, and it’s incessantly ringing. Desperate to get rid of the clamour which only worsens your already pounding headache, you pick up the phone without checking the screen and answer the call.

“Hello?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

“Oh my god, finally,” you hear, and you nearly choke on the water you’re sipping when you recognise the voice, “Why weren’t you picking up all night?”

A pang of guilt stabs at you as you remember the excuses you had made up last night at the club, “I… I was busy.” It’s pathetic, really. You’re almost fully certain that he’s aware that you had been ignoring him, but it’s too late to hang up now, too late to try and escape from this uncomfortable situation which you have created by yourself.

“Please, this is serious, you need to get to Monaco,” Charles begs, and you sigh, ashamed of yourself and your previous disregard for the matter. It must genuinely be serious if Charles sounds so vexed over it.

“Can you please just tell me what’s going on?” you complain, still rather confused as to what has actually proven to be such a source of distress.

“Maman’s in hospital.”

Holy shit.

This can’t be happening. Especially not after you had spent the entire night worried about if it was an emergency or not.

“No, no, I- shit, I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, any post-alcohol grogginess immediately dissipating as you realise the magnitude of the situation. What a tremendous asshole you had been, ignoring the calls that in fact weren’t about your abhorred ex, but about the woman that has been a second mother to you for more years than you can remember.

Regardless of the recent tensions between you and Charles, you have no intention of forgetting about the woman that had stuck by you through thick and thin.

At your request, Charles gives you some further details, before you end the call and rush to your bedroom, cramming some final items of clothing and toiletries in the suitcase you had already half-prepared for the next race weekend. Dragging the suitcase behind you, you practically sprint back into the living room. Grabbing both of them by the legs, you shake George and Gabi awake and throw a spare set of keys in their general direction.

“What the hell?” Gabi asks, unsurprisingly perplexed to see you lugging a suitcase around the apartment whilst still wearing last night’s dress.

“It’s not about Charles, it’s Pascale,” you reply bluntly, running towards the door and grabbing the comfiest pair of trainers you had laying by the doormat.

You hear the two of them shifting around on the sofa, sitting up, and George adds, “How are you getting to Monaco with zero prior notice?”

Suddenly realising the flaws in your shoddy plan, you stop rushing around for a second, “I… I don’t know, I’ll book a flight or get on a jet…”

Shaking your head, you turn back to the front door and open it, stepping out, “Thanks for last night, guys. Lock the door when you leave.”

You close the door behind you before they get a chance to protest.

—————

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

You had raced in Monaco before, making it a familiar track, but certainly not your favourite, known for its narrow streets and notoriously difficult overtakes.

Having just been sent out on new tires after a pit stop around two-thirds of the way through the race, you were finding the new slicks to be an absolute pain to warm up. Every time you wanted to speed up, there was someone in front of you, and every time you needed to slow down there was someone else breathing down your neck. No matter what you did in an attempt to salvage the situation, the tides just kept turning against you.

It was only when some others near you pitted that you finally got the chance to move at your desired pace. However, the tires were still not in the mood to cooperate.

All it took was one malicious curb.

The world transformed into a blur around you. Screeching, the damned tires sent you spinning and careening straight towards a barrier. It all happened so rapidly that there was no time to even process it enough to feel any shock or horror. The last thing you registered was dropping the steering wheel in an attempt to save your wrists.

Din and clamour a short distance away from you were what finally brought you back, forcefully yanking you back to consciousness. Groaning weakly, you slowly opened your leaden eyes, squinting at the bright sun above you until your view abruptly changed to the ceiling of a vehicle.

Now you were really starting to freak out.

Feeling the rising panic, you began trying to sit up, only to be met with the gentle hands of uniformed people softly lowering you back onto the stretcher. This did nothing to soothe your fright, only further fueling it as you failed to understand the circumstances, and prompting you to try and dig yourself out from the blanket covering you. You continued to play this repetitive game of you trying to move whilst the paramedics attempted to limit unnecessary movements until you finally heard a familiar voice amongst all the frenzy.

Pascale.

The woman was arguing with a paramedic outside the ambulance, insisting that she should be allowed in with you as you had no family at the race. After a few more seconds of a backwards and forwards debate, the paramedic finally gave a sigh of defeat and allowed her in.

She immediately rushed towards you, cradling your face with a delicate hand. For the first time since you had regained consciousness, you relaxed enough to let the paramedics secure you for the ride to what you presumed would be the hospital.

“I crashed, didn’t I?” you whispered as people began leaving the back of the ambulance, only Pascale and one other woman remaining. You were still a little perplexed by the sudden incident, trying to piece together the events that had been snipped out of your memory.

She nodded in reply, still stroking your cheek.

To you, she had always been a steady source of support in your life. Ever since you and Charles had started racing together a few years ago and had become close friends, Pascale had treated you with an indescribable kindness and fondness.

“So, am I right to say that it was quite bad?” you continue, trying to work out the most obvious parts of the missing plot first.

“Yeah… you really scared me,” she admitted with a sigh, “It’s okay now, though. They’re taking you to the hospital. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

You couldn’t tell who she was trying to reassure more: you or herself.

She was finally allowed to see you again in the late hours of the evening, after an endless series of tests and scans of all sorts had been performed to check for any possible injuries or damage. The two of you remained in comfortable silence, the only noise in the room being the rhythmic beeping of various machines which you were sure were important, but the only one you recognised was a heart rate monitor.

By now, you were used to the occasional nurse coming in to check on you, but what you weren’t expecting was to see Charles poking his head into the room, checking if he had arrived at the correct destination.

“I told him he could come see you. He was extremely stressed when he found out the red flag was because of what happened to you, so I hope you don’t mind,” Pascale whispered to you as Charles entered the room, putting on a smile that was obviously masking some deeper emotions of anxiety.

He sat on a stool on the other side of the bed to his mother, who excused herself saying that she needed to grab a drink. The silence in the room was no longer relaxed - it felt tense, loaded with an energy that was struggling to escape to elsewhere.

After a few more seconds of awkward fleeting eye contact, Charles placed a hand on your forearm, gently moving his thumb in soothing patterns.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked quietly, as if even speaking too loudly would have been enough to further damage your already fragile physical state.

“Could be better,” you mumble half-heartedly, “They said it’s just a nasty concussion, so I’m very grateful that it’s nothing far more serious.” You were well aware of the destructive potential of the consequences of a severe crash.

Charles nodded in understanding. “I didn’t see it happen but when they told me it had been you I was terrified,” he tells you, tightening his grip on your arm ever so slightly, “The footage of it - oh my God - it was-“

“I don’t think I want to know the details yet, Charles,” you admit. As much as you wanted to know what had happened, over the past few hours you had begun slipping into exhaustion, and you weren’t sure if you had the energy to process any heavy, sensitive information at that current moment in time.

Charles briefly apologised for his cut-off ramble. You saw him take a deep breath, before he shifted his hand from holding your forearm to tenderly holding your own hand. He didn’t make eye contact, nor did he move in the slightest, presumably awaiting your judgement and either your rejection or approval.

Still in need of some comfort after the day’s events and slightly addled by exhaustion, you decided that some extra physical contact wouldn’t do you any harm, accepting his touch and intertwining your fingers with his.

Half an hour later, Pascale walked back into the room to see you peacefully sleeping whilst her son held the hand of the girl he knew he loved, yet was too afraid to let her know.

—————

PRESENT DAY

The hospital staff put up quite a solid verbal fight when you ask to see Pascale. After all, considering the state of your hangover, you do slightly feel as if you look like you’ve just escaped the hospital mortuary, despite your change of clothes. You bicker back and forth, yet trying to remain as respectful as possible despite your urgency, until they ask if you’re a family member and you answer with an exasperated, “Oui! Puis-je la voir maintenant, s’il vous plaît?”

Surely having been a potential daughter-in-law is close enough to count as family, right?

They finally show you to her room, and you thank them profusely before shutting the door behind you. You’re relieved to see that she seems alright, casually sat up on the bed watching TV, with no beeping machines in sight. In fact, the room doesn’t even have the sterile atmosphere that a hospital typically has, and seems quite cozy instead.

“I’m sorry that I took so long, if I had known-“

“Shush, just sit down,” she scolds you for your sudden outburst, gesturing over to a chair near the bed, “Arthur left around two hours ago, so I’m getting quite lonely here. Why don’t we catch up?”

You nod silently and hurry over to the chair, facing the TV to look at whatever program she’s watching. No matter what the situation may be like between you and Charles, you’re determined not to lose your close friendship with Pascale.

“How are you?” you ask. It’s a stupid question, really, considering the circumstances, but it seems like the safest place to start the conversation for now.

“Very well, thank you. They’re only keeping me here to make sure I’m not dehydrated, and they’ll let me go home soon,” she tells you, smiling warmly, and you feel the weight of the guilt on your shoulders beginning to lift, “I do admit, though, I haven’t really been keeping up with the racing recently - terrible me, I know - Charles told me you’re doing very well this season, though,”

Please don’t bring him up.

Does she know? And if she doesn’t, how will you tell her? Should you even tell her, or let her remain blissfully unaware?

“Yeah, it’s going well. I’m fighting for the championship this year,” you reply, not giving out many further details and hoping for a swift change of subject.

“Ah, he told me so. He cares very deeply about you, you know. I heard him trying to call you immediately after all this-“ she gestures around the room, “happened. I trust that he’s been treating you well?”

Your heart plummets and your throat closes up, preventing you from replying right away. You’re struggling to pull apart the tangled strings of your relationship with Charles - does he actually still care? After what happened on your birthday, you had been almost fully convinced that you mean nothing to him.

But Pascale doesn’t seem to know. She hasn’t heard of the recent chaos and turmoil, and you just can’t bring yourself to be the one who breaks the news to her when she’s already gone through enough stress.

“Yes, he’s good to me.” The lie slips off your tongue smoothly, and you put on a smile to try to be even more convincing. Oh, how you wish that it could be the truth.

All she does is return the smile, and then ask you to hand over a cup of water from a nearby table.

Soon after, you get a text message from Charles.

Where are you?

Part of you doesn’t want him here, desiring to keep the serenity of the room for you and Pascale only, and not let him lay waste to it by making you feel nervous and uncomfortable. On the other hand, he’s the one that had insisted for you to come here, and you won’t be able to hide away from him for much longer anyway.

I’m with Pascale.

It only takes him around 20 minutes to appear in the doorway of the room, but not without gently knocking on the door first. You two share a brief moment of eye contact, and you immediately look away, attacked by a flurry of conflicting emotions, still unsure to what extent you should trust Pascale’s words.

Much to your liking, he ignores you at first, walking over to his mother instead and having a brief conversation about her leaving the hospital soon. You take this as the cue to grab your suitcase - having immediately come here from the airport via taxi, you hadn’t had the chance to leave your belongings anywhere else. Promising Pascale that you’ll see her soon, you give Charles a terse acknowledgment in the form of a small nod before leaving the room.

The brisk air of the monégasque morning hit you as you left the hospital, prompting all the adrenaline that had been coursing through you for the past few hours to dissipate, and suddenly making you realise just how groggy and nauseous you feel. Taking deep, steady breaths, you make a mental note to yourself to buy some water as you begin heading in no direction in particular.

“Hey! Hey! Wait!”

You whip around, shocked to suddenly hear someone yelling at you, only to see Charles half-jogging, half-speedwalking down the street towards you. The only logical thing you can do is awkwardly stand in the middle of the empty path and wait for him to catch up to you.

“Thank you for coming, I’m sure it means a lot to her,” he begins, and then waits for a response. You stay silent. “Where will you be staying?” he continues when he’s met with no reply.

“I think I’ll just find a hotel, or something like that,” you mumble, looking down at the ground and lightly kicking a pebble as some form of distraction for yourself.

“No, no, come home with me. You can stay with me.”

You freeze up. Slowly, after a second of hesitation, you raise your head and finally make eye contact with him. His expression is one of unadulterated candour, his eyes sincere and hopeful.

You really do need a place to stay, and maybe a familiar place would be more welcoming than a plain hotel room. And besides, surely a night or two would be just about bearable.

Mulling over the matter for a few more seconds, you eventually concede, “Yeah, okay.”

A bright smile appears on Charles’ face, and he grabs your suitcase from you. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, leading you in the opposite direction. You have mixed feelings about how this may end, but, ultimately, you’re willing to put up with some bullshit in exchange for a comfortable place to stay.

