#does it count as stalking if it lasts only a day

[cloudystevie]

scary my god you're divine

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pairing || bucky barnes x f!reader

word count || 3235

summary || he would do anything for you.

warnings || smut! dom! bucky x sub! reader, possessive! bucky, a little bit of subspace, choking, little bit of exhibitionism kink, minor pain play, daddy kink (only three times okay i'm sorry i am who i am), degradation, unprotected sex

author's note || 18+ ONLY. not proofread yet. my very first request in a very long time! Anonymous asked: Could you write a Dombucky x Subreader? And if you wouldn't mind jealous!bucky, already established relationship and his dog tags on reader? hope you enjoy nonnie! as always feel free to send in requests or any asks! feel free to reblog! enjoy!

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Today, a select few from the team are supposed to train the new agents, preparing them for the physical aspect of being an agent. Some made it fun or tolerable, like Steve and Sam, who were born leaders and charismatic. Natasha and Wanda enjoyed supervising the sparring sessions. Tony and Bruce enjoyed using technology to throw new obstacles at the agents.

Sometimes literally.

Unfortunately, your grumpy boyfriend, Bucky, just did not find any joy in training days. He didn’t like giving out instructions and praise unless it was you who was under him. He didn’t like supervising weak punches and miscalculated throws. And technology was just a straight-up no for him.

Usually, he could make himself useful with Steve, throwing out no-nonsense orders without making himself a massive part of the effort.

You were taking the elevator down to the gym floor. Fury had instructed you to check everything out and ensure everything went according to the itinerary. 

The doors open, and you glance around to ensure no immediate problems before letting your gaze fall on Bucky; his eyes are already on you. You offer him a bright smile, which he returns with a smirk, and your stomach flutters like it does every time you see him. You’re about 7 feet away from your boyfriend before you feel a hand on your lower back. You startle and turn around to face the newest agent. He has quickly climbed through all of SHIELD’s tests and proven himself to be of great value. He chatted you up last week at Tony’s charity ball, and you tried to let him down gently since you were already happily taken. Bucky was on a mission that day, and you didn’t want to add to his mental load by telling him about some punk who wouldn’t leave you alone.

Apparently, said punk, cannot take no for an answer.

“Back for more, cutie? You finally break up with your imaginary boyfriend?” Marcus teases, but really, he sounds more taunting than playful. You glance over your shoulder as you move away from his grip, and you already see Bucky glaring directly at the spot where Marcus’ hand was on your back. The stopwatch he was holding in his flesh hand shatters, and he doesn’t even flinch when Steve and Sam apologize for him, asking what was wrong as discreetly as they could but one glance over to where you were uncomfortably held hostage by the lean brunet man told them everything they needed to know. 

Bucky cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders up as he stalks towards you two. His looming presence is felt before you can see him in your peripheral vision. You glance up at him and take an instinctive step back toward his hulking body, breathing a sigh of relief because Marcus has to let up now.

He doesn’t.

“Oh hey, Sergeant Barnes, if you don’t mind I’m actually trying to talk to this chick so…” 

The way he talks about you as if you’re not right there makes you physically recoil. Bucky’s eyes harden; he’s not even squaring up to his full stature, and he already easily dwarfs Marcus. Bucky takes a step forward, and everyone in the room comes to a standstill. Everyone shuddering at the sheer anger rolling off of Bucky and the stupidity of Marcus.

Marcus huffs out a laugh. Maybe he gets a little pasty when he’s nervous because he seems to be digging himself a deeper hole when he says something about how many girls fall at his feet and Sarge, you've got to calm down. She’s not worth all that.

In an instant, Steve and Sam command everyone to return to their tasks, and the room begins to bustle again, but with a specific weary energy that was not there before. The very next second, Marcus is picked up by the collar of his black t-shirt and slammed against the wall, the room rattling with the force of it as all the recruits try to ignore the spectacle before them. 

“Touch her again, and I will kill you,” Bucky promises. “If you look at her, I will kill you. If you even think about her, I will fucking kill you. Understand?” His voice is a low grumble, the words resounding and reverberating as you watch Marcus sputter out panicked apologies and his flailing body while Bucky still looks so self-assured and composed. It's as if he’s not scaring a man to death while simultaneously making you drool.

You call out Bucky’s name, and he looks at you over his shoulder, pinning Marcus with one final glare and shove before letting him go as the agent does the walk of shame to the washroom. It’s almost like you’re frozen in your spot. You’ve seen Bucky get aggressive on missions before, but watching him be so willing to defend you, stand up for you when you couldn’t, not even hesitating for a second when he threatened to kill for you. And the worst part is, you were confident he was dead serious. 

Even worse, something about the principle of the situation was really doing it for you.

On the outside, it might have seemed like you were in shock or panic due to the agents’ actions, so Bucky whisked you away to a private interrogation room on the floor above the gym. The whole elevator ride there, his hand is protectively on your lower back, and you just watch the rigid set of his jaw and the anger and possessiveness written all over his features with unmistakable doe eyes. The air in the elevator is thick, and neither of you says a word. Before you know it, Bucky is easily lifting you and placing you on the metal table in the middle of the dull room, and his eyes are scanning yours for any hint of panic or if you’re upset. His hands cup your face gently, the cool vibranium soothing against your heated skin, and he finally breaks the silence. “You’ve gotta say something, baby. Are you okay? After this, that idiot’s going to be gone. I’m sorry if seeing me like that upset you, sweetheart-” Your rushed words cut off his ramble, “I thought that was really hot.” You say quietly and watch as Bucky’s face contorts from one of worry to one of confusion. 

“The way you stood up for me, you were so nonchalant about killing for me. I can’t lie, James. That kind of did something for me.” You continue, biting your lip and scanning him for his reaction, hoping he didn’t take your words in the wrong way. 

He’s silent for a moment. His chest moving steadily with each breath against yours. 

The next moment, his lips are pressed against yours, and you let a surprised squeak out. Your mouth slots open when his wandering hands roughly squeeze your thigh through your satin pants, getting dangerously close to the heat pulsing between your thighs. Taking advantage of your open mouth, Bucky slips his tongue inside your mouth and you buck your hips to seek some friction against your needy core. The kiss is passionate and renders your breathless as he consumes all of your senses. All you can think, see, smell, hear, and feel is James. 

His name falls from your lips in a gasp, you reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, letting your head lull to the side when he peppers sloppy kisses all over your jaw, trailing down your neck and biting and licking on your sweet spot. You swat at his firm bicep, “You’re gonna leave a mark James, stop it.” Your attempt at scolding him is weak, even to your own ears.

You feel Bucky smirk against your sensitive neck, his wandering hands cupping your ass and shamelessly groping and swatting at you. “Oh really? That’s too bad baby. Gonna be a pain to cover up.” He remarks, voice dripping in cockiness.

You scoff and bite back a whimper when he grinds his undoubtedly hard length against your clothed center. Your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself by holding onto his shoulders, a shiver crawling up your spine when a particularly slow grind nudges your aching clit. “You’re such a bad influence you know that?” Your voice lacks any real conviction. Your hips move in tandem with his, both of you sharing messy kisses and your bodies thrumming with lust and pent up energy. 

“I’ll kill anyone who even thinks about looking at you.” Bucky says assuredly, and you can’t help the mewl that escapes your lips at his words. Your hands shakily going to undo his black jeans as he messily pulls yours pants down, being considerate enough not to rip them considering there was still a little more than an hour until the SHIELD training day was over. “Bucky I need you, need you to please-” Your voice is shaky and desperate, as you struggle to unbutton his jeans. He shushes you gently, cooing at you sweetly as he easily unbuttons his jeans, just enough for you to promptly pull out his erect cock. Your mouth practically waters at his length and girth, and you spit onto your hand and begin rubbing his length, swiping your thumb gently over the tip making him hiss and push his hips into your hand. 

You bite your lip and look up at him through hooded eyes, and he slaps your hand away before tearing your panties in half, the top half covering your swollen clit and the bottom scrap of fabric falling limply against the cool table. You barely have time to scold him for ripping your panties before he’s shoving his whole length inside you in one fluid thrust. Your back arches, your legs wrapping around his waist as your buddy erupts in a shiver, a short scream escaping your lips. He swallows the noise with his mouth pressed against yours as he grunts into your mouth, waiting only a short second before he begins to thrust inside you. His thrusts are slow but hard, making the heavy metal table scrape against the floor with the force of each pass of his hips into yours. 

“You’re mine, mine to touch. Mine to have. Mine to take care of.” Bucky grunts out, his movements picking up in pace as emotion swirls in his voice, his metal hand covering your neck, forcing you to stay upright in a position that allowed you to feel all of him. You sob out, digging your nails into his bicep and nodding your head, already succumbing to that foggy feeling you felt when you were so close to your boyfriend. He tuts at you, swatting your face with his flesh hand with enough force to make you moan out and clench around his length. 

“Nuh-uh sweetheart, you’re not going dumb on me that quick. Use your words, tell me you’re mine. Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is commanding and you force yourself to look at him, pulling on his shirt and tugging on his dog tugs to get him closer, your foreheads pressing against each other as his thrusts continue to get faster. “I’m yours James, only yours. You’re only mine. No one else. Just you.” Your words are slurred as he groans out a good girl in approval and decides that he wants your shirt off. He skillfully manages to slip your navy blue long-sleeve off and unhooks your bra in one motion, freeing your tits to the cold air of the room, forcing the buds into sensitive peaks which Bucky is quick to take advantage of. His hands squeeze and pull at your tits, tugging and pinching cruelly at your nipples making you whine. 

Your bodies are pressed so close to one another, each pull of his hips making his pelvis rub against your aching clit, stray tears streaming down your face and your chest heaving and pushed up against Bucky.

If anyone were to walk in right now the picture would be nothing short of debauched. You completely bare on the table, Bucky completely clothed. Getting absolutely plowed if the screech of the metal against the floor was anything to go by. Your moans get higher in pitch and volume making Bucky grunt, another swat to your cheek making your brain foggy. “Shut the fuck up slut. You want everyone to see you getting fucked like the bitch in heat you are?” But if your moans and increasing wetness are anything to go by, yes, a deep and dark part of you does want that. Bucky laughs at you, shaking his head in faux disbelief and you wrap your lips around his dog tags, enjoying the soothing sensation brought by the cool metal. Bucky looks down at your lips wrapped around the dog tags he never seemed to take off and he let out a wrecked sound. You clench around him at the sound making his rhythm falter.

Before you can even process the loss of his proximity, your back is flat against the table and his dog tags are now around your neck, landing on your chest and glimmering in the dull fluorescent lighting of the room. Bucky slams himself back inside of you, the unmistakable squelch of your wetness filling up the room alongside both of your noises of pleasure. Your high-pitched and pornographic mewls and his low grunts and deep groans. You cry out his name as your head lulls to the side, eyes shutting in bliss as your fingers move to give your aching clit some attention. But Bucky lets out a disappointed grunt, grabbing your jaw in his hand and forcing you to maintain eye contact. “Look away from me again and I won’t let you cum for a fucking week stupid baby.” Bucky threatens. “You better fucking pay attention to who’s fucking you dumb. No need to close your eyes and imagine when you’ve got the real thing right here.”

Each of his words ignites a newfound purpose in Bucky as he pounds into you impossibly harder, his hand swatting against your cheek again and wrapping around your neck, keeping you in place to take all of his thrusts. He knows you always struggle to keep your eyes open and you don’t doubt that he will follow through on his threat. He has always enjoyed testing your weakness and pushing your limits. 

“Feels s’good. You’re so big Jamie. S’big, so good s’too good.” Your words are breathy and frail, your fingers rubbing quick circles around your aching button. A mean laugh rumbles in his chest as he watches the way his dog tags move with your tits, the sight is intoxicating and fuels Bucky to continue his torment. “There she is my dumb little baby. Couldn’t help yourself huh? Can’t help the way your brain goes quiet when I have my dick inside you.” His words should be humiliating but they only spur you on, your fingers on the verge of cramping but the jolts of pleasure are so overwhelming you can’t stop. “Jus’ need you. Need you to make it better. ‘M yours Daddy, only yours.” 

“That’s it baby, I know, I know it feels so good huh. Daddy’s here baby, Daddy’s gonna take care of his needy baby.” Bucky’s head falls back on a moan when you clench around him, your walls pulsing and a ring of cream forming around the base of his cock. Your orgasm was surely just a few moments away and Bucky’s lips curled up in a smirk.

He folds your legs at the knee, sliding you closer to him with the pressure he has on your throat, the angle making him rub against your sweet spot with each deliriously pleasurable thrust. You squeal out his name, getting even louder than before and he shoves his dog tags into your mouth, muffling your garble out unintelligeble pleads to cum. With one hand Bucky squeezes your throat, and with the other he pinches at your nipples, tugging the sensitive flesh before trailing his hand down your body and slapping your hand away from your clit, he moves his lips down to your ears, licking up your earlobe before whispering his command, “Cum. Cum right fucking now or you don’t get to cum at all.” His fingers pinch your clit and the sudden burst of pain has you tensing your legs up, squealing out nonsense around the dog tags in your mouth and reaching your peak. Your body shakes against the table as Bucky pounds you through your high, his words of encouragement falling on deaf ears as you teeter between consciousness and unconsciouness. His body overwhelming your mind and soul. 

His fingers release your throat and you look up at him with watery eyes, bringing him down to rest your foreheads against each other as he nears his own high. Your lips are pressing against each other, “There isn’t a single person in the world I wouldn’t kill for you. I would do anything for you. You are everything to me.” Bucky murmurs in a pussy-drunk stupor. But the words are true, he has said them to you before and will say them a thousand times again. You taught him how to live again, not just survive. 

A broken cry falls from your lips from sensitivity and Bucky’s impassioned thrusts turn sloppy as he moans out your name, pulling you impossibly closer as he fills you with his cum. At the feeling of being completely stuffed by him, your second release is triggered and you shake in his hold as he comes down from his high. He presses lazy kisses against your lips and rubs his hands soothingly up and down your body, easing you out of your submissive state. He gently pulls himself out, using the handkerchief he carries around to wipe your thighs clean, but letting his cum keep your pussy messy. He quickly wipes himself off and helps you dress yourself. 

A few more giggly kisses and you’re pretty much ready to go back down to the gym. Just in time to catch the final thing on today’s agenda: sparring. Bucky walks one step behind you, his hand back again on your lower back protectively as a path is cleared to the front of the ring where your friends are supervising Marcus and another recruit preparing for the second round of their match. Natasha and Wanda offer you knowing smirks and you roll your eyes with heat creeping up cheeks as you shyly glance up at Bucky through your eyelashes to find him already looking at you with a stupid smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and watches with intent as Steve and Sam coach their respective agents. 

“Looking strong, Marcus!” Bucky calls out and you swat his chest making him laugh. Marcus takes one look at you, Bucky’s dog tags now around your neck and falling on your shirt, teeth imprints on your neck, and swollen lips. Poor Marcus falters, and the other recruit takes advantage of his distraction and easily tackles him to the ground, winning the second round. Bucky takes a single step closer to the ring where Sam is helping Marcus up, and the smirk on your arrogant boyfriend’s face is adorable. “Better luck next time buddy,” he says supportively. Sam flicks Bucky in the forehead, unable to hide the smile on his face, “Dumbass.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes fanfiction

[joycrispy]

I'm seeing some confusion out and about over the title A Companion to Owls (generally along the lines of 'what have owls got to do with it???'), so I'd like to offer my interpretation (with a general disclaimer that the Bible and particularly the Old Testament are damn complicated and I'm not able to address every nuance in a fandom tumblr post, okay? Okay):

It's a phrase taken from the Book of Job. Here's the quote in full (King James version):

When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. --(Job 30:29)

Job is describing the depths of his grief, but also, with that last line, his position in the web of providence.

Throughout the Old Testament, owls are a recurring symbol of spiritual devastation. Deuteronomy 4:17 - Isaiah 34:11 - Psalm 102: 3 - Jeremiah 50: 39...just to name a few (there's more). The general shape of the metaphor is this: owls are solitary, night-stalking creatures, that let out either mournful cries or terrible shrieks, that inhabit the desolate places of the world...and (this is important) they are unclean.

They represent a despair that is to be shunned, not pitied, because their condition is self-inflicted. You defied God (so the owl signifies), and your punishment is...separation. From God, from others, from the world itself. To call and call and never, ever receive an answer.

Your punishment is terrible, tormenting loneliness.

(and that exact phrase, "tormenting loneliness," doesn't come from me...I'm pulling it from actual debate/academia on this exact topic. The owls, and what they are an omen for. Oof.)

To call yourself a 'companion to owls,' then, is to count yourself alongside perhaps the most tragic of the damned --not the ones who defy God out of wickedness or ignorance, and in exile take up diabolical ends readily enough...but the ones who know enough to mourn what they have lost.

So, that's how the title relates to Job: directly. Of course, all that is just context. The titular "companion to owls," in this case, isn't Job at all.

Because this story is about Aziraphale.

The thing is that Job never actually defied God at all, but Aziraphale does, and he does so fully believing that he will fall.

He does so fully believing that he's giving in to a temptation.

He's wrong about that, but still...he's realized something terrifying. Which is that doing God's will and doing what's right are sometimes mutually exclusive. Even more terrifying: it turns out that, given the choice between the two...he chooses what's right.

And he's seemingly the only angel who does. He's seemingly the only angel who can even see what's wrong.

Fallen or not, that's the kind of knowledge that...separates you.

(Whoooo-eeeeee, tormenting loneliness!!!)

Aziraphale is the companion.

...I don't think I need to wax poetic about Aziraphale's loneliness and grappling with devotion --I think we all, like, get it, and other people have likely said it better anyway. So, one last thing before I stop rambling:

Check out Crowley's glasses.

(screenshots from @seedsofwinter)

Crowley is the owl.

Crowley is the goddamn owl.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #there's probably a few thousand words more I could say about this but. I think I'll just hang the implications deliciously aloft for now. #something something tfw the embodiment of all your worst fears and self-doubts shows you the only real kindness you've known for centuries #you can't help but love him and you can't help but fear him but above all you TRUST him the way you're supposed to trust God but don't #brrrrrrr #do you think Crowley would vibe with being an omen of spiritual devastation or do you think he would get drunk about it #good omens meta

[avi-on-jumblr]

awful tweet warning:

Before I describe everything that's wrong with this tweet, let me transcribe Stephen Fry's words:

I am Stephen Fry, and I am a Jew. The great Irish thinker and writer Conor Cruise O'Brien once said that antisemitism is a light sleeper. Well, it seems to have woken up of late. The horrendous events of October 7th, and the Israeli response, seem to have stirred up this ancient hatred. It's agonizing to see all violence and destruction that is unfolding, and the terrible loss of life on both sides brings me an overwhelming sadness and heartache. But whatever our opinions on what is happening, there can be no excuse for the behaviour of some of our citizens. Since October the 7th, there have been 50 separate reported incidents of antisemitism every single day in London alone, an increase of 1350%, according to the Metropolitan police. Shop windows smashed, stars of David and swastikas daubed on walls of Jewish properties, synagogues, and cemeteries. Jewish schools have been forced to close. There is real fear stalking the Jewish neighbourhoods of Britain. Jewish people here are becoming fearful of showing themselves, in Britain, in 2023.

(Then it cuts off.)

For those who still don't know why this tweet was ignorant and inane, let me explain.

"To hear him conflate antiZionism with antisemitism has shocked me."

Guess how many times Stephen Fry mentions zionism? Zero! Guess how many times he mentions the country of Israel? Zero! (Unless you count "the Israeli response" which is unrelated to the existence of the country, or Zionism at all.) What this person is saying, is that they consider the smashing of shop windows, and the vandalism and marking of Jewish property, to be anti-Zionism. Considering they are an anti-Zionist, by following their logic, we can conclude that they not only believe this destruction and harassment is acceptable, but they believe it is ethical.

Further, they accuse him of showing no care for the Palestinians, even though he explicitly states that the loss of life on both sides brings him overwhelming sadness.

Finally, they accuse him of "[Centring] people in this country". It is disturbing that this person believes one cannot be concerned over two issues at a time. It perpetuates the idea that we can only talk about the "worst oppression" and talking about anything else means you are complicit in "silencing" someone else. If this were true, we would not be allowed to talk about Gaza either, or Ukraine, or police brutality, racism, islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, and so on and so on, because clearly there are other issues with hundreds of thousands more deaths, and millions more displacements, so why bring attention to it ever?

Unfortunately, people are not talking about those countries, like Syria, Yemen, Ethiopia, Congo, and more, and anyone who does is spammed with "free Palestine" comments. In fact, the most I've heard people talking about Sudan is when these TikTok geopolitical experts attempt to spam the Palestinian flag and get it wrong.

This is not new. This is obviously not new. I have seen tweets like these every single day in the hundreds for the last 80 days. It is not surprising that people think smashing windows is "anti-zionism", nor that they think it good. It is not surprising that they hear a Jew speak, and experience shock and disgust, regardless of what we say.

I do wonder if they would regard anything short of a second Holocaust as antisemitism.

#antisemitism #i/p #jumblr #israel #palestine #stephen fry #israel palestine conflict #leftist antisemitism #gaza #avi posts

[bobattea]

i would like to request a scenario for the bsd boys' (dazai, chuuya, atsushi and aku) reactions to their fem s/o having an intense orgasm. Like moaning loudly, squirming, shutting her eyes and throwing her head back (bonus points if they kiss her neck when she does)

Pairings: Akutagawa, Atsushi, Chuuya, Dazai and Fyodor (separate) x Fem!Reader Warnings: predator/prey, language, god complex, NSFW, praise, degradation, oral (F receiving), Edging, kinda rough? Word Count: 3575 A/N: I added Fyodor to this list also. I couldn't help myself :) I'm so sorry it took so long to write this it took me 3 days to write longer than I had liked but it sure was fun to write. I hope I did your request justice!

Akutagawa -

You took off in a sprint. Depending on how this night goes, you may or may not follow Akutagawa into a secluded area again. You avoid looking behind you, which would only slow you down.

“I’ll give you a head start, but you better run fast.” You recall the warning in his words and in the firm grip that he had on your arm. “Because once I've caught you, I’m going to fuck you.” His words replayed over and over in your head as you sprinted down the path, triggering a familiar feeling between your legs that was difficult to ignore. It was a quiet night; barely anyone else was around. Typical.

The more you ran, the more out of breath you became. The excitement and thrill were the only things keeping you going. He was going to catch up for sure, and if you had as much of a single break, you’d be a sitting duck, but you don't hear anything besides yourself panting with no clue as to where you are running or what Akutagawa has in store. As if on cue, Rashōmon had gotten ahold of your leg, dragging you back a short distance as Akutagawa walked at a steady pace in the direction you ran in. His gaze is no different from that of a predator stalking its prey, sending shivers down your spine the closer he gets to you.

“Was that the best you could do? I even gave you a head start.” His expression didn’t change as he pressed your face first against the wall and had his Rashōmon hold you in place. Akutagawa didn’t push you too hard; the last thing he wanted was to hurt your pretty face, but he did so with just enough impact to send a shock of excitement through your body. The rest was a haze until you felt the cold breeze on your bare skin and shreds of your clothes hit the floor. “I told you what would happen if I caught you.” Akutagawa bit your ear gently, then kissed your neck before burying his cock inside you. His nails dug into yours as he thrust into you at an unforgiving pace, leaving you no time to adjust to him.

“Fuck! Ryuu!” You squeeze your eyes shut, and your hands are balling into fists against the wall. Akutagawa brings his head closer to your neck and bites down again with a low groan. He quickens the pace, and his thrusts become harder. “T-too much!” He doesn't listen to your words; you just egg him on.

“So fucking tight. Gonna ruin you.” He groans into your ear as he lifts one of your legs up to fuck you even deeper, the tip hitting your cervix repeatedly. The cold air didn't bother you anymore; you were far too hot as you approached your orgasm. You couldn't form words, just babbling noises as you squeezed your eyes shut again and moaned loudly, finally cumming around his cock. Akutagawa came not long after; he held you in that position while you both came down from your high, nothing but heavy breathing as you both caught your breath. “You can have my coat to walk back in.” Akutagawa rests his head on your shoulder, still panting.

“As if I had a choice." You gave a short laugh; there was no way you were walking home naked, and it was highly doubtful he would let you either.

Atsushi -

Atsushi was inexperienced, to say the least. You had to teach him all sorts of things, except tonight. Tonight you have no idea what changed, but Atsushi would not let you say anything, and if you even try to utter any words that weren’t his name and how good he makes you feel, he dives his tongue into your pussy. He holds your hips down to the bed and licks at your wet cunt as if he’d been starved,your legs shaking and threatening to clamp around his head if it weren’t for his arms forcing your legs open.

“Atsushi~” you whimpered while his tongue worked wonders on your clit, sending shocks throughout your body. His arms snake around your thighs, dragging you even closer to him to stop you from rocking your hips on his face.

“Fuckkkk, you taste so good, baby. I can’t get enough.” He almost didn’t even sound like your Atsushi; he was way too confident. Maybe that’s not the word for it right now, but your mind is a mess, only able to focus on how good Astushi’s tongue feels against you. You can’t even get a single word besides his name and a few broken sentences. Your fingers make their way into his hair as you arch your back in pleasure, only for Atsushi to stop briefly. “Hands by your side, baby,” he says, moving his way up your body to come face-to-face with you. You do as he says and put your arms by your sides, then he engulfs you in a kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. “That’s a good girl.” You whimper at his words; this definitely was not your Atsushi, but you weren’t complaining either.

Atsushi kisses his way back down your body, starting with your neck, then down the valley of your breasts and your stomach, then he hovers over your cunt. You can feel his warm breath against your wet folds, but he avoids it all together and goes to kiss and bite at your thighs.

“Atsushi~ god please," you’re stopped halfway through your plea when Atsushi buries his face again between your legs, working his tongue in and out of your pussy. “Fuck!” you moan, arching your back again, and you grip the bed sheets tightly. Who knew he would be so skilled with his tongue? Not even you could teach him this. Somewhere through the bliss, his tongue was replaced with two of his fingers, and he sucked on your clit.You could feel yourself pushing yourself into bed, feeling the wave of pleasure as Atssushi pumps his fingers in and out of you while flicking his tongue over your clit repeatedly.

He loved hearing your breathless moans as he brought you to your release. It's all because of how good he’s making you feel all by himself, not you telling him what to do. Your reactions to him—your legs shaking, your walls clenching around his fingers, and your face flushing all because of him— You buck your hips once more, letting yourself cum all over Atsushi’s fingers with a loud moan of his name, but even after, he still slowly moves his fingers in and out.

"Where did you learn that?” You ask between breaths as you lie on the bed. Atsushi removes his fingers from your cunt and once again makes his way up to look at you face-to-face.

“I’ll tell you later, but we aren't done yet.” He looks down at you softly, his eyes still filled with desire, as you look back up at him, still recovering from your orgasm.

Chuuya -

“You look so pretty like this doll.” Chuuya stood at the foot of the bed, admiring you naked in all your glory with a red rope around your wrists and attached to the headboard with a silky blindfold over your eyes. You can feel the bed dip beside you and Chuuya learning over you, his voice next to your ear. “I wish you could see just how beautiful you look.” He kisses your temple. You hear the rustling of clothes and his belt hitting the floor. You squirm in anticipation of what Chuuya has in store for you.

Chuuya grips your legs and brings his face close to one of your thighs, his breath giving you goosebumps over your skin. He kisses your thighs gently and moves up your body. He kisses your stomach all the way to your breasts. You arch your back, feeling his lips around your nipple and his tongue running over the sensitive bud while his hand pinches and plays with the other one before he gives the same attention to the other one. “So perfect for me.” He lets go and continues his journey up, kissing your collarbones and each side of your neck until he hits your ear again. “Perfect for me to ruin.” He sits up and looks at your face. Your lip caught between your lips, the blindfold was still secure around your eyes, and there was a slight shine on your skin from the sweat due to the foreplay earlier.