When you reach his Ferrari you don’t give him the chance to act like a gentleman and open the door for you, as you know he will. Instead, you rush over to the passenger side and get in, put on the seatbelt, and close the door all by yourself. They may seem like tiny things to do, but in a situation in which you don’t have much control they help you feel some sense of independence.

The drive to Charles’ apartment proves to be horrifically nauseating. Your earlier sense of general malaise, partnered with the winding, twisting streets of Monaco leave you with your head leaning against the window and your hand covering your eyes, trying to block out every little beam of sunlight.

“When did you get back home last night?” Charles suddenly asks, a stark change to the prior silence of the entire ride up until this point.

“What are you on about?” you ask in return, still screwing your eyes shut.

“Oh, come on, I’ve seen you hungover more times than I can count. It’s pretty obvious that you’re not in the best state right now.” He isn’t lying - even before you had started dating, almost every time you’d crossed the metaphorical line at a party Charles had been the one to take you home, tuck you in and prepare a glass of water and painkillers for the next morning. In return, you had always done the same for him.

With a sigh, you admit, “I’m pretty sure it was around three in the morning, but I still stayed up for a bit after that.”

Now it was Charles’ turn to give out an exasperated sigh, “Alright, are you going to take a nap when you get in?”

God, why does he care so fucking much?

There’s a battle going on inside your mind, with one belligerent trying to convince you that Charles is still a selfish, fidelity-lacking bastard, whilst the other is pleading for you to take into consideration his sudden shift regarding his newly rediscovered benevolence.

Just so that he doesn’t get the satisfaction of thinking you’ll be complacent, you give him a small ‘hmph’ of impertinence and shift in your seat to have your back to him.

He says nothing and continues driving.

The lift is even worse than the car. You cling onto the small handrail, refusing to look at yourself in the mirrors lining the walls of the steel cage out of pure shame. As the lift begins to rise, a wave of nausea hits you and you cover your mouth. You’re almost fully certain that the nausea wouldn’t go beyond causing some dry heaving, but you don’t even want to think of anything beyond that occurring.

Charles’ neutral expression suddenly changes to one of worry, and he rushes forward, grabbing you by the waist and leading you over to stand in front of the doors that are about to open. “No, no - don’t you do that in here,” he scolds you gently, before half-guiding, half-shoving you out of the lift and towards his apartment.

Him doing so quite honestly pisses you off, having no desire to be close to him, let alone touched by him, but you’re in no state to protest receiving help either, so you just go along with it to allow himself to feel like some sort of saviour for the time being.

“You’re acting as if I’m blackout drunk,” you grumble, complaining, but accepting the assistance as he helps you stand before his door and unlocks it. Upon entering the apartment, he finally gives you a chance for a little independence by allowing you to take your shoes off by yourself.

“Are you getting into bed?” he asks from the other side of the apartment.

Is this boy mad? Perhaps you’re willing to spend a day or two in close proximity, but sharing a bed is far out of your comfort zone for now.

“Fuck off, Leclerc,” you hiss back, getting a glass of water for yourself.

“Alright, alright,” he gives in, entering the living room with a blanket over his arm and his hands raised in defeat, “Would you prefer the sofa, then?”

After putting down your now empty glass, you give him a small, almost sheepish nod. He pats the sofa, gesturing for you to come over, which you somewhat reluctantly do. You lay down, purposefully keeping your back to him, but he doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, he gently lays the blanket over you, making sure that you’re fully covered below the neck.

“There you go,” he whispers, fixing part of the blanket that had slipped and uncovered your arm, his touch lingering for slightly too long to go unnoticed, before walking away.

You’re not sure if he hears your quiet reply of, “Thank you.”

—————

The euphony of skillful piano playing delicately guides you away from your dream about a picnic in a meadow and back to real life in the waking world. You stretch out on the sofa, the morning sun warming you and resulting in you kicking the blankets off both you and the sofa in an attempt to escape the heat.

A few days had passed since you had arrived in Monaco, and, despite not being entirely happy about it, you had given in and agreed to stay in Monaco until you had to leave for your next race. Charles’ argument had been that there’s no point in you going back to London if you would have to pack up and leave again pretty much the next day, and he certainly hadn’t been wrong.

As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve really missed hearing him playing piano. Suddenly, midway through a piece, the music comes to an abrupt stop.

“I know you’re awake,” he calls out to you, and you sit up on the sofa.

“Alright, you creep,” you retort, but in a jocular manner rather than an insulting one, and you’re somewhat surprised at the fact that you’re not spitting venom at him at every opportunity.

Getting up and walking to the bathroom, you mull over the current situation. Charles has been nothing but lovely to you for the past few days, and in a way you’re finding it difficult to acknowledge that this is the same Charles who had been making out with some random girl on your birthday. His sudden shift in character doesn’t seem right - is he being manipulative, or is he genuinely penitent for his sins?

You don’t stick around to find out. Instead, you spend the day shopping with Pascale, helping her restock on groceries after her return home. Once you’ve finally laid all the bags out on her kitchen table, she sends you back off to Charles’ apartment with a hug and some tiramisu that she had made the night before.

When you arrive back at his place in the early evening, it’s oddly quiet. The lights are off throughout most of the apartment, with the only source of light being the dying rays coming from the setting sun. Despite knowing that he isn’t obliged to tell you what he does when anymore, you can’t help but wonder if he’s just suddenly gone out without telling you a thing.

The faint clink of porcelain on the kitchen counter allays your rising confusion, and after slipping your shoes and coat off you head over to see if Charles is in the kitchen. Rounding the corner and placing down Pascale’s tiramisu, you see him plating pasta in an unhurried manner, clearly unaware that you’ve entered the apartment, but still preparing two bowls regardless of that fact.

He still doesn’t seem to notice you, completely caught up in what he’s doing, so you speak up, “That looks really good.”

The poor guy completely startles like a spooked horse, dropping the (thankfully empty) pan into the sink and clutching the edge of the counter as he turns around. You immediately feel bad, not having expected such a visceral reaction to your unexpected appearance, and begin apologising profusely.

He holds his palm out towards you, signalling for you to stop, before grabbing two forks and the bowls of pasta. “I made carbonara for us,” he says simply, walking past you and to the dining table, where he puts down one bowl opposite the other and gestures for you to sit down.

“You really didn’t have to,” you tell him, yet you still sit down and take the fork from him.

“I wanted to. I know it’s one of your favourites.” He gives you a wide grin, then sits down himself.

No, oh God, you just can’t keep forcing yourself to hate this man when for the past few days he’s been the paragon of a caring individual. It’s almost like he’s the Charles that you used to love once again. But you also can’t keep allowing yourself to think like that - despite the close proximity, this is just a temporary arrangement and he’s only being a good host.

The two of you dine in near silence, only occasionally making small talk about the weather or Pascale or the upcoming Hungarian Grand Prix. It’s a somewhat comfortable sort of silence, but there’s a slowly rising level of palpable tension in the air, and as you look at Charles from time to time you can tell that there’s something he’s not telling you.

After sharing the tiramisu that Pascale had made, you thank him for the meal, offering to clean up in exchange for him having cooked. The empty kitchen is a good place for you to gather your thoughts once again, and make up your mind: you’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. You definitely take far too long cleaning up, only needing to rinse off two bowls and put them in the dishwasher, but moments of solitude since you’ve returned to Charles’ apartment are rare and you decide to savour this one.

As usual, however, it doesn’t last long. He corners you in the corridor as you’re trying to pick a book from the bookshelf, and you don’t really have any way of escaping this interaction.

“I know this sounds stupid,” he begins, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, “But, maybe, do you want to give this - us - another chance? Privately? Away from the paddock and the media?”

You just stand there perfectly still, astounded by the absolute audacity that this man has to ask such a question when he himself is the root of the very problem. He doesn’t say anything more, instead waiting patiently for your reply with pleading eyes.

The little voice in your head is cheering and whooping, delighted to be presented with such an opportunity. However, the logical part of you is what bluntly responds with, “I don’t think I can trust you anymore.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know, and my promises probably don’t mean anything to you, but there would never be a repeat of… that situation ever again,” he says.

“Sure, until the next time you get drunk,” you retort scathingly. Turning away from him, you begin walking towards the door, with every intention of putting your shoes on and getting away from him and his empty promises.

You hear his footsteps hurrying after you and his harsh comment of, “You’re no saint either, I’ve seen the way you look at George.”

Whipping around to face him again after such an accusation, you lose your patience, “Have you gone insane? He’s like a brother to me - a brother, Charles!”

Why, pray tell, is he getting George involved in this mess?

The two of you glare at each other, both frustrated, both confused, and both sick to death of everything that’s been happening recently. Charles is the first one to make a move. He looks away for a split second, before rushing forwards and pressing his lips against yours.

You don’t reciprocate the kiss.

He takes a step back, looking into your eyes imploringly, begging, “Tell me to stop.”

You can’t. You’re so damn frustrated, filled to the brim with pent-up emotions threatening to overspill. The entire situation just keeps changing directions and moods and you can’t keep up with it, and, perhaps, in this case going with the flow is the easiest way out. Besides, as much as you feel loathing towards Charles, you’ve also missed him. So, if there are no strings attached - at least from your perspective - what harm will giving in do? It’s just one instance anyway.

You shake your head no. You won’t tell him to stop.

He grabs you by the hips, walking you backwards until you’re up against the wall, and leans in once again. This time, you grip his hair, pulling him in even closer, because if this is just going to be a one time thing then you’re going to make the most of it. The cloying familiarity of his lips on yours is emotive, bringing back memories of lustful romance that you’ve been trying to suppress for the past week or so.

His hands drift lower, down to your thighs, and you let out a light moan in response to his bruising grip. He smirks a little as he lifts you up slightly and slots his knee between your thighs. Desperate for more, and perhaps even craving a brief return to what life with Charles used to be like, you grind against his leg.

“That’s it, good girl,” he whispers in your ear after pulling away from the kiss. You quash the thought of giving him an earful for acting cocky, and instead respond with a small whine.

In part, you’re slightly ashamed to be the one falling apart while he remains composed, so you decide that it’s time for some equal treatment. Dropping one hand to his shoulder, you use the other to lightly trace his abs through his t-shirt and then you begin attempting to undo his belt one-handed. It proves to be a difficult task, vexing you as you struggle to undo it, but instead of helping you out Charles just chuckles lightly and moves his leg, causing you to bite down on his shoulder and moan.

Eventually, you give up with the belt, instead resorting to pressing your palm against his crotch and feeling a sense of satisfaction as you elicit a groan from him. In return, his hold returns to your hips and he starts controlling your movements on his thigh.

Throwing any last semblance of self-restraint out of the window in exchange for some pleasure, you start begging, “Please, Charles, please, I want more - I need more.”

He partially fulfills your request by kissing and lightly nipping at your neck, just delicately enough to not leave marks. However, just as you tilt your head back, he suddenly removes his knee from between your legs and sets you back down on the ground.

You whine at the loss of contact, leaning against the wall and looking up at him with begging eyes, all previous inhibitions lost, but him shaking his head shatters your rose-tinted glasses and brings you back to harsh reality.

“No, you’ll regret it,” he tells you, taking a step back, “I don’t want to be a part of something that’ll leave you even more upset afterwards.”

Oh, what a fool you had been, thinking that this would just end in a quick fuck with no further complications. Charles’ sudden shift in demeanour has proven otherwise, but perhaps his words do have some truth to them. If you had ended up sleeping with the very same man who had cheated on you just a few weeks ago, would you have lost some respect for yourself?

Feeling surprisingly crestfallen, you give him a slight nod before walking away, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and picking up your suitcase from where it stands beside the sofa, unmoved since the day you had arrived. You’ve lost the desire to stay for any longer, certain that today’s entire debacle would do nothing but make the atmosphere in the apartment tense and awkward.

Neither of you say anything as you put your shoes on and grab your coat, opening the door, yet not leaving quite yet. Just like the last time you had unceremoniously left his apartment with your guitar, you refuse to turn around and look at him, afraid that the sight of him may change your mind on what you’re about to do.

“Thank you for letting me stay, I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle,” you say simply. It’s disjointed, impersonal, strictly professional and respectful. Weighed down by your contrition, you leave his home heartbroken once again.