You were relying on sound and touch alone to figure out what Chuuya’s next move would be, but he was so quiet, and his damn ability made it nearly impossible until he gripped your hips and positioned himself in front of your entrance. Chuuya teased your cunt with his cock before slowly pushing it inside you. You both moaned, then he started moving in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. He was going to take his time with you.

“God, you were made for me, doll. Fit me so perfectly.” You moaned loudly and squirmed each time his cock hit deeper inside of you, your hands holding tightly onto the rope for something to touch if you couldn't hold onto Chuuya. With your legs wrapping around Chuuya’s waist to try pushing him closer to you, he started to pound into you harder, but keeping at a slow pace, and you got louder each time his name fell from your lips. The ropes were giving off a burning sensation around your wrists. Each harsh thrust Chuuya gave you—a mixture of pain and pleasure—had you hissing and moaning at the same time.

“More Chuuya, please.” You beg; you wish you could see Chuuya, your imagination doing nothing for you, wanting to see Chuuya fall apart while he watches you fall apart too. Chuuya smiled smugly; he could feel you tighten around him. Your hips were lifted off the bed as he started to quicken the pace, slamming into you roughly.

“I feel you, darlin'; you're so close.” Chuuya was meant to take his time with you, but your pussycat was just too good not to lose control. His slow, sensual plan for the night definitely took a turn into more raw and rough passion. “Squeezin’ me so tight, baby.” Chuuya tosses his head back; he was not far behind.

“Chuuya! I'm going to cum!” You shouted in pure bliss; he was hitting all the right spots; he knew your pussy so well.

“Not far behind you, doll.” The two of you chased your highs, your moans joining in unison as you both cum together. "Fuck, baby, I really have no control when it comes to you.” Chuuya leans down and kisses your forehead.

Dazai -

 'That sweet talking son of a bitch.’ You huff to yourself as you take your seat at your desk. His stupid idea was completely impractical, let alone utterly humiliating, and still you agreed. Dazai and his silver tongue—you could completely ruin his fun and just take it out now, and he would be none the wiser? Or maybe he knows you’ll do that? It's hard to outsmart Dazai. He knows you too well and speaks of the devil. He smiles warmly at you as he takes his seat across Kunikida and Atsushi. You watch as they all engage in conversation, waiting for Dazai to do something. How can he possibly think you’ll get any work done if you are on edge the whole day? Maybe that's his plan? To do nothing and keep you in a constant state of excitement and nervousness.

Then you see it. Dazai reaches for his pocket, and you can see the small black remote he hides under the table out of sight of Kunikida and Atsushi. You stare intently at the small black box in his hands. Your body tenses, waiting for the vibrations to start, but it doesn't happen. You can see the small, subtle smirk on his face as he listens to Atsushi. ‘Bastard’. He’s just playing with the remote in his hand, his thumb grazing over the button, threatening to push the very button that can ruin you within a second, and the thought of it is already making you wet. You were too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the three of them staring at you.

“Y/n? You there?” Atsushi looks at you with concern. You blink a few times, and you briefly look at Dazai, who’s wearing a dark smirk behind Kunikida and Atsushi.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You clear your throat, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Kunikida looks at you with a disappointed look for not listening to him in the first place.

“I was saying we have a meeting with a client at..." You could no longer hear Kunikida’s voice. The only thing you could register in that moment were the vibrations deep in your pussy. You gripped the table, your knuckles turning white as you pressed your legs together automatically. Your eyes were wide when you realized that he had pressed the button. Biting back a moan, you tried tuning Kunikida back in, but it was no use. “Y/n! Are you even listening to  me?"The vibrator stopped, and you took a shaky breath.

"Yeah, I heard you. Sorry.” You force a smile, trying to play it off. Kunikida sighed but went back to his work, realizing he'd just be wasting more of his precious time on you if you weren't going to listen. You too went back to work after finally composing yourself, but you were still on edge because of Dazai, but holy hell did it feel good.

Eventually you had forgotten all about it, getting too engrossed in your work, and you had managed to meet with the client Kunikida had mentioned earlier. Your day was just starting until those vibrations started again out of nowhere. Your back arched and your hand slammed on the table as you took a sharp inhale at the pleasurable feeling, and you pressed your legs together again for some kind of friction. You noticed all eyes on you as soon as you did that, including Dazai, who had such an evil grin on his face. Your face turned pink out of embarrassment.

“S-sorry…cramps” You lie nervously, then try to go back to work, but Dazai doesn't turn the vibrator off; he keeps it going. Your hand is now subtly trying to cover your mouth as you try to prevent yourself from moaning, and your thighs are once again pressing and rubbing together for some kind of release. Dazai kept this up for the majority of the day, and somehow each time he knew when you would be close, he would just stop.

It was finally the end of the tortuous day, and you were the last one in the office, packing up your things. Then it started again, and thank God no one was around because you let out a moan that you had been holding in while you gripped the table again, bending over to steady yourself. Your legs felt like they could give out on you.

“You’ve been holding that one all day.” You can hear the amusement in his voice as he presses himself up behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder.”

“Dazai…Please” You moan louder; you just want him to stop leaving you on the edge of your orgasm. Dazai’s arms snake around your waist, his right hand traveling down the waistband of your skirt and passing your pants to rub circles on your clit.

“So wet," he murmurs into your ear, applying a little bit of pressure to your clit as he slowly continues to rub circles on it while the vibrator is still going. “And we haven't even gotten to the good part yet.” You let out a whimper as he kisses your neck.

"Dazai, please, let me cum.” Your voice was desperate, and your head rested on his shoulder as he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck. His fingers move a little faster on your aching clit, he just needs to say the words, and you’ll cum right then and there, but he keeps dragging it out, and you're nothing but a moaning mess. Your legs can't even hold you up with how shakey they are as you approach your orgasm.

“You can, Bella; you deserve that much.” He smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek as he helps guide you through your orgasm. The hand that isn't abusing your sensitive bundle of nerves went to his pocket to retrieve the little remote Dazai has become well acquainted with throughout the day.

“Dazai!” Letting out a strangled moan and biting your lip in pure bliss as you came around the vibrator that's been in your cunt all day. Dazai stops rubbing your clit and turns off the vibrator. Your chest is heaving, and a thin layer of sweat has formed on your forehead.

“That’s it, and like I said, that was only the beginning."

Fyodor -

Fyodor never looks at you, and if he does, he looks at you like you’re the dirt beneath his boot. Only on rare occasions like this would he ever look at you, however. Fyodor's gaze barely left the monitors that are stationed behind you. He was acting as if you weren’t bouncing yourself on his cock, his seemingly bored expression never changing, but he wasn't bored. No, not at all. Ignoring you was his way of encouraging you to try harder at getting his attention. You want Fyodor to look at you? To praise you? To grant you a mind-blowing orgasm? You’re going to have to try harder than that, and Fyodor is a patient man with an impressive amount of self-control, which you hate.

You’re struggling, to say the least. Your breathless moans fill the silence of the room as you continue to fuck yourself with Fyodor’s cock, rocking your hips as much as you can before bouncing up and down again, but it just wasn’t the same. Your head falls onto his shoulder as your hands grip his arms, trying to chase your orgasm. You momentarily stop just to catch your breath to go again; doing this yourself was agonisingly painful. You just want Fyodor to take control of you right now so that you don't have to do it alone.

Fyodor knows you're struggling, and he finally looks at you. His gaze is one of amusement and pity at how pathetic you look, trying and failing at chasing your own orgasm like the slut you are without his help.

“Look at you, Myshka—you can’t even do something so simple by yourself.” He smirks as he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. His hands trail down to your hips as he holds you in place before thrusting into you. You throw your head back and cry out as he thrusts himself deeper into you, your nails digging into his shoulders that are definitely going to leave marks. “You truly are pathetic, aren't you?” Fyodor will never praise you, no matter what you do. You know that now.

“Oh God!  Fyodor!” You moan loudly and throw your head back as he continues to thrust into you, now fully in control of the pace, only half listening to the degrading things he’s saying to you as if they aren't true.

“That’s right, Myshka, I’m your god.” He holds your chin so that you’re looking at him. He wants to watch you completely fall apart on his cock. Fyodor continued to control your movements; they were fast-paced, leaving you barely a chance to catch your breath. “Eyes on me.” His tone is commanding yet almost condescending, as if you can’t even do that on your own.

“M’gonna cum. Fuck!” You scream as pleasure washes over you as your walls squeeze his cock.

“That’s right, let everyone hear just how good your ‘god’ makes you feel.” He whispers in your ear as you chase your high. Your nails dig deeper into his shoulder, breaking the skin and leaving crescent moon shapes at this point as you finally cum.

Your head rests on his shoulder as you catch your breath coming down from your high. You feel his hand grip your chin gently, making you look at him. Fyodor still has that look on his face—that you’re pathetic and worthless.

“There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" He smirked down at you, his head tilted, then let go of your chin before looking back at the monitors again. You don't move; he didn’t ask, nor did he move you himself. So you sit there with his cock still embedded inside of you and your head back on his shoulder as you relax. He looked at you. The only time he will ever look at you, even for a few short minutes, is when his cock is buried in your cunt with nothing but degrading words spilling from his mouth. A few minutes later, you stay still, now fully calmed down. You feel his hand on your hair, and you expect him to grab a fist full for him to drag you off of him and toss you to the side like you meant nothing, but instead he strokes your head gently. “You did well, Myshka.”

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[hannie-dul-set]

the psychology of strawberries — [s.qr].

SYNOPSIS. besides being your friend, kim gyuvin also holds the existence of being the worst matchmaker in history. the last guy he set you up with ended with a permanent ban from the arcade. the one before that caused you to file a restraining order. which is why when he tries to set you up one last time with his best friend, you understandably shut him down.

the problem is— why the fuck didn’t gyuvin tell you that his best friend is actually the prettiest man in the world? the most charming idiot to have graced your mortal existence? maybe if he did, you wouldn’t have to resort to pavlovian tactics and strawberries just to bag him. if he did, then you wouldn’t have to hide the fact that you’re kind of balls-deep in love with his friend.

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, (anti) matchmaking! au, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual secret relationship. romance, humor, fluff, suggestive, older! reader, this is just lovelicky propaganda. sue me. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, mentions of sex, making out, making out in public, an almost car crash, stalking (not from any of the leads), erratic behavior (mostly from our lead), ricky in a floral shirt, black haired ricky and bathrobe ricky jumpscare. WORD COUNT. 21k.

TAGLIST. @lovialy @sarang-ae @khaelscafe @jenodreamer @lovelyrickyz @ciaoui @spjhyn @chwesuh-imnida @kgneptun @hanstarrs @dvalitaes @younxii @haesunflower @cyberpunksunwoo @tlnyjoong @bobabunhee @elavin @sassybakaaa @wishfulthnking @lvieee

NOTE. there is evident lack of plot in this. unless you consider thirsting over ricky as plot, then there’s a lot of plot. you’re welcome. feedback and comments are always appreciated, and i hope you enjoy!

AT SOME POINT IN YOUR LIFE, THE PROSPECT OF MEETING A NEW GUY STOPPED BEING A POINT OF INTEREST OR ANTICIPATION. It has now become a harbinger of horror, an inevitable car crash simply lying in wait. Gone are the days where you’re looking forward to the first kiss on your porch and doorstep— now, you don’t even care if you share the same hobbies or not, if you click well or not, neither if your personalities match or not.

Your only hope is that they don’t end up being a stalker or a slob or someone with severe anger issues. And there’s only one culprit for this seemingly permanent shift in your psychology.

“I’m not going on another date! At least one that you’re setting up.”

“C’mon!” Gyuvin clings onto your arm, preventing you from leaving the classroom. He’s crouching on the floor. Your face crunches up, looking down at him like he’s a piece of gum stuck on your boot sole. “This will be the last time. Please? I showed him a picture of you and he thinks you’re cute.”

The sole reason why Kim Gyuvin can get away with anchoring you by the arm with his entire body weight, why he can get away with setting you up with douchebag after douchebag, is because he’s a family friend, and you’ve known him for eight whole years. These tantrums are normal, but the sudden growth spurt he had in ninth grade makes him occasionally forget that you’re still two years older than him. You were already walking before he was even born. This bitch thinks he can make you do what he wants.

“Get off! Are you trying to dislocate my shoulder?”

The moment you raise your free arm to a fist, he releases you from his clutches and puts his arms up innocently, still crouched on the floor. You click your tongue with a sneer, brushing down your sleeve. Anyway, does he have amnesia? Has he forgotten how the last blind dates went? 

“Your friend Jaeryeong also thought I was cute,” you start. “Really cute, in fact. To the point where he wouldn’t leave me alone and I had to file a restraining order against him.”

Now, he’s finally looking guilty. Gyuvin clear his throat and jumps back up to his feet, straightening his clothes and not daring to look you in the eye. “He—he had some issues that I wasn’t aware of and I’m sorry for that— but Ricky is different! He’s not some weirdo! I promise you that he’s a good guy and he’s good looking and—”

“You said the same thing about Do Hajun,” you cut him off. “Sure, he was pretty good looking, but he got so mad at a claw machine and started assaulting it in public. I got banned at the Game Plaza, Gyuvin. I’m not allowed there anymore. I was the top scorer at DDR there. I can’t maintain my rank there anymore because the last guy you set me up with had problems with his temper.”

He looks even more guilty now. Your glare softens because it’s not entirely his fault. But this time the guy’s name is Ricky. That sounds like a fuckboy’s name. A fuckboy who probably wears snapbacks and jeans a little too low. You’re not taking any fucking chances.

“Okay,” Gyuvin breathes out. “I understand that I may have made some bad matches—”

“Some.”

“A lot of bad matches,” he corrects, sheepish. “But that’s just because so many people want to date you! If you think about it, it’s your fault for always attracting weirdos! I’m just the connecting bridge and messenger! I’m sick and tired of my friends asking me to set you up with them too!”

“So why the hell are you trying to do it again?!” Man, you’re getting tired. You asked him to meet you in your lecture hall after class because you wanted to check up on his project, but the moment he came in, he tried throwing you into the sharks once again in an instant. 

You dig into your bag for a piece of candy, unwrapping it and popping it into your mouth with an unamused expression as Gyuvin tries his damn best to market his friend to you. “This will be the last one, I promise! Ricky is my best friend and I can assure you that he’s a decent guy. He’s hot. He’s got a car. Didn’t you say before that you wanted a hot boyfriend with a car?”

“If he’s so hot then why are you so desperately trying to sell him off?”

You weren’t born yesterday. Hell, you were born earlier than this matchmaking scammer and he regularly forgets about that. “Well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “He’s my best friend, but I need my solo time too! If he gets a girlfriend, then maybe he’ll stop showing up at my apartment every Friday night and—”

“That’s enough.”

You stuff a piece of candy into his mouth, promptly shutting him up. His eyes are wide, shock quickly morphing into a grimace when the flavor finally kicks in. Durian. Serves him fucking right. 

“Go set your friend up with someone else. I called you in here for a different reason, Kim Gyuvin.” Nothing like dropping his full name and reminding him that you’re still his upperclassman as a cold splash of water to the face. Gyuvin flinches, suddenly straightening himself. “How’s your project going? You only have two months left to finish it. I hope you didn’t forget.”

His face tells you that he forgot about it, but not totally. He’s reluctantly chewing on the candy you force-fed him. “I’ve— I’ve already picked out a place. Hadong Country in Gyeongsang. I’m planning on going there next week.”

“Alright, good.” You leave him with a pat on the shoulder. “Tell me once you’ve set the date. You should worry about your term paper instead of mine or your friend’s love life. Getting us to date won’t pull up your GPA, Gyuvin.”

“But—”

“No, that’s enough,” you shut him down. “I’m not dating this Ricky guy. That’s final. Nothing you can do or say will change my mind.”

Famous last words. Little did you know that you’d be eating that very statement by the weekend.

ONE OF THE PRIVILEGES YOU’VE GOTTEN FROM SUCKING UP TO YOUR PROFESSORS SINCE FRESHMAN YEAR IS HAVING FULL LIBERTY OF USING THEIR OFFICE AS A HANG-OUT SPOT. The air-conditioning here is better than the classrooms or students lounge. You can even raid their snack pantry as much as you want— grabbing a handful from the candy bowl, now filled with pink wrappers of some strawberry hard candy— and stuffing them into the small pocket of your bag to restock your portable stash. 

“Does Prof Yoon know you’re the one that keeps vacuuming his candy bowl?” 

The question comes from Hanbin, who’s just as shamelessly making himself a cup of coffee with the faculty’s machine. The both of you are regular freeloaders at the office. A well-earned privilege, you’d like to say.

“He knows,” you reply, snatching a box of pepero for good measure. “He lets me get away with it because I’m his favorite student.”

There’s one more freeloader. Hao is sitting on the cushy sofa set funded by the student’s tuition fees, sharing a conversation with Mrs. Lee, and the two of you join him not long after. “You three are supervising some of the freshmen this year, right?” your professor asks, and her question is met with a set of artificial positive responses. “I guess I can look forward to some of their outputs then,” she leaves with a hearty laugh and a hard pat on Hao’s back. You wince.

“Why is an old lady so strong?” he laments once Mrs. Lee is sure to have returned to her cubicle. Hanbin is feeling and probing around his spine in case it got broken.

“I hear she’s a member at the gym Jiwoong goes to,” you say. “Scary woman. Thank god we’re on her good side.”

Complaining about your professors in hushed voices while being in their office is a rare skill the three of you have mastered over the past two years. The two elicit murmurs of agreement with your statement. “Speaking, how are your kids doing?” asks Hanbin. Kids, referring to the eighteen to nineteen year olds under your care for their term project.

Hao takes your pepero stick offer before grumbling. “I don’t get why we have to supervise the freshmen when he have our own assignments and projects to deal with.”

“Because Mrs. Lee will give us extra points for our class with her if we do,” you remind. “Gyuvin is doing the bare minimum. At least he now has a location settled down.” The project is for their required course in community development. The freshmen are tasked to select a rural area in the country and do a needs-based assessment survey on it. You did the same when you were in your first year. Mrs. Lee is also the head of the university extensions office. You three have theorized that she’s just using this annual assignment to update her data inventory.

“Gunwook is too passionate. He wants to go all the way to freaking Mokpo.”

“At least he sounds hardworking,” you say, disregarding Hanbin’s stress over an inevitable five-hour drive. “Why can’t Gyuvin be the same? All he does is set me up with terrible men and barge into my family dinners.”

You say that, but everyone who knows you knows that Kim Gyuvin, despite being generally annoying, has burrowed a soft spot in your heart. Unlike Hanbin and Hao who missed a 40-point quiz for Mrs. Lee’s class to join a random play dance competition at the plaza (they won), you didn’t really need the extra points merit, so you had no intentions on volunteering to be a supervisor in the first place.

But when you caught whiff of the news that your poor, poor younger friend of eight years still didn’t have a senior-supervisor for the project, you somehow found yourself in front of Mrs. Lee’s office cubicle and signed up at the last moment.

Which is also why you’re up at 5 a.m. in front of Gyuvin’s apartment building on a weekend, no breakfast in the stomach, just to accompany him to Gyeongsang for this god forsaken community development project.

“Morning.”

Gyuvin greets you with a yawn and a heavy ruffle on the top of your head, to which you respond with a side kick to his ass when he walks past you. “You’re late,” you scold him, and though you want to continue berating your dear friend, two more familiar-looking people emerge from his building’s entrance. 

“Oh, this is Taerae and Matthew,” Gyuvin informs you offhandedly. The two give you a mix of polite nods and smiles. You sort of know Taerae because you shared a class with him last semester. Matthew is just the guy you see at the campus coffee shop at least once a week. “They’re going to be my survey assistants. More people means more ground to cover at once.”

“How’d he scam you two into agreeing?” you ask.

“He’s buying me lunch for a week,” Taerae replies.

“I just wanted to go on a road trip,” Mathew says in a tone too bright for five in the morning. 

You let out a huff of air. Your backpack is getting a little heavy on your shoulders, and all you want is to finally reclaim your lost weekend. Meaning, getting on the road as soon as possibly is priority number one. “So, are we commuting?” you ask. “We should get going then.”

“Oh, no,” Gyuvin replies. He’s already noticed your impatience, and has found himself standing behind you, taking your bag off of your bag so that you don’t snap at him for the next statement he’s about to say. “Actually, we’re waiting for one more per—”

A car horn cuts him off. 

“Well, nevermind. He’s here.”

At that moment, a way too expensive looking car drives up to the porch of Gyuvin’s college-level priced apartment building. This is looking way too out of place. Matthew lets out a whistle when the car stops in front of you. “This kid just got his license exchange and the first thing he does is show off,” Taerae snorts. What...what does he mean? Is this your ride? Is this the (at least seventy-thousand-dollar) vehicle that’ll be driving you all the way to the outskirts of Hadong County? 

The variables don’t click, but your surprise doesn’t end there. Because the person that emerges from the expensive looking ass car’s driver’s seat is— by far— the prettiest person you’ve ever seen in your twenty-one years of life.

Whoa.

Not even those thick, dark shades can obscure that god-sculpted looking face. They only make his nose bridge look even sharper, and you’re trying your damn best not to stare at those full and cherry-painted lips. Holy shit. Platinum blonde has always looked tacky to you, but now you have to re-evaluate. Oh my god. Kim Gyuvin has a friend that looks like this, and all he’s done is set you up with guys that can’t even fucking compare.

Walking statue of a man closes the car door behind him with a click. “Get in,” he says. Holy mother of god, you’re light-headed. Your brain is fuzzy. You’re about to pass out. 

“Ricky! You’re late! How dare you keep the madam waiting?!” 

Things start happening a little too quickly.

Wait a second—

“Shotgun!” 

That name.

“Fuck off! Let’s play for the seat!” 

Sounds Very.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot! Rock, paper, scissors—”

Very—

“Paper, scissors— shoot!”

—familiar.

“Dammit,” Matthew grumbles in defeat, joining Taerae in the backseat. You stare at the fist you have held out since earlier. Rock. Rick. Ricky. This guy’s name is Ricky. Isn’t that also the name of Gyuvin’s best friend? The best friend he was trying to set you up with? This is Ricky? This absolute god of a fucking man who’s looking at you with an ounce of confusion, still holding your fist up after somehow winning all rounds of rock, paper, scissors with nothing but a rock, is the Ricky you turned down a date with?

You were correct to assume that his name gives off fuckboy vibes. The problem is, he looks like a really, really hot fuckboy who you don’t mind ruining your life in exchange for three months of fun. Shit. You think you just made eye contact with him through his thick-ass sunglasses. He nods a little with a small, awkward smile before disappearing back into the driver’s seat. 

Fuck. He knows. He definitely knows you wrongfully rejected his ass without even meeting him. Gyuvin, that snitching son of a bitch.

“Hey.”

With a heavy grip on his shoulder, you stop the said snitching son of a bitch before he can escape into the backseat. “What?” Gyuvin raises a brow. The audacity of this guy.

“What was your best friend’s name again?”

“Ricky Shen. Shen Quanrui. Shim Cheonye. Pick one.”

“Is that...the same…?”

“Yes, that guy is Ricky.” There’s an impatient honk from the car. You pay no mind, more concerned about the absolute fucking catch you totally drove away, and that regret is seeping through you expression, failing to wiggle out from Gyuvin’s notice. “Why do you ask?” Are you regretting turning down my offer last week? his face seems to say. You want to hit him. Yes, you are fucking regretting it, but there’s no way in hell you’re giving him the satisfaction of knowing.

“It’s just a little awkward,” you say. “Can you switch with me?”

“Matt hyung’s gonna throw a fit if I take your seat,” he simply hums, opening the door to the front seat on your behalf with a courteous bow that drives you further into annoyance. “Now hop in. We’re already behind schedule.”

You’re the bigger person here so you decide against throwing a tantrum. Begrudgingly, you enter the passenger’s seat, trying to ignore aphrodite’s reincarnation sitting right next to you, and prepare yourself for the three-hour drive or torture because you totally screwed over your chance of having him.

“Woohoo! Road trip!”

“We’re here for my project, idiot.”

“Please tone it down, I’m trying to sleep.”

It’s fine, you cross your arms, wiggling uncomfortably on the soft seat. It’s totally fine. None of Gyuvin’s friends have been decent so far. Yes. You shouldn’t judge positively too quickly. Maybe the only thing this one has going for him is his face. Maybe his personality is just as shitty as the last ones and you’ve completely dodged a bullet.

A very pretty bullet. The pretty bullet is looking at you through the rearview mirror. Oh god, why is he looking at you? He’s got his sunglasses down and those eyes are practically staring into your soul.

“Um,” Ricky clears his throat. “You should put on your seatbelt.”

That rasp shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Fuck. This man is a walking heart hazard. “O—oh, sorry!” You’re stupid. Your brain is fried. You fumble with the dumb seatbelt, forgetting how it works, and mentally swearing at yourself in the process.

“Do you need any help…?”

Fight or flight instincts kick in. You smack away Ricky’s attempt at a helping hand. His eyes are wide in shock. Your eyes are wide in shock. You want to throw yourself out of this vehicle right now. “It’s—it’s fine!” Finally, you manage to put on the seatbelt. Ricky is a mix of confusion and offense when he starts the car, more on confusion, but that’s alright. The aftermath of him pulling a k-drama move and helping you with the seatbelt would have been worse. You would have disintegrated right then and there.

Your only source of comfort is the backpack that you’re hugging for your dear life. The entire ride is excruciatingly awkward because the three boys at the back have fallen asleep— a state you also wish to be in right now, but that’s quite frankly impossible because you’re a million times more conscious about your physical appearance right now with a literal angel next to you. 

He’s not asking why you’re pressed so far up against the door. For safety reasons, you tell yourself. The air around him just subconsciously feels a lot hotter despite the air conditioning literally blowing cold air to your face.

“Would...would you like some?”

But that doesn’t mean you could stomach this awkwardness, either. Two hours have passed and neither of you have said a word to each other. You’re a fistful into your candy stash and it feels rude not to offer anything to him when he’s been driving for so long. 

You have a cautious arm outstretched, a pink wrapper dangling between your thumb and index finger. Ricky peers down for a split second, a rumble from his throat before saying, “N—no, it’s okay.” The candy disappears into the crevices of his car. You dip your head down, trying to feel around for it, and Ricky continues talking. “Um. I mean. You don’t really have to force yourself to get along with me, seonbae. I already know that you don’t really like me.”

At that moment, you snap your head up. “What?”

Maybe you should’ve been more careful because you scare the shit out of Ricky and the car swerves off the lane.

Screech!

“Ah,” he exhales, parking the car at the edge of the road after nearly killing you all. “That was close.” How the three kids in the back are still asleep is beyond you. They’ve got their necks twisted in all the weird places and you’re pretty sure Matthew is drooling.

But the source of your adrenaline right now isn’t the near death experience.

“What do you mean you know that I don’t like you?”

Translation: what exactly did Kim Gyuvin say to this guy?

“You...turned down the blind date Gyu tried setting up,” he says. Well that’s because Gyuvin never showed you a picture of his face! Instead of using useless words to try and convince you to say yes, he should’ve just sent you his instagram and called it a day. “This car ride must be awkward for you, sorry. I’ll try to get to Hadong as soon as possible.”

He’s sweet and polite too! God, you’ve completely screwed it over. You spend the rest of the car ride overthinking and feeling sorry for yourself. The moment you arrive at your destination, you eject yourself from the car instantaneously. “Alright, we’re wasting daylight. Let’s get moving!” you clasp your hands together, hurrying your barely-awake lackeys into the town. 

With five people, the surveys and interviews get done quicker than expected. At one point, while you were surveying a marketplace owner, your attention got inadvertently distracted by spotting Ricky from the corner of your eye helping out an old lady with a cart and you nearly had a meltdown. Again, why didn’t Gyuvin introduce you to him before your impression of his friends got screwed over by Jaeryeong and Hajun and all the fucking rest?

“What a sweet boy,” says the marketplace owner. He is a sweet boy. That sweet and insanely handsome boy could’ve been yours (not guaranteed).

“Hey!” Gyuvin snaps you out of your daze. You look up, crouched underneath the shade of a tree. One of the locals was kind enough to give you a tour of their plum fields in the village, but you’re a little too rattled to actually appreciate the green scenery. “The ahjumma gave us some plums to taste!”

“You’re a bad person,” you suddenly say. Gyuvin’s face distorts in offense.

“Well, if you don’t want any plums, you can just say so, meanie.”

Maybe you are a meanie, but you’re still not over everything today. While the four boys are fucking around from a bit of a distance, you’re still crouched down and absentmindedly petting a stray cat and moping. Matthew says something you can’t hear, and the three burst out laughing— only the three at first, because Ricky looks lost for a second, blinking with a dumb smile, before joining their laughter only a beat late. 

Oh no, he’s cute. Oh god, you’re falling. Oh man, you’re a goner.

“Time to go home!”

It’s around four in the afternoon when you finally finish. You’re all gathered around Ricky’s car again, ready for another grueling drive back to Seoul. “Go sit in the back. I’ll drive this time,” says Taerae to Ricky, and there starts another rock, paper, scissors battle for who will take the front seat.

Unlike earlier where you won without even realizing there was a game, you lose even after praying to all the gods you know.

“Nice!” Matthew cheers, not even giving you a shot of negotiation because he quickly disappears into the car. You’re looking at Gyuvin, painted in shock and disbelief. Before you know it, you’re wedged into the backseat, in between the two men you’d like to be around the least at the moment. 

Yours and Ricky’s shoulders are touching. This is worse than earlier. He looks just as uncomfortable as you are— arms resting on the open windowsill, head uncomfortably craned away from you and giving you a full view of the tattoo trailing down his neck. Something snaps in your brain. This is your nth breakdown of the day.

“Let me in your candy stash.”

Gyuvin gives himself the liberty to zip open the front pocket of your backpack while you’re hugging it in your seat. The sound of you swatting his hand away seems to catch Ricky’s attention, so you give up defending your property and let Gyuvin snatch a handful of the strawberry-flavored sweets from your bag. “This tastes gross,” he says with a grimace. “So artificial. Blegh.”

You suddenly hear a gasp from your left. “How can you say that?” You’re shocked to find out it’s from Ricky. He’s been relatively quiet all this time. Gyuvin sure knows how to get into everyone’s nerves. “Take it back.”

“I’ll take it back if you dye your hair black for a day.”

A harmless fist zooms in front of your face. “Now way.” Ricky is hitting Gyuvin.

“Gross, this is so gross.” Gyuvin is hitting Ricky back.

“So what.”

“I’m telling your mom about this.”

Your existence is forgotten and your breathing space in between these two relatively large men has significantly diminished. Your face is burning. You can’t do this anymore so you clear your throat, causing Ricky— who’s leaned a little too close, fist in the air mid-punch— to suddenly tuck himself back into his side of the car. 

It becomes quiet again when Matthew and Gyuvin slowly doze off to sleep.

Gaze flitting to the front, you notice that Taerae is quite preoccupied with swearing at another car that just overtook yours. You take this as an opportunity.

A slight nudge to his arm, you hold open your palm without looking at Ricky. It’s a handful of the strawberry flavored candy he was so staunchly defending against Gyuvin earlier. He might’ve rejected your offering earlier, but you’re damn bent on ending this day by fixing his impression of you, even if it’s just a miniscule improvement.

He’s got his head trained down, staring at your offering with a face laced with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and uncertainty before a hesitant hand plucks out a single wrapper from the pile. “Thank you,” you hear him say softly, and you don’t miss the tiniest smile playing on his lips when the sweet touches his tongue, poking against the inside of his cheek and you feel somewhat offended because a damn piece of candy can elicit such an expression on his face when you can’t. 

It’s not stiff like the numerous bouts of awkward eye contact you’ve been sharing without end. It’s not forced. It’s not uncomfortable.

It’s an expression that makes you feel all the more regretful because you probably won’t be seeing him ever again after this.

“Did you see that guy?! He honked at me! He fucking honked at me!”

But maybe that’s a good thing. Because maybe then, you’ll be forced to stop lamenting the chance you completely wasted. 

MAYBE YOU SPOKE TO SOON. It’s the afternoon of a Friday, not even a week after your one-day trip to Hadong County. And Fridays are your cheat days to take a dip into your allowance for some well deserved milk tea at a bougie cafe next to your university.

What isn’t part of your usual Wednesdays is the inexplicable, one in a million chance that you’d be bumping into Ricky Shen again.

“Oh.”

You’re about to enter. He’s just about to leave, pushing open the door with one hand and holding a bright pink drink with so much whipped cream which looks particularly out of place against his all-black ensemble. The only common denominator between the both of you is the look of surprise you’re both sharing.

Ricky recovers before you do. He steps aside, giving you space to walk in while holding the door open. How the bare minimum is making you weak in the knees, you have no idea. “Th—thanks,” you give him a smile and walk forward, before putting yourself to a stop and spinning around. “Oh, wait. Have this.”

You dig into your pockets and drop three pieces of strawberry candy onto his hand. You don’t miss the way his eyes sparkle. “Thanks. See you around.” He leaves. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

From now on, you’re gonna stuff all your pockets with strawberry-flavored candy (courtesy of Prof Yoon from the faculty office) until Ricky gets brainwashed that your presence doesn’t bear awkwardness or discomfort, no— you are a good person. Your presence brings with you strawberries and sweetness. That one psych class you took last semester is finally proving itself to be useful. Ricky will fall in love with you through Pavlov and classical conditioning.

Is this ethical? Probably not. Will this work? You don’t bet on it, but his cute smile makes it all fucking worth it.

That is if a miracle happens that you somehow end up seeing more of each other. You sigh, waiting for the buzzer to receive your order. You remember that Ricky is a freshman, meaning you have zero chances of sharing classes with him, and your only mutual friend is Kim Gyuvin. You’d rather kill yourself than give him the satisfaction of knowing that you have a crush on his best friend.

Well, there’s also Matthew and Taerae. After your trip to Hadong, you somehow got added to a group chat with the two of them. “Same age friends have to stick together!” says Matthew. You’re not sure if you’re already at the point of calling them friends, but you are having dinner with them later, so that’s something. But no matter how much you want to gush about your feelings for the light-haired boy, you don’t think you can out yourself to those two just yet.

The buzzer vibrates in your hands. You stand up to get your order, only to be stopped by a familiar face that you’re not quite happy to see.

“I—I didn’t follow you here, I swear!”

Your expression sours. That last time you saw him was approximately three months ago— when you threatened him with a fake restraining order after Gyuvin and Hanbin helped you move into a new apartment.

“Jaeryeong.” You feel your blood pressure rising from the mere utterance of his name. “Is a restraining order not enough for you? Do I have to put you in jail so you can finally learn your fucking lesson?”

He looks rattled. “I heard— I heard from Siyun that the document is fake!”

Well, damn. You click your tongue. You thought it’d work for a little while longer than this. Maybe you should get a real RO next time. “So does that give you the right to keep stalking me, you damn creep?” You’re getting a headache. This guy’s appearance just makes you miss Ricky even more (gentle remember that Ricky probably doesn’t give a shit about you, nor does he think about you as much as you’ve thought about him within the past six days of your acquaintance).

“I really didn’t follow you here! This was just a coincidence!” 

“Sure,” you wrinkle your nose. “Was breaching my privacy and following me all the way to my parents’ place a coincidence too?”

Maybe riling him up is a bad idea, but you’re not exactly the best at interpersonal relationships (case in point, Riky Shen). But this is also a public place, so if he does pull anything dangerous, one of the cafe patrons is likely to take a video which you can use against him. Jaeryeong has his jaw clenched, visibly grated. “Look, I came up to you today to try and clear our misunderstanding, but if you keep on being a little bitch, then—”

“Then what?”

You’re surprised to hear a much welcomed voice from behind you.

“What are you gonna do?”

The last person you expected to swoop in and save you from this clingy freak is your senior who’s been out of reach for months now because he’s dying in post-grad. 

Kim Jiwoong suddenly tucks you behind him, wearing the facade of intimidation to scare off Jaeryeong— which, for some reason, ends up working because he runs off without much of a fight. “I’ll— I’ll talk to you later!” he says before leaving. Jiwoong lets out a sigh and turns around, looking at you with both disappointment and concern.

“You shouldn’t provoke guys like that. Who knows what could’ve happened to you.”

“I could’ve handled it even without you, seonbae,” you tell him. His gaze softens. You give him a bright smile. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

You know that Jiwoong is incapable of getting mad at you. The both of you catch up in the cafe once you’ve finally gotten your drink without any further interruptions. Whatever Gyuvin is to you, that’s who you are to Jiwoong. He was your project supervisor when you were a freshman, randomly assigned by a roulette, and somehow, you two still keep in touch two years later.

The both of you settle on a table inside the cafe. “How are your classes?” he asks. You reply with a bitter grunt, and that’s enough of a response for him to laugh and understand.

“By the way,” you rouse, spinning the remnants of the drink in slow spirals. “Seonbae. You’re close with Gyuvin, right?”

If your memory serves you right, you’ve seen them talking a couple of times with each other before, eliciting your utter confusion before ultimately finding out that apparently, they attended the same local dance studio before along with Hanbin and Hao for a period of time. “Well, sure,” is Jiwoong’s reply. That was just the lead-in question to your actual main question, which is—

“How about...his best friend?” you add. “Are you close with him too?”

You can see it in his face. He’s connecting the dots. You’re fiddling with your drink cup, nervous. The moment things click, Jiwoong unleashes a knowing grin.

“Are you crushing on Ricky?”

Well, damn. He didn’t need to be so blunt about it.

“And—and—and what if I am?” Smooth. Very smooth. You clear your throat, tugging on your collar to let some air in while Jiwoong stirs his americano with the straw, chin resting on his palms, evident amusement playing on his face. “So, anyway. I’m taking that as a yes— you are close with him.”

“Sure,” he hums. You want to sock him in the face.

“Well, is he anything like Gyuvin’s other friends,” you question. “Like Jaeryeong, or Hajun, or that one guy that told me to ‘sit pretty and shut my mouth’ because that’s what a woman ought to do?”

“No, no. Ricky isn’t anything like that,” he replies. “He looks a little intimidating, but he’s a nice kid. I don’t even think I’ve ever heard him raise his voice at anyone.” Ricky does seem pretty soft spoken and it’s hurting your heart. This doesn’t go under Jiwoong’s radar. He laughs at your misery and your shoulders slack. “His only flaw is his overconfidence, I think. Next time you meet him, you should compliment his face.”

No, but confidence is attractive. Overconfidence must mean extra attractive, right? Yes? “Thanks for the tip,” you grunt. “But can you not tell Gyoob that I sort of have a thing for his friend?”

This brings Jiwoong’s brows to a furrow. “Isn’t he hell bent on marrying off Ricky?”

“Yes. Well. There was a situation.” You don’t intend on telling Jiwoong about the said situation for the sake of your pride. He looks curious, but thankfully he doesn’t try to prod. The only thing that matters right now is that Ricky is Jiwoong-approved, and that’s good enough of a reason for you to pursue him under Kim Gyuvin’s nose. “Anyway, please keep this a secret.”

“What’s in it for me?” he asks.

“The continuation of my respect,” you flatly reply. Jiwoong, again, laughs and assures you that his lips are shut and sealed.

SOMEHOW, YOU’RE INVITED TO A BARBECUE DINNER AT MATTHEW’S BACKYARD. How long have you known him? Two weeks. Who else is invited to the dinner? His friends of two years the least. You’re not sure how you ended up here. Maybe you’re more charming than you thought. Maybe that’s why you keep attracting weird men.

But Matthew isn’t weird. He’s a little loud and a little too energetic for you to keep up with sometimes, but he’s nice, he’s polite, and you’d introduce him to your cousin if he’d let you. 

You show up to his front door step with a convenience store bag full of canned beer. You’re still not sure what the occasion is, but alcohol is always a good gift. “You made it!” Matthew greets you with a half-hug, and upon entering the premises of his home, you spot Gyuvin giving you an unabashed look full of judgment while Matt takes your present out of your hands and into the cooler in the backyard.

“Since when were you two so chummy?” Gyuvin asks with narrowed eyes as he leads you to where everyone else is. 

“Scared I might replace you in your friend group, Gyu?” you taunt.

“No. I’m scared of being the middleman again if Matthew hyung falls in love with you,” is his painfully honest answer. The yard is smoky and warm, familiar faces here and there— Hanbin being one of them, who graces you with a look of confused concern upon hearing Gyuvin’s words. “Hyung, you don’t understand my pain. I keep setting her up with my friends, but they’re never good enough for her. At this rate—”

At this rate, you’re gonna be needing a warning whenever Ricky suddenly appears in front of your vision— one of the people you preemptively deemed ‘not good enough for you’ only for it to bite you in the ass.

In fact, he may be too much for you, because for a second there, you had the presupposition that he might be walking up to you. That delusion is quickly evaporated into the barbecue smoke because he’s looking at Hanbin, not you.

“Hyung,” he says. “Woong hyung needs help with the grill.”

“Oh, I’ll be right there.”

In between, Gyuvin has somehow disappeared, leaving you alone with Ricky and the unreasonable amount of feelings you have for him. It’s been a good week since you’ve last seen him. He’s wearing a thick red jacket and that same look of awkwardness whenever you’re around. “Hello,” he greets you softly with a nod.

“Hi,” you do the same. It’s excruciating. It’s painful. There’s a sizzle in the air, music from the stereos, and the loud, rambunctious noises expected from a group of eight, nine boys. Yet it’s everything quiet in between the both of you. 

But after that tense greeting, there’s a shift in his gaze, a change in his posture. He’s clearing his throat, balancing himself on the heels of his feet with tightly pressed lips resembling that of a smile— almost as if he’s expecting something from you.

Oh, you realize. Oh, he’s too cute.

Without much of a thought, you dig into your coat pockets. 

“Hao!” you call out in a hurry, running off to the long picnic table where the rest are all gathered. Your heart is racing. Your heart is racing like crazy. “There’s still two faces I’m not acquainted with yet. Who’s this?”

While Hao introduces you to Gunwook and Yujin, your eyes flit over to the spot you’d left behind. Ricky is still standing there. He’s staring down, eyes trained on his cupped palms. “Ricky, come carry the cooler!” Taerae yells out for him, snapping him out of his daze. There’s a faint tinge of pink painting his ears when he strides off, fists closed with the same shade painting his knuckles. Your pockets are a lot lighter now. If you were him, you would have quite honestly fallen for yourself. 

Dinner starts. You ask Yujin why he’s friends with a bunch of old men. “They’re obsessed with me,” is his reply, and you can’t debate with that. Not when five of them are suddenly yelling at Jiwoong for saying you should all play some drinking games to heat things up. It gets settled when Yujin and Gunwook are given glasses of apple juice, and the word ‘gorae’ is now being repeatedly thrown over the table.

One thing you’ve noticed is that Ricky is always a beat and half slow. It’s stupid adorable. Gyuvin passes the never-ending whale baton to him and he just continues the beat without saying anything, looking around like a lost cat, before letting out a noise and collapsing against Hanbin the moment he realized he just lost.

That’s it. You can’t take this anymore. He’s pocket-sized. You’re stuffing him inside your pocket. It doesn’t help that his flushed face makes him look exactly like the strawberries he loves much— matching the red of his jacket, and it’s driving you insane.

“You really do have a massive crush on him.”

Jiwoong invades your alone time once things have settled down a bit. You’re in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor right in front of the sliding doors to the backyard. No, you’re not sitting here because it gives you a nice view of Ricky chasing Gyuvin around with his jacket as a makeshift weapon. That’s not true at all. “Say it louder, will you,” you grunt when he takes a seat next to you, hitting the corner of your beer can with his before he takes a swig.

“I don’t have to. Not when you’re already practically outing yourself with your staring.”

You frown. “I’m not that obvious.” You double take. Then bite the inside of your cheek. “Hey. I think I’m screwed.” 

Jiwoong shakes his head with a laugh. “Ricky is cute, isn’t he?”

Case in point, him doing that scrunchy face, gummy smile, when he suddenly bursts out laughing. You nod somberly. All Jiwoong does is make fun of your demise. 

Still, you think you’re being subtle enough. Ricky is slow. He told you this was his strength and weakness when Gyuvin asked you to tag along with them on a shopping trip one time. But for someone who’s usually programmed to be in slow motion, he sure is quick to catch onto things when you don’t want him to.

“Seonbae.”

His voice is soft, unassuming. You’re both standing in front of Gyuvin’s apartment one late Friday afternoon. You’re holding open one of his hands, cupping his knuckles from underneath— something you’d never have anticipated to have the privilege of doing maybe three, four weeks prior— dropping five pieces of candy onto his palm without much of a thought. 

“Yeah?” you hum. 

He closes his hand and stuffs the fistful into his coat pocket, a completely blank and innocent face, before asking— “do you like me?”

Now, this wasn’t in your monthly fucking bingo.

You stifle back a choking noise, completely caught off guard. “H—huh?” Jiwoong was right. His only flaw is his overconfidence. You have no idea how to slip away from this unscathed. “What— what makes you say that?”

Ricky blinks at you. “You always give me snacks.” You’re pretty sure candy doesn’t qualify as snacks, but you digress. “Don’t...don’t they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

Unfortunately for him, you’re swearing by a different psychological tactic. “W—well, I always have a lot of candy with me! For my blood sugar, you know?” you sputter out the first excuse you can rummage from your short-circuiting brain. “And...and after finding out you liked strawberries a lot, it would be rude and selfish not to give you any if I have them, right?” 

Right? Please agree. Please stop asking any more questions. Ricky is pondering over your words, seemingly deep in thought with pursed lips, until those said pretty lips part open to say, “Oh. Oh, I get it.” You don’t know what he gets, but you roll with it. “Then again, it also doesn’t make sense if you like me.”

The fuck does he mean that it doesn’t make sense if you like him? You’d kiss his face right here and now.

“You turned down that date, after all.”

Insult to injury. He doesn’t know that was the biggest regret of your life. You bite down your tongue and exhale sharply. “Ah. Don’t overthink it, Mr. Shim,” you tell him, finally knocking on Gyuvin’s door after standing in front of it for a good ten minutes. “Overthinking causes stress. Stress will give you wrinkles.”

“It’s okay,” he says, turning over the door upon hearing a click. “I’m still handsome when I’m stressed.”

You breathe out a sigh. This is the man you’re down bad for. This is the man you’re helplessly pining for.

“I think you’d be more handsome with black hair.”

Surprisingly, that statement comes from Gyuvin and not from you. He opened the door just at the right moment— an unimpressed look on his face upon seeing his unannounced visitors. “Why have my Friday night invaders tripled?” he laments. Tripled? You don’t ask and let yourself in despite his protests.

“I’m here to check on your term paper,” you inform, kicking off your shoes at the entryway.

“I’m here to play games,” says Ricky, doing the same.

“I’m here to play games too.”

For some reason, Gunwook had the same idea as you two to terrorize Gyuvin’s sacred Friday nights of solitude, but managed to act on it before anyone else. He’s already settled on the floor of the living room like it’s his own, legs outstretched, switch controller in his hands. “Hyung, let’s play!” he calls out to Ricky. Gyuvin reluctantly tells you to sit down before he grabs you two drinks from the kitchen. 

“You know what, I forgot to ask.” Gyuvin settles down two glasses of juice onto the coffee table with a suspicious eye directly zeroed in on you. “Why were you two together outside?”

“Seonbae and I happened to meet each other downstairs,” explains Ricky. Which was true. You did somehow bump into each other at the building lobby, Ricky nearly closing the elevator in front of your face in the process.

“Right. I told you I’m here to check on your paper, and I’ll be off once I do exactly that,” you tell him, mentally thanking Ricky for the save. “You had a month to write so it better be decent. Give me your laptop.”

Gyuvin smacks his tongue, but does as you say anyway, while the other two boys loiter around the floor and fuck around with Gyuvin’s switch that’s connected to the TV. They’re playing a Mario game. You pay them no mind, ignoring the non-human noises they make once Gyuvin reappears with his laptop. He warns you that this is still his first draft, but you didn’t need that premise. The first page isn’t even formatted correctly. You’ve got your work cut out for you.

“Hey, hey, move over! Let me play—”

Again, you pay no mind to the noise. It’s mostly coming from Gunwook and Gyuvin because Ricky is quiet when he’s focused— in this case, focused on hopping over some goombas. He’s got a thin pair of glasses perched on his nose, lips pursed unconsciously into a noot noot, and fuck he’s so cute, and — no, you’re not paying attention to him. You’re paying attention to your junior’s paper. You’re proofreading. Simply proofreading. You highlight some errors here and there, marking some corrections. 

Yet again, you don’t pay attention to the noise Gunwook and Gyuvin are making—

“Ah. I’m killing Gyuvin’s brothers.”

—but Ricky suddenly makes a quiet remark, and you snort very, very loudly in response.

You slap a hand over your mouth. That wasn’t funny. That wasn’t funny at all and the other two didn’t even seem to hear it. “Why are you laughing?” Gyuvin looks at you, offended by the sound you just made. “Did I write something wrong in the analysis? Why are you laughing?”

“N-no, it’s just—” Your throat rips into a cough because it’s not easy to suppress a fit of chortles. Ricky looks so proud of himself, you’re going to cry. You’re near choking and Gyuvin hops onto his feet and makes a beeline for you in a flurry.

“You’re so mean! Give me back my laptop!”

This isn’t a misunderstanding that you intend on clearing up, so you let him run off with his laptop back into his room to revise in private after you’ve disrespected his work. Gunwook stretches up too, saying that he’s off to buy some snacks outside. “Do you want anything?” he asks. Ricky is feeding you his juice and patting your back because you can’t stop coughing. “Okay. Ginger candy. Got it.”

Gunwook has left. Gyuvin is holed up in his room. And the fact that you and Ricky are alone in the living room right now isn’t helping the state of your lungs. “Are...are you okay?” Ricky, the sweet, sweet angel, asks with those giant boba eyes and soft voice. You want to bite down your sleeve and chew it right off.

“I’m—I’m alright.” No, you’re not. You’re sitting way too close on the floor, knees bumping, and the game over screen being reflected on the television right now is a perfect rendition of what’s going on inside your head right now. “Whew. I’m fine. I’m perfectly okay.”

You honestly have no idea how you’ve managed to keep it together these past couple of weeks. You don’t know how you haven’t jumped this guy yet. The video game is forgotten, and Ricky is scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a melon green sweater which, objectively, is an ugly ass color, but Ricky somehow pulls it off and looks extra fucking soft in it and you’re not god’s strongest soldier.

He lets out a soft laugh, notices you staring, and tilts his phone and scoots closer for you to see a dumb Tik Tok video. Your shoulders bump. You make a comment that fails to register to your own ears. “By the way,” he starts. He places his phone face down on the tabletop. Whoa, this is a little dangerous. He shouldn’t be pouring all his attention into you like this. “Are you free this weekend?”

You blink. Your brain is jumping into conclusions. “Why?”

“Well,” he fumbles with the tips of his sweater paws. You’re going to eat him. “My uncle’s resort is opening a new branch, so there’s an opening party. Everyone else is coming, including Gyuvin. It’d be nice if you can come as well.”

“Oh,” you open your mouth. You’re a little surprised. “Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think I’m fit for those kinds of events, you know?”

This is quite a bit of pressure. Ricky tilts his head, failing to understand what you mean for a second, but when he does he exclaims, “oh! Don’t worry. We don’t have to join the formal event. We can just eat dinner and mess around at the beach. The actual party will be boring, anyway.”

“Ah.” He’s an angel. He’s so sweet. It hasn’t even been long since you’ve somehow been absorbed into their tight-knit group. You’re not sure how it even happened.

Well, you were already friends with half of them separately. Gyuvin has been buzzing around you since he was eleven and you were thirteen. Hanbin and Hao have been your academic ride or dies ever since you met them in the first week of classes. Jiwoong has been a force you could lean on the moment he took you under his wing for your first major project in university.

And Ricky— 

“Tell me if you want to come,” he smiles. “So I can reserve a room for you.”

Maybe this was bound to happen eventually.

“I’m done!”

Gyuvin has finally emerged from his room, stomping back to you and Ricky before slamming the laptop on the table before you. “I edited it. No more errors now. Praise me,” he says proudly. You give him a suspicious glance, sliding the device closer to you. “This one’s good, right? Tell me it’s good. Don’t laugh. Laughing isn’t constructive.”

Ricky is curious and pokes his face closer to yours, and you flinch. “You misspelled ‘debilitating,’” he says. You gasp. Ricky, once again, looks so proud of himself. Gyuvin wants to die.

“Give it back—” 

He snatches the laptop once more and starts aggressively typing next to the both of you. At the same time, Gunwook finally returns with a bag of miscellaneous snacks. “Seonbae, here you go,” he tosses a full bag of ginger-honey candy to you, which you now have no use for because you have stopped coughing.

“Thanks,” you gruffly say. When you stuff it into your bag you notice Ricky staring at you. “Do you want some?” you ask. He doesn’t answer your question but says something else entirely.

“You don’t need that anymore.”

Your eyes widen when Ricky snatches the bag of candy from you. He promptly opens it— moving quicker than you’ve ever seen him before, and rips open a piece before tossing it into his mouth. 

You’re in shock. What is he doing?

“Hey, that’s not for you!” Gunwook protests. Ricky responds by simply pelting him with another piece. Gunwook is speechless. Then retaliates by throwing a candy bar from his 7-Eleven bag to Ricky’s chest. It bounces onto his lap. Ricky grabs another piece of candy to flick at Gunwook. They start fighting. Gyuvin notices the fun and abandons his paper to join in. 

This isn’t how you planned your Friday to end up like. Then again, you didn’t plan on developing a crush on your friend’s best friend either, so you can’t really say anything else.

HANBIN HAS BEEN WAITING IN YOUR BUILDING’S PARKING LOT FOR A GOOD TWENTY MINUTES NOW. You’re already late for the event, so might as well make the most of your tardiness. I’m still getting ready, you shoot Hanbin a text. You keep messing up your fucking eyeliner, and there’s no way in hell you’re showing up to that damned, bougie ass event in front of Ricky with assymetrical eyeliner. His are always perfect and you don’t want to lose to that.

“Dude, we might miss the buffet!” 

It’s Matthew yelling at you when the tinted front seat window rolls down as you sprint— heels on, mind you— to the car. “The place is a resort! They’re never running out of food,” you yell back while throwing the backseat open and then throwing yourself inside.

You’re breathing quite heavily. “Are we ready to go?” asks Hanbin, and you shoot him a thumbs up. You’re too busy catching your breath to notice Yujin also co-occupying Hanbin’s car. 

“Noona, how long did it take for you to get ready?” he asks.

“Three hours,” you reply with a grunt. It’s a little hot so you open the windows, letting some air in. You can’t risk your makeup melting. You need to be extra pretty tonight to stand a chance against all the rich people flooding that place.