——————————

a/n: a massive thank you for all the previous support once again. Also, please let me know whether you’d like to be on a taglist for everything I write, or just showbiz, baby :)

TAGLIST: (let me know if I missed you or tagged you incorrectly)

@alternativemadchen @enjoymyloves @laura-naruto-fan1998 @x-hey-its-paige-x @rockyhayzkid @disneydaydreameralways @ferrarifwendvale @lovingroscoee @watermel0nsugarhigh @obnoxioussmiley @xoxoloverb @hannahholland1811 @chiogarza @in-some-fandoms @oyesmendes @imreallylosingit @ninnypoosworld @mrsspector-grant @tall-tanned-tattoo @bleedsweatcry @sawendel @seastarapiaries

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thewriterbehindthefanfics · 3 months

Text

William Afton X (male) reader - You are the killer

(Y/n) (His last name) got out of his car, staring at the house for a moment, the young detective was about to interrogate the man who lived there. His name was William Afton, he was co-owner of Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria and was suspected of having killed five children in his own restaurant.

(Y/n) didn't understand how someone was capable of doing something like that and deep down he doubted that William would be able to do something like that. Mr. Afton was a man above reproach, always very polite to everyone, he had three children and seemed to raise them very well, even though he was a single father who spent most of his time at work, William was considered a good father who did everything for his children.

The detective remembered the first interrogation he had done with the man, William had revealed to him how difficult his life had been. Deep down (Y/n) felt guilty for putting the man on the suspect list, but the police officer knew that everyone was a suspect until proven otherwise.

(Y/n) knocked on the door a few times and waited until the owner of the house opened the door.

“Good afternoon, detective.” William said with a friendly smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Afton.”

“What brings you here?” asked the owner of the pizzeria.

“I still need to ask some questions about the Freddy's case, you know?”

He nodded to the younger man and spoke politely.

“Oh yes, of course” The British accent in William's voice was a defining characteristic of him. “Let's go in.”

The detective entered the house, following the businessman to the living room. The room was very clean and organized.

William extended a hand indicating the sofa.

“Make yourself comfortable, detective” He took a few steps around the room and asked, while handling a bottle with a drink that (Y/n) knew was Whiskey- Do you want something to drink?

The police officer denied it.

“No... no, thank you very much, Mr. Afton.”

William poured himself a drink, and turned to the young police officer sitting on the couch.

“Please, just call me William.”

“Okay” (Y/n) said.

William walked to an armchair where he sat, the man took a sip of the drink and placed the glass on a coffee table.

“What kind of questions would you like to ask?” William asked with a smile, he seemed willing to answer everything.

“Well, it's just a few things... I just want to remove you from the list of suspects, you know?” The police officer admitted.

William nodded, picking up the glass again and drinking the rest of the liquid in one go. He soon placed the empty container on the furniture and rested his elbows on his legs, keeping his gaze fixed on the boy sitting on the sofa.

“I understand.” The older businessman said.

William then stood up and said.

“You know, Detective, I think there is a way to resolve this situation once and for all.”

(Y/n) didn't understand what the older man meant by that, he looked at the suspect while William moved around the room.

“I believe you will like my proposal.” Concluded the owner of the pizzeria with a mysterious air in his voice.

William then started walking towards (Y/n). In one quick movement, the older man placed himself on the detective's lap. (Y/n) was left without a reaction, deep down he felt attracted to the man in a way that he would never know how to explain.

Afton's blue eyes remained fixed on (Y/n)'s (eye color) eyes, and the younger man soon noticed that there was desire in those sky-colored eyes. William then began to caress the officer's face for a few moments, before placing a kiss on (Y/n)'s lips. The gesture was quick and a little clumsy, but it was enough to leave the boy breathless.

“Mr…William… I…” said the detective, not knowing exactly what to say. The owner of the pizzeria had just kissed him.

The taste of alcohol was present on William's breath and (Y/n) soon felt the suspect's lips again. This time the gesture became more intense, (Y/n) responded, kissing her suspect eagerly.

“Let's go to my room, (Y/n).” William murmured between the kiss.

The young police officer already imagined what was coming and in a way, that was what he wanted.

The boy nodded. William was not a handsome man, but there was something about his manner that could convince anyone to do anything he wanted.

The two went to the room, there (Y/n) and William kissed again a few times. Their tongues seemed to be fighting, but William was always the one who won.

The owner of the pizzeria seemed to want to have something more with that young detective, and of course (Y/n) showed the same.

The two soon started taking off each other's clothes, William ran his hands over (Y/n)'s body, pressing his fingers into the young man's skin, making him feel goosebumps.

“Have you ever done this before?” Questioned the oldest.

(Y/n) shook her head, feeling a little embarrassed by her inexperience.

“Don't worry... It'll hurt a little, but trust me, I know what I'm doing. Now come here.”

William sat on the bed, pulling the detective by the arm and making him feel On his lap, the older man's member penetrated the officer's orifice, who let out a muffled moan of pain.

“Shh... It's okay, you'll get used to it soon.” William teased, speaking close to (Y/n)'s ear.

The businessman continued caressing the man's body, William's warm hands ran firmly across (Y/n)'s chest, until he began to play with the detective's member, who let out a moan of pleasure.

“Do you like this?” Asked the older man, increasing the speed of his movements.

(Y/n) nodded with a moan, throwing her head back at the pleasure he was already feeling.

After a while the two moved, almost as if they were both competing against each other to reach the peak first, that's when the hot liquid ran down William's hands, and at the same time, another stream of white liquid ran into (S /n).

The detective moved away from William, feeling a lot of pain in that area, but also feeling pleasure. The two threw themselves back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

“What did you think?” Sighed the businessman.

“I liked it…” Admitted the young detective.

The men remained in that position for a long time, and (Y/n) ended up falling asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) opened his eyes, with a deadening sensation in his hands and legs, and soon realized that he was tied up. Yes, tied up. The police officer was tied to William's bed.

He looked around and as soon as his eyes met the businessman, (Y/n) noticed that there was something different in the man's eyes.

William smiled a huge, scary smile.

“You finally woke up, detective.” He said in a dark tone.

“What are you doing? What does that mean?” (Y/n) blurted out, he wanted to sound threatening, but the young man was so terrified that his voice broke.

“Shh… Stay calm, this won't last long.”

William walked around the room looking at the detective who was struggling against the restraints on the bed, the businessman then opened the first drawer of his dresser and took out a knife. The blade gleamed in the room light.

“What are you going to do with this?” He whispered (Y/n) with a still weak voice.

The owner of the pizzeria didn't respond, he just approached the bed with slow, calculated steps and in one quick movement struck the boy. Blood dripped onto the white sheets.

“You are the killer…” Those were the young detective's last words before everything went dark.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #william afton #purple guy #the man behind the slaughter #fnaf william afton #simp #smut #william afton smut

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random-iz-stuff · 1 year

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Sometimes I think that my headcanons about Recap Kid being an eldritch abomination are outlandish and just too disconnected from canon.

And then I remember that Recap Kid canonically has powers and is only debatably human.

To prove I’m not insane, here’s a list of Recap Kid’s canonical powers:

Fourth Wall Awareness:

This one’s pretty obvious.

Superspeed:

Recap Kid can move fast enough to appear in four different spots in four different positions in one comic panel, all while speaking fast enough to recap everything in one panel as well. They’re capable of slowing down, as seen in one or two comics where they take multiple panels to recap everything, but they mostly move around at this extreme speed.

Creation:

Recap Kid has managed to get their hands on things that shouldn’t exist in the Invader Zim universe, like a GIR costume (the real GIR costume is made using Irken technology (Zim’s disguise generator)), a copy of Enter The Florpus, and most notably of all, the very comics that they recap and appear in. That last thing especially leads me to believe that Recap Kid made all of these things by themselves.

Shapeshifting:

Seems insane, but Recap Kid briefly changes their form at least three times during the comics, growing another head with teal and yellow striped eyes (even if the extra head is just Recap Kid moving really fast, the eyes definitely aren’t), replacing their mouth with a zipper and changing their entire artstyle mid-comic (in fact, they suddenly and briefly change their artstyle twice throughout the comic’s run).

Slight Control Over The Comic Artstyle (possibly. Not confirmed):

We see that Recap Kid has control over their own artstyle within the comic and is more than aware of the comic’s constantly changing artstyle. So there’s a possibility that they have some level of control over it. However, they mention being scared of the changes in artstyle, meaning that this control may be limited and a good chunk of the artstyle changes are not within Recap Kid’s control, assuming that they have any control over it in the first place.

Ability To Breathe Without Air.

Recap Kid questions how the Recap Brain is able to sigh without air or lungs while floating in between universes. Where there’s no air. As they just questioned how the Recap Brain was able to speak without it. This means that Recap Kid can survive and speak in a vacuum.

It also somewhat confirms that Recap Kid has lungs. So Recap Kid canonically has lungs (of some sort).

It also brings up the question of how Recap Kid knew that the Recap Brain has no lungs…..

Pocket Dimension Creation/Access

Whenever we see Recap Kid, with little exceptions, we see them in a near-featureless void. The Irken Armada Symbol is usually visible behind them, but we see them replaced by random doodles in one comic.

But this isn’t just some meaningless featureless void with the Irken Armada Symbol or random doodles everywhere. As seen in one of the deluxe comics, it’s a house. Or at least the inside of one. Containing furniture and walls and everything.

We also see that Recap Kid is more than capable of leaving this place at any time, appearing within the main comic universe twice in space and once casually on Earth.

The most likely possibility is that this void-house-location is a sort of pocket dimension of Recap Kid’s own creation.

Recap Kid also must have control over this pocket dimension, as they must be capable of changing it around to show things like the Irken Armada Symbol or those random doodles or it’s more house-like appearance. It’s possible that the house from the deluxe comic is the pocket dimension’s true or original form, but I’m leaving that one up to reader interpretation.

Future Sight (technically)

Most of the time when they appear at the beginning of a comic, Recap Kid tells the reader the gist of what’s going to happen in the rest of the issue. This implies that they’re able to see the future, but we actually know how they do this and it doesn’t actually involve directly seeing the future.

At the beginning of issue 49, Recap Kid mentions that they don’t know what’s going to happen in this issue because they “haven’t read the comic yet”. Although it seems strange at first that Recap Kid is talking about reading the very comic they’re in, but we’ve already established that they’re capable of creating copies of the Invader Zim comics so it’s not that strange when you think about it. And that line about not having read the comic yet explains exactly how Recap Kid “sees the future” along with its limits.

Recap Kid doesn’t have the power to see the future, but they CAN create comics that exist beyond the fourth wall. And since Recap Kid exists in the same universe that these comics document, they can do things like read issue 15 before the events of issue 15 actually happen and learn what’s going to happen in the future.

This also means that Recap Kid’s future sight is based purely on what comics get released in the real world. If no comic exists detailing an event, Recap Kid can’t see the future of that event.

Pyrokinesis:

In a different deluxe comic, we see Recap Kid sneak aboard an Irken ship and blow it up. I would like to bring up that Recap Kid didn’t appear to be holding anything when they snuck aboard, especially not anything powerful enough to crack open an armoured ship with the same force we see in the comic.

There’s a chance that they sabotaged the ship or created a bomb with their creation powers once they were inside, but I say pyrokinesis because of a different scene.

Upon confronting Dib and Zim, Recap Kid says “Now gather round!” And the fire in the ship immediately forms a circle around Recap Kid, even cutting off the exit behind Zim in a way that shouldn’t be possible for the fire. Zim and Dib both draw attention to this.

And even one panel later, as the flames grow even taller, the fire constantly forms a circle around Recap Kid, Zim, and Dib. This fire is Recap Kid’s doing.

(Also notice how things like the broken window and control panel completely disappear when the fire starts moving, even when the fire shouldn’t be covering it. The walls, broken window and the things outside the window are replaced by a black void. Recap Kid may have also pulled Zim, Dib and Gir into their Pocket Dimension without them knowing along with forming a fire circle. Maybe using the fire circle as a way to distract them from the pocket dimension.)

Extreme Durability/Healing Factor/Something Along Those Lines:

As seen before, Recap Kid created a very powerful explosion, not only destroying the Irken ship, but lighting most of the inside on fire as well.

But when Zim and Dib enter the ship:

Recap Kid is completely unharmed. They’re not even dirty from the massive explosion that they basically set off point blank from themselves. Even their hoodie is unharmed.