“Really?” Yujin does the same. “I can’t tell.”

You’re speechless. You hear Hanbin swallow down a giggle. Matthew isn’t even trying. This highschooler just roasted your ass. You need to put him in his place. “Why are you out here on a weekend?” you click your tongue. “You should be using this time to study.”

“I study enough already,” he protests.

“What was the Gyeongbokgung palace used for during the Joseon Dynasty?”

Yujin freezes. “Wow,” he says robotically after a significant pause, just as mechanically turning his head to the window. “The night air is so fresh.” 

You don’t grill him further because Yujin is right— there’s something different about the wind wafting through the atmosphere tonight. You let yourself sink into the carseat, let the breeze cool your cheeks, eyes fluttered close, until you reach your destination. The resort is far off from the city— the seaside, obviously, but you don’t see the shorelane just yet. Only a towering building illuminated with warm flushed lights as the car drives up to the entrance, surrounded by ferns and foliage and an air of complete refinement.

The foyer floor is so shiny that you can see the chandelier reflecting from it. Are you allowed to step on this? Is this legal?

Upon entering the function hall however, your nerves become nothing. You already see a handful of people being completely, strikingly, and obviously out of place. All for different reasons.

You see Gunwook near the live band, somehow holding a conversation with two men that appear to be twice his age. Gyuvin and Jiwoong have comparatively way too much food on their plates as they camp right by the buffet. Hao is currently talking to a security guard while a suspicious looking vase is sticking out of his pocket. The only person that would be blending in well right now would be Taerae— if he wasn’t wearing that bright purple suit ensemble.

Damn. You shouldn’t have been worrying so much about being a fish out of water. These guys are way worse than you.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

But of course. There’s one guy that looks like he’s completely at home. 

Matthew greets Ricky’s arrival with a half-hug, and the other two boys do the same while you respectfully stand and stare. Respectfully. Yes. You pay no mind to that dangerously unbuttoned-button down under than dangerously low-cut blazer. You are the embodiment of peace and serenity and giving him your business as usual smile. “Hey,” you say. “Sorry we’re late.”

When Ricky returns your stiff smile with one of pure ease and kindness, you swoon like a fucking loser. “Yeah,” Yujin inserts. “She was taking so long to fix her face.”

Your smile stiffens further. “I did not take so long, haha, what are you talking about.”

Yujin gives you a look. “You said you took three—”

And there goes your hand over his mouth to shut him up. “Haha. Let’s go eat, Yujinnie. Didn’t you say you were starving?” Yujin muffles something out. You pinch his arm. “Thanks for the invite, Ricky! We’re off to sweep the buffet now!”

“Wait—”

You book it. Well. As fast as you can book it with these damned heels and with a large shoulder bag weighing you down because you’ll be staying here overnight for free. Does the bag match your dress? No, it does not, but you don’t know where your room is and you’re not well enough to talk to Ricky at the moment, so you suck it up and stress-eat at the buffet table with the Yujin you kidnapped. “Why were you so embarrassed, noona?” he innocently asks while stuffing his cheeks with some meat skewers. “You look pretty tonight and it’s all thanks to your hard work.”

Who has been teaching him these backhanded remarks? Who has been negatively influencing this child? You grunt and put a scoop of mashed potatoes on his plate, much to his displeasure, and continue eating your own damned meal.

“Hey, can you take a photo of me?”

The moment you’re done with your not so pleasant meal, you’re skewed away by Matthew who wishes to hire you as his photographer. After that barbecue dinner last time, Matthew swore that you take the best photos of him and his entire IG feed for the past month is credited to you. 

You look at him, displeased because you’re not wearing the appropriate attire to lay on the floor to ensure the best angles. “Go stand by the window.” Still, you take his phone from him and make do with what you can. “What’s your password again?”

“Hao hyung’s birthday.”

“Got it.”

Now, stretching your legs and getting into various lunging positions aren’t easy to do when you’re wearing a long and silky dress. But you are a woman of commitment, and your bag is weighing you further to the ground as you take a low-angle shot of Matthew. “Okay, now hold your necktie. Now look away— perfect. That’s it. Next one.” When you try to get up, gravity decides that it hates you. You wobble on the stilts of your shoes, nearly stumbling back, but you feel someone grab onto your arm and pull you up before your ass kisses the ground.

“Whoa, please be careful.”

It’s Ricky. Of course, it’s him. When you look up, he’s got his eyebrows knitted together out of concern, strands of light wavy hair perfectly falling over said eyebrows and your breath hitches in your throat a little.

He’s got his other hand held out, and he’s probably expecting you to take it to balance yourself to your feet, but you refuse to be a predictable woman.

Instead, you give him Matthew’s phone and help yourself up. “Thanks. I’m fine. Just slipped a little.” You have no idea why you’re acting coy right now. Maybe it’s because he’s being a little less cute tonight, being a little more dangerous instead— flinching the moment you feel his feathery touch on your shoulder as he removes the weight of your bag from your person, before passing it to an attendant that he calls over with a single look.

“Can you bring this to Room 207? Thank you.”

No, no, no, this is too much. This is too much for you. Why is he trying to be smooth? Why is he trying to swoop you off your feet without taking any responsibility?

“Hyung, I’ll take your photos instead,” he says to Matthew, who’s been watching the spectacle unfold and you pray to god that your unsubtle thirsting wasn’t too noticeable. Matthew doesn’t say anything about it, though. You assume you’re in the safe zone because all he’s doing is complaining when Ricky takes way too zoomed in photos of his face. “This is a new trend. Just trust me.”

“Sure? Okay, go on.”

You take this as an opportunity to escape, only to be called by Gyuvin back to the buffet table because, “have you tried their gambas?! This shit is fire!”

When an old guy took the podium, you all took this as your cue to exit— scattered off either to the beach, bar, or your Ricky-sponsored rooms. You have an entire room for yourself because there’s no way in hell you’re sharing a room with any of those stinky boys. Your exhaustion is aching for a shower, and so you grant its request, and by the time you’re done freshening up and changing into a more comfortable set of clothing, you receive a text from Hanbin that they’re all gathered at the beach.

“Ah. The wind is cold.”

Wearing a thick jacket out was the right choice indeed. You stuff your hands into your pockets for warmth, feet sinking into the sand as you watch the mess before you. They’re all either running around, drawing things on the ground, or lounging on a picnic blanket under the starlit horizon. “Sit,” says Jiwoong, tapping the empty spot next to him, and you oblige with a yawn. “It’s only eleven. Can’t believe you’re sleepy already.”

“I’m getting old,” you tell him, letting your head drop onto your shoulder as you hug your knees. The rest are by the shore or in the water. You have no energy to join in at this point.

Jiwoong makes a distasteful noise at your statement. “What does that make me?”

“A fossil.” You yawn once more, craning your neck to bury your face into his arm. “I’m so tired.”

He chuckles. “Are you fine with Ricky seeing you like this?”

“Please be quiet.” This time, you sneeze. Right into the sleeve of his shirt. Then you sniffle. “He’s not even here.” Jiwoong is disgusted. He tips you off, picks up your wrist, and uses your hand to wipe off your ‘germs,’ or so he says.

“You’re lucky he didn’t see that. Where is he, anyway?”

The question is answered by Gyuvin when his energy finally gets exhausted from splashing around, flopping onto the blanket next to you and Jiwoong. “He was still in our room when I left,” he says, out of breath. “I think he wanted to rest for a while.”

Gradually, the rest start to gather too. “We haven’t taken a group photo yet,” Hao brings up. “He’s gonna sulk if we take one and he’s not here.”

It’s as if you just got recharged with a full eight hours of sleep.

“I’ll go get him,” you say, promptly standing up. “I need to pick up something from my bag, anyway.” Total lie. Jiwoong sees right through your bullshit and his teeth are showing through his smile. You flip him off and start making your way back, stumbling when Hanbin asks if you want him to accompany you, bringing back the hop in your step when Gunwook tells him, “she’s a big girl, she can handle it herself.” You’ll get back at him for that later.

Two-one-three, two-one-three, two-one-three, you repeat the room number in your head as you go down each door in the hallway, ringing phone glued to your ear to inform Ricky that you’re going to barge into his room, but he’s not picking up. Maybe he’s asleep? Probably. There’s no response when you knock on the door and slot in the key Gyuvin gave you, and you’re met with dim lights and an eerie silence the moment you crack open the door.

“Ricky?” you call out. There’s no response.

The light from the hallway leaks in to illuminate an empty bed. Huh. Where is he? What rouses even more questions is the odd positioning of what should be a bedside table, for some reason positioned at the foot of the bed and a few feet away from the open bathroom door. There’s also a mishmash of things stacked on the table— books, folded shirts, magazines, and some of which have fallen and scattered to the floor.

But those aren’t the only things on the ground. 

You quickly bring a hand to your mouth. “Oh,” you wheeze out. “Oh my god.” You try to cover it up with a cough, but it’s too late. A snort managed to slip through. 

“Stop laughing,” he protests from the floor. How could you hold it in when Ricky is right there, lying curled on the ground while hugging what seems to be his knee, bathrobe-clad, with papers and magazines scattered around and on top of him. A memo sheet is stuck on his cheek. His back is turned to you. His buzzing phone with your contact name on it is next to his head.

How the hell did he end up here?

“Are—are you okay?” you manage to say as you crouch down next to him. He doesn’t budge when you try to roll him back. He lets out a grunt and tells you to leave him alone. “I can’t, I was ordered to pick you up. What are you trying to hide? Why won’t you look at m—”

When you finally roll him to his back, you realize why. 

“Oh no.”

Ricky’s got a hand hovering over half of his face— the wrong half because you can very clearly see the red gash running down his right temple, but that’s probably not what he’s intending to hide. He’s got his brows in a sad and shameful furrow, glaring eyes refusing to look at you, and you can see the shades of pink coral and pink on his cheeks, slipping through the gaps of his fingers. 

He’s pink. He’s so pink.

“Don’t laugh,” he grumbles. “It’s not funny.”

You might as well eat him whole, holy fucking shit.

“N—no, you’re right. It’s not funny. I’m not laughing.” 

You’re damn near about to break into a coughing fit again with how hard you’re trying to suppress your giggles. Based on the evidence laid down at the crime scene— namely his still damp hair, scanty bathrobe, misplaced furniture, and the mess of it all— Ricky was likely trying to take post-shower thirst traps while Gyuvin was still out so he wouldn’t be made fun of. 

Slipping and hitting his head on the table’s edge in the process was probably not part of his calculations. You fear you might’ve been the unintentional cause of this because you gave him a surprise call earlier.

“Let’s get you up, big boy. Grab my hand.”

Begrudgingly, he lets you pull him up. You instruct him to sit on the bed while you call room service for a first aid kit. The wound on his forehead doesn’t look serious, but you decide to apply some ointment and put a bandage on it just in case. He winces when you clean the dried blood off with water. God, he’s too fucking cute. Your gushing is ruined by an incoming call.

“Hanbin,” you greet, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder because you’re still trying to patch up the poor boy. He scrunches his nose when the ointment touches his wound. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. A minor accident occurred. No, you don’t have to come up here. Ricky is physically well and alive.” You can’t say the same about his emotional state though. He’s been quiet and frowning this whole time. “Say hi, Ricky.”

You pass him the phone. He looks at your phone wielding hand, a contemplative expression, then takes it. “Don’t come,” is all he says to Hanbin at the other end of the line— a little too gruffly for your liking— before tossing it off somewhere onto the bed.

Ricky’s eyes snap up to look at you. Maybe you’ve been taking this situation a little too lightly.

“Is it done?” he asks in that same tone of voice, and— oh. Oh, no. You’re in a tight spot. Figuratively and literally because Ricky is leaning back against the bed, you slightly leaning into him because you’re simply, very innocently trying to bandage up his temple, and the most comfortable way to do it is having a knee propped up on the mattress, face hovering dangerously above his. 

When you unavoidably make eye contact, you flinch and feel your bones rattle.

Oh. 

Your gaze falters and your swallow down your dry throat, watching as the bathrobe slips down from his left shoulder in real time. That’s it. You’re gone. Your brain has stopped working. You’re starting to miss cute Ricky who gets excited over your strawberry candies. Where is he? Where did he go? This Ricky is a little dangerous. This Ricky feels like he’s going to fucking eat you alive.

“Y—yeah. One sec.” You’re not sure if you even managed to secure the bandage on his wound because the moment your skin touched his, you immediately flung yourself back from a ghost burn. “Did...did you hurt yourself anywhere else?” you ask. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. Why is he looking at you like that?

The brief silence that follows swallows you whole. 

“I’m not sure. Can you check?”

Then spits you right back out because crazy fucking bastard— what the fuck does he fucking mean by can you fucking check? 

“Oh, um.” Dry. Your throat is dry. Does he want you dead? Is that it? Does it not matter whether or not you get out of this room alive? You don’t like this— whatever this is because you don’t know what’s wrong with him tonight. Did he get a concussion when he fell? Do you have to go take him to see a doctor? 

Maybe it’s you that needs to go see a doctor. Because you’re pretty damn sure that this heart rate is nowhere near normal.

Knock, knock, knock.

“We’re coming in.”

Karma acts quickly because you stumble back and nearly collapse into the floor as well. The door cracks open and you grab onto the nearest thing for balance, which, in this case, is a curtain you almost tug off from the window out of sheer force. “Ricky slipped and hurt his head,” you blurt out the moment Hanbin and a few others enter the room. Ricky’s face drops into betrayal. Self-defense. You needed a diversion.

Taerae and Gyuvin are the ones that came with Hanbin, the former taking a long look at the room and its inhabitants. “Oh,” he says after acknowledging the mess on the floor and the bandage on Ricky’s forehead. “Okay, Humpty Dumpty.”

Gyuvin lets out a snort. Ricky chucks a pillow in their direction. Thank god for their interruption because you don’t know what would have overtaken you had they come five minutes later. “No wait, did he really slip?” Gyuvin asks, a little too giddy and giggly about the whole ordeal. “Dude, did you fall over while taking thirst traps?”

And you’re subsequently kicked out of the room while Ricky gets dressed into something more decent and gets made fun of by Gyuvin and Taerae. 

“Took you guys long enough.”

You’re all back at the beach now with a grumpy Ricky in tow. Gyuvin immediately runs off to snitch on his best friend’s misfortune to the rest. He’s sulking, you notice, face down and hands stuffed in his pockets as the cool breeze flutters his hair in its embrace. “Quit making fun of him!” Hanbin scolds, and you spot Jiwoong’s expectant expression to tell him what you were up to alone in Ricky’s room.

Nothing  You were up to nothing, you send the message through your glare. You could’ve been up to something had those three not interrupted, but would you have survived that? Your eyes flicker over to Ricky, who’s trying to push Gyuvin off him— traces of the tension and danger from the hotel room completely gone without a trace that you fear you might have just been imagining it out of the sheer feeling of want you harbor for the guy.

“C’mon, let’s take a picture!”

Before you know it, you’re gathered by the shore in a bluf, feet sinking into the sand, and you feel yourself bump into Ricky at the very moment the camera flashes to capture the scene.

“Hey, this one came out nicely.”

It did. You’re not sure about the rest, but this photo deserves to be tucked into your wallet and kept in a capsule. 

Ricky is standing next to you, the tight frame leaving no gap or space in between. You’re both smiling a little awkwardly. It’s cute. You keep staring at it until your attention is pulled away by the very man himself.

“You owe me something,” is Ricky’s introduction when he saunters over to you. You raise a brow, closing your phone. Looks like he’s finally gotten over what happened earlier. Gyuvin has finally stopped teasing him by moving on to messing with the sparklers Gunwook brought. You can hear their shouts and laughter from afar, but it’s all muted down.

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

He takes out one hand from his pocket, an open palm outstretched. He’s looking at you expectantly in wait. You break out into a soft laugh and shake your head. Maybe your candy-related scheme worked a little too well.

“I didn’t think I was contractually obligated to do this now,” you hum, fishing out a few pieces of candy from your sweats before dropping them onto his hand. “Maybe I should stop.”

“You can’t just start something by yourself and suddenly stop all by yourself. That’s not fair,” he complains, accepting your offer. “You have to take responsibility.” Only if he takes responsibility for your poor and shriveling heart. His tone is light, a smile playing on his lips, and at this point— you’re sure this isn’t just a crush anymore. You might just be a little in love with Ricky Shen.

YOU HAD NO IDEA HAO WAS SO INFORMED ABOUT PROF SHIN’S MAKEUP PREFERENCES. It’s her birthday this upcoming week. You three freeloaders need to keep sucking up so you can maintain your office privileges, so you decided to buy her a present. Hanbin is unavailable, so it’s just you and Hao browsing the boutiques downtown, and you narrowed down your scope (and budget) to just buying her makeup.

You pull out a bright red lipstick from the display and show it to Hao. “What about this one?” you ask. Hao puts on a look of disapproval.

“She doesn’t like wearing bright colors. Maybe something more on the nude side would be better.”

Well damn, okay. You put the rejected stick back with the rest of its friends. The next one you pick out is also rejected because it’s glossy. “Prof Shin prefers matte,” he further reasons. And now you’re starting to question exactly how and why he knows this. Hao doesn’t humor your queries, though. You settle with a nude Laneige matte lip and a matching blush as a bonus.

“We’re done here, right?” Hao asks after you two pay for the gift.

“Hold on.” You’re stopped by a certain item on display near the check-out counter. You’re convinced that you’ve definitely gone off the deep end at this point. The thoughts blurring inside your head the moment you laid eyes on the strawberry-flavored lip gloss for sale are a little too insane, even for you. You’re not buying this. You don’t even use gloss. This is crazy.

“Thank you, please come again!”

You exit the store with your gift for Prof Shin and a new lip product. You are stressing yourself out.

The buzzing of your phone forces you out of your existential crisis. It’s Gyuvin messaging the group chat. “Hey,” you tap Hao upon reading the message. “We don’t have anything else to do right? You said you have extra gift boxes at home.” When Hao asks why, you show him Gyuvin’s message.

[gyubie cutie: no one wants to send off ricky at the airport with me? :( damn i really am his only friend].

You reply that you and Hao are on the way. You know that Ricky is leaving for a quick vacation to Shanghai today (two weeks before the semester ends, mind you) after an impulsive decision involving alcohol the other day with you and a few of the guys. At one point they suddenly became all emotional and the topic of their families were brought up. Ricky woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a phone screen that tells him his flight has been booked. 

“Well, I guess I’ll just go,” he said over hangover soup and aspirin, as if he doesn’t have exams in two fucking weeks, and as if Shanghai is just a bus ride away. Sometimes, you’re surprised with how easy going he is. The flight is at an awkward time— Thursday mid-noon, so it’s no surprise that no one else is free to see him off. You didn’t mention anything about wanting to send him off and neither did he ask you to, so you thought why the hell would you do that unless you want to expose your ass full of feelings. But Gyuvin presented the opportunity. Who are you to turn it down?

“Over here!”

You spot Gyuvin waving at you two from a distance with outstretched limbs. You preemptively grab a handful of candy from your pocket— battle ready because it’s been getting harder and harder to pass these to him subtly as of late with the amount of eyes constantly on you— but you don’t find the mop of blonde anywhere, even when you’ve finally reached Gyuvin’s spot.

“Has Ricky left already?” you ask, brow raised. You’d be pissed if Gyuvin baited you two here only for the guy to have already left.

“No, no. He’s here,” he assures. “He’s around here somewhere. He bought some snacks not too long ago, but some girl stopped him to get his number. I lost him because seeing him get hit on made me gag so I had to look away for my safety.”

Well, that’s both assuring and not. Then you remember you have no right to be jealous because Ricky Shen, as suspiciously as he may be behaving as of late (case in point, accidentally seducing you in a bathrobe the other week), he is still not your damned boyfriend.

“Oh, there he is.”

Ricky who is not your boyfriend arrives, and the first thing he does is make you feel so fucking sorry that he isn’t.

“Whoa.”

No wonder you weren’t able to spot him right off the bat. His attention-seeking light hair is gone. No, he hasn’t shaved it— he dyed it freaking black and he looks so fucking good. “Oh, uh,” is how you greet him. The words have completely dried out from your throat. Ricky is looking at you expectantly. Your mouth is hanging open pathetically. “Wow.” Your eloquence is award winning.

He laughs. He wants you dead. “Does it look weird? I needed natural hair for visa requirements.”

“N—no,” you sputter out. Gyuvin goes on to brag that he was right that Ricky would look great in dark hair and Hao proceeds to try and touch said hair, only to get his hand smacked by the hair-owner, while you’re still temporarily incapacitated to say or do anything. You don’t get to say anything, because the clock strikes twelve-twenty, and Ricky has to go

“Have a safe flight, dummy,” Hao bids Ricky off with what you can only describe as a glomp, only to be assaulted by Gyuvin immediately after. You’re standing there awkwardly like a fourth-wheel, hands tucked behind your back because you can’t find the timing to say your farewells, and you missed the timing to pass the candy to him earlier after being so rudely jumpscared by his new look.

When Ricky finally manages to swat and push them both off, his eyes flash over to you. Your mouth curls into something sort of a smile— you’re not completely sure. Ricky takes a step forward to engulf you in an embrace.

Oh. Oh, so we’re doing this now, you think, eyes flying wide open in surprise with a pathetic squeak. “Thanks for seeing me off,” he murmurs softly, and you can feel his voice vibrating into your skin and penetrating your bones. You can’t even reciprocate because he locks your arms tightly against your own body, and you feel his fingers unclasping yours behind your back, allowing him to take the strawberry pieces you intended to give, before pulling away with a dumb grin. “Want anything when I get back?”

You try to blink away the violent shock tremors you’re feeling right now. “I’ve— I’ve always wanted to try the sun cakes there.” Deep breathes. You’re normal. You’re totally normal.

Ricky takes his carrier from Gyuvin, sending you a small smile. “I’ll buy you a hundred.”

“Don’t overdo it,” you let out a breath. God, he drives you insane. “Safe skies. See you when you get back.”

The moment Ricky boards the plane, Gyuvin turns around to ask you two what you should have for lunch. “Why are you so happy that your best friend is gone?” you ask with narrowed eyes the moment you three settle with the first food place you see at Terminal 1 of the airport. “Do you secretly hate him? Is that it?”

“He’ll be gone for two days max, give me a break,” he grunts. “And tomorrow’s Friday. That means I can get the whole evening and weekend to myself without anyone barging into my apartment.”

Your friend’s joy is reflected with how energetically he’s inhaling the bowl of stew. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m gonna do a progress check on your paper tomorrow.” Gyuvin sets down the bowl, looking at you like you just sentenced him to prison. Hao is minding his own business and enjoying his meal. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot that your deadline is in two weeks. I’m checking it tomorrow, so make sure it’s at the very least decent.”

When Gyuvin tells you to stop nagging because it reflects your age, Hao had to stop you from throttling the man.

Anyway, the day passes and you’re at Gyuvin’s apartment to check on his paper. 

“Why are you smiling at your phone? Damn, she’s finally lost it,” he says over another meal. You finished giving him your feedback and decided to just have takeout dinner with him. While eating, however, you received a text from Ricky— a photo of his own meal and a thumbs up above the plate of skewers. It’s been a day, but you can barely feel his absence with how he’s been texting you every hour from the moment he landed.

[ouricky: (photo attached) touchdown ✌️].

[ouricky: (photo attached) this looks like u].

[ouricky: are u asleep yet?]

[ouricky: gyuvin told me ur at his place. tell him to eat shit for me].

[ouricky: (photo attached) dinner w my sister 👍 our meal is better than yours].

“What the hell, did you get a boyfriend?” You look up from your phone to find a very judgemental Gyuvin. “After rejecting all my attempts to set you up for romance? This is a personal attack. You’re buying ice cream later.”

If only he knew you were texting his best friend. Not that you have any intentions on telling him.

“Hey, why do you smell like strawberries?” Gyuvin asks after your meal, right when you decide to retouch your makeup as you ready yourself to leave. “Is that the candy you always bring?”

“It’s my new lip gloss,” You show off the pink bottle. “It tastes like the fruit too.”

“Whoa, that’s cool,” he snatches it from you, examining it a little too close to his face to sniff it. “Where’d you buy it? Do they have one in mango?”

While trying to convince Gyuvin that he should maybe purchase actual mangoes instead of planning on eating an entire bottle of mango-flavored gloss, you also try to convince yourself that you definitely did not make this purchase yourself to try and seduce his friend. Ricky isn’t even here. You’re not wearing it for him. You’re wearing it for yourself.

“I’m off! I’ll take you to the store next time.”

When you defend yourself and your new lip gloss against Jiwoong’s judgment the next morning, he tells you that Ricky probably doesn’t feel the same way as you do. That you probably shouldn’t think too much of it and hurt yourself with your expectations. But at this point, it’s reasonable for you to start overthinking, right? Right? What does Jiwoong know, anyway? He’s not Ricky’s mother. Ricky’s mother is on a yacht with him right now, and you know because he just sent you a video and you’re damn near the precipice of falling headfirst into the depths of thinking he might just like you too.

“I just don’t want you to get too ahead of yourself and end up getting hurt.”

Assuming you’re right and Ricky does like you back— when the hell could it have started? The barbecue at Matthew’s? That one evening at Gyuvin’s apartment? That night in his uncle’s resort? You have no idea, much like how you have no idea how you somehow got absorbed into their mess of a friend group.

But a few little texts and inexplicable bouts of skinship here and there isn’t enough to set you way too far off-the deep end. The way he looks at you might just be your imagination. Jiwoong could still be absolutely correct and you’re just tripping over your own assumptions.

You’re not that quick to listen to your intrusive thoughts. You’re still a little reasonable. That’s why you haven’t fallen to your knees and blurted out your insurmountable feelings for him yet.

What does set you off to state beyond help, however, is a sudden phone call later that same Friday evening. 

Morning, rather. Specifically at four in the morning— waking you up from your sleep by its incessant buzzing. “Hello?” you groan into the mic, voice still croaky and eyes barely open. “What’s up? Why aren’t you asleep?” You have no idea why Ricky is calling you right now. The moment you hear his voice through the line however, you feel all five of your senses suddenly snapping wide awake.

“I thought it’d be a waste to spend my time here asleep,” he says with a soft chuckle. Oh, holy fuck it’s too early for this. You’re not mentally prepared for this kind of voice from him yet— low, almost a deep rumble, reminiscent of thunderstorms and clouds, only amplified by how he’s practically whispering into the core of your being through the phone. 

You pull your blanket down and roll over to the side to give your heart a chance to breathe.

“Yet you decide to call me at four in the morning instead of doing something more worthwhile,” you click your tongue, and you only hear Ricky laugh in response. “Are you planning on extending your trip? When’s your flight?”

“No, I’m leaving later. I still have to prepare for finals,” he replies. “Flight’s scheduled at 11 p.m.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” you say. “I’m pulling an all-nighter at the library tonight. Deadline to catch. I don’t think I can see you at the airport this time.”

“That’s alright,” he hums. “Next time you can just come with me to Shanghai.”

You pause. Wait. Wait a minute. “Haha, yeah, it— it would be nice to visit your hometown with the rest of the guys, yes.” That’s what he probably meant. You probably meant all of you— many, plural— not just you and you alone. Haha. Of course.

But when Ricky takes a while to reply, you start to overthink, start nipping on the skin of your lip so hard that blood might draw.

“Yeah,” he says after an awkward beat. “With the rest of the guys. Yeah.”

You really need to hear Jiwoong’s voice of reason right now. Because all you’re hearing is the sound of your own heartbeat inside your ears like a hyperactive drum.

“Anyway, you must be tired. I should let you sleep now,” says Ricky after ruining all your chances of falling back asleep. You can’t. The best you can do is get up before the sun and go on with your busy day so as to not think about this conversation too much.

“You should be the one sleeping,” you manage to reply. “Don’t forget my sun cakes.”

“Mhm. G’night.”

Crazy. This man drives you fucking crazy.

You don’t return to sleep after that.

“Okay,” is Jiwoong’s expert opinion after telling him what happened later that same evening, having dinner with him at a McDonald’s near the city library. He’s put his kiddie meal on pause while you were telling him about Ricky Shen and his demonic antics at four in the morning. He’s got his elbows on the table, fingers interlocked, and staring at you with a look so serious he might as well be diagnosing you with a disease. “I think you’re right,” he continues. “Maybe he does like you.”

The shriek you let out is almost inhuman. 

Jiwoong’s lips quirk into a smile and he goes back to eating. “I told you! I told you I wasn’t overthinking things! My lip gloss purchase is justified!” you proclaim. Jiwoong tosses a fry into your mouth to sedate you, and it works for a few chews until you start yapping again. “But, god, now what? He’s returning later or tomorrow. I have no idea how to face him.”

Your phone vibrates a message. “Is it Ricky?” he asks in an attempt to tease you, but all your face does is turn sour upon reading the text. “No? Who is it?”

“Woong,” you say, setting your phone on the table. “Are you busy this evening?”

He furrows his brows. “I was planning on writing my paper. Why? Is there a problem?”

“Great. You can work with me at the library the whole night.”

When you slide your phone over across the table, Jiwoong understands. 

[jaeryeong: can i see you tonight? please? it wont take long. i just need to make things right]. 

“He’s a persistent fucking cockroach.”

You grunt, taking back your phone. “You should report him,” he says, and you’ve completely lost your appetite. “Screenshot his texts and block his number. I’ll accompany you to the station if you want to handle this legally.”

“No, it’s fine,” you scrunch your nose. He’s a wimp, according to his ex-friend Gyuvin, so you’re sure he isn’t gonna hurt you or anything. And your exams are coming up, so you don’t want to deal with processing this entire thing while you’re already academically burdened as is. “Be my bodyguard for the night. If he tries anything, I can just throw you at him and run away.”

Jiwoong doesn’t approve of your methods, but doesn’t argue anyway. After eating you both finally head to the library where you’ll be cooped up the entire night— tucked in the corner in your own respective cubicles. 

Your friend’s worry starts stirring whenever he sees you check your phone every hour or so. He pulls back the desk chair upon noticing the serious look on your face, turning over to your direction in concern. “Is Jaeryeong texting you?” he asks. “Did he follow you here? Should I call the police?”

“No,” you reply. “Ricky sent me a photo of him at the airport. He’s wearing ear muffs. He’s so cute. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Jiwoong’s face falls to an expression reminiscent of death and stops talking to you after that.

Well. You have been receiving texts from Jaeryeong, but you haven’t opened them in case he gets motivated by the fact you’ve read his messages. You still don’t know how he and Gyuvin ended up being friends, but then again, Gyuvin was friends with a group of delinquents in high school. He wasn’t part of the group. He just thought their vibe was cool.

“Hey.” 

It’s twenty minutes past twelve, Ricky is probably still on the airplane, and you haven’t eaten anything since your 6 p.m. dinner. You poke Jiwoong’s arm, to which he blatantly ignores. “I’m gonna get something from the vending machine. Keep ignoring me and I won’t buy you snacks.” He says nothing but follows you when you get up, and you sneer at the man following you with a silent tantrum. “Quit sulking,” you tell him as you punch the numbers for coffee on the machine. “You’re not cute enough for that.”

“I’m sorry for not being Ricky,” is the first thing he says to you after two hours of silence. “You’re wearing that scheming lip gloss again, but he’s not even here.” You frown. He laughs and takes your place in front of the vending machine by cordially bumping his ass into yours the moment your drink falls down the chute. “Your phone’s flashing by the way. I think Ricky’s calling.”

You look down, bringing up your phone, and sure enough calling ID “ouricky” is giving you a call. 

He’s calling. He is calling you.

Your eyes flash back up to Jiwoong, widened in surprise. 

Why is he calling you?

“Did he send a message in the group chat that he arrived?” you ask, suddenly panicking as the phone relentlessly vibrates in your hand. “He didn’t, right? Why would he call me first? What time is it? Wasn’t his flight just an hour ago?”

“For someone who’s been pretty confident that Ricky likes you back, you’re sure acting funny,” he hums, leaning against the vending machine and taking a sip from his cold brew while you’re having a mental breakdown. “Answer it. Go on.”

“‘I’m scared!” you exclaim. “What if instead of saying hello I end up blurting out that I’m in love with him and ask him if he feels the same way?!”

You take too long to make a move so the phone line gets cut off. But when Ricky calls again, Jiwoong wastes no time to snatch your phone from your hands, click answer, and put the damn thing on loudspeaker for the entire fucking world to hear. What the hell are you doing? your scrunched up face says to him. Doing you a favor, his arrogant eyebrows reply. You attempt to snatch your phone back, arms in a desperate move to retrieve to device—

“Hello?”

—but they freeze mid-air at the sound of Ricky’s voice blurring through the speaker.

Jiwoong grins. You slowly get your phone back and press it to your ear. “Yes. Hello. What’s up?” You give Jiwoong the nastiest glare you can muster, but flinch back the moment you hear Ricky’s voice again.

“Are you still at the library?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You elbow Jiwoong when he laughs at your sudden switch-up. “Why?”

“Come down.”

What?

“I’m outside.”

It’s almost stupid how your body starts moving on its own. 

The cold air bites your skin the moment you break past the doors, met by the dim sky and muted sight of the empty plaza square outside the library entryway. But it’s not completely empty— no. Ricky, who’s supposed to be still on the plane ride back to Seoul, is standing five feet away from you, eyes flickering up from his phone the moment you arrive, a slow, soft smile blooming on his face and cheeks.

You see the suitcase next to his feet. Jiwoong’s words echo in your head— maybe you’re right, he said, maybe he does like you. It’s not just a maybe anymore. It’s not just your mind making things up.

Ricky, who is supposed to be in the air halfway between Seoul and Shanghai, went straight from the airport to the city library just to see you.

You’re usually the one doing dumb things because of him. This time, it’s not you. 

It’s him.

“Hey, are you crazy? Did your flight schedule change?” You stomp towards him, closing the gap between the both of you with big strides and quick steps. “Why didn’t you update us? Jesus, you gave me a scare when you said you were here.”

Ricky’s only reply is a laugh, and your intent to scold him more gets stuck in your throat and you stumble a little when you abruptly halt right in front of his feet. You look at him, batting your eyes in an attempt to blink away the possible pink and hazy filter you’re seeing him with, but it doesn’t work. He is just this pretty. He is just this dreamy. He is just soft and soft and soft when his eyelashes flutter above his big, dark irises as he looks at you, when his stained hair frames his face a little too perfectly, when the corners of his lips lift ever the slightest to resemble a smile.

“That’s not how you usually greet me,” he says. “Aren’t you going to give me anything?”

Your heart stirs. “What?” Aren’t you supposed to be the one asking that? He promised to buy you a hundred sun cakes, and you’re pretty sure those won’t fit inside his one suitcase. “Oh. Oh, wait.” You pat around your pockets, only to realize you left all your candy in your bag back with Jiwoong. 

“Sorry,” you tell him, feeling a little guilty. “I was in a rush to get down. I wasn’t able to bring any with me.”

Instead of responding with disappointment, Ricky just hums and leans a little closer. “Really?” He suddenly nudges his face into yours, noses bumping, and your eyes widen in surprise. “But you do have something else.”

He’s close. His face is hovering a little too close to yours to be smiling cheekily unaffected like that. You can feel his warm breath on your lips and you’re starting to feel dizzy. 

“It smells sweet,” he says and you think— oh. He’s not good for your heart.

Maybe it’s because he’s officially driven you to the breaking point of being crazy, or maybe it’s because the cold has completely frozen all the sane parts of your brain, but the words you’d usually keep tucked between your thoughts and confidentiality suddenly come stumbling out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Do you want to know if it tastes sweet too?”

You gasp after realizing what you just said. You look at Ricky with a face aghast with surprise, jumping back because holy fuck— why did you say that? Why? You’re crazy. You’re stupid. You bite down your bottom lip and taste the dull flavor strawberry mocking the tip of your tongue. You’re insane. You have officially lost it.

If you were Ricky, you’d probably call yourself crazy too, but he doesn’t do that.

Instead, he does something even crazier by taking your offer and pressing his lips against yours.

It doesn’t register that Ricky just kissed you until after the fact, and you’re staring at him with wide, blinking eyes, lips feeling fuzzy, head afloat beyond reach, and him— at an arm’s length away— eyes averted with pink strawberries dusting his cheeks, much like the color slightly glazing his lips, as if he wasn’t the one who just pulled your trigger.

He ran his mouth about taking responsibility the other day.

You’re going to show him responsibility with your mouth.

“S—sorry, that was too sudden, I just— mmph—!”

Two months of pining after him come crashing down the moment you pull him by the collar to finish what he started and god— his lips are softer than you thought, sweeter than you thought, and it’s not just the strawberry lip gloss smudged between your teeth and tongue, melting into what you can only describe as the best fucking kiss in your entire life.

Ricky pulls away to breathe. You chase after his lips once more in a short-winded daze, only to stumble into his chest and he catches you by cupping your face to press another kiss to your mouth. “Ah. This is bad,” he murmurs between barely parted lips. “I don’t think the candy is gonna cut it anymore.”

For a second there, you thought he was gonna say that you’re a bad kisser. 

“You should greet me like this from now on.”

YOU WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING VIA SUFFOCATION FROM THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE AND A TEXT MESSAGE FROM A PESTERING RAT. Blurry eyes and barely conscious, you try to roll over on the bed but physically cannot with how Ricky is squeezing your torso with his arms, his nose buried against your nape as he curls up into you from behind. 

You cannot move. You try your darndest to wiggle an arm out because your phone is incessantly buzzing on his bedside table— the only thing from your belongings that you brought with you last night because your haul to the library was left behind with Jiwoong, who’s probably the one texting you right now for ditching him.

When you finally retrieve your phone however, it is not Jiwoong who’s texting you.

It’s Jaeryeong. Squinted eyes read [how could you replace me with a grey-haired twink???] and [don’t even dare try contacting me, bitch] and the first thing you feel is confusion. Then you remember that Jaeryeong is a freak and probably followed you to the library that night, and saw you making out with Ricky in front of a public educational building.

Well. At least that stopped him from bothering you again. The question now is whether or not you should tell Ricky about this. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

You do tell him, in between washing his hair in the bathroom to get the remnants of spray stains out of his hair because Jaeryeong’s comment pissed you off. “I’m gonna kill him the moment I see him,” says Ricky with a lovely towel wrap on his head. You’re looking at him through the mirror and the scary face he’s trying to put on is promptly negated by his spa-day look.

“Do you even know what he looks like?” you raise a brow, freeing him from the towel head to reveal a damp mop of light hair. You throw away the muddled towel and grab a fresh one to dry his head.

“I’ll ask Gyuvin,” he says, face covered by the towel, and you snort.

“I think we’ll have a problem with that. I was kind of hoping to keep this secret for now.”

Ricky suddenly throws his head back, causing the towel to fall to the floor and the top of his head bumps into your stomach. “Why?” he asks, upside down, big brown eyes staring right into your soul like a premeditated attack shooting you square in the chest. He can’t pull this move. That’s illegal. 

“Be—because Gyuvin is annoying and he won’t let me hear the end of it,” you manage to say. You’re not going to fold. You’re not going to give in. “You know how I turned down that blind date with you right?”

The mention of it prompts a frown to tug on the corners of his mouth and it’s the second onslaught against your heart. “Right,” he huffs, lifting his head up to turn around and face you, looking up with a displeased expression, yet his actions say all but displeasure when he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you towards him so he can lock you in place with his arms around your waist.

“Quit pouting,” you tell him. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. You’re not sure if you’re gonna last a month with him being like this.

“Gyuvin said you thought I was ugly,” he says. “That’s why you said no to the date.” 

All the adoration you feel gets extinguished in an instant.

You have never heard a more blasphemous statement your entire life.

“I never said that!” you shriek. “That’s not true at all! I didn’t even know what you looked like until we met for that Hadong trip that day!”

Ricky winces at your sudden volume and you’re quick to simmer it down and apologize by hugging his head to your torso. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you say. “I turned down the date because your best friend has traumatized me with all the previous blind dates he’s tried setting up. Jaeryeong isn’t the only disaster I’ve experienced. Every single guy he’s set me up with has been trash, so I thought you’d be just like the rest too.”

Maybe this isn’t a conversation you should be having in the bathroom of his apartment, but you digress. Ricky unburies his head and looks up at you once more. “So, am I?”

Again. You’re going to fucking eat him one day. “No,” you cup his face. You’re perfect, you’re an angel.” Maybe if you’d given him and Gyuvin a shot that day, then maybe your first meeting wouldn’t have been as awkward— but either way, regardless of the situation, you’re pretty sure you’d still somehow eventually find yourself falling for this loser.

You lean down, ready to dip into a kiss, only to hear an alarming noise outside the bathroom door.

“Ricky! Why didn’t you tell us you were back?!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You’re pretty happy that Ricky is quick to listen to your request because he immediately scrambles to his feet and tells you to stay inside the bathroom for the time being. “Hey, he’s not in his room,” you hear Gyuvin’s voice from outside, followed by Yujin suspecting that Jiwoong lied to them, followed by Gunwook saying that Ricky is definitely around, evidenced by his unmade bed and half-unpacked suitcase. 

“I—I think I’d have to lock the door,” he mumbles to you, holding the doorknob and ready to leave. “What if they suddenly barge in?”

“It’s okay. You should go out before they actually barge in while we’re both still in here.” 

Cue heavy knocks against the bathroom door. “Ricky! Are you in there?” Ricky grumbles out a swear and quickly slips out of the bathroom, a click on the knob, and you’re officially locked inside your boyfriend’s bathroom within the first twenty four hours of dating him.

Now, this is just great.

You have the privilege of eavesdropping into their reunion through the muffled audio on the other side of the door. “Who were you talking to?” you hear Gunwook ask.

“My...myself…” Ricky answers, and you feel excessively sorry for him so you decide to repent by cleaning up his bathroom. The problem is, even after you’ve finished cleaning, you’re still stuck inside because for some fucking reason, those three have no intentions of leaving.

“Hey, should we order some food?”

“Oh! Sounds good!”

“Let’s watch a movie, I’m bored.”

[ouricky: i’m so sorry they just won’t leave 😭]

You slump to the floor, back sliding down the shower glass. Maybe...maybe this is your karma for turning him down the first time and asking him to hide your relationship. Honestly, you should have known it wouldn’t be easy to keep things hidden from seven pairs of eyes (Jiwoong knows and has sworn secrecy in exchange of being his research lackey). It’s especially difficult considering you’re chronically touch-starved and must always have Ricky Shen around you to hold. So when you have another barbecue dinner at Mattew’s the weekend before your finals, and when Ricky— out of a newly formed habit— tries to greet you with a kiss on the face right in front of his fucking friends, you panic and end up shoving the poor boy, causing him to kiss the floor instead.

Your mouth is wide open. “Oh. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hanbin and Hao hear the very distinct thunk and start questioning.

“Why...is he on the ground?” Hao looks down to see Ricky’s half-alarmed, half-confused face as he half-lifts his body off from the floor. Your face is burning. Oh god.

“He’s repenting,” you say through your teeth.

Ricky tries blinking away the shock.“...Yes...I made a mistake.”

You’re going to lock away your strawberry lip gloss from now on. It’s too hazardous. Hanbin tells you that “friends should get along” and asks you to help him set the table, leaving behind Ricky who’s being pulled back to his feet by Hao. When you see Jiwoong, who saw the whole thing, at the table looking at you with an insufferable look on his face, you flip him off.

“Are you in a bad mood today?” asks Hanbin as he passes you a stack of paper plates. “You keep butting heads with the boys.”

You’re speechless. You can’t even defend yourself if you wanted to so you resign to mumbling out a bitter apology and equally bitterly start arranging the plates on the table, much to Jiwoong’s pure and raw amusement.

When you guys start eating, you even make sure not to sit next to him. You are instead sitting next to Gyuvin, and Ricky is sitting in front of him. They’re both bickering over something again— chopstick-fighting against each other over the table while you half-listen to Matthew who’s sitting on your other side, complaining about Prof Shin and her impossible exam coverage as you clean off your plate.

“You took her class last year, right? Which lessons did she focus on?” he asks.

“Review the most recent ones. I think she just took five or six questions from the earlier lessons,” you reply, grabbing a slice of the gyukatsu you bought and heated up as a potluck, and absentmindedly place said slice on Ricky’s plate.

It gets quieter all of a sudden.

Ricky, Gyuvin, and Matthew are all looking at you— one more alarmed than the rest, and the realization drains all the blood out of your face.

“Yujin, you should try this too!” you try to play it off, placing another piece of gyukatsu on Yujin’s plate, who’s sitting right in front of you. And for good measure you do the same to all of the plates within your arms reach, all while swallowing down the desire to bury yourself into a hole, never to emerge ever again.

“Whoa, thanks.” 

This whole secret relationship thing is harder than you thought, and Ricky is very visibly sulking that you’re giving away his current favorite dish to just about anyone. Looks like you have a grown man that needs to be coaxed back into affection tonight.

Jiwoong tells you that you should just come clean and stop making it harder for yourself. You firmly refuse because even though you are having a lot of trouble and even though you definitely want to kiss Ricky and his pretty face without the fear of getting walked in on by his friends who don’t know the concept of privacy, this set-up is still better than the bane of your existence, Kim Gyuvin, making fun of you until the day you die.

The said bane of your existence treats you all out to another dinner because he finally got his grade for his community development project. He says you have no choice but to come since you’re the reason he got an A.

It’s an easy dinner. You and Ricky even agreed to arrive at separate times with him tagging along with his hyungs, and you chaperoning the children while waiting for the rest of their arrival at the chinese restaurant. The problem comes when they arrive. Specifically, when Ricky arrives because for some god damned, unplanned reason, he arrives wearing the same distinctly floral-patterned short-sleeved button down you’re wearing.

“Oh.”

He doesn’t even fucking wear florals. Why did he decide to switch up today?

Never had you thought that the day would come where you’d be begging to bring back toxic masculinity, but here you are— mouth agape, aghast, and awkwardly standing from your seat at the round table because the shirts are way too obvious to be left unnoticed. 

“Take it off,” you immediately demand. “This is absurd. Take it off and quit copying me.”

“Wow, are you two couple-shirting?” Taerae’s comment stirs a faint blush on Ricky’s cheeks. Why is this idiot blushing? 

“I’m sorry to inform you, but Rik wears it better,” says Gyuvin.

You’re thankful that the same-shirt fiasco ended there. You try to ignore Ricky throughout dinner, but god damn it, Gyuvin is right— that shirt does look pretty damn fine tucked into his slacks and framing his broad shoulders like that and it’s making you angry.

Ricky catches you checking him out from across the table and you catch him subtly smirking. Oh, what a psycho. You’re not letting him off.

“I’m going out for a bit,” you announce, standing up quite loudly with how your chair scrapes against the floor. “Need fresh air. Be back in a bit.” Thankfully, they don’t stop you when you retreat to the cluster of grass and trees and plants tucked in one corner of the outside parking lot of the restaurant. When you take out your phone and prepare to send a message, the person you intended to message has already walked into your field of vision.

Ricky leaves the restaurant not long after you did, looking around the lot until his eyes land on your little corner, a sparkle in his eyes, and he jogs his way right over to you. 

“Ah. Not today.“ 

You hold up a hand in front of your face and Ricky’s nose bumps into your palm when he leans in to get a bite of your lips. 

He scrunches his face, wincing backward, confused. “You have wronged me tonight, Mr. Shim,” you say, dropping down your hand to complete your cross-armed display of beration. “You should reflect on your actions before trying anything funny.” All Ricky does is blink at you with those pretty brown eyes and no— you’re not going to give in. You’re biting down your tongue very hard so you don’t get swayed by those dangerous weapons (said pair of pretty brown eyes).

Ricky takes a step closer, or maybe he tugs you closer to him because you suddenly feel a pull on the belt loops of your trousers, face hovering just a few inches away from yours, pressing his lips together into a pout as he tries to get you to give in to his whims, but you are immovable. You are a mountain. You are this close to squeezing your eyes shut because he’s making it very hard for you right now to not kiss his stupid face.

When that doesn’t work, he resorts to his other weapon. That is, being sickeningly shameless.

“I didn’t mean to wear the same shirt as you,” he says, voice low. “Should I take it off?”

That’s it.

You hit his chest with a closed fist. “Ow!” Then you use the same hand to grab a fistful of that darned shirt and slam your lips against his because who are you kidding? You are not god’s strongest soldier. If Ricky bats his eyes at you and tells you to jump off a cliff, you might just do it.

When you hear him grunt into your mouth— something snaps. You pull him in deeper, other hand fixed on the back of his neck, the taste of strawberries mixing with spit and short breaths and the only time you’re letting him off is when you get lightheaded from the lack of fucking oxygen.

You pull back with a gasp. Ricky is flushed scarlet and his eyes are out of focus. “Wow, um. Uh.” You wipe off the smudged lip gloss from the edges of his mouth. He looks like he’s about to pass out.

“You two are so fucking disgusting.”

The sudden sound of Taerae’s voice feels like a bullet to the head.

Your face freezes. Your neck creaks, turning to the right, and you see Taerae standing a few feet away from you two, arms crossed with a face wound up in revulsion and sheer judgment and now you feel like the one passing out. You feel five years of your life getting scraped off against a sandpaper bed in real time. You want to fucking die. “H—hyung,” you hear Ricky say. “What—what are you doing here?”

“The guys are wondering where you two went, so I went out to check,” Taerae simply says, scrunching his nose before continuing. “I really did not need to see that.”

You feel the heat running up to your forehead. Oh god. Maybe you should’ve learned your lesson the first time you got caught making out with him in public. “I—” you start, a single syllable falling out of your throat before your mouth completely dries up. What are you even supposed to say in this situation? How do you explain to Taerae that this is not what it looks like— even thought this is exactly what it looks like?

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. I knew all this time that you two have a thing.”

“Haha.” You’re sweating. You’re sweating so bad. You feel Ricky squeezing your sweaty hand. God, you’re totally screwed. “What are you talking about, Tae?”

“I heard your conversation in the car on our trip to Hadong like two months ago.” 

Well, shit.

“I woke up when Ricky nearly killed us all on the road. You two are the most unsubtle people I’ve ever met. Quit looking surprised. Do I have to mention the way you eyefuck him whenever you’re in the same space? Girl, you’re not fooling anyone.”

You peer at Ricky and he looks a little too happy to hear that. You’re dizzy, you’re nauseous, and you want to sew Taerae’s mouth shut right now. “Does…does anyone else know?” you ask, scared, and you tug Ricky out of your unhelpful corner and start heading back to the restaurant before someone else comes out to look for you.

“Well. I’m not so sure. They’ve never brought it up when you two aren’t around so I don’t think so,” Taerae replies, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I think Gunwook is onto you, but Gyuvin for sure doesn’t know.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Taerae raises a brow. “Why are you even keeping it from him? It’s not like he’s gonna disapprove or get mad. In fact, it’ll be his dream come true since he’s been trying to sell Ricky off since last year.”

The restaurant’s lights get brighter as you walk towards it. “I’m not hiding it because I’m scared he’ll get upset. I’m hiding it because he’s gonna rub it all in my fucking face and I have way too much pride to deal with that, thank you very much.” Ricky laughs. You shoot him a dirty look.

“Okay. I get it,” says Taerae. “You’re not a normal person either. No wonder you get along with everyone.”

“Hyung, that includes you too.”

“I know,” he huffs. You’re in front of the restaurant entrance now, and you make sure to wedge Taerae between you and Ricky for an extra safety layer. “I don’t think doing that is going to help, but whatever. This is none of my business, so you don’t have to worry about me telling anyone that you and Ricky are dating—”

“You and Ricky are dating?!”

Well, shit.

Maybe you’ve been out for too long. Because there’s suddenly seven people right in front of the restaurant doors, probably on their way to look for you, only for you to come walking back and getting absolutely fucked in the ass in the process.

Gyuvin was the one who made the very astute observation. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open in disbelief. You shoot Taerae a look. He presses his lips together and feigns innocence. “Oh. What are you all doing out here?” he says. So much for not telling anybody.

“You!” Gyuvin ignores him to point an accusatory finger at you— “and you!” —doing the same with Ricky as the shock completely penetrates his facial muscles. You swallow, eyes flitting over at Ricky and the both of you share the same guilty look. “What do you mean you’re dating? What?! How?! Since when?!”

Gyuvin throwing a fit aside, what bothers you more is how completely unfazed the other six are— even Yujin. What the hell? Jiwoong is given. He looks like he’s having the time of his life. But why the hell is Matthew looking at Gyuvin like he’s about to laugh? “C’mon, man. They’ve been together since the first barbecue dinner obviously. How could you not notice?” he says, and now you’re just as alarmed as Gyuvin is.

“Seriously?!” your poor friend looks betrayed, but you’re in a state no better than him because what the fuck is Matthew saying? He’s way off the mark but have you seriously been this fucking transparent all this time?

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure they started dating when we went to the resort,” inserts Hanbin, and you’re absolutely at a loss. “The phone call, disappearing off together like tonight— the hotel room. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on, Gyu.” Hao agrees. Yujin nods and says “why else would you spend three hours just getting ready for a lame event,” and you want to melt into the ground.

You can’t do this anymore. You want to go home.

“No!” Gunwook butts in, refusing to be left out. “They’ve been together since that one night at Gyuvin hyung’s apartment! I bought noona a pack of candy for her cough and Rick immediately got jealous. They even showed up together. I’m telling you. They’ve been together for longer than you all think.”

At this point, you have no idea how to diffuse this situation. They’re all arguing about when or how you and Ricky got together. Jiwoong is laughing his fucking ass off. Taerae is trying his best to act like he’s had no part in this. Gyuvin looks like you’ve just twisted a knife into his back. 

“Can...can I say something?”

It’s Ricky who speaks up and puts everything to a halt. They all look at him. You look at him. He clears his throat, slipping past Taerae so he can reclaim his rightful spot next to you, and makes your face flush a thousand degrees when he shyly hooks his pinky finger around yours and says, “You’re all wrong,” he says softly. “It’s only been sixteen days and twenty hours.” 

Oh.

It’s quiet. You can’t look at him. You have your face turned down in a heated embarrassment. You physically cannot look at him and everyone else and the fact that none of them are saying anything is making things all the more worse.

Kill me. Just kill me now.

“Hyung, you’re so lame,” Yujin breaks the silence of dread. And just like that, they go on as if nothing just happened.

“Hey, did we split the bill?”

“Oh, Gyuvin paid for it all.”

“I’m riding in Bin hyung’s car!”

“Thanks for the meal! You three get home safe!”

You’re in a daze. These fuckers just gossiped about your ass and called it a day. 

You’re not sure if you should be relieved or offended that they didn’t dwell any more on the topic of your relationship. They leave you behind with Gyuvin and Ricky, who’s legally obligated to drive you both home, and it’s so eerily quiet that you want to die. “I’ll—I’ll sit in the back,” you say, oddly reminiscent of your first meeting with Ricky, and Gyuvin simply sits in front without speaking a word to you. You fear he might actually be upset that you didn’t tell him.