They also survive being rammed by Zim’s Voot Cruiser at high speeds and getting sucked into one of the Massive’s outer vents.

So they’re definitely very durable or have some way of protecting themselves from damage.

So yeah Recap Kid has canonical powers and is only debatably human. And this isn’t even bringing up the Recap Brain or the possibility that the Cosmic Mistake that sent Recap Kid to the Space Between Universes was accidentally and unknowingly made by them.

#invader zim #Recap Kid #analysis #this child is a reality warper at the very least #them being an eldritch abomination isn’t even close to the most outlandish thing they could be #in fact it’s close to canon

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some-rando-with-internet · 4 months

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I wander down this empty street, devoid of the common bustle of the smaller city, sun dipped well below the horizon, most sane people have placed themselves inside their homes, sheltered from the cold and harming elements. But not me. No, I’d never be sane enough to do that. Would a sane person be rooting around in the ancient secrets of the world, asking for the truth where none would reasonably go, search for the truest origins of the powers of the world and why all around us hold capabilities that defy all physics?

No one without a few screws loose, let me tell you. This has been such a problem for me. Too many contradicting facts, too many cryptic classifications, and much too many horrible accidents.

But, today had some findings at the least. A book, placed on a dusty pedestal in a long-forgotten corner of my local library. Illuminated by a singular shadow, only barely visible with the blaring fluorescent lighting. Odd. Especially so that no one else seemed to notice this large tome, even when I nonchalantly carried it out of the building.

The dusty eminence from the book, whose spine was so dated, the name was smudged into oblivion, almost produced an impenetrable fog. My sunglasses helped, certainly. But still.

I open the door to my small apartment. What meager furniture exists was shifted and moved, rearranged into a makeshift workspace, to allow me to more appropriately examine my new subject.

Cracking open this aged piece of shit to the first page started out great, with a solid fifteen pages of blank nothingness. Awesome.

But the first page with words was… concerning.

It only read one real word, surrounded by scattered letters, written as though someone used a typewriter to beat someone to death. A space in the middle of the page was a small border of empty space surrounding the word,

‘H E L L O’

So obviously I sarcastically answer back. I’m alone I’m kind of pissed at this whole topic, y’know. “Yeah hi, let’s skip the introductions and get to the lore please,” I said.

The next page read, “Don’t b e rud e. We wll g et to tha t. Firs , wh t is y ur name?”

“Well… call me Rando. Let’s go with that. How about you?”

“I am Alze. W4ht d o y u wish to k ow?”

…

“Tell me about other worlds.” The words were almost not my own. Erupting from my body like it was a command from the heavens. Sure id always been interested, and I guess this would be a good test run, so why didn’t I think of it before I said it?

…worries for later.

I turn the page, to let this book tell me a story.

#writeblr #my writing #literature #short story #card 0: Fool #here lies John Doe

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ghostonly · 2 years

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Has anyone else noticed how the fucked up economy has affected interior design trends? Or is it just me?

Like, maybe I'm not looking in the right places and I'm just missing new trends because I don't read magazines, but it seems like the economy basically breaking has left interior design at a standstill.

We've been doing contemporary interior design for about 20 years now and I don't see any obvious signs of it going away any time soon. All of the new interior design trends are just new things that fit into contemporary convention. We move from this white stone to that white stone. We switch from white rugs to black rugs. We keep using glass but this time it's round. We change the focus color from red to blue. Like, there may be some changes in trends, but they're all just different branches of the same thing. And I can't help but feel like this is obviously caused by economical fuckery.

In the past, interior design trends have changed dramatically from decade to decade. Even the longer lasting ones didn't stay mainstream for more than 15 years or so (at least from what I know of more recent centuries), because every 10-15 years a new generation of people move out of their parents' home and get their own place.

You know... until now.

Our economy is so fucked up that for the first time in a long time, people are literally incapable of independent living. Millennials who have moved out of their parents' homes moved directly into the arms of the housing crisis in 08. They got a small apartment. They furnished it with hand-me-downs and thrifted furniture that their personal sense of style had absolutely no bearing on. And since then, millennials have been continually doing this song and dance of replacing their broken furniture with the cheapest thing they could find at Walmart (pseudo contemporary, black or white, build-it-yourself flatpacks) or whatever thing from the 70s they could find at Goodwill.

My sibling is a great example of this. They're 35 with 2 kids and a spouse and had never had a new piece of furniture in the entire time they'd lived independently until I bought them a flatpack dresser from Walmart for Christmas, because they didn't have a dresser at all.

The younger millenials in their mid-late 20s and the older gen z either stayed with their parents or went from a college dorm to an apartment crammed with roommates who all brought their handed-down furniture with them.

None of us have the money to actually impact interior style trends. We may have interior design ideas in our heads, but that's where they stay, because we can't pay to make them a reality.

So, only the people with money are able to impact style trends, and who has money? People who are 40+ and have had the same stable job for over a decade. The same people who started the contemporary design trend in the early 2000s. Rich people who are also around that age. Older rich people who are hiring interior designers and architects who are 40-50, in the prime of their (non manual labor) working years, and who love contemporary interior design. They moved out and made a statement and no one has had the money to challenge that design statement since then.

So, instead, we all continue to buy cheap knockoff contemporary furniture, or furniture that's so old and outdated, our grandparents would think it's tacky (That's why they donated it)

And it just makes me so mad.

What beautiful interior design trends would we be coming up with if we all had the money, not only for housing, but for new furnishings and decor for said housing?

I know there are young people with that capability, but not enough of them to make a real wave in the interior design world.

Our interior design legacy is DIY and putting cheap paint on a cabinet from the 70s. Our interior design legacy is eclectic misery. And I'm sad about it.

#interior design #design #interior #furniture #architecture #contemporary #diy #capitalism #economics #labor

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blackwidow-bby · 3 years

Text

Positions - Marvel Ladies x Fem!Sub!Reader

Summary: You're a sex worker and you've been hired by a new client for a "group activity".

genre: smut(18+)

pairings: Maria Hill x fem!reader, Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader, Carol Danvers x fem!reader, Yelena Belova x fem!reader

warnings: D/S dynamics, face slapping, spanking, strap on use, degradation, orgy, big ole lesbian train, oral, throat f*cking, name calling, degradation, thigh riding, fingering

AN: I am...well not a pro at writing dirty things especially not with multiple people but I hope you all enjoy regardless!

I don't own any marvel characters!!

Your assistant had just called you into her room. Your week had been slow but fruitful. Normally, it would be a regular client for the month, nothing to sweat over. Your thoughts started to run over who it could be. Maybe Mr. Dean, he usually calls on a Friday but you could've sworn you saw him two weeks ago. That didn't leave a lot of your regulars left to be requesting you as you knew their schedules like the back of your hand.

As if she could read your mind upon entering her space, she spoke, "Y/N, you have a call for a new client. Something about a friend requesting your services? The only thing is..." She hesitated almost thinking if she should tell you the rest of the details before she proceeded. "Well, it's for a group. You don't have to take up the offer if you're uncomfortable with that. I can call her back and let her know you declined."

To tell the truth, the thought of it being a group of strangers did make you uncomfortable, but your assistant wouldn't put you into a situation without going through the proper protocols first. She knew a head count of how many, roughly where they all worked, and several phone numbers. It always helped to be extra safe in these situations where you could be overpowered.

"Who inquired?" you asked interestedly. "She goes by N.R., gave me a headcount of all of her friends that would be attending. There's not going to be any men there, but I guess 'more power in numbers' is still 'more power in numbers'." In all honesty, women gave you way less shit about certain things than men did. Hopefully they'd be way more understanding if you didn't want to do specific activities.

"Call her back and tell her I'll take the offer. Do you know how much she's paying?" Your assistant slid a little sticky note over to you as she dialed the number of one 'N.R.'. You swear you almost choked when you saw how much she offered for you. That was a lot of zeros compared to usual. You walked away to get a water from the mini-fridge while you vaguely listened in to your assistant's phone conversation.

Good.

Perfect.

Okay, I'll tell her to meet you there at 6:30.

Extra clothes, yes ma'am. Have a nice day.

"Hey Y/N, I've written down the address, floor, and room number. It's uh...a really high end hotel in New York City. She also said to bring an extra change of--" you interrupted her, "Extra clothes? I overheard." you started wondering what for? Dinner? Go out? "Uhm, yes, she said extra comfy clothes." Comfy? Was she expecting you to spend the night? You looked down at your watch to see how much time you had to get ready. 2 hours. It wasn't enough but you could make it work. "Alright then, I should go freshen up."

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

An hour and a half later had found you briskly walking toward the extremely tall and very expensive looking hotel in the Upper East Side. You lived in Queens and while the distance wasn't very far, paired with the traffic, the feeling of unsettlement about being late to such a client was enough to make you almost hurl.

You made your way inside the lobby, barely looking at your surroundings. You wanted to get up to the room as quickly as possible without being noticed. "Excuse me," Could you ever be so lucky? "Are you here for Ms. Romanoff?" Who? That must be your clients last name. "She said she was expecting a guest soon." The lady was being extra kind to you, she had an inviting smile. You almost wanted to never lie to her. "Yes, I'm here to see Ms. Romanoff." you replied quietly. It felt like your voice would echo too hard around the warmly lit lobby. You thought it would break you to hear your own voice shrill around such a pristine room.

"Very well, I'll show you to her room." Your nerves began to spike more the higher up you went. It was as if every floor number on the elevator was the level of anxiety you started to feel. Your palms were sweating and you could've sworn your back was too. The lady just kept her eyes forward with a meek little smile. It took every fiber of your body to not explode your feelings all over that elevator.

Ding

The elevator stopped, of course she was in a penthouse suite. You rolled your eyes as how predictable this situation was playing out. The kind lady, who's name you definitely forgot to get, remained in the elevator as you walked out. "There's a number for room service if you ladies need anything." She sung out. "Thank you."

The walk to her door seemed to never end. Your feet were dragging like gravity was doing everything in its power to keep them on the ground. The air was getting hotter as time slowed in the short distance it took to reach her door. You rang the little buzzer and a melodic voice called beyond the frame.

"Coming!"

You could hear the light patter of a single set of feet. The knob then turned and revealed a stunning short redhead with bright eyes. You were certainly gawking at the sight of her but there was nothing you could do to pull your own attention away. She had a smirk on her face when she saw you staring but not saying anything. "You must be Y/N, it's very nice to meet you. Come in and lets get you introduced to everyone."

She reached out her hand to you and you took it gently. her palms were much colder than yours and her fingers were long and slender. her hair was shoulder length and fire-y. The room was massive, and clean. She had all of the blinds closed to keep any natural light and eyes from entering the den. Scanning the room some more you noticed a couple items around the room. Non-traditional furniture. It was going to be one of those events. There were also four other heads aside from the host's. She turned around once reaching the main room and faced you. "My name is Natasha, over there is Wanda," another read-head standing behind everyone else with a glass of wine in her hands, she lightly nodded, "...that is Carol in the middle," a blonde woman with a bright and bubbly smile. She seemed taller than the rest but she was also sitting down on a piece of equipment that will no doubt be used in a different way by you. Natasha gestured to a brunette, "...this is Maria," another tall and slender woman, didn't offer a smile but a simple wave to your direction. You were scared of her the most. "...and this is Yelena." A second blonde who's face was much more stoic than Maria's. You take it back, she scared you the most.

Natasha's hand unhooked from yours and made its way up your back to settle on the back of your neck. The pads of her fingers added slight pressure to the muscles there as if she could feel all of your tension in waves. You felt her lean in closer, her hot breath fanning your ear. "There's a bathroom in the hall to the right. I got a cute little outfit waiting for you." You could feel her soft lips smiling against the curve of your ear. the feeling made you shiver. You managed to follow her eyes and swiftly walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

You looked around and found the outfit in question. It was sleek all black leather body suit with a halter neck. You lifted it up in your hands and rubbed the material under your fingers. Next to it sat a bottle of lubricant no doubt to get the body suit on. You got to work shedding the current clothes you had on and began to slide on the little leather number. It wasn't too tight but certainly snug against your frame. The only thing out of the ordinary besides the material was, you noticed, a tiny little zipper in between your legs. If unzipped would reveal your very private essence. The thought made you blush a little to yourself. After cleaning up, you made your way back to the room where the women had sat prior.