Oh no. You make eye contact with Ricky through the rearview mirror as he starts driving. Do something. What should I do? I don’t know! I don’t know what to do either! and you cut your conversation short the moment you hear Gyuvin scratching his throat clear, and you jolt and straighten yourself in your seat like a guilty convict on the way to the station.

You end up not doing or saying anything until you finally reach your apartment. Ricky attempts to get out of the car to walk you to your door, but you stop him with one look because you feel bad enough as is to leave Gyuvin in the car alone. “Thanks. You two get home safe,” you say before shutting the door. The moment you close it, however, the passenger door clicks open in its place.

“Hold on.” 

Gyuvin is out of the car, and you stop in your tracks to turn around and face him, pressing down your lips together because god, you feel so fucking bad. He should be making fun of you right now, not looking all serious! He should be gloating and rubbing it in your face that you should’ve just taken his offer!

He’s got his arms crossed and looks disappointed. You see Ricky peeking out from the rolled down window in concern, ready to step in in case things get ugly. “I knew you’d be into him,” Gyuvin finally says. “I told you, he’d be different.”

Wait. Wait a minute.

Suddenly, he’s grinning again. A stupid fucking devious grin and you feel your soul escaping from your body. “Did I scare you?” 

Oh no. You’re not dealing with this shit, you’re absolutely not dealing with this shit at all.

“I’m going inside. Good night.”

“You should’ve just taken my offer the first time!”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

“And you should’ve told me you changed your mind. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have had to wait for two months before you started dating him—”

“I’m not listening, I’m not listening!”

“This is what you get for not trusting me!”

“Leave me alone!” you shriek, stomping up to your building entrance while Gyuvin happily chases you down, and you struggle to press the right numbers on the keypad so you hiss out a swear. 

“No way. This is too good. I’m telling your mom about this,” he grins. You want to cry. “Oh, and I can take the bus from here. Ricky, come out of hiding and help your girlfriend get inside her building! She looks like she’s having trouble opening the door.”

It’s almost ridiculous how the urge to throw yourself onto Ricky overtakes you the moment he shows up, but you’re not giving Gyuvin another reason to make fun of you until the day you die. You tell Gyuvin to fuck off and he tells you to not have too much fun before finally going away. You’re tired. You’re absolutely tired, and you let out a groan into Ricky’s chest and let yourself sink into his warmth the moment you’re sure Gyuvin has left the premises. 

“It’s open,” he says, prompting you to get inside but you don’t budge.

“Your friend is annoying,” you muffle into his shirt— the damned floral shirt that started tonight’s cataclystic mess. 

“He’s your friend too.” You let out a grunt. Ricky soothes circles on your back and lets you throw your silent tantrum a little longer. “Gyuvin is right though. You should’ve just said yes the first time— ow!”

Ricky’s appalled confusion when you land a hit on his chest almost makes you feel a little better. The problem is, you did the same thing earlier and pulled him into a scandalous kiss immediately after, so he’s once again staring down at your lips like he’s waiting for it. Holy shit. Your psych class didn’t warn you about this. This is a little insane.

Your powers are too strong. The power of strawberries is too strong. But you’re not thinking straight right now, emotions at a high after the events that unfolded— so you don’t think and give him exactly what he wants, ending the night with the sweet taste of tart, and another breathless exhale brushing over his now swollen lips. “I think I’ve brainwashed you,” you say in between bated breaths. “Maybe it’s not me you like. Maybe it’s the candy and the strawberries. You should cut off on the sweets.”

“That’s not true,” he grunts, pressing in another kiss, pulling away with his teeth grazing your bottom lip with a tug. “I liked you from when Gyuvin told me about you. I like you. I like this.”

Well, that’s one way to drive a woman mad. Gyuvin was right. Maybe you should’ve taken that first chance when you had it, but it doesn’t really matter anymore because either way— you’re certain that the outcome would be the same.

“Oh, what the fuck? Gyuvin just texted.” The door is still still left hanging open, and you’re still pressed up against him when you look down to check your phone. “That son of a bitch— he sent a photo of us just now to the group chat. Is he still here?”

“Leave it.” 

Ricky pulls you back when you turn and try to look for the nosy bastard who’s probably snooping around. He tips up your chin. “One more,” he says, leaning in for yet another kiss as if your lips are the candies you always give him in bulk, like he can’t function without it anymore. 

“You’re getting greedy,” you say.

“You keep spoiling me,” he mumbles, feeling his lips graze over yours for the nth time. “You make me lose control of myself.”

Whether you met him earlier or later, you’re pretty sure you’d still end up falling horrendously for Ricky Shen. And you’d still end up doing all the same dumb things you did just to get to kiss him like this over and over again.

the psychology of strawberries. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#ricky shen x reader #zb1 ricky x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 x reader #shen quanrui x reader #zb1 imagines #zerobaseone imagines #shen ricky x reader #zb1 x you #zerobaseone x you #ricky shen x you #zb1 scenarios #zb1 fluff

[valeskafics]

"Black Christmas" - Modern Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: When you have to stay at your sorority house instead of going home for the holidays, you’re relieved to know that your quiet classmate, Aemond, is also staying back for the holidays. However, your relief soon turns to terror as you begin receiving some rather obscene phone calls… That when traced, are revealed to be coming from INSIDE the sorority house.

TW: HEAVY HEAVY DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, stalking, male masturbation, oral f receiving, fingering, overstim, choking, p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex

Word Count: 3,000 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

When Aemond decided where to go to university, there was only one thing he considered.

Which school would be the farthest away from his family. And that’s why he chose Winterfell University. The other end of the continent, where his brother can’t bother him. And that’s where he meets you. While Aemond mainly keeps to himself, you are quite the opposite. Beautiful, kind, and intelligent, you manage to charm everyone you meet, himself included. You’re a member of Kappa Kappa Tau sorority and live in the house that they own on Greek Row. The dorm Aemond stays in is pretty close by, so he often sees you when walking to class. And he might have the tiniest bit of a crush on you.

Okay, that’s a slight bit of an understatement. Since the first time he saw you, back during freshman orientation, he’s been completely infatuated with you. Your paths don’t cross often at school, but when they do? You’re always so sweet to him, despite his reputation as the stuck-up, stand-offish loner who thinks he’s too good for anyone.

It’s the last day of classes before winter break and he sees you walking down the hallway, about to pass him by. He gazes after you, a bit longingly, taken aback when you turn to greet him with a smile, one that has his stomach tied in knots.

“Hey, Aemond.”

He nods slightly in greeting, leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling between his fingertips, “Hey.”

“You excited for break?”

Aemond shrugs, doing his best not to stare at the way those yoga pants cling to your ass, how he can just barely see the outline of your nipples through that shirt. Fuck, what if he just grabbed you here and now, went into one of the empty classrooms and-

“I’m stuck at Kappa house for break by myself,” you sigh, breaking his train of thought, “My plans for break fell through. You on campus or heading home?”

He has to do everything in his power not to grin like a madman at the revelation.

“On campus. I don’t really get along with my family, so I’d rather stay.”

You nod in understanding, “Yeah, I get that. Well, maybe we can hang out or something. No one should be alone on Christmas, after all.” You check your phone, eyes going wide when you see the time, “Fuck! I’m running late, see ya!”

Aemond watches you race down the hall toward your last final of the day. Valyrian Mythology. How does he know that? It’s not normal that he knows your schedule, he realizes, that he knows where you eat lunch every day, how you take your morning coffee, your favorite hang-outs around campus. Maybe his infatuation with you goes beyond the bounds of what’s considered healthy or normal, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he stares after you as you go, looking the way you do. You’re so fucking gorgeous, it makes him sick.

As Aemond walks toward his own final exam, a realization hits him.

You’re going to be alone. In that sorority house. All by yourself for the next two weeks.

If there was ever a time for him to make a move on you, it’s now. And so, he walks to the lecture hall, a spring in his step, as he starts planning.

You don’t end up getting back to Kappa until late that night, too busy saying goodbye to all of your friends, watching their cars leave one by one until it’s just you and a sprinkling of other students. You walk back into the house, lock the door, and head up to your room. But, just as you’re about to climb up the stairs, the house’s landline rings. You let out a groan of frustration, wondering who the hell is calling this late.

“Hello?” You frown when the person on the other end doesn’t respond, rather, they just breathe heavily into the phone. Your hands shake ever so slightly as you repeat, “H-hello?” And still, there is no answer. Just the sound of someone breathing. “Is anyone there?” 

Your eyes go wide as the voice lets out a low, shuddering moan, and you immediately slam the phone back on the receiver. What kind of jerk prank calls people in this day and age? You walk up the stairs, shaking your head in annoyance, but there’s a distinct feeling of discomfort too. You glance behind your back, as if checking to see if anyone is following you, before continuing up the stairs. You’re being crazy, there’s no one here except for you. You locked the doors, you checked the backyard. You’re alone. It’s just you in the house.

You head to your bedroom, giving a curious glance up at the entrance to the attic. It’s never bothered you before, living in the room that has the entrance, but tonight, for some reason, it gives you the creeps. You stare at it before shaking your head and walking toward your closet, getting changed into your nightgown. But as you do, there’s this nagging voice in the back of your mind, a sensation of being watched. You look in your underwear drawer for the matching underwear to the nightgown, wanting to spoil yourself a bit, but it isn’t there. You frown, chalking it up to forgetfulness, that maybe it’s still in the laundry. So, you pull out another pair and get into your bed, grabbing your phone and texting a few friends, trying to take your mind off of everything.

And it works, until this time, it’s your phone that goes off, with a call from an unknown number. You stare at your phone as it vibrates, letting it go to voicemail, only to let out a huff of frustration when whoever it is calls again, seemingly insistent on talking to you. You hear a creak coming from the attic and stare up at the ceiling. It’s an old house, it’s probably just the wood settling. Right?

You answer the phone, only to hear that same heavy breathing from before, that same moaning.

But this time? Your mystery caller speaks.

“I’m watching you.”

You freeze in place, “Excuse me?”

“Are you going to let me?”

You swallow thickly, your voice wavering as you question, “Let you what?”

“Are you going to let me lick that sweet little pussy of yours?” You gasp as the voice lets out a loud groan, making it quite obvious what they’re doing on the other end of the line, “Bet you taste so good, just let me lick it, hm?”

“Y-you’re a fucking creep!”

He laughs, his breath getting heavier and heavier as he rasps, “Just let me fuck that pretty little cunt with my tongue. You know you want it. You sound so cute when you’re afraid.”

“I’m going to call campus police on you,” you threaten, moving to lock your window, looking out to see if anyone is visible from it, “Quit messing with me, asshole!”

“You look so cute right now in that little nightgown. I bet you’re so wet for me now, aren’t you? Filthy little whore. You know you want this. You know you love the sound of my voice. And guess what, pretty girl?” He chuckles, “That little quiver in your voice, your sweet little whimpers? They’ve got me so fucking hard right now.”

You let out a whimper again in spite of yourself, covering your mouth as you question, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m just imagining how you’ll feel when I split you open on my cock.”

You hang up, tossing the phone away from you, and pull your blanket over your body. This is just some asshole trying to scare you. Maybe Jason from Sigma or Reese from Theta. Someone’s just messing with you. If they call again, you’ll call campus police and have it all taken care of. But right now, you’re going to get some sleep.

The minute your breathing gets deeper and he knows you’re asleep, Aemond makes his way down from the attic, not making a single sound. He gets off of the ladder and walks over to your bed, watching as you sleep soundly. He removes your blanket and Gods, you look so pretty like this, your tits nearly spilling out of your nightgown, how it’s ridden up to expose the flesh of your upper thighs and your ass. Aemond’s breathing grows ragged, his thoughts more and more twisted. Maybe he can just drag you up to the attic right now and keep you there with him forever. What kind of games the two of you could play, just you and him. His fingers trace along the flesh of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He lifts your nightgown slightly, chuckling quietly at the sight of your frilly pink panties. He slides them down your legs, staring unabashedly at your bare cunt, wanting nothing more than to taste you, to bury his tongue inside of you until he has you squealing his name like a bitch in heat.

But, he has to be patient.

He undoes his belt and frees his cocks from the confines of his jeans, moving your pretty little panties along his cock, imagining he’s fucking you as he fucks his hand. Aemond stares down at you, moaning your name as he continues, his hand moving up and down his cock feverishly as he imagines what it’ll feel like when he finally does take you. You whine slightly in your sleep, the sound of his moaning almost enough to wake you. Aemond realizes he needs to be silent and grits his teeth as he cums in your panties, smirking to himself as he leaves them by your bed and makes his way back into the attic.

When you wake up and see not one but two pairs of your panties, stained with Seven knows what, laying beside you on your pillow, you let out a gasp of surprise. Aemond can hear your reaction to finding them, your fear and your disgust sending him into an almost feral state of desire. He can’t wait any longer. He has to have you and it has to be tonight. He dials your sorority house’s number once again, waiting for you to answer.

You walk out of the room on shaky legs and see that caller ID shows the number as blocked. It’s him, the same guy, you know it. So, instead of picking up, you call campus security, telling them all about the calls you’ve been getting. They’re short-staffed due to the holidays, but they say they’ll put a trace on the next call you get and call you back with more information after.

The phone goes off mere moments later and you pick up, “Hello?”

Aemond chuckles into the speaker, his voice sending a chill up and down your spine, “Did you like the present I left you, pretty girl? Gods, you looked adorable last night. My little kitten, all curled up in bed. It’s going to feel so good when I’m finally inside you.”

Your voice trembles as you do your best to keep him on the line for the requisite two minutes, “What did you do to my underwear, you creep?”

Aemond’s voice is a low rasp as he replies, chuckling under his breath, “Exactly what I’m going to do to you.” You stare at the phone in horror, listening as he continues, “You hanging up on me, kitten? Or does this excite you? Our little game. I think your pretty little pussy is soaking right now, just from the sound of my voice. Isn’t it, you little slut? I can hear you panting like a bitch in heat.”

Your jaw drops and you yell into the phone, “Leave me alone!”

You hang up and moments later, it rings again. Caller ID says it’s campus police, thankfully, and so you pick up, only for your blood to run cold at the officer’s words.

“Miss, you need to get out of there right now. The calls are coming from a cell phone we’ve triangulated to being inside Kappa house.”

You hang up, backing away slowly, walking up to your room, to quickly change and grab your bag. In retrospect? You should’ve just gone out the front door immediately. Because when you enter your room, you hear movement coming from the attic. You let out a cry of surprise, trying to block the door that leads up there.

But Aemond is not so easily deterred. He lets out a low growl and kicks the door open, staring at you as jumps down into your bedroom. His entire body buzzes with excitement, burns with desire, his thoughts growing darker and more depraved the longer he looks at you. Without even acknowledging him, you try to run, but he lunges at you, pinning you to the wall, his cock grinding against your ass.

“Mmm,” he moans against your ear, “Don’t fucking try that again.”

He turns you around to face him, grinning at the way you stare at him in horror, “Aemond…? But… You? Why…?”

“Why?” Aemond hisses, shoving you onto the bed, snarling, “Because you’re mine. And I’m ready to take what belongs to me. And you’re going to fucking like it.”

You try kicking him, but he’s too fast, too strong as he pins your legs down, pushing your thighs apart, eyeing your bare pussy with no little amount of greed. He hooks your thighs over his shoulders, pulling you closer to him, burying his tongue deep inside you. You try to squirm away from him, but his hands just pull you closer, his gaze boring into you as he laps at your folds, your body betraying you with how your back arches off the bed, how wetness pools between your thighs. And Aemond knows it. He nuzzles his nose against your clit before moving his tongue in and out of you, holding your thighs apart, the wet noises coming from his lips making you cover your face with shame.

And when you spill yourself against him with a near wail of his name, all he does is flatten his tongue against your sensitive, swollen nub, moving against it eagerly, loving the way you writhe against him, one of his hands moving to stroke at your pussy. Your entire body quivers as he begins pumping one finger in and out of you, slow and steady, curving it so that the pad of it rubs up against your sweet spot. You let out a wanton cry of his name, your hands twisting in your hair as you give into the pleasure he’s giving you, his lips latching around your button, rolling his tongue along it over and over, adding a second finger and bringing you to your peak once more. 

Aemond sits up on his knees and continues fucking you with his fingers, listening as you whine and plead for him to go slower, which he has no intention of doing. Your pathetic little whimpers, your cries of his name, those little mewls, all of them spur him on as he adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you at a nearly inhuman pace, rubbing against your sweet spot vigorously, loving the way your face twists in ecstasy.

He doesn’t care what he had to do to get to this point. What he had to do to terrorize you into giving into him. No, he doesn’t care about any of that as you spill yourself against his fingers, as he sheds his jeans and pushes inside you, listening to your soft little pants as he splits you open on his cock. You’re so wet and tight, just like he knew you would be, your walls squeezing him so perfectly as he ruts against you, his hand wrapping around your throat. He mouths at your tits over the silk fabric of your nightgown, while you just lay beneath him, gazing up at him with watery eyes which drive him mad with lust. He moves faster, his hips pistoning against yours at breakneck speed, the fat head of his cock slamming against that rough patch deep inside you with every thrust.

Aemond can tell you’re close, and so is he, as he moves his free hand to circle at your clit again, rubbing at you, knowing he has to speed this up before campus security gets here. He reaches his peak, spilling himself deep inside of you with a low groan, feeling your walls flutter around him, hearing you squeal his name as you reach your own end.

He stares down at you, a menacing yet somehow adoring look on his face as he demands, “You’re going to tell campus police it was just a little game you and your boyfriend were playing, kitten. You don’t want to piss me off, pretty girl. Because I can be much fucking meaner than I was just now. But if you make me happy? I’ll treat you like my little princess.”

So, you do as he asks, sending campus police away with an awkward smile, knowing that from their looks of amusement and your disheveled appearance that they believe every lie you speak.

But, the thing is, no one you’ve been with has ever made you feel like that before. And a part of you, a sick, twisted voice in the back of your mind tells you that in spite of everything, you want him. You want him badly. You feel Aemond press up against you from behind, his hands moving to grope at your tits, his face buried in your hair as he inhales your scent. You’re only somewhat taken by surprise when he shoves you up against the door, lifting your nightgown, pushing himself inside you again, his balls slapping against your ass as he thrusts into you over and over.

Well, that’s one way to celebrate the holidays.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #holiday fic #aemond oneshot #modern!aemond oneshot

[explicit-tae]

Moral Dilemma

Your morality is tested at a monthly family dinner that gets interrupted by two masked men. @seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @babycandy111 @chimmy-licious

Word Count:7.317

Warning: yandere themes, dark themes, smut, coercion/dubcon/ violence, blood, multiple character deaths, stalking, slight gunplay, oral (f receiving), spitting, dirty talking, fingering, pussy slapping, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, creampie,

Halloween Masterlist

The drive to your parents home was a long one - about an hour from your apartment in the city. It was a drive you dreaded taking. Not because of how far it was, but because you knew who you’d be seeing upon entering. 

Your mother was someone you loved dearly, but was someone you’d rather keep at a distance. She was the type to constantly ask about your love life, wondering when you’d be married and have children. A career didn’t matter to her if there was a man wealthy enough to marry and settle down with. The amount of times she stated that you’re wasting your youth on working in a useless field and should look into marrying could be counted on both hands. 

Your father was the boastful type - he bragged about any and everything he could. His cars, houses, business - it all. You couldn’t fault him, however. He claimed that he had to start from the bottom and work his way up, but even he was someone who looked down upon your choice to work instead of using your privileged last name.

With two parents came four children, you being the second youngest. Your elder brother was the first to follow in your fathers footsteps and take over one business. He was married and had no children yet much to your mothers dismay. 

Your older sister was who you bumped heads with constantly - a carbon copy of the mother you shared. She hadn’t worked ever and had taken your mothers advice and married a close friend of the family - the age difference is a bit alarming, but you didn’t dwell on it often. 

Your younger brother and final child was a breath of fresh air. He had not yet been corrupted by your parents' views thus far and was only a freshman in college. He opted to stay on campus unless he had to come home - like today. Only he and you were the most distant to the rest while remaining close to one another.

Your call pulls into the large estate and you release a deep sigh. You were the last to arrive, familiar cars in your line of vision.  You pull next to your eldest brother's silver ferrari - a gift from your father when he graduated college. You contemplated slamming your door against his to chip the paint, but decided against it. You and your brother had no real issue - but you still held a grudge when he laughed at a joke your sister had said one day, completely embarrassing you in the process. 

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you made your way up the stone stairs. You were greeted with a wide smile of one of many workers that night - the oldest worker your parents hired decades ago.

“Sofia.” you bow to the older woman who does the same. “WIll you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

Sofia shakes her head, her eyes shining with amusement. “I never do. I will be making my leave shortly.”

You giggle. “I could only hope you’d stay.” was your response. 

Every monthly dinner your parents hosted always ended in a mess. Your sister and you bickering with one another, your mother having one too many glasses of wine while your father became enraged in a conversation about politics with your older brother. 

The estate is quiet upon entering. You made sure to come around this time. Dinner would soon be done and all you had to do was have dinner, mingle a bit for your younger brother, and then leave. 

You wished your boyfriend was here with you. It would make things easier for you. You could make an excuse to even leave earlier because he was with you - next time hopefully.

You remove your heels at the door and make your way down the hall to the dining area. Your nostrils are filled with the scent of dinner and your stomach churns. Your father was an amazing cook, much to outsiders' surprise. You recalled many times he would cook and give your mother the credit - she was the type to burn water.

You enter the large dining room. You noticed the table has changed - the dark brown wooden table changed to a glass one, surrounded by off white chairs. It makes the room brighter as the chandelier above it illuminates throughout the room.

“Well, it’s about time.”

Your mood soured at the voice of your sister. 

“How long were you planning on making us wait for you?”

Your eyes glance her way. She wore an annoyed look on her face. Your older brother had been munching on a piece of bread, not sparing you a second glance. 

“You’re the only one waiting for me to eat.” you say, noticing even your younger brother chewing. You took the seat besides him, patting his shoulder as you did so. 

Your sister sucks her teeth, but she doesn’t respond. 

The food is displayed in the center of the table and you waste no time in making your own plate. The last time you ate was this morning with your boyfriend and decided to skip lunch so you had room for dinner. 

Conversation erupts throughout the table, you and your younger brother deciding to speak amongst one another. He spoke about his college classes and the parties he attends - everything you know due to social media. He speaks fondly of a person, making sure not to be too loud for listening ears to hear. He breezes past the word he before flushing and changing the subject - all you could do was smile.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

And of course, that voice speaks once more.

“Where’s your husband?” you retort.

“Not tonight.” your mother says warningly after your older brother snorts. She takes a sip of her wine and you want to repeat her words but bite your tongue.

“I wasn’t the one who said I would be bringing someone.” your sister takes a sip of water and raises her brows. “Now, where’s this boyfriend of yours?”

Her tone doesn’t go unnoticed. She thinks you’re lying about your boyfriend- you’re aware. You don’t feel the need to post him on social media and vice versa - the most you did was introduce him once during a facetime call with your younger brother, but that was all. Your older brother never pried into your life and you didn’t want to hear your mothers constant questions of marriage.

“He has to work.” you shrug.

“Sure.” your sister takes a bite of her steak.

You blink your eyes away to your mother who’s already staring at you. 

“Hopefully we’ll meet him next time.”

You remain silent. You weren’t going to engage in yet another argument with her like she desired. You decided on picking up your fork and sinking your teeth into the steak.

“If he exists.”

You drop your fork harshly. It slams against the glass plate.

“Not again.” your older brother murmurs. 

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?” you hiss at her. 

“You supposedly have been dating someone for almost a year.” she shrugs her shoulders. “But we never see him.”

“Why would I bring him here?” you retort. “So you can continue to be a bitch?”

“Oh, I struck a nerve.” she giggles. “I’m not the one lying-”

��Lying?!” you snicker. 

“Y/N has nothing to prove to any of us.” your younger brother defends with a roll of his eyes. “He does exist. I met him.”

“Oh, really?” your sister leans forward interested. “So did the both of you share details on your boyfriends?”

Your hands clench while your younger brother stiffens. 

“That’s enough.” your older brother hisses, raising his hand in front of your sister. “You’re going too far.”

“What does she mean boyfriends?” your mother slurs and now you’re ready to pounce on your sister for her slick mouth. 

“Nothing.” you, your younger and older brother say in unison. “I think we should just eat in silence.” your older brother grumbles. 

“As do I.” your father quips.

“Your daughter,” your sister points to you. “is a liar. And your son,” she points to your younger brother besides you. “is gay.”

Your father stops eating while your older brother sighs.

“You can’t have anyone else be happy, can you?” you stand to your feet with a shake of your head. “What the fuck-”

“Y/N it’s okay.” your younger brother murmurs, but the soft tone indicates that it wasn’t okay in the slightest. Even if there was speculation on his sexuality, your mother was in denial and constantly asked him of girlfriends or flings that he was just end up lying about going on dates with the girls she’d set him up with. Luckily, said girls were kind enough to hold up the lie.

“Yes, Y/N. It’s okay.” your sister shrugs. “You can admit that you don’t have a boyfriend and we can all accept our baby brother for who he is.”

“Are you that miserable with life?” you ask. “Does that husband of yours not please you enough that you want to come here and fuck with everyone else lives? Or is it because he’s going broke?”

The table grows silent at the new revelancing. Your sister reddens with embarrassment, her hand clenching the glass of water in her hand.

“Is that true?” your mother slurs.

“Yes, it is.” you giggle, taking your seat. “Tell us how your dear old husband has filed for bankruptcy.”

Your older brother widens his eyes at you with a head shake. He was the one to tell you after he had heard mumblings from his own group of friends - the both of you laughed at the irony. Your sister had gloated that she married rich while already being rich - and now look where that got her. 

“You sit around and try to make our lives hell because yours is.” you spit at your sister. “You fucked an old man for money just for him to end up broke.” you shake your head with another laugh. “I’m sure father would let you move back in. Just ask.”

Your sister stands, slamming her manicured hands against the table and before she can scream at you, she falls back.

The glass window directly behind you shatters. Particles of glass dance off your skin. The room erupts in screams and cries. Your eyes blink open and widen at the sight before you. 

Your sister is bleeding, clutching her shoulder. Blood pools out from, coating her hands and staining her shirt. 

Your older brother is the first to respond. He grabs a cloth and places it against the wound, a loud cry erupting from her throat. 

“W-What the fuck?” your younger brother is in shock, unable to move from his seat. Your mother is crying and your father is patting his pockets for his phone. “We have to call the police-”

Another shot rings out, this time louder. You grasp your younger brother and fall to the ground, watching in horror as your father falls to his knees. He clenches his stomach, blood oozing out of him, as well. 

Your eyes swell with tears, mind racing with confusion. You’re unsure what to do to help, completely frozen with fear. You hold your brother against you tightly, afraid that he would be the next one shot. 

From beneath the table, your eyes catch dark leather boots. You're paralyzed with fear at the sight of two pairs of feet rushing forward. You hear another shot ring out, your older brother wincing. His body drops to the ground while he begins to bleed. The bleeding wound is on his shoulder similar to your sisters, but the next one is right between his eyes. 

“Please! D-Do you want money?!” your mother cries, her arms wrapping around your deceased brother.

You are the next to scream. The glass table is flipped, shattering against the marble floor. Your brother holds onto you tighter, but only for a second. He’s being ripped away from you and now it’s your turn to plead.

“N-No! Take me! Just leave-”

A black gun is placed against your brother's head. His eyes are closed while soft tears are spilling out of his eyes. You’re afraid to move or speak for his sake.

The masked man is tall. He sports a completely black attire with an all white chilling mask that hides his eyes. 

The masked man’s partner sends a shot to your mother and her crying stops, but you’re unable to look her way. The eyeless holes of the masked man before you paralyze you in fear. 