Since you calmed down a little, you took the opportunity to fully take in your surroundings. The hall was adorned in art more than likely as expensive as this room. Everything seemed darker than when you arrived. To your surprise when you entered the living room area, the room lighting was red as opposed to the normal LED lighting.

Natasha held her hand out to you again for you to take. You obliged her and she pulled you close into her side. Natasha's deft fingers traveled up and down your ribs before finding purchase on your backside. "You look like the most delicious treat. None of us can wait to eat you. Would you like a drink before we start?"

The other women started moving closer almost circling you like sharks. "Yes please." Natasha poured you a glass as she went on, "We should go over some rules before we start. If at any point you feel overwhelmed, anxious, or hurt, the safe word is 'Heart'. We all stop what we're doing and will help you. If at any point you are gagged, two taps to the closest person will get all of us to cease as well. Because of those rules you will not be bound and gagged simultaneously...at least not this session." She ends her rules with a wink toward you. All of these women truly were stunning and it piqued your interest to know what they could possibly be capable of.

Wanda came closest to you first, she pulled the wine glass away from your lips and replaced it with her own lips. Holding your hand with the glass close to her chest and cupping your cheek with the other. Her lips were sinfully soft as was her kiss. She felt delicate and gentle against you, she almost seemed to not match any of this situation. Natasha took your wine glass away while you continued to make out with Wanda, who let her hands roam lower down your body. Your own hands moved behind her neck. Another set of arms wrapped around you from behind. "You're such a pretty kitten." They nibbled on your ear making you separate from Wanda to see who it was. Carol smiled down at you and found the very lips that left Wanda. You moaned into her mouth at feeling how she controlled and dominated the kiss, very different from Wanda's passion. Wanda moved down to kissing your neck and shoulder.

You could hear other giggles in the back. Natasha kept her eyes trained on you as Yelena and Maria began to touch each other in the mean time waiting for you. After a few minutes of watching her friends have all of the fun, Natasha made her way over to you, Carol, and Wanda. She pulled the other red-head back by her locks and pressed her lips to hers in a searing kiss. You heard Wanda moan out into the other woman's mouth next to you causing you to release your own into Carol. This made the blonde swiftly lift you up and wrap your legs around her waist. She brought you over to a nearby bench and kissed you harder. All of the sounds you were making began to rile her up.

"I'm not sure which one of us is more excited to have you here, pretty girl. All I know is I can't wait to ruin that pretty pussy of yours." You moaned at her words and yanked her back down into another kiss. Her words went straight to your core igniting a fire that had been waiting to burn. You made a mental note to find whoever recommended you to these ladies and thank them heavenly. Carol sunk her hips between your legs and began grinding against you seeking the friction she wanted so badly.

Even though the leather was a new material to you, you could still feel the faux member that rested in her pants; Carol was packing. This caused you to move your hands down to her pants to tear the buttons away. The tall blonde grabbed your hands and smirked, "Allow me." She stood to her full height and slowly removed the black jeans she was wearing and revealed her long, girthy strap she had been hiding. Your eyes widened which made Carol giggle. She sunk to her knees where she seductively pulled the zipper on your suit down. She held your eye contact until you saw them shift to behind you. Natasha and Wanda had pulled away long enough to see what Carol was doing and decided to join again. The two red-heads began to undress themselves where Natasha also sported a rather large strap but not Wanda.

In your distraction upon noticing the other women join in, Carol took to opportunity to shove he face into your pussy. You moaned out loud at the contact. Her tongue quickly lapping at your clit and sinking lower to curl inside you. Her ministrations were making you squirm on the bench. She reached up to hold your hips down. "Stay still kitten. Gotta get you ready for our cocks." Eating you out was an art to her. Every move she made, made you more and more wet. Natasha slid her fingers into your open mouth. You sucked on them harshly slipping your own tongue in-between her fingers and coating them in your saliva. Nat removed her fingers and started to rub them between Wanda's folds.

"Eat her out for me, malysh." Natasha requested. You looked up at Wanda as she slowly lowered herself over your wanting mouth. Your head went fuzzy upon seeing all of the quiet red-head's intimacy. Your tongue immediately poked out to welcome her to you. She let out a soft moan and slowly began to grind herself against your mouth. Carol was growing impatient watching you eat out the other woman and feeling you grow more aroused in her mouth. The blonde stood to position the tip at your entrance rubbing the head up and down your slit before she slammed her length in all at once. You yelped against Wanda's soaked cunt sending vibrations straight to her clit.

The whole scene was turning Natasha on more and more so she began stroking her own member, hoping to find some friction. The other two women walked over to join the rest of the group partially feeling left out. Carol continued to slam into you at a rather fast and rough pace. The tip of her strap hitting that blissful spot inside of you with every thrust. All of your moans and whines brought Wanda closer to her orgasm. She came hard in your mouth before she got up and was replaced by Natasha's own cock.

"Suck kotenok. Mommy's getting restless." Carol did not stop chasing not only her own high but yours. You could hear her grunting from below you. All of this attention was turning you on more than you think you've ever been in your life. Even though one hand wrapped around Natasha's strap and the other gripped Carol's wrist on your hips, you were finding it hard to keep blowing Nat. Carol moved her other hand down to your clit. "You better cum for me you little slut."

And you did; hard.

Carol continued her pace and upon watching you come undone, did so herself. Three quick thrusts and she was spent. She released the most guttural moan before her body was replaced by another blonde. Yelena had this look in her eyes like she wanted to make you pay for every wrong you never committed. She removed her clothing and sat right on your bent leg. At this point Natasha was fucking your mouth deeper and deeper. Needing to ground yourself you wrapped your hands around her thighs. Yelena began to rub herself against your thigh. You could feel how wet and warm she was, her hand sliding up and down your slit collecting your cum to rub your clit in tight circles. Your whines didn't stop especially when you were already beginning to feel another orgasm approaching. Yelena slipped her fingers inside you, finding your g-spot with accuracy. With every thrust of her fingers she hit that same spot over and over. tears started to run down your face with the feeling of Natasha in your mouth and Yelena in your core. Natasha gave one last thrust before she pulled out.

Maria shoved three of her fingers to the back of your throat. She giggled when you gagged around them. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at being finger fucked by the two women. "You're not allowed to cum before I do, else Natty here give you a nice punishment while I ride your face." Yelena only made the threat to turn you on more, but part of you was hoping it was true. It was hard, Yelena knew exactly what she was doing with her fingers but you could feel her slick slide down the sides of your thigh. God you hope she was close because you certainly were. Maria replaced her fingers with her lips and she kissed you hard sliding her tongue along yours. The brunette smiled against your lips when she felt your whimpers in her mouth. Yelena just kept slamming her fingers harder inside of you and rubbing herself quicker. Her breaths got faster and more shallow and as she came, a couple seconds later so did you. Your body shook with the most intense tremors, but Yelena couldn't fault you. She did cum before you, and something about it being in close tandem with hers turned her on a lot more than she would admit. You let out a soft whine when the coolness of the air hit your soaked thigh.

Maria left your mouth and moved between your legs. She put one leg over your left and the other under your right and brought your centers together. "You're a pretty little slut. I want to ruin you so bad." Maria started out ruthless. Her grinding was fast and hard as if she had been waiting to cum for weeks. You felt her in her entirety sliding against your own. The feeling started to overwhelm you. Carol took your face in her hand and rubbed her thumb along your bottom lip. "Open up you little slut."

You obeyed her and opened your mouth sticking your tongue out. At this point you were a blubbering mess and all the ladies were loving it. Carol spit into your mouth before shoving her cock in. "I saw you taking Nat like a pro, so I know you can take me." At least her pace wasn't rough but it certainly was quick. Your gags around Carol was making Maria closer to her release. She leaned forward to angle herself differently against you and put her hand around her throat. She could practically feel Carol's cock fucking your face. Sweat was running down your forehead and your hair clung to every part of your body it could touch. You were close to being spent and you never looked more beautiful this way. Maria's hand tightened, her grunts were heavy. "Such a good little fuck toy. I'm so close baby." You didn't think it was possible for Maria to go any harder but she did. She came with a loud cry and slowed her hips down to ride out her orgasm. You felt her wetness mix with yours. Maria's hand stayed for a couple more minutes, entranced by feeling Carol deep in your throat. The tall blonde slapped your face a couple times before she pulled out. You were too busy catching your breath, you didn't see Natasha move by your feet. She lifted you up and turned you over on your stomach with your legs and arms hanging off the bench. Just when you were hoping it was over, you forgot that Natasha never officially had her turn with you. She rested her strap on your lower back as she ran her cool hands in an attempt to soothe your burning skin. Almost mocking you for being the one to give you the final blow. Wanda walked up to you again. She ran her soft fingers in your hair and moved the stuck strands out of your face. Your breathing was heavy and your body was trembling. Wanda's fingers moved down to cup your jaw and she lifted your head. Tapping the side with her pointer finger, you got the silent request to open your mouth for her. In unison, as Wanda brought her cunt to your mouth, Natasha slid her strap inside you completely bottoming out. Nothing but incoherent noises left your mouth at being filled so sinfully. Wanda gripped your jaw harder as she rubbed her intimacy against your mouth for a second time. You lazily kept your tongue out to try your best to accommodate Wanda's wanting. Natasha on the other hand, had been waiting very patiently for her time and now that she got it she was going to make the best of it. She grabbed your hands in her own and pulled them behind your back to make it easier for her to pound deep into your cunt. When you felt her hit somehow deeper your eyes rolled back. Wanda picked up her pace just as Natasha did, both red-heads moving in perfect synch at opposite ends of your being. A jolt of paint hit your right asscheek igniting a new spark and effectively waking you up even if only for a minute. With every thrust administered, Natasha rained a hand alternating each side of your ass. All of this was sending more and more feelings to your core. You will not be lasting long if these two kept going the way they were. You could feel Wanda fumbling, she was about to come for the second time tonight. Natasha continued to get more rough inside of you until you felt the knot inside of you burst. You came hard around Natasha groaning against Wanda's own cunt. The sight caused Wanda herself to not be able to keep her composure and she came with a scream against your tongue. You felt her pussy pulsing with her orgasm on your mouth. As soon as Wanda backed away from your face, Nat yanked your arms back harder to push herself deeper than you thought was possible. You were screaming, a sweaty broken mess, absolutely spent in this five star hotel. Every thrust pushed harder against that spongey spot inside you. You could feel another earth shattering orgasm approach hoping it would be the last. Natasha's thrusting didn't let up, she was desperate to cum. She was moaning over you with every hit. You yelled her name as you came harder than you had before that whole session. Watching you absolutely spent around her

member, Natasha came just as hard with her final thrust. She stayed inside you to ride out the rest of her high before she carefully pulled out. Looking down she could see wetness all over the bench and her legs. Nat smiled to herself at being the one to make you squirt everywhere like a silent victory. Allowing you to lay and collect your bearings, the red-head began to clean up the room.

There wasn't much you could make out in your state, but you could partially hear Natasha thanking all of the women for coming over before hearing the door open and close through the ringing in your ears. Your were shaking, your whole body felt blissfully weak. The red-head padded over softly to your spent and soaked body and picked you up carefully to place you in her arms bridal style. Your mind was in a war with yourself between wanting just a little bit more or to just go to sleep. You couldn't even open your eyes at this point.

Natasha had brought you to the bathroom to help you clean up and as she moved about, she kept you in her arms. She made sure to hold you as she turned on the faucet and sit on the edge of the tub. As the water filled the tub, Nat moved between rubbing your back and gently caressing your cheek. Once the tub was filled up enough for the both of you, she picked you up again and cautiously lowered the both of you into the hot relaxing water. You couldn't do anything but mumble and cursed yourself for the state you were in even though it wasn't your fault. You desperately wanted to think your gracious host for a life changing night but nothing could come out. Natasha shushed you sweetly. Her time wasn't done until you were well taken care of in her company.

You don't know how long you were in the bathroom, hell you don't even know when you fell asleep as Natasha washed the night away from both of your bodies. Clearly still in no position to be able to make it back to your home, the red-head dried both of you off and brought you to the large bedroom. You had come back into partial consciousness long enough to feel the soft sheets and the plush comforter of this heavenly bed you were being gifted to rest on.

Natasha lowered you down and climbed on the other side before pulling you into her. She lifted your head to lay on her chest so she could easily hold you and play with your hair. She stayed awake until she heard your breathing even out again, signaling that you had fallen asleep again since the bath. She placed a soft kiss to your hairline before succumbing to sleep herself with a blissed smile on her face.