“P-Please…” you begin to cry. Your father whimpers behind you while your sister is crying behind the masked man. Your older brother and mother are dead and you don’t want your younger brother to follow suit. “W-We have money…just don’t hurt him. W-What is it that you w-want?”

You gasp when the masked man slams the handle of his gun against your brother's head. He falls to the ground limp. “He isn’t dead.” the second masked man says from across the room, voice muffled. “Yet.”

“P-Please don’t kill us.” you begged, bowing lower to show your mercy. Your hands rest above your head and you feel the broken glass of the window pinching your skin. 

You scream once you feel your hair being tugged. The masked man in front of you forces you to your feet. You don’t want to look the man in the face - the white emotionless mask frightened you. You’re unsure who these men are and what they truly wanted with you. You assumed money - your father being well known as wealthy and your family name was just as out there. But did they have to kill you all one by one to get money? You would have given them anything in the home - fine jewelry, expensive art pieces and furniture and more - if they allowed your family to be unharmed. 

You stiffen when you feel the cold gun against your lips. The masked man taps it a few times. Your heart jumps out of your chest when you realize what he’s expecting of you. You open your mouth slowly, shuddering when you feel the gun slide between your lips.

The masked man turns to face your sister who’s watching with wide eyes. Her clothing is stained with her own blood and you’re unsure how long she’d last until she passed out due to her injuries.

The gun slides deeper inside your mouth. Your eyes close, breathing hitching. You’re unsure if he’s doing this to scare you - because it’s obviously working - or a way to defile you even further.

The gun is removed from your mouth. You hear footsteps begin to kick up. Your eyes blink open to find the second masked man grabbing your sister and hoisting her up. “W-What are you doing?!”

Your sister hisses at the harsh treatment as she’s being rushed out of the dining room. You want to follow her - to reach out and help her, but you can’t. The masked man is in front of you, dark eye sockets on you.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name being heard by the masked man causes you to shudder. You’re shocked - goosebumps roaming your body. Did the man behind the mask know you? Your family? You do not recognize the voice even if it is muffled behind the mask nor do you recognize the stature of his body. 

“You know my name.” you murmur. You begin to think that maybe this is someone that was wronged by your family - a long list that would possibly take all night to go over in your mind. “D-Do I know your name?”

The masked man is silent for a moment, so much that you’re unsure if he heard you.

“Do-”

“I heard you.” the masked man interrupts. “No, you do not.”

You hands begin to tremble. That doesn’t tell you who he is, what he wants or any motives. You not knowing who is was didn’t mean that you didn’t know you and your family - or if he was ever wronged by them. 

“I can tell you’re thinking so hard.” you stiffen when he brings up a gloved hand to touch your cheek. “You’re wondering why we’re doing this. Why am I here before you?”

The man is touching you so softly, his gloved thumb rubbing along your cheek. You want to sob at his actions..

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

Your breathing hitchens when his hand slides down to your neck and he takes a single step closer to you. Your mind is screaming at you, alarm bells are ringing. 

“You’re afraid. Understandable.”

The gloved hand drops back to its side and he tilts his head. 

“Who are you?” you whisper. As much as your heart beats for an answer, you’re sure that you’re afraid to find out. What if you saw his face and knew exactly who he was - then what? What would he do to you then upon knowing his face and name? “There must be something you want from me?”

The masked man moves slowly. He removes his gloves and drops them upon the floor effortlessly. He’s young - you can always tell the age of a person by looking at their hands. They appeared soft and young. Fingernails trimmed and cleaned - you snap your eyes away and into the eyeless sockets. 

“I do want something from you.”

“Money?” you ask hopefully, even if in your heart you’re sure that if that's what he wanted, there would be a robbery instead of blatant murder. 

“I have more than enough money. Especially in my profession.” you hear a tint of amusement in his muffled tone. “Down the hall to the right, there’s a bathroom, correct?”

Just who the hell was this man and how long had he been following you - and your family?

“Yes.”

“Lead the way.”

It’s a command. Your eyes lower to your younger brother’s unmoving body, surrounded by broken glass and splattered blood. 

“He'll remain alive.” the masked man says. “You have my word.”

Somehow, his word didn’t mean much - but you decided that if you did as you were told that you, your sister and brother would remain alive. Just as long as you sacrifice yourself.

You sauntered down the quiet hallway to the nearest bathroom - a large room with high ceilings and a whole wall dedicated to a large mirror. You can feel the man close behind you. As you open the door for the both of you, he’s quick to close it behind him. 

“Turn around.”

Another command. You do as you’re told, unsure what the masked man wants from you. Your beating heart has a clue.

As you turn, your eyes meet his - not the socketless ones of the mask. Dark brown eyes laying upon a smooth, young face. You feel hot with embarrassment when your eyes don’t blink - they continue to stare. His hair is dark and shiny, a single strain hanging on his forehead while the rest didn’t appear out of place in the slightest. His lips are pink and full, moisturized just as his skin.

You didn’t know who this man was but the sight of his catches you by surprise.

“My name’s Hoseok.”

Hoseok.

Hoseok.

You didn’t know a Hoseok.

“Hoseok…”

Hoseok is a bit easier to read when his mask is off. His eyes widen only for a slight moment at you repeating his name. 

“Please, Hoseok.” you’re frightened to the core. This man is a killer along with his partner. Your mind can only wonder what in the world he’s doing with your sister. “W-Whatever you want. I can give it. Just please don’t hurt my brother and sister.”

You hear Hoseok sigh. He shakes his head with a low tsk. “You are so naive, Y/N.” he places a hand upon your cheek once more. “So caring. But that’s what I love about you.”

Your eyebrows knit together.

“I’ve known you for over a year now.” Hoseok begins. “I watched as you went to work each day even if you’re worth millions. You lived in a condo in the city - smaller than what you’re accustomed to.”

Hoseok’s thumb outlines your lips. 

“Every now and then you would visit your brother and spend the day with him. You would also hang out with your boyfriend when he wasn’t cheating.”

Your eyes blink a few times at his words. Cheating?

“Of course you didn’t know.” Hoseok hums. “But I do. He’s been cheating on you for months now, baby. Dye red hair with split ends. Name’s-”

“Bella.” you murmur, the short description as all you needed. “His-”

“Best friend.” Hoseok finishes. 

You look away from Hoseok.

You want to feel sad about your boyfriend's cheating, but you are beginning to feel numb. In normal circumstances, you’d possibly cry at how naive you were - clueless. You should have seen this coming long ago by just how close Bella and he were, but you didn’t want to appear insecure bringing it up to him.

But again, you aren’t as sad as you want to be. You had lost three members of your family thus far and your sister was hurt while your brother knocked unconscious. 

“You’re not like them.” Hoseok’s voice drags you back to reality. “You aren’t as horrible as them.”

“They didn’t deserve to die.” you quip. 

“Your father has done some fucked up things in the past. Your brother following in his footsteps.” Hoseok twirls a strand of your hair between both his index and thumb. “Your mother was just a nuisance. I know how much she put you down for not being like her.”

Just how much did Hoseok know about you and your family?

“You and your brother are the only hope left.” Hoseok murmurs. “The only two that aren’t far gone.”

You shake your head slightly. 

“Even your sister is far gone.”

“Please-”

“Ssshh.”

Hoseok’s finger lifts to your lips to hush you. 

“Turn around.”

You feel Hoseok’s hands upon your shoulders as you face the mirror. His eyes watch yours through the reflection.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“So are you.” you murmur, the hot feeling coming back. You’re unsure what Hoseok’s true intentions were, but his admission told you that he knows more than enough. And you had already seen what he is capable of.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.” Hoseok says. “You don’t have to say anything to flatter me.”

“I’m not.” you swallow. You happen to think Hoseok was an attractive person - if you would have met him under other circumstances, you would be swooning. It’s difficult to ignore the elephant in the room even if the man is attractive. 

Hoseok offers a smile. You ponder just how someone who appears so innocent and nice could be a killer - you wonder what he and his partner truly was. Hitmen? Assassins?

Hoseok’s eyes never leave yours, not even as his hands lower to touch along your neck then to your collarbone. 

“How did you…find me?” you’re unsure of the word to use.

“A client.”

You inhale.

“I’m sure you know what I am by now, baby. Hitman?”

You exhale. Your conscience was right. Someone had hired him to do this to your family.

“I was paid to kill your family.”

Hoseok’s words replay in your mind. All you can think about is how he managed to do so - your mother, father and brother were already gone. By Hoseok’s words, your sister will be next. 

“Taehyung and I are not monsters. We killed those we saw fit.” You feel Hoseok’s body press against yours, radiating warmth. “We take on these jobs as hitmen, but we make sure those who are paid to kill are worth killing. Your brother and you…are not.”

You blink. It feels sick to feel satisfied that he had no intentions on harming you and your brother - as the rest of your family lay dead. 

“We take money upfront to do the job. We kill the client if we feel as if the target does not deserve death.”

You swallow when Hoseok’s hands begin to lower. His hands halt upon your chest and right above your heart. He feels it thump.

“Are you scared of me, Y/N?” Hoseok questions. 

“You said you weren’t going to hurt me.” you respond to him. Your head leans back against his chest, eyes never leaving him in the mirror. 

“You have my word. You and your brother are safe.”

You gulp.

Your father was dead, as was your mother and brother. Your sister - if she was still alive - was going to be soon. You had nothing left to lose besides your own life and that of your brother. Hoseok has been following you for a year now and knew everything - there was no escaping him.

Maybe if you gave him what he wanted, you could keep your sister alive. 

“Is she still alive?”

“Your sister? For now, yes.”

You nod your head.

“What do you want from me, Hoseok?” you had a clue. “What happens after all of this?”

You watch his expression change. He hasn’t thought about it that far as of yet, you note. 

“I don’t want you to fear me.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to leave me, either.”

You feel Hoseok press himself even tighter against you. 

He inhaled deeply. There was no escaping Hoseok. 

“I won’t leave you.” you murmur. “There isn’t anywhere for me to go. You’ve had eyes on me for a long time.”

Hoseok again smiles. He places a kiss against the back of your head and inhales the fresh scent of your hair. “I knew keeping you alive was a good choice, baby. You’re smart and kind. You actually care about people.” His words are sinister and they replay in your mind. You ponder when Hoseok actually thought about keeping you alive and what you’ve done that had his decision forming. You feel uneasy thinking about how he has been watching you this entire time and you never felt his presence. There was never a time in the last year that you felt eyes upon you - or if anyone was following you in the slightest.

In the end, there was no escaping Hoseok - so you wouldn’t even try.

“Do you want me, Hoseok?”

Hoseok is a dangerous man - him and his partner. Taehyung was his name; a name you didn’t recognize, either. He was hired to kill your family by an unknown person or organization - he followed you for over a year now and knows your routine. He became infatuated within that time. The reason you were truly unsure of, but you could use this to your advantage. Though you do not truly understand what Hoseok wants in the end of all of this - a romantic relationship or just sexual encounter - you were determined to do it. To stay alive through it all - maybe you could convince him that your sister was even worth saving.

You turn to face Hoseok, placing your hands against his chest. “Do you want me, Hoseok?” you repeat, your voice lowering to a murmur. Your hands rub up his chest to his shoulders. He’s solid, stiff shoulders jolting as if you sent a bolt of electricity through them.

“Y/N…?” Hoseok murmurs, his hand touching yours as it reaches his cheek. “...do you want me to kill your boyfriend?”

You try not to react to his question. Slowly, you shake your head. 

“Do you still love him?”

You don’t want to anger Hoseok. In a way you did love him - you assumed the love was reciprocated. In hindsight, you should have known the love he had for someone he considered a friend would be stronger.

“It would gather suspicion if my brother, sister and I survived this and then he died, don’t you think?” 

Hoseok hums. Your words don’t go unnoticed by him - you were trying to keep your sister alive with everything you had in you to offer.

“I suppose you are.”

It’s insane to think Hoseok is a hitman. You would consider such a beauty of a man to be literally anything else - a model or an actor of sorts. You wondered what his partner looked like and if he was just as beautiful.

“I’ve watched you for a long time, Y/N.”

Your hands were becoming sweaty, nervous on where this was going to go with Hoseok. 

“You said you aren’t afraid of me, right?”

You nod your head, but even Hoseok knew this was a lie. You stand before him and it would appear that you were fearless, but your eyes were glossy, having cried all the tears you could. You were shuddering with each breath you took - but you were a determined woman and this is one of the reasons he adored you. You were so selfless in a family full of selfish individuals.

“Okay.” Hoseok grasps the hand from his cheek and presses a firm kiss upon it. “Then there shouldn't be any secrets.”

You’re positive Hoseok can hear your heart quickening.

“I’ve watched you for so long. I’ve been in your home as you slept. While you showered.”

Hoseok’s eyes watch the shock go through your expression, even if you didn’t want to look it. 

“I stayed and viewed the way you’d touch yourself at night. Your moans were so lovely, pure. A raw reaction from someone who thinks they’re alone. But you were almost never alone, Y/N. I always followed you.”

Hoseok’s free hand grabs your waist. He pulls you closer to him and it’s painfully obvious that he’s excited about recanting the times he’s watched you touch yourself.

“But as I watch, Y/N, I think how deep down you knew someone was there. You would always display yourself willingly for me, widen your legs in my direction and put on a show just for me.”

It’s then that you feel Hoseok’s hand glide down and it’s now gripping your ass. 

His words cause you to feel hot - humiliated. The thought of you not being alone while you touched yourself is horrifying enough.

And even more horrifying that his admission causes you to clench your legs.

“I often speculate just how wet you’d be wrapped around my fingers. How you’d taste. Feel.”

Hoseok becomes more touchy, allowing your hand to fall from his cheek so he can bring you even closer to him - how was it possible? You had no idea. 

The room begins to feel ever hotter, Hoseok radiating such warmth. His lips bury between your neck and he leaves open mouth kisses upon it. 

“Would you give me a taste, Y/N?”

You were positive that you’d end up in Hell right alongside Hoseok. Your body shouldn’t be reacting this way to a man that has been hired to kill your family - especially when said man has admitted to stalking you for a good amount of time now. The bodies of your family lay dead and unconscious in the next room - who even knows what Taehyung is doing to your sister now.

“Y-Yes.”

Hoseok chuckles, a dark look in his eyes. He’s quick to push you deeper inside the bathroom and hoist your body so you’re sitting upon the sink. He’s quick to remove your pants, not being gentle in the slightest. 

“Red’s a scandalous color.” Hoseok murmurs, a hand coming out to touch the wet patch right in the center of your panties. “You’re so wet, dripping all over the place. I’m sure I could slide right in now if I wanted to.”

Hoseok slides your panties to the side, his eyes fixed on your clit. You want to cover yourself at how intense his stare was, the hot feeling of embarrassment running rampant through you.

You gasp when Hoseok dives right, his tongue laying flat against your clit. It catches you by surprise even if it shouldn’t have. His tongue flicks your clit hungrily - he’s been waiting for this moment. The countless times he had watched you so closely as you touched yourself, he could only lick his lips and take in the moment. 

Now, Hoseok could revel in the fact that he had you right where he wanted you. 

Hoseok lifts his lips from your lips to spit upon your clit before diving back in. He suckles upon your clit, his hands pushing down onto your thighs.

You bite your lips to dead the moan threatening to release.  Your thighs shake with the forbidden pleasure, your mind going blink. You cannot recall the last time you’ve been eaten out by a man - your (now ex) boyfriend didn’t exactly enjoy doing it.

Hoseok lifts once more, pushing your panties to the side further. His eyes dip up to meet your hooded ones, licking his lips from your sweet taste. 

“How does it feel, Y/N?” Hoseok murmurs his question, hand slapping your clit. You jolt, gasping at the sudden action. “You’re dripping all over the place for me.”

Hoseok slaps your pussy a second time, then a third, then fourth. He doesn’t stop until you’re shuddering beneath him and even wetter than before. It’s sinister to be here beneath him - your sister in the next room bleeding out, brother unconscious and selfish family members deceased. 

“You like what I do to you, don’t you, baby?” Hoseok chuckles, dimples showing and eyes sparkling with lust. He inches his index and middle finger inside of you, thumb pressed against your clit. “You’re not as innocent as I thought, huh?”

Hoseok begins to thrust inside of you. It’s evident now that he was a dominant person - the kind that’s always in charge. He doesn’t give you any mercy, fiercely pumping. 

Hoseok hovers upon you, his eyes bouncing between your dripping pussy to your face. He groans, the idea of ruining you shoots deep within him and down to his core. 

“H-Hoseok, please-”

“Shut up.” Hoseok hisses, voice deepening. He removes his fingers from inside your shortly just to slap your clit once more. You scream out at the loss of pleasure and the sudden sting. Without much warning, he enters his fingers inside of you once more, continuing his hellish pace. “I don’t want to hear you make a sound, Y/N.” Hoseok hisses, leaning down to come face to face with you. “Understood?”

The dominant type was what Hoseok definitely was. At first glance, you would assume he was a nice person. His smile was bright and it reached his eyes, appearing an innocent everyday man. But he was hired to kill your family and now - after doing so - you allowed him between your legs.

You were destined to go to Hell, especially when you nod your head at Hoseok’s command.

You bite your lip and allow whatever moan to subside. Your eyes are fluttering shut, hips jutting. Your head leans back, pussy clenching around Hoseok’s fingers.

“I thought you were going to be a difficult catch.” Hoseok’s breath is hot against your face. “Thought I was going to have to force you to obey me.”

A moan releases from your throat unwillingly and you whimper at the act, knowing that you had gone against Hoseok once more. 

Hoseok hisses, shaking his head. He removes his fingers and a slap rings across the bathroom. You open your eyes to look at him and Hoseok could only chuckle - such eyes filled with lust. You were truly a vixen, the perfect match made for him. 

“Since a whore like you cannot listen.” your eyes watch Hoseok mess with the belt of his pants. You swallow, stomach churning in anticipation. “I’ll have to fuck the submission into you.”

Hoseok’s big, but you don’t have the chance nor time to marvel at the sight of him. He’s already forcing his way inside of you - but you’re so wet that it isn’t an issue entering.

Hoseok’s hands slap against your lips, roughly pushing you back and against the wall. His eyes, dark and filled with lust, bore into your own. He begins to thrust, pace fast and brutal. 

“I though…fuck - that I’d have to force you to obey me.” Hoseok continues his speech. You can hear his clear as day, even with his grunts and the sound of wet skin slapping together.

“But you were a good little whore for me, Y/N. You did obey me.” 

You could only swallow, breathing intensified. 

“Just how,” Hoseok groans deeply, eyes blinking. You were so tight and wet - clenching around him lovingly. “J-Just how I knew you would.”

Hoseok releases his hand from your lips to clench both of your hips roughly. He continues his pace, eyes fixed on your pussy coating his cock. 

You were going to cum, angered that you couldn’t scream out like you desired. Deep down, however disturbing it was, you enjoyed the control and dominance this man had over you. His hand that once fell over your mouth still feels warm, as if it was still there.

“You’re finally mine, Y/N. All mine.” Hoseok growls, thrusts sloppy. His mind flashes with the many ways he could claim you; control you. “Mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to control.” Hoseok’s fingernails dig into your skin. “You’d like that, huh?”

Your head is nodding, breathing hitching. Your eyes squeeze close and it’s only when your cheeks feel wet do you realize you’re crying. Now you’re sure you’d be humiliated once the deed was done.

“You’re crying.” Hoseom chuckles. He leans down, tongue licking at your tear stained cheeks. “So pretty when you cry. So…so submissive for me.” Hoseok lips trail from your cheeks to your lips. He presses a firm kiss to your lips, hips slowing their pace, but they’re still deep and rough.

You’re cumming, creaming Hoseok’s cock like the submissive girl you were for him - tightening so much so that he can’t help but do the same. His mind flashes - he can’t wait until he has you in all the ways he wants. Tied up, begging for him. Maybe even he’d allow you to take control some days - he wanted it all.

“What is he doing to her?” your sister asks Taehyung, bullet wound wrapped. She leans against the wall of the kitchen. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond, only glancing the girl's way and snickering. The mask lays on the ground and he’s checking his watch upon his wrist.

Taehyung himself was growing impatient, having accompanied Hoseok to this job. It was about three months prior that Hoseok had come to him about the job. He had stated that he followed a girl - you - for nearly a year at that point. He spoke of you fondly, called you pretty and stated that you were different from your sister and the rest of the family. 

“Can you not hear me talking to you?” your sister hisses, clenching her fists. “I’m paying good fucking money-”

“You haven’t paid us fully yet.” Taehyung interrupts, voice deep and laced with annoyances. “Don’t think we haven’t done our own research.”

Your sister gulps.

Every hitmen had their own desired price, Hoseok splitting the large amount with him. Half was due up front and the other would be due after the deed is done - Taehyung knows well enough that your sister was broke. Her husband had gone bankrupt and seemingly all she had left was a wealthy last name with no money to show for it.

However, killing your entire family and you being the sole survivor would garner her a large sum of inheritance and fame. She once bragged that she could even write a book about the situation - being the sole survivor of a hit put out on her family. She even instructed them to make sure she was hurt in the process.

“I just want to make sure everything happens smoothly.” your sister murmurs, eyes glancing away. 

“Putting a hit on your entire family isn’t exactly something that can go smoothly.”

Your sister whips her head around to Taehyung, but her eyes meet yours. You appeared disheveled, hair a mess and eyes puffy. “Y/N-”

“You did this?” you murmured to her, Hoseok behind you. Taehyung, another beautiful man just as Hoseok, but you had no time to dwell, stood against the nearest wall.

“Why isn’t she dead?” your sister avoids your eyes and screams directly to Hoseok. Her voice cracks. “I-I..we had an agreement.”

“I may be a hitman, but I still have morals.” Hoseok responds. “If the people you want dead do not deserve death, then who am I to give it?”

Your sister shakes her head. She inhales deeply. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

You swallow, throat tight. It begins to ache and your vision turns blurry. Your heart aches just as your throat. The hit that was put out against your family was not one from a wronged employee, or someone that you barely knew. It came from inside the home. 

You and your sister had your own differences, but you would have never thought life would become like this.

“I thought you were dying.” you blinked away, voice dangerously low. “I was willing…” you scoff. It didn’t matter what you were willing to do to help your sister because in the end, you were never intended to get this far. If it was any other hitman besides Hoseok, you would have surely been dead. “...I gave myself to the hitman you hired in hopes he’d keep you alive.”

Your sister doesn’t meet your eyes - she refuses to. 

The thought of your younger brother being dead crosses your mind and fist clenches. 

“I want you to have the final decision if she lives or dies.”

Hoseok’s voice booms behind you. For a second, it was as if time stood still. Your eyes bore into your sister, and only now did she meet your eyes. 

“W-What?” your sister's voice drops and she attempts to step closer, but it’s Taehyung that raises his gun does she stop. 

 Your sister catches the way Hoseok’s hands land upon your shoulders, gently rubbing. She shakes her head. 

You don’t speak at first, eyes looking straight at your sister. It was her turn to cry, whimpering softly. This wasn’t part of her plan - she never intended on any survivors but her. You’re unsure how she planned for everything to come together - would she grieve you and your family? If so, would it be a genuine sadness or a fabricated one?

“My brother,” you say, head only turning slightly towards Hoseok. “would not be harmed?”

“You have my word.” Hoseok repeats the same sentence as he did in the bathroom. “You and him would always be safe.”

You inhale.

You never would have thought you’d be in a situation such as this - but how could you forgive her? Can you just let her go and come together a month from now at another family dinner? The thought alone was comical - what would stop her from just trying to kill you herself?

“How would my brother and I not be caught in this mess?”

Your sister clasps her hand over her mouth, holding in a whimper.

“Leave it to me, baby.” Hoseok squeezes your shoulders. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You take your eyes off of your sister and turn fully to Hoseok. He offers you a smile - a kind and genuine one. His eyes were warm and for a moment, you actually felt safe. As insane as it was, you believed his words. 

“Kill her.” you say to him. “I have to go check on my brother.”

You already told yourself you were going to Hell for what you’ve allowed Hoseok to do to you in the bathroom, but you solidified it as you strolled out of the kitchen, ignoring the cries of your sister followed by a loud gunshot.

#test your morality #bts smut #bangtanwritershq #btsmasterlist2022 #bangtan smut #btswritersclub #hoseok yandere #hitman hoseok #hoseok x reader #explicit-tae #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #moral dilemma #bts yandere #hoseok smut #halloween masterlist #trivia-yandere halloween masterlist

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Charles Leclerc x princess of Monaco reader

When their relationship gets discovered by the public eye, it's starting to get a bit chaotic. Contrary to [Y/n]'s worries, people react positively and start to even wonder if Charles is going to become an actual prince of Monaco.

words count: 3.6k

cursive is for memories

As I was finishing writing this last night, I've received such a fun idea for rivals to lovers for reader x Charles, so you know what fic to expect next;)

The Princess

Keeping your relationship private isn't an easy thing when you're royalty, the literal princess of Monaco, and your boyfriend is a famous Formula One driver. But somewhat [Y/n] and Charles managed to remain private until their engagement.

Of course, there were theories and people were suspecting it. Both [Y/n] and Charles were from Monaco and single for a suspiciously long period of time, so rumours were writing itself.

It wasn't that weird when it came to the princess being single, at first people even speculated about her preparing for some political marriage that would be beneficial for her country. However, Charles had quite the reputation when it came to dating, so fans were pretty surprised he 'stayed single' for so long.

Everything cleared up and fans' theories became reality, when [Y/n] and Charles were caught sneaking out of one parisian restaurant through the back door. It was the evening that Charles had proposed to [Y/n] and she wanted it to be officially announced on the next day, but unfortunately they were noticed by some paparazzi.

"I knew we weren't going to keep it this way forever," [Y/n] sighed, seated in the passenger seat of Charles' Rolls Royce Wraith, "but I wanted it to be officially announced."

"Don't worry, love." Charles assured, putting his right hand on the woman's thigh. His left hand was on the steering wheel, controlling the car at a speed that had surpassed the legal limit some time ago. "We might not have control over how the news got out, but it doesn't matter, people's opinions don't matter."

"True, but I hope the official announcement won't be overshadowed by the media's articles. You know how they are."

"And what if it does? The only thing that matters to me is our love, I don't care if people that I don't even know approve or not."

The night air whispered against the windows as they sped through the city, the glow of streetlights reflecting inside the car. They were already far from the center of Paris, no paparazzi in sight anymore.

As they reached the destination, which was a mansion located in a secluded place, Charles got out of the car and rushed to open the door for [Y/n].

"Thank you, love." [Y/n] smiled, stepping out of the vehicle. "I'm sorry this had to end with us evacuating like that."

"It's no problem at all, I'm quite used to the spotlight, nothing new for me." Charles joked, walking alongside his now fiancée towards the door of the building.

"I was hoping it wouldn't be like this. I mean, Nikolai has a pretty normal life in Australia, people don't stalk him wherever he goes. In Sydney he isn't Nikolai the prince of Denmark, he's just a normal person. I thought I could be the same in Paris."

"Chérie, as much as I love you, I cannot agree with you. I think there is a small difference between Paris and Sydney," Charles laughed.

They entered the mansion, the opulence of the surroundings contrasting with the night's earlier events. The warmth of the mansion was a contrast to the moments they had just left behind.

As they settled into a cosy sitting room, [Y/n] asked her maid to bring a bottle of champagne.

"Maybe I should leave my royal title." [Y/n] wondered out loud. "There were cases in which the royals left their titles to marry someone."

"No," Charles shook his head, "I would never forgive myself if you made this decision solely based on tonight. I think partially the fault is also mine, don't forget I drive in Formula One."