She'd definitely be requesting you again.

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AN: Not sure how I feel about this but yeah this is my wack attempt at something extra dirty.

#natasha romanoff x reader #maria hill x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #Carol danvers x reader #yelena belova x reader #reader insert #my fic #multi character x reader #fem!reader insert

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lolita-lollipop · 3 years

Note

Hi hope you’re having a wonderful day! Could I please get a bnha coraline au story. So like y/n has had a pretty bad life like a whole bunch of stuff and now they have to basically parents their own parents at the age of 15 cause they’re lazy alcoholics who just go to work come back and drink. One day after they move in y/n gets curious and finds explores around the house while they’re alone and discovers the door to the other world and meets their dream parents. The parents are aizawa and present mic who just genuinely love the reader, they don’t want to take readers soul that just want to help them. They have a sister eri and a brother shinso and when reader tries to leave they all beg and threaten reader not to leave cause “your parents never cared for you anyways” and “we’ll love you more then they ever would” and force reader to be the new baby of the family gender neutral reader if possible, please and thank you ( 03^)~💚

YANDERE CORALINE AU ERASERMIC FAMILY X READER

GN READER

-I do apologize if you wanted a shorter work, because this ended up being kinda long, sorry!

-there are a few grammar and spelling mistakes here and there, this is unedited, I will fix them :)

(I don’t know if you actually wanted the reader to be treated like a baby, literally like an infant, or just like the youngest in the family, I needed up doing the second option, tell me if wrong.)

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You hummed a tune as you wandered the hallways, your footsteps dragging, you had tried to tell your mother to drink some water and put the strong bottle of vodka down before she ended up killing herself. She yelled at you, told you to “shut the hell up ya damn brat”, god knows where your father even is. It had only been a day or two in this house, and they had already made it feel like a prison for you, oh my, A SINGLE DAY.

In all honesty the house was nice, old, yes, but still nice. It seemed as if the last owners hadn’t been here for hundreds of years, let alone clean the place, as all embellishments on the walls were antique styled, and everything, I repeat, everything, was covered in dust. There were a few different pieces of furniture that looked as ancient as the neighbors, including a dresser filled with a different articles of clothing, a few dusty chairs here and there, curtains clawed away by... something, and little tables with droors filled with little trinkets.

One room in particular was exceptionally creepy in your eyes, it seemed like a child once slept there, probably long dead by now, the walls were covered in a striped floral wallpaper, chipping at the edges, various stuffed animals that hadn’t been touched in ages, what looked to be a changing table, and a smaller sized bed placed in the middle, fitted with dusty purple bedsheets, probably that color because of the gathering dust, you sat down on the mattress, inhaling the scent of the room. It smelled oddly of lavender, not a musty mildew smell you were expecting. You spent a moment just finding comfort in the warm smell, before noticing a small dent in the wall behind what you thought could be a changing table. Almost looked like... a tiny door?

“What the heck is that?” You questioned or yourself, narrowing your eyes at the wooden frame that looked like a small threshold, cautiously standing up form the bed, and making your way over to the door, you struggled to move the large piece of furniture, pushing back gains the groun and shoving it out of the way. It was indeed a door, and it was indeed tiny. There was a small cobweb strung across the mass of it, which you batted away with your little hands, pulling at the doorknob a few times to reveal the fact that it was locked, you let out an exasperated sigh. Well... it’s not like you have much to do, might as well find the key.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for you to find the small, heart shaped key that fit the locked door, it was tucked into one of the white droors of the small table in the corner. It was the first place you looked, almost as if it’d been calling out for you. It only took a few moments for you to push the key into the lock and turn, you let out a sigh of relief when you heard the satisfying click of the lock opening. Wondering what was going to be on the other side, you pushed open the mini door, to reveal a tunnel of sorts... today’s just full of surprises isn’t it.

“Man this tunnel is lo... whoah.” You stood, still balled up in a crawli mg position, shocked at your own surroundings. Everything looked so... new, and polished, you stared Jan absolute awe at everything, literally everything. Where are you?

“Oh, honey you’re finally here!” A male voice rang out from behind you, immediately large hands were lifting you off the floor from under your arms, holding you like a baby, this guy cradled your head in his chest, no matter how much you squirmed, the iron grip he had on you did not loosen. You snapped your head up to meet his eyes, only to be met with buttons of such a piercing yellow it almost hurt your own eyes. A shrill scream left your lips, as you flung your feet back and forth in attempts to free yourself.

“Oh, oh right. I’m sorry , I should’ve been a little slower, it’s scary I know, you’ll get used to it I promise. I’m hizashi, your other father, re you alright?” He questioned, backing up a little to give you space, bringing his hands up to tell you he wasn’t going to hurt you, ever. You were usually a calm person, but given the situation, like some random person living in your house with buttons for eyes, the reaction was warranted. You breathed for a small moment, inhaling the even stronger scent of lavender that was oh so comforting, before standing back up, giving whatever this was at a chance of explanation.

“Who- who are you?” The question left your lips faster than tryouts could hold it in, he gave you a smile and walked closer again, booping your nose and once again pulling you off the ground. He was tall, slightly lanky, and his hair was a bright yellow to match his eyes, little dangle earring wee attached to his ears, you just stared in awe at the inhuman man who was holding you.

“Silly little thing! I just said it! I’m your other father, like your real father, just perfect for you! Dinners almost ready, so let’s go meet the rest of the fmIly okay bubs?” He questioned m, speaking down to you like one would a child, even though you are a fully capable human. He grabbed your hand, and gently rigged you off into some hallway, you slightly dig your feet in, staring back at the little door that got you here in the first place.

———

“Honey, this is your reality, if it was perfectly fit for you! We love you, unlinke those scum who call your your parents, don’t your bat to be loved for once y/n?” He spoke, the two of you arrived at what was probably the kitchen, him explaining what was happening pretty thoroughly considering he had to do it in a few minutes, barging through the doors, a few other pairs of button eyes were scattered thievhiur the kitchen.

“Daddy! I helped bubba make dinner tonight!” A little girl, probably not even over the age of five, came running towards the two of you, smiling fully. She was sporting a pair of red buttons, which matched her little jumper, you had your face buried in this ma- hizashis chest, his arms wrapped around the entirety of you. He sent an exited stare towards the little girl, who jsut gasped and smiled even harder. She made little grabby hands towards you, so hizashi set you down on the ground, whispering a “time to get down” in your ear. Instantly, the little girl attached herself to your torso.

“Bubba/sissy!” She squealed, patting your stomach, as much as you would love to knock her off of you, she’s a kid, you don’t do that to kids. This young girl claimed to be your other sister, which at this point you were led to believe because apparently anything is possible at this point, she was pretty adorable.

“I-uh, yeah?” You spluttered, visibly flustered, you tried to get a grip of yourself, it was kindof odd, although the girl seemed much younger than you, the way she carried herself presented that she was much older than she came off, from the maternal glint in her eyes, to the planned movements, it just seemed... mature.

—————small time skip—————

It had been maybe an hour, you had been seated at a dinner table, quite the large one actually, in between a black haired man that you could tell was staring at you, and a purple haired teenager who looked to be a similar age to you. You sat there just kindof awkwardly trying to not touch any of them. At one pint. The purple haired guy tried to feed you, which was an unfortunate suprise because you were off in dreamland, and were ckmoemteky confused as to why he was even trying something like that.

“You’ll probably hurt yourself trying, just let me do it” he spoke, it is safe to say that this button eyed family is an odd bunch. First the woerd door, then a creepy guy tryna pick you up, then some little girl who probably wasn’t so little claiming you to be her “younger sibling”; then the offpdutirng glances front his beanbag guy, than this? What is happening.

Sooner or later, after the really odd display that was dinner had finished, and you had help washing your hands, because for some reason they thought you needed it, it was announced bettime, and with a snap of the man him you learned name was Aizawa, food was gone, along with all the dishes. If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you almost lied this, of course not the babying thing, but the fact that you weren’t cooking or cleaning or trying to snatch a bottle from your parents, it almost made you wnat to cry how perfect this family was. God how much you wished this was your own.

It’s sounds selfish, and unreasonable, but you never had a childhood, the day you were born your life was already sighted off as “servant of my own parents”, you lived them, you did, these people were so nice thiugh, they were odd, maybe a little quirky, but still jsut a perfect little family. Apparently one that includes you.

“ALRIGHT! time for bed!” The yellow haired man exclaimed, seeeping you and eri right off of your feet, holding you in his arms as eri giggled at the sudden swish sound. The two men on the other side of the large room cracked small smiles at the sheer adorable ness of the position, the two little ones of the family and their father! What a sight to see!

“Shhhhh, I think y/n is gonna sleep with us to Tonight okay eri?” Hizashi whispered to the young girl, loud enough for you to hear, she nodded and smiled one of her sickeningly sweet smiles, hr eyebrows raising before her button eyes. She motioned to be put down ‘, waving goodbye and latching her own hand onto shinsos, who also waved his hand.

“Goodnight daddy! And y/n!” From there, you walked alongside them to their room, or what you supposed it was. This was the first time you’d really talked to Aizawa, and it was pretty embarrassing because he asked if he was aloud to change you out of your day clothes. You were a little too scared to say no, so you let him, it was probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to sit through, and that’s saying quite A lot.

When all was done, you had brushed your teeth, and wrrrnchanged into a set of lilac pajamas, silken and slippery, you were pulled on top of the yellow haired man, who then wrapped his arms around your waist and started “shh-ing” you, patting your head while rocking back and forth slightly, the other man slipped in next splaying his arms over you, rubbing circles into your beck

Mans with that, the lights went out, and you fell asleep.

——————————————————————

From there, everything in your life changes, you wake up the next day in the dusty lilac bed, wondering if it all was a dream, so the next night, you go back, and the next, and the next, until you started to spend your days there. Playing with eri, or cuddling with either of the three men, or just having fun without any worries or cares int the world. By that’s when it all starts, they kindof... changed.

They became overprotective, it showed in some more than others, but it was present either way. Al you wanted to do was check up on your dad to see if he was still alive or not, and eri had a whole crying fit, begging you to stay, and telling you she’d die if you left.

“No no! You can’t leave me! I-I I’m gonna die if you leave! I’ll die, please don’t keVe I promise il be good!”

It took a little shushing from you, but eventually you convinced her you weren’t going to leave, and so she went back to her normal self. You were with shinso once, and walked near the little door, he had immediately blocked it as if you were going to do something, then scolded you for going near such a “dangerous object”.

“You shouldn’t. Go close to that evil little thing, it might hurt you m, I don’t want you to get hurt, so stay away from it”

And then your other parents, they didn’t let you do anything by yourself, scared you would run off and get lost in the maze of nothing outside. You can’t even mention your real parents, you’ve been down here for at least a week now and haven’t been able to check on them, so when you did ask to go back for a day, hizashi slicks dying up and told you to cut out the nonsense, while Aizawa bubbles in anger, telling you that they lived you ten times better than your parents Eve could.

“They don’t deserve you, they don’t love you, we do, they’ll never live you half as much as we do, we can protect you here, why would you wnat to leave?”

Ans so one day, when your “other papa” or Aizawa, tried to take the key from you and lick you in here, you had enough. These people were supposed to be perfect, instead they turned obsessive, little button eyes showing up everywhere, watching your every move, you had thought your old life was a prison, now look at this.

You turned back, checking to see if anyone was watching, waiting to stop you, before pulling the key out of your pocket, ripping the boarding off of the door, pulling the panels of wood off one by one, shoving the key into the black door knob, you were just about to turn it, when a voice rang out behind you, no longer was the sweet girl who you played trains with, in the stead was something else just In ther body, you could hear it in her voice.

“Where are you going? You aren’t trying to leave are you?” She spoke, you froze on the spot, hands moving faster, ymtrying to get the stupid door to unlock, before you could even blink, the key snapped in half, not in your hold, in another sudden figure, your other brother. You didn’t even get the chance to speak before be t down and ripped the whole door knob off of it, giving you a knowing glance.

“I told you to stay away from it, I told you didn’t I? Now look, it’s broken” he hissed, throwing the iron knob somewhere else, you knew that I’d both of the siblings were here, the two parents were sure to be here along with them, you were proven right, as a pair of black and yellow buttons popped up behind the Eric girl, carrryijg... what is that?