The maid returned with a chilled bottle of champagne, uncorking it as [Y/n] and Charles continued their conversation.

"Thank you," [Y/n] smiled at the maid and then shifted her focus back to Charles. "I appreciate your concern, Charles, but it's not just about tonight. I love you, and I want to be with you, but sometimes, I wish we could escape the constant judgement. I don't want my title to affect you in bad ways."

Charles reached for her hand. "I get it, [Y/n]. And I admire you for even considering it. But I fell in love with you, the princess, just as much as I did with [Y/n], the person. Your title is a part of who you are and I wouldn't want you to give that up for me."

"I just wish we could have a life where we're not constantly under the public microscope."

"Then we'll find a way to make it work. We'll create our own story, one that is above the titles and the fame. [Y/n], I've just proposed to you tonight. I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't ready for everything it brings into my life."

They continued to enjoy the evening while the flickering flames in the fireplace cast a warm glow over the room. The world outside seemed distant.

In that moment it was just Charles and [Y/n], two people deeply in love. Not 'the princess and the Formule Ona driver'. Inside the walls of [Y/n]'s family's mansion, they were just normal people.

On the next day, as [Y/n] and Charles had woken up, the media was already filled with rumours about them. It seemed as if the whole world was talking about last night.

"I contacted my spokeswoman," [Y/n] announced to Charles as they sat down to breakfast. "Our engagement will be officially announced as soon as possible, apparently the statement has been ready for a few months now."

Charles couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle slip out of his mouth. "A few months? Were they predicting our engagement?"

[Y/n] joined in his laughter, shaking her head. "Oh, they're always prepared for anything."

"How did your parents react? Have you spoken to them?"

"Well, it'll be the time for you to meet them. I've been postponing it, but now we're engaged and it can't be avoided."

"I've been telling you I should meet them already. I don't want them to think it was me who didn't want to do it."

"I told them I didn't want to jinx it!"

"Well, I've been practicing my royal etiquette. It time to make a use out of it."

"You'll be just fine, Charles. Just be yourself." [Y/n] giggled. "You know, in their eyes you're one of the best candidates."

Formula One was important for Monaco and Monaco was important for Formula One, so when [Y/n]'s parents found out she's dating a driver, a monégasque one, they were very content.

Unfortunately, there were some issues the couple was about to face. Being engaged didn't bring any legal responsibilities, however once they get married, things could change.

[Y/n] and Charles landed in Monaco in a private jet chartered for them. They were greeted by a big crowd of people eager to know the whole story.

"We aren't supposed to give impromptu interviews." [Y/n] said quietly, walking down the stairs from the plane.

Charles, a few steps behind her, replied with a mischievous grin, "Why not? It would be fun. Spontaneity can be good for us."

As they stepped off the plane, they began to walk side by side. Charles offered his arm to [Y/n], who gracefully looped her hand around his forearm.

"My spokeswoman advised this to me." [Y/n] answered. What she didn't mention was that her spokeswoman was worried about Charles saying something inappropriate.

The couple continued their walk with smiles on their faces. [Y/n] occassionaly waved at someone. It was a bit windy that day and she was thankful for wearing a long dress that day, because it wasn't that easy to be lifted up by the wind.

Somehow, their attention was then captured by a friendly-looking journalist who approached with a warm smile. [Y/n] gestured to the bodyguard, who Charles thought was unnecessary, indicating that they were willing to engage in a brief conversation.

"Princess [Y/n], Mr. Leclerc, thank you for sparing a moment." The woman began, without even introducing herself. "The world is eager to hear more about your engagement. Everyone is curious how did you manage to keep the relationship a secret for so long."

Charles and [Y/n] exchanged a brief glance.

Then [Y/n] decided to speak. "We just valued our privacy and wanted to savor the moments without external pressures. We're grateful for the time we had to get to know each other and form a connection away from the spotlight."

The journalist continued with the next question. "And what made you decide to go public with the engagement now?"

"We literally got engaged last night." Charles admitted with a playful smile. "We planned to announce it a little later, but we were seen anyway, so thought why not."

"Many people are already speculating about the wedding. Can you give us any hints about when and where it might take place?"

[Y/n], maintaining a diplomatic demeanor, responded. "We're still in the early stages of planning. When we have the details, we'll share them with everyone."

The woman didn't seem satisfied with the princess' reply. She decided to shift her attention completely to Charles. "And, Charles, as you might know, people have been calling you the unofficial prince of Monaco for years and now you're about to marry into the royal family."

Charles, caught off guard by the unexpected question, scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Well, unofficial prince or not, I don't think anyone would want me leading official ceremonies. I'm more comfortable behind the wheel of a racing car than in any royal procession."

The journalist chuckled at his candid response, appreciating the touch of humor to the so far serious interview. [Y/n] smiled lightly, but deep down she was worried about how the public might perceive Charles's.

Noticing [Y/n]'s concern, Charles quickly added with a playful wink. "But who knows? Maybe I'll become the first prince who can pull off a pit stop during a royal banquet."

"One last question. Do you think there will be any changes in your career, induced the responsibilities that come with being part of a royal family? For example, princess [Y/n]'s grandmother had to leave her Hollywood dream."

"Marrying into the royal family is a bit like joining a new team, isn't it?" Charles joked, searching for a proper answer in his mind. "But seriously, I don't see myself giving up my racing career. It's my passion and I'm lucky to have the support of [Y/n] and her family in pursuing it."

[Y/n] decided to chime in. "It's a unique situation and we'll try to find the balance between Charles' racing career and any new royal responsibilities."

Charles and [Y/n], having left the interview behind, found the car that was supposed to take them straight to [Y/n]'s parents' palace. Charles opened the door for [Y/n] and soon after that the both of them were sitting in the back of the car.

The car moved smoothly through the small city and thankfully the windows in the back were darkened, so that the couple could feel more comfortable. Charles couldn't ignore the quiet need for the driver's seat. The engine's sound and the familiarity of the steering wheel, and the city outside the vehicle, held a certain comfort that the backseat couldn't quite provide.

He stole a glance at [Y/n], her hand still intertwined with his. "You know, love, I can't stop thinking about how much I'd rather be driving right now. No offense to our chauffeur, of course."

The man in the driver's seat took a glance at Charles through the rearview mirror, smiling sympathetically.

[Y/n], with a smile, leaned closer to Charles. "I know, I know, but this way it's more official. You'll have opportunities to be the driver."

The chauffeur, overhearing their banter, chimed in. "I'd be happy to trade places with you, Mr. Leclerc, but I doubt the palace would approve."

Being reffered to as 'Mr. Leclerc' was another thing Charles had to get used to. For most of the time to people, to fans , journalists and others he was just Charles. Or Leclerc. And now people began to put 'mister' in front of his name.

The trio shared a light laugh as the car came to a stop in front of [Y/n]'s parents' palace. After stepping out of the vehicle, Charles and [Y/n] approached the entrance of the building and the man could feel some stress appearing in his body.

He wasn't stressing before at all. But now the reality of the situation hit him with full force. He was meeting his future wife's parents. Not only this, but also they were royalty.

Holy shit, Charles was about to marry into royalty.

The couple was holding hands, so [Y/n] could feel Charles' hand starting to lightly shake.

"I told you, you have nothing to worry about." [Y/n] assured, trying to calm his nerves.

"Easy to say," Charles said, a hint of anxiety in his voice, "your parents are, like, the most important people in Monaco."

"And? You as well. Fans have been referring to you as the prince of Monaco for years, think about it this way."

The palace doors opened, revealing a grand foyer. The couple stepped inside, entering a world of regality. It was this moment when Charles realized how real it all was. The anxiety lingered, but he found a remedy for it in [Y/n]'s presence.

The couple was walked into the drawing room. Charles glanced at [Y/n], who gave him an encouraging smile, and for a moment it was just the two of them. Not for long, however. Their little moment was interrupted by the arrival of [Y/n]'s parents.

"Mother, father," [Y/n] gracefully curtsied.

"Your majesties, it's an honor." Charles greeted, bowing his head.

By the time [Y/n] came back from her curtsy and Charles looked up, [Y/f/n] was extending his arm towards the man, offering a handshake. Charles respectufully accepted the gesture.

As their hands met, Charles decided to introduce himself. "Charles Leclerc," he said, being cut off before he could say more.

"Our national treasure, indeed. We're well acquainted with your accomplishments."

The room echoed with a shared laughter, breaking the ice and setting the tone for a lighter conversation. It was something that eased Charles' nerves. Of course, he still had to follow the etiquette, but [Y/f/n]'s remark made the situation feel less formal. After all, royalty is people as well.

The conversation smoothly continued as both the couples sat down on the elegant, antique sofas.

"And how did you two figure out 'this is it'?" [Y/m/n] inquired with a playful twinkle in her eye. "I don't think you've told me this story, [Y/n]."

"Of course, it started when we met at the race in Monaco a few years ago." [Y/n] smiled at the memory.

It was the first Monaco Grand Prix that [Y/n] attended, four years ago. Accompanied by friends, [Y/n] made a casual appearance in the paddock for media purposes, not initially a fan of Formula One. However, that day changed everything.

Their eyes met for seconds, but it was enough for Charles to get enchanted by [Y/n]. Her smile, her eyes, the way she moved so gracefully. They met again the same day after the race, when [Y/n] took her time to pay a visit into every garage.

"Mate, I'm telling you, shoot your shot." Sebastian encouraged his teammate. "Everyone on the grid can see the way you look at each other."

"Are you kidding?" Charles refused. "She's royalty. What would I even say?"

"Come on, you're not just anyone. You're Charles Leclerc. I'm sure she wouldn't refuse a date."

Charles couldn't help but chuckle at Sebastian's persistence. "Seb, she's a princess. I can't just approach her like it's not a big deal."

"It is not a big deal, though!"

"What if I make a fool out of myself?"

And so, the worries won that time. Charles, scared of embarrassing himself, barely made any conversation with the princess when she approached the Ferrari garage.

He waited a year, because a princess is not someome you can just hit up on social media. He waited a year, hoping she will visit the paddock again. She did, but unfortunately with a man. She was in a relationship with a prince, exactly the way royalty works.

Discouraged, Charles decided to give up on her, eventually finding himself in a relationship with someone else as well. The irony struck him when [Y/n] was single again a year later. Of course, he couldn't make any move, being in a relationship himself.

Maybe if he was single at the time, he would have finally found the courage to have a private conversation with the princess. He felt as if he missed out and he hated himself for having these thoughts.

One more year had passed and eventually the both of them found themselves single by the time of the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles didn't hold back and this time started a conversation with the princess.

"Your royal highness," he greeted, "fancy meeting you here again. Although you do seem lonely."

It was a fact. [Y/n] indeed came to the Grand Prix alone that year. Without a boyfriend, obviously due to the breakup, and also without her friends.

"Well, you've caught me," [Y/n] chuckled, "attenting the Grand Prix by my lonesome. I must admit, the prince was never a fan."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"He was an average insecure man. According to him, I am a fan just because you drivers are physically attractive." [Y/n] stopped herself from smiling after that sentence. After all, there was a bit of truth in this in her case.

"Well, aren't we?" Charles opted for a cheeky question.

"Touché." The smile creeped up onto the princess' face by itself. "I suppose there's some truth to his observations."

"And what exactly would a princess like yourself do in the case of getting asked for a deliberate encounter?"

"Are you suggesting something?" [Y/n]'s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.

"Yes, what do you say to a more intentional rendezvous, perhaps over dinner?"

[Y/n]'s smile widened, and she nodded. "Hmm, that sounds like a rather bold move. But I must admit, I appreciate boldness. Dinner it is."

And that was basically how their romance unfolded. Both [Y/n] and Charles were grateful for the way the events played out. Charles found in [Y/n] not just a princess but a person in whom he could find solace and support, and [Y/n] discovered in Charles a partner who liked her for more than her royal status.

The engagement, announced under unexpected circumstances, only strenghtened their commitment to each other. Not a long time after, the day of their wedding came.

The ceremony took place in the Saint Nicholas Cathedral and was attended by, first and foremost, the families of both the bride and the groom, by other members of royalty, and also by Charles' fellow drivers, principals of the teams, a lot of people related to Charles' 'workplace' in general.

[Y/n] walked down the aisle, holding the arm of her father. The moment important in the royal tradition. Charles, waiting at the altar, couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his soon-to-be wife. Her white dress highlighted her grace, making Charles question if he's actually worthy of being her husband.

The vows they exchanged were personal and heartfelt, expressing their love, talking about their past, including a promise to grow old together.

The reception was held at the palace. The couple danced their first dance as husband and wife, surrounded by the music of a live orchestra. A bit later, it was the time to socialize with the guests.

"You did end up as the prince of Monaco, after all." Charles' friend, Pierre, joked, recalling the nickname made up by fans.

Charles chuckled at Pierre's comment. "The people have manifested it. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Esteban joined the laughter, adding with a grin, "Should we start addressing you as your royal highness now?"

The groom playfully rolled his eyes. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm still the same old Charles, just with a fancy title."

In the same moment the groom was having a chat with his friends, [Y/n] made her way toward his younger brother, Arthur, who served as the best man at the wedding.

"Princess [Y/n]!" Arthur said, raising his glass in a greeting. "Quite the celebration, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed," [Y/n] replied, smiling, "and your speech made it even better."

"Thank you, I tried my best. It was my first time and the huge amount of guests didn't make it better."

"You did wonderful regardless." She paused. "And, by the way, there's no need for formalities, we're family now. Call me just [Y/n]."

"Deal, [Y/n]," he clinked his glass with hers, "and, if Charles ever does anything to upset you, let me know. I'll try to put him in his place. He is really lucky to have you."

"Hopefully I'll never have to take you up on that offer," she giggled.

"I have a feeling you two are going to have an amazing life together."

The night continued with celebrations, toasts, music inside the walls of the enchanting palace. The newlyweds were happy to share this moment with all the people they had invited.

A few hours into the celebration, so late at night it could be as well called morning, [Y/n] and Charles found themselves swaying to a slow song.

"How are you enjoying the celebration, my prince?" [Y/n] whispered, audibly just for her husband.

Charles' smile reflected the happiness in his heart. "I couldn't have asked for more. One of my biggest dreams came true."

"One of them? What are the other big ones?"

"Becoming the world champion." He chuckled. "Do you even know me at all?"

[Y/n] playfully rolled her eyes. "I was hoping for some more romantic goal."

"I didn't say I'd trade you for the championship, did I?"

"I know you wouldn't." She paused. "One step at a time, Charlie. You'll be the first prince to win it."

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine

[rinniessance]

BEST FRIEND'S GIRL ༊*·˚ - suguru geto x f!reader

nothing has ever been tempting enough for suguru geto to stab his best friend in the back - until you.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ non-curse au. cheating, kind of manipulation, kind of dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, so so many pet names and name calling (calls you slut once), choking, dacraphyllia, spit, overstimulation, he doesn't pull out when you ask. satoru is toxic and suguru is a creep and a very bad friend in this one ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ // word count: 5.6k ꒱ ꒰ notes: i am christening my new blog with this piece of absolute filth .ᐟ.ᐟ ꒱

being satoru gojo’s best friend is easy, it always has been. ever since suguru and satoru met in the elementary school, they've been inseparable, joint at the hip whenever they went. at times, no words needed to be exchanged between the two, a glance was enough for the duo to understand one another without missing a beat. and they always shared everything (and by everything, suguru truly means everything – his camera roll is a sin to be discovered) – that, until you came along.

geto remembers clear as day when gojo introduced you as his new girlfriend – he had to make sure he read the message he received correctly because when does satoru ever start a relationship without mentioning it to him before anyone else? suguru scoffs at his phone screen when he reads a text from gojo that he’s bringing “his new girl” to the party. “i think this one is special” reads his next message, and suguru laughs darkly. how many satoru’s special girls has he met already?

but when he sees you for the first time, oh when he sees you, all pieces of the puzzle come together. all of a sudden, satoru’s decision to keep you all to himself until he absolutely had to reveal you to the world makes perfect sense.

suguru thinks he’s never met as anyone as bewitching as you are, you have captivated him whole. the very moment your big doe eyes turned into tiny crescent moons when you smiled at him and extended your hand for a greeting is forever stitched into his brain, weaved into the crevices of his mind: it’s the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last memory he replays before he goes to sleep. even when geto slips into the realm of morpheus, his dreams are still full of you. damn your strawberry lipgloss, your citrus scented perfume and your tiny pink dresses that leave so little to imagination. the pants suguru has to wear when he knows satoru’s bringing you along are getting wider and wider – to his embarrassment, it’s getting extremely difficult to hide his boner whenever you (unintentionally) bat your eyelashes at him.

(he had to jerk himself off in gojo’s bathroom once when he came over for a movie night – you were wearing your boyfriend’s t-shirt and he couldn’t stop imagining what his clothes would look like on your body. that thought alone was almost enough to making him cum.)

thoughts of you torment his every waking moment – he checks your instagram every hour for any updates and stalks your old posts in the hopes he will dream of your angelic face again; he makes plans with satoru under the pretense he is bored and has nothing better to do just to shamelessly gawk at you the whole time; and he feels like he hits the jackpot every time you laugh at his stupid jokes.

once in a while, the realization that he’s down bad for his best friend’s girlfriend hits him like a tidal wave – he can feel it coming, see the rising signs of the shame foaming up somewhere deep in the darkest corners of the ocean that is his heart. and when it finally washes over him, he feels himself drowning in the whirlpool of emotions he is usually too tired to deal with.

suguru knows exactly what you see in satoru – of course he does. his best friend is handsome, rich, popular; despite what others might say, he is a great conversationalist, and he will never give you a chance to get bored of him. geto is sure his best friend only showed his best parts when you started dating – that is why he is twice delighted when you get to experience the withdrawal symptoms as a result of satoru gojo’s absence. geto knows this game by heart – satoru gets a girl hooked, spoils her with attention and then suddenly becomes withdrawn. “it intensifies the feelings”, he usually says. special girl his ass. geto doesn’t complain though. instead, he works on an opportunity to create a rift between you two because he knows he can treat you so much better.

suguru gives you his number (“just in case you ever need to know where satoru is”), and casually starts texting you from time to time. it’s always simple topics: asking if you’ve heard back from satoru, saying he hasn’t been responding to geto’s texts (when he knows perfectly well he spoke with the white haired man that morning); wondering if the two of you have any plans later this week (he knows you don’t – his best friend has been on a successful streak of being hot and cold with you for the past couple of weeks); making sure everything’s okay between you two. he puts invisible effort into appearing to you as a concerned friend, and it pays off when you finally start texting him first. geto doesn’t know if it’s out of loneliness or sheer desperation – what he knows is that he is one step closer to tasting what satoru has been too dumb to properly treasure all this time.

you call suguru out of the blue on a saturday night. him and satoru decided to throw a party, and he is currently smoking his second cigarette, trying not to stare too much at the back of his best friend’s head while he is flirting with a girl he is sure to forget ten minutes later. why does gojo even bother when he has you waiting for him at home? geto looks at your display name in a slight surprise – the two of you have been getting closer but this is the first time you called.

“hello?”

“hi suguru… uhm…” he hears a quite sniffle on the other end of the phone line. you have been crying. “sorry to bother you but would you happen to know where satoru is? he has not been answering my calls and texts, and i am just getting worried.”

of course he knows where his best friend is – not even 4 feet away from him, having the time of his life. but geto chases the opportunity when he sees one, and he realizes this might be the chance he’s been waiting for.

“no, i don’t, i’m sorry. but if you’d like, i can come over and we can wait for him? if you’re feeling up to having some company.”

the silence ensues, and suguru thinks that maybe he overestimated the level of comfort you feel with him. he is about to apologize when you softly speak up again.

“yeah, i think i’d like that.”

“okay, i’ll be there in 30.”

he gives satoru a quick excuse as to why he has to leave – white-haired man doesn’t even blink an eye and just yells at him to be safe. but safe is the last thing he is planning to be today. suguru has never wished for the ability to teleport more than he did now because driving to your place takes entirely too long. but, as promised, he is finally standing in front of your door 30 minutes later. his hands are shaking from the adrenaline when he knocks – your ethereal features bless him mere seconds later.

“hi,” you whisper almost breathlessly.

“hello again,” geto responds, and you shuffle to the side to let him inside. he’s been to your house before, namely for the horror movie nights where he can pretend he is sitting too close to you entirely for platonic reasons, in the “this movie is so scary i need to hold someone” type of way. yet, it feels completely different when your boyfriend is not here.

“thank you for coming. i hope i didn’t distract you from anything important but…” he can see the beads of tears pool in the corner of your eyes, and fuck, he would be lying if he said his pants didn’t feel too tight for this situation. oh how he would like to make you cry for entirely different reasons, “satoru has not been responding to me and it’s getting a little too much to bear. as his friend, i appreciate your company.”

“anytime,” suguru breathes out – his brain is short circuiting and he is unable to string more than two words together. however, you don’t notice his slipping composure as you walk back to your couch and extend geto an invitation to sit beside you.

the silence only stretches for a few seconds as you press play on some movie. raven-haired man was about to say something to break the silence but stops his word vomit when he hears your soft sniffling. suguru decides this opportunity will not present itself again – he wordlessly opens his arms and gestures you to come for a hug. you seem unsure at first but then giggle quietly and carefully curl yourself into him.

geto has never been this close to you before – he can smell the scent of your shampoo; he can feel the softness of your hair and the smoothness of your skin where he is able to touch you; he can soak in the warmth your body is offering him right now. and all of that because satoru thinks he is too good to lose all of this.

“you know,” geto slowly starts, “maybe if he makes you feel this way, he is not a very good boyfriend.”

suguru knows he is playing with fire – but he would be a fool to not at least try.

“it’s not always too bad,” you respond back. there is an apprehension in your voice, doubt, maybe even little bit of fear. he knows this script by heart: you, pretending like nothing’s wrong by trying to concentrate on all the good memories gojo gifted you with, and him, always sealing the arguments with iron-hot kisses.

“yeah, i know. but don’t you think him making you feel this way is shitty enough? even if it only happened once, isn’t it already one time too many?”

“but he treats me so well,” you try to fight back and move to look him straight in the eyes. oh, that was a mistake asyour glossy doe eyes hold the beauty all the poets sing about. what was that saying? face that launched a thousand ships? yeah, he would willingly go to war for you. next words escape him before he can put a stop to his endless stream of thoughts.

“i can treat you so much better.”

he can see you gasp in surprise, making the most adorable face he’s ever seen. geto doesn’t want to hear what you have to say back – he is moving on instinct, animalistic hunger re-wiring his every nerve – so he kisses you, hard and breathtakingly, like he dreamed of ever since he first laid eyes on you.

you are startled, eyes as wide as two full moons, and you try to push himself off but he is persistent. suguru feels your hands curling into his t-shirt, and you cannot stop the moan slipping past your lips.

“you don’t have to be shy with me. it seems satoru has been neglecting you awfully a lot recently, wouldn’t you let me take care of you?”

“we s-shouldn’t be doing this, suguru. it’s wrong.”

“what’s wrong, sinful even, is to leave a pretty girl like you all alone. let me show you how you should be loved.”

before you can respond, suguru is sliding his hand down your shorts and feels your throbbing heat through the panties. you are not wet enough yet but geto knows he can change it very quickly.

“tell me, princess, when was the last time satoru fucked you? or better one, when was the last time satoru fucked you and made you cum?” suguru cups your sex through your clothes and grinds his palm on your clit. the mewl it earns him from you feels almost like honey on a sore throat – he swears it sounds almost divine.

“yeah, you like that, sweet thing?” he asks you, and you’re too embarrassed to say anything so you just shake your head. as your body starts feeling good, you stop caring how wrong it is: you cannot deny you’ve missed being treated like you’re the only one that matters. “you know, i don’t understand satoru. if you were mine, i would keep you under me the whole day. fuck you into this couch until i am the only one on your mind, and then make you cum again and again on my tongue and my fingers. would you like that, princess?”

geto’s honeycomb words make you lose any last reservations you’ve had about this whole affair. his fingers keep massaging your pearly bud – it’s been left without attention for way too long for your own comfort, and your own fingers do not bring you the same level of satisfaction as you got used to with satoru. so you kiss geto again, and climb on top of him, everything else be damned.

suguru kisses you back with a ferociousness of a starved beast – it’s messy and it’s loud, teeth clanking, wet sounds of your mouths moving in rhythm bouncing between the two of you, moans exchanged and swallowed. he is biting on your lip, hands squeezing your hips harshly – you’re sure you will see bruises there tomorrow – making you grind on him. you can feel the growing tent in his cargo pants, and that makes you feverishly hot.

“i will make you cum three times tonight, princess. first, you’ll do it on my tongue, second, on my fingers, and finally, i’ll let you cream around my cock. how does that sound?”

you want to respond back, say something, but words fail you for the -nth time today, the only sounds escaping you are loud moans, borderline on pathetic. suguru takes that as a confirmation and flips you into a position under him, your lips slightly swollen and eyes glistening with the previous tears. god, he cannot wait to make you cry for an entirely different reason.

he starts by capturing your lips with his again, rough movements of his tongue against yours. how many times has he lost himself in a daydream while you were around, watching you lick your lips clean, pink tongue darting out to wipe away any food? geto deepens the kiss and cannot stop the whine rushing out past his lips, immediately swallowed by you.

suguru does not want to pull away but there is something else he is dying to taste. his lips move lower, grazing the side of your sensitive neck – involuntarily, your hips jerks upward, your aching core starting to look for any relief, when he brushes past that spot in the dip of your neck igniting your nerves. you don’t try to stop yourselves from letting geto know exactly how he makes you feel. he keeps moving lower, removing your shirt and caressing the tender skin of your boobs, and then takes one of your nipples into his mouth, circling his tongue around the perky nub dying for his attention. closing your eyes and throwing your head back, you revel in this feeling of body worship. your wanton moans become louder, and geto’s cock becomes even harder when he sees the look of absolute bliss on your face. his unoccupied hand goes to play with the other nipple, gently twisting it between his digits, pinching it just enough to spike your pleasure with pain.

your shorts are gone next, together with your light-blue panties that suguru removes in one swift motion. you are sprawled out naked on your couch in front of your boyfriend’s best friend – yet you fail to feel any shame. geto spreads your legs wider and is delighted to discover the prettiest view in the house: your glistening pussy all wet and ready for him.

“huh, what is it?” he swipes between your folds, spreading your slick all the way to the clit begging to be touched, “little cute slut only needed couple of kisses to get this wet? did satoru really neglect his little princess this much?”

“p-please… ah… don’t mention his name while we do this,” you say, eyes still closed, geto’s digits continuing playing around your pearl, not giving you the full stimulation yet.

“do what, pretty face? fuck? i am about to eat your cunt but you’re too shy to even say it out loud?” suguru laughs, almost patronizingly, and slaps your clit with his hand, earning a surprised gasp from you. you hide your face in your hands, or at least try to, but geto has other ideas. “uh-uh, no, you cannot hide from me. open your eyes, i want you to keep looking, doll.”

geto leans closer to your throbbing clit and spits – your view is obscene, yet you’re unable to look away. even as he languidly swipes his tongue between your spread folds and flicks it around your nub, you keep your eyes opened. your hands grab his hair, and geto grunts but doesn’t stop you. he keeps drawing slow circles around your clit, and you can feel the coil in your tummy starting to tighten. you would be embarrassed at how fast he is getting you to your orgasm, yet you fail to care.

suguru wants to insert a finger but he promised he would make you cum with his tongue alone. long flicks of his tongue along your inner lips drive you insane, slurping sounding so filthy, you might need to move places now – and when geto sucks on your pearl, suctioning his lips just at the right spot, he is bringing you closer and closer to the peak of the ecstasy you’ve been craving