“Oh my god... OH MY GOD” you screamed, the heads of your parents were in these men’s holds buttons sewn over the eyes, blood seeping out of their decapiated necks, you reMiedn screaming as the heads were discarded, jsut thrown off somewhere else. You were lifted up off the ground in your crying state, hizashi a hands stroked your hair, while his other hand went and wrapped around your butt to support you up.

“We told you baby, we tried to tel you at least. Now there’s nothing up there for you, there was never anything anyways, your safe now... they’ll never hurt you again. You’re ours...

Forever”

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Tell me if you liked it, I can change things if you want:)

#coraline au #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic family #buttons #tiny door #lock and key #shinsou hitoshi #shinso #erasermic #daddy erasermic #eri #yandere present mic #yandere Aizawa #yandere shinso #yandere eri

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years

Text

👹Bad Habits (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️🔞

👹Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

👹Genre: (Twisted)Romance, Angst, Smut, Psycho!JK

👹Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, biting, rough manhandling, JK accidentally hurts her a bit (but apologizes dw), mildly disturbing themes (blood, guts, bones cracking...), criminal activities such as theft (mentioned) and murder (not actively stated, but heavily implied), panic attack, psychotic episodes, psycho!JK because holy shit I actually got scared what did I create, degrading names (he calls her a whore in his mind like once..), possessive JK, strength kink, reader is unable to conceive (chances are very slim), unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it folks), impreg kink, dead dove do not eat 🕊 manipulative Koo, Dom!Kook, therapy talk, relapses, horrible anger management, emotional koo, emotional reader, look mom I actually wrote a happy ending

👹Summary: Oh monster monster under my bed, you’re the only one I have left, come out and play ‘cause I need a friend.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

You know this, you are very aware of it if the very much still gaping holes in the walls of your apartment, left from his most recent violent episode is anything to go by. He's got anger issues, that much is very apparent to anyone who genuinely knows Jungkook. Somehow he just can't keep himself in check, it's like he just needs the perfect trigger to simply go off like a bomb dropped from ten feet. It doesn't take much to rile him up. It takes a lot however to get him back down again.

Now, this would be the perfect moment to explain that you are the sweet and kind ray of sunlight calming his temper and cooling his ever violently burning mind- but that's not the case. There's nothing that can tame the young man at your side, nothing that can snap that collar around his neck and chain him up to a wall until he's safe to be around again. You can't do anything more than watch and pray that he will keep his promise to never ever hurt you. At first, you were worried. Anyone would be.

But then the first outbreak came.

Then the second.

And you were fine.

He would wreck the apartment, throw furniture, or beat someone to a bloody mess in an alleyway next to a nightclub simply because the guy had looked at your admittedly short skirt the wrong way. While for the longest time he didn't care about anyone, you've become his possession, in every way that the word stands. He owns you, every single cell of your being is his, and he's ready to push anyone's eyes back into their skull just for looking at you weirdly. No one is allowed to lust after you but him. No one's allowed to even think about you but him.

It's quite bittersweet, the reasoning behind his obsession with you. You're not scared, you're never running away, you're always so gentle, so delicate, such an angel around him- and in one way he fears that one day he's gonna be the wolf eating the sheep in a frenzy. In the other however, he's weirdly amused by it; the way you still look at him so innocently as if you didn't know that his hands could snap your neck like a twig between his combat boots he's typically sporting. It's a very twisted story with you two, and in a sense, he's certain that you have to be just as sick in your head as he is for genuinely loving him and his bad habits.

Just like now.

You're not saying anything. Even when you can hear the young mans ribs cracking underneath the steel toed black boots of your boyfriend, you're quiet, watching, unable to tear your eyes away from him- and you don't even know who exactly you're watching. You have already forgotten what the young man looked like- your eyes unable to reconstruct his facial features back to what they were before Jungkook had thrown his fists into them until the stranger couldn't even open his eyes anymore, face bloody and bruised to the point where you're hoping he won't survive it. You're also simply watching as Jungkooks pretty long hair, drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain from above whips around violently as if to mimic the way his muscled leg stomps into the man's chest over an over again, face holding a determination that should scare you. It's all over after a moment however, as your boyfriend seems to grow a bit tired now, slowly calming down as his anger ebbs down, waves finally evening as he breathes heavily. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at what's in front of his feet; unable to quite realize that this was actually him. He turns, looking for you, and his entire facial expression suddenly changes.

While he looked absolutely terrifying just moments before, he's suddenly holding such a sweet and calm glint in his eyes as he takes off his jacket, putting it over your head as he smiles down at you, inner demon now fed again as it seems to crawl back behind his actual soul it consumes daily. You smile back, and he leads you out of the alley, giggling like a teenager when you playfully start to run towards the car, calling him a sore looser when he doesn't let you win like he usually does.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's just a young man as well, deep down.

He's got you sat on his lap as he greedily licks at your neck, teeth suddenly clamping down on the skin as you mewl underneath his touch and actions. He's grinning like the devil in person, his large-in-comparison palms holding your behind as they suddenly sneak underneath your shirt; his shirt, actually, and the main reason he suddenly got hungry to devour you. Your hair is still slightly damp, but he doesn't care as he lifts you up, placing you underneath him on your shared bed, hair falling into his eyes as he pulls the dark grey carharrt shirt over your head, immediately kissing your collarbone, hands kneading your breasts needily as he seems too eager to slow down anytime soon. He grabs your ribs and its as if he doesn't know where to touch- he wants it all, wants to feel it all, all at once, because it drowns out all the bad things he usually does. You're an outlet for his pent up aggression, only that he lets loose differently with you. He's got no hunger to make you suffer, to give you pain or to have you look at him in fear. No, he simply craves the way you writhe underneath him, ready for him, wanting, needing him. Such an angel, such a whore, so needy for his love and affection.

Something he wasn't sure he was capable of.

But he is, and it shows; while he usually moves with his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, ever so agitated by the simplest of things, his face is calm now, relaxed, eyes however still feral- his gaze enough to make your core ache and your skin tingle. He's chuckling as he moves you around, suddenly impatient as he noticed your panties won't leave your legs as fast as he wants them to. It irritates him to the point where he just rips them as the seams, the fabric now ruined, but neither of you care as his hand instantly finds its way down to cup your heat, ring- and middle finger collecting your slick to bring it upwards to your clit, thumb running in circles over it as you squirm and whine, making him smile.

You're so sweet like this, and he can't help but move your legs, pulling you closer to him in his usual rough manner- he's not capable of being all gentle and sweet, after all. He tries, he really does, but Jungkook is like an overgrown puppy; he doesn't know how much strength he actually has. And it shows, as you squeak, painfully so, as he had gripped your legs a bit too tightly; fingerprints already an angry red on your skin, and he cooes at you, apologizing. "I'm sorry, so sorry.." He hushes against your skin, placing sweet kisses on the pulsing marks on your leg. "can't help it baby.." He muses, and you simply nod your head, hands reaching out for him as he smiles again, kissing your lips, finally.

He's never been fond of the gesture before, not understanding why something as unsanitary as this could be meant to signify any romance at all. But eventually he's gotten to know the intimacy of it, and had decided for himself that he'll never kiss anyone but you in his life. He doesn't want anyone but you anyways. You're his, for now, and forever.

"You're so sweet angel, you know that?"

He humms it against your neck as he finally rids himself of his own clothes, erection hard and proudly waiting to bury itself into your sweet cunt. "Hmm.." He humms again, amusement in his voice as he continues to draw patterns over your sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "I still can't believe how I fit inside that pretty body of yours." He says, as you suddenly feel the hot skin of his length against your middle. "Can't believe you can take it so well princess." His hand leaves your core finally, as he slowly enters you, making you mewl as he groans.

He doesn't have much self-restraint, but every time you're together like this, you're both amazed by how much he can control himself. The way he plays you like an expensive instrument makes you hang from his hands like a puppet on its strings. And you love it- the simple fact that he's able to do anything he wants with you, yet he'd never use you just to throw you away. He'd never hurt you. You know this.

He grins as he places his hand over the slight bulge forming underneath your skin where his cock is moving inside you, all warm and swollen, impatient as he can't help but move more vigorously, harder than before, as your body moves along with the beat he's giving you. He's in control, its impossible to lie about that and you don't see any problem with that. Your mind is empty, only pleasure remains as he bites down onto your skin again, hands roaming as if they can't decide where they want to stay; because it's the truth after all. He can't decide what he loves most about you, if your body is whats the most desirable or if its your soul locked inside of it and chained to his own like a prisoner. He gets a kick out of this feeling, out of the way you're speared on his cock like the doll you are, and if he desired to, he could simply snap your bones like those pepero snacks you always eat, and it would be just as sweet as they taste. Yet he doesn't- he's being oh so generous with you, letting you live beside him, keeping you as safe as he could at his side, never to let anything come close to you. You're his.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also head over heels in love with you.

You don't know what it was this time.

You only know that he's currently in your shared apartment, having returned from Job hunting, and by the sounds of crashing glass, he's probably having another one of those days. You know you should just leave him, but ever so often your own curiosity gets the best of you, and you sit up on the bed, dressed in nothing but a shirt, your panties, and socks to keep your feet warm, since the heating in your apartment broke months ago. You carefully open the bedroom door, peaking around the wood to spot him as he currently kicks his shoes off in an ever so violent manner. He spots you, eyes dark and feral, but this time it's not lust in them. "Get back inside." He barks out, and you know why he does it.

He wants to keep you safe.

Against all odds he knows what he is. He knows he's sick, knows he's a danger to himself and others, and that's why he's always telling you to stay away from him whenever his anger is boiling over like this. It's his way of keeping you safe, keeping you protected and you know better than to go against his own judgement. He knows himself best, after all.

Only as you can hear him hiss in pain do you go against him.

As the apartment grows quiet, you slowly step outside the room again, eyes searching for the form of your boyfriend, before finally spotting him near the kitchen table, one hand on it, while the other is held close to his chest. You can see blood on the white cracked tiled floor close to him, and you immediately grow worried for him. You slowly creep inside the bathroom, retrieving some stuff from the first aid kit, as you walk back outside, spotting him on the couch now. "..kookie?" You carefully ask, wary of any signs of his body that he's not yet down to earth yet. But he doesn't move at all. You slowly walk around the couch, squatting down in front of him as your hands carefully reach out for his inked arm, and he lets you, his eyes eerily not looking at anything at all. You hiss a bit and sit down on his lap as he doesn't argue with you, almost delicately treating his wounded skin. He's probably somehow cut himself on the broken glass from the photo frame he broke. He seems awfully exhausted, which isn't a new sight to you. He usually is after a day like that.

"We're gonna loose the apartment." He says darkly, yet you don't stop what you're doing, simply humming an acknowledgement at him, while you don't look up at him. "Are you even listening?!" He suddenly barks out, grabbing your wrists as you look at him; not in fear however. You simply wait for him, like you always do, until he suddenly looks down onto his hands, letting go of your now red wrists with a look on his face like his favorite puppy has just been killed. "They simply said because of my criminal record they can't employ me-" He began, already getting riled up again as you kissed his cheek to distract him before he could slip again. With you situated on his lap like that, it could prove fatal.

"I'm gonna get a job, from home maybe. We'll figure things out." You softly say, and he doesn't seem like he quite believes you. He doesn't need to, at least not yet. It takes time, but you'll take yourself the time you need, even if its someone else's. Its not like he ever really cared about whats who's after all. "I still love you, you know?" You say, and that's when he breaks.

For the first time in those years you know him, he falls to the ground, crashes onto concrete with full force, and it wrecks through his entire body as he pulls you close, sobbing into your neck as he hiccups and chokes on his emotions, his hug painfully tight, but you don't complain. You're too shocked by his state to react much, other than running a hand over his back in a hopefully soothing manner. He doesn't stop for a moment, and you don't have a good feeling for time, so you cant tell how long you both sit like this, until he's finally exhausted to the point of simple slumping down, asleep as his body finally gives up. You carefully stand up, letting him somehow softly fall to his side as you struggle to pull his legs up to properly lay o the couch. Walking into the bedroom you retrieve blankets for him and yourself, as you crawl underneath his arm to lay against his chest, underneath the blankets, as you try and think of a way to help him.

You can't get a job. Not only because he won't let you, but because you get sick too easily. You're not allowed by doctors advice to work in any field that requires direct customer contact- and sadly that's all your educational level would allow you to work in. It never bothered Jungkook however, if anything he welcomed it as a good reason for you to stay at home, and at his side at all times. For him however, there were different reasons he didn't have a job. He couldn't keep one, with his short temper making him unfit for any job that required him to handle other people. He was a bomb ready to explode any moment at all times, and it was hard for him to land a job at any interview he somehow got. And nowadays, as word got around, no one simply wanted to employ him; stories of him going off at complaints and always being ready to throw hands made him the talk of the town in terms of who to look out for. He also had a criminal record- which didn't make the situation any easier.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. And it's a serious issue.

You somehow made it another month concerning rent.

With you selling some clothing you made yourself for a reasonable price, you somehow had at least a bit of an income, yet Jungkook didn't really seem like himself these days. He didn't leave the apartment much, and seemed much more grim to everything around him. You somehow thought that maybe he was just in a bad mood- but it seemed like this time things were a bit more serious than that.

"Princess?" He calls, as you rub your hand over the side of your neck, having laid on the couch weirdly as you had been taking a nap recently. You perked up at his call, walking out of the open kitchen to meet his gaze in the living room, his eyes serious as he pats his thighs; an invitation for you to sit down. He likes having you seated on his lap like this; it makes him feel all comfortable, knowing that you're so close to him. "I.." He starts, and visibly struggles with finding the right words for what he wants to say. "I want to get therapy." He states, and its quiet for a moment. You need to process his words for a second, as he never spoke about his issues like this. You never really thought about this option at all, and it makes you feel bad, deep inside, as you now realize that this was something you should've thought about as well, from the start on maybe. But you never wanted him to change for you; making you kick yourself in your thoughts. It never occurred to you that he wasn't changing for you, he didn't need to change for you, he needed to change for himself as well. You simply started to smile, and your arms snaked around his neck as he breathed in your scent, happy that you take this so well. He had struggled with the acceptance of it for a long time, and with you at his side, he knows he can somehow maybe change.

Even if its just a bit.

"I want to be a better man. For me, and mostly for you." He starts, and you attempt to speak, but he smiles, and kisses you instead, successfully shutting you up. "Don't say I don't need to. We know I do." He explains, and you nod. You're curious on why he suddenly realized it, but you decide not to dig too deep, as he currently seems vulnerable enough to you. So you simply let him hold you like this, quietly, calmly, while outside the thunderstorm continues, rain hitting the windows with as much force as the wind sees fit. Its ironic, really. Typically the situation is the opposite.

But somehow it feels like everything is changing, right in that moment. Just a few words have been spoken, but the ones that did make it out were a promise, a vow, a sentence of hope to finally get a hold on the future you both had dreamed about before, tangled in sheets and each others limbs. He's always said he wanted a family, as cheesy as it sounded to him back then, and then he'd laughed about it as if it was a joke. It somehow was, at least during that time it was; how could he be a better father than his if he was just the same? He didn't want his story to take a turn like that, to end up hurting you in the process of his own selfishness just to get what he wanted. No, he wanted something different in his life; he wanted his children to look up to him as a person they could be in awe of not because they were scared, but because they were proud to have them.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also finally realizing it.

Therapy never goes smoothly from A to point B. It's never a smooth ride, never a straight line connecting the start to the goal. And Jungkook is feeling that as he walks through the door, fuming after an in his eyes pointless session with his therapist. Why the fuck would they want to know about his childhood? That's his business and his own only, it doesn't concern anyone other than himself. Hell, he never even talked to you about it- and he sure as hell won't start chatting away with a stranger like this. He can't control himself as his fist connects with the wall next to the door, drywall cracking underneath the force as you stand in the middle of the living room, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He's disappointed in himself in that moment; he was supposed to get better. He was supposed to have himself in check by now, it was supposed to end; yet here he is, just the same as a month before he started. You try and walk towards him, and he's ready to tell you to turn around and leave him alone, but he doesn't. For some reason, this is not pure anger he's feeling.

It's frustration.

And it leads to his eyes watering, as he lets you hold him close, your warm palms running over his back as best as you can with the height difference, and he simply lets his forehead rest on your shoulder, breathing while you softly count next to his ear. He concentrates and lets go of his emotions all at once, taking his time to feel them before he opens his mind up to letting them go. It sounded stupid to him when he was told that this could help him, but now that he's doing it, he gets why its being taught. It helps. Its like a bandaid being taken off after your cut has heeled. It hurts a bit as its being taken off, but the fresh air on the newly connected skin feels so good that the short sting before is more than worth it.

He sniffles, and you giggle, making him chuckle as well, as he runs a hand over your head, a silent sign that he's okay now. "Try again next week. You're doing so great now, Kookie." You say, and its this small encouragmenent that makes him grin brightly.

Because as you both stand in the kitchen, making homemade pizza for the first time in ages, he feels at ease with his surroundings. He calms down rather quickly even though some things don't go as planned, and laughs more freely at his own mistakes as you smile brightly at him. Sometimes you feel like crying, seeing him change like this, but you're strong enough to hold it in until he leaves during the day. You're still unsure how the future will be changing, still a lot unknown to the both of you, but for now, you'll continue to keep each others heads above the waves with your sewing, while he does his best at getting better. You know he can make it, you're certain he can, and will.

Because Jungkook is sick. But he's finally getting help.

You don't know what has happened when he bursts through the door, uncaring to either take off his shoes nor to close it behind him, as he picks you up, spins you around, grinning so much his eyes crinkle at their sides, and you laugh, even though you don't know why he's so happy. "I got a job! Baby, I finally got a job!" He yells, screams almost, and it makes your eyes water; not because he's taking a huge weight off your shoulder, but because this has been one of his biggest goals ever since he started this journey of getting help. He's so happy about it that this time you can't keep it in, you can't stop the tears as they flow out, making you hiccup and wheep into his shoulder as you struggle to get your words out. "Baby- Princess, hey hey-" He says, setting you down as his hands wipe away at your eyes, the letter confirming his acceptance still in his left hand as he worriedly looks at you. "Why are you crying angel? hm?" He cooes, admittedly a bit amused, because he can imagine what's happening.

"I'm so happy!" You squeeze out, before another wave hits you, and he kneels down, holding you tightly again, as he doesn't let go of you, his love for you overflowing inside his veins as it fills his entire body. He's so thankful for your existence in his life, and he will never be truly able to properly tell you that. It's impossible to put it into his words how much he appreciates you staying at his side through this entire endeavor. Every time he's asked why he does this, his answer is always your name on his lips, always spoken with a slight smile, nowadays a bright grin he's not ashamed showing.

You don't let him go until he chuckles. "Will you let me close the door at least?" He asks amused, as he feels the slightly cool breeze coming inside from the complex' hallway. You disconnect yourself from him for a moment, wiping your eyes with your sleeve as he closes the door, finally taking off his shoes at last, as he walks back, running towards you with a playful growl that makes you laugh as you try and run away from him. But he catches you easily, carrying you over his shoulder into the bedroom, where he bites and licks at your neck, hands pinching your sides making you squirm around and laugh, desperately trying to get away from him. He'll never let you, and you know this, so its unsurprising that he's suddenly pulling your sweater over your head, needing to be close to you. It's cold inside the apartment, and you shiver as the almost icy air around you nips at your skin. "Can't wait until we can use the heating again.." He murmurs against your skin as he shifts around a bit, carefully undressing himself before he crawls underneath the heavy covers with you. "then you can flaunt around in your pretty underwear all day without getting cold." He chuckles, as you hit his chest playfully at the remark. "What? Its always so cold I never get to see you in it." He whines, as he reaches between your legs, inked hand easily working you up as you squirm around. "I never get to see your pretty body properly because we have to hide away like this." He complains, and you simply whine at him, as he suddenly enters you. "For now I'll just warm you up like this, hm?" He humms out, and you nod, not really understanding what you're agreeing to, but you do it anyways.

He's awfully slow and soft, you notice, as he' way more collected as usual. "I love this." He suddenly presses out, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the side if your neck, trailing down to nip at your collarbone, while his hands find yours, intertwining your fingers in a gesture you can only describe as awfully romantic. "I love being able to make love to you." He explains, as you open your eyes a bit, meeting his as he watches you underneath him. "Though I think you don't mind me being a bit rough with you, no?" He playfully suggests, and your cheeks grow a bit red at that, before he laughs, head dipping down to properly kiss your lips, tongue instantly searching for entrance as he doesn't pick up the pace. "Can't wait until you're all round with my baby." He suddenly suggests, and your eyes open wide as you open your mouth to correct him, but you shut up as his eyes meet yours, determination in them as he suddenly grabs the behind of your thighs, positioning them a bit differently to hit even deeper. "I know, I know-" He chants, as he picks up his pace. "I don't care." He presses out between his own heavy breaths. "I'll just-" He begins, loving the way you mewl under his touch, "I'll just fuck you over and over again until it works." He promises, and you simply nod, unable to deny him. The chances you'll ever conceive are slim- but as he states, never zero. "I'll just- I'll just fill you up until your body can't help but give me a child." He muses, as you start to clench. And he knows, notices, how much this idea is just as enticing to you as it is to him. "You gonna cum? Hm?" He asks, and you nod vigorously before you arch your back off the mattress, making him groan as he shoots his load as well, the visual image of your pleasure underneath him combined with the way you clench his aching length inside granting him his release as well.

As you lay on your sides, all snuggled up underneath the covers after cleaning up, he kisses your bare shoulder, eyes closed. "I mean it, you know." He says, and you humm a reply, before he explains further. "I want a family with you. Someday. When I'm ready." He says, and you nod. You'll somehow make it work, you know this. If he can overcome his demons, you can overcome your own cursed body as well. You deeply hope, at least.

Because Jeon Jungkook is sick, but he's starting to see a future.

"Jeon!" His coworker yells in the big hall he's working in. "Why, pray tell, did you never tell us your girl is that fucking pretty, aye?" He barks in a playful manner, as you walk inside beside the old man, carrying a small plastic bag with what he assumes is a lunchbox. The view of you next to that man stirs something inside him, as he slowly gets up, wrench still in his hand, brows furrowed.

"Because your filthy hands should stay six feet away from her." He responds, with his brows still furrowed, before he finally sneezes.

"Bless you, hah! I'll let you have your break earlier-" The old man winks at you, then gives Jungkook a firm hit against the chest, taking the wrench away from him. "But only because she's cute!" He laughs, as he walks into the hall, Jungkook now walking towards you.

You're proud of him.

Months ago, this would've never been possible; neither the simple fact that he had a job, nor the small incident with his coworker just now. He still got easily irritated, but he worked through these emotions way more easy nowadays. His coworkers and boss know of his past, know what he was like and know that he's still deep in therapy, but they don't judge. They simply accept him, tame him back into his cage whenever he's close to boiling over again. You love the fact that you can walk inside the breakroom with him, eyes sparkling with newfound childish playfulness as he peaks inside the bag you brought him. He's still very careful with you leaving the house, but its not anymore just for his own gain- he's more open to his surroundings, he's starting to think about how he and his actions can affect others. He doesn't care much still; but he's realized that pretending is enough for now. Small steps.

"The handyman was there today." You say, as you watch him dig into the fried rice you brought him, his interest now gained. "They turned on the heating again. Can you imagine? I didn't even know we had floorboard heating!" You exclaimed excitedly, and Jungkooks eyes widen as well.

"Really? I didn't know either. Fuck, can't wait to come home now." He says, swallowing his bite before taking a sip of his canned soda. "Did that label contact you yet?" He asks, and you shake your head. Recently, you had gained the interest of a bigger clothing label, who wanted to collaborate with you for this season's designs. "Ah, that takes time I guess. We'll wait, its fine." You know he's not only saying that for you, but himself as well. He still gets agitated over small things, but he deals with them a bit more easily. "I'll be home in a couple hours. Do you wanna wait here, or go home?" He asks, and you stand up, packing his now empty food container as you smile.

"I'll take the bus, don't worry." You say, and he furrows his brows playfully.

"Mask?" He asks, and you hold it up proudly, well aware of the precautions you need to take to make public transport safe for you.

"Good girl. Text me when you're home yeah? I'll get us takeout for dinner." He says, as he kisses the top of your head. You nod, and wave him goodbye as you two go separate ways, at least for now, until he's finally free of work.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

But he's slowly healing.

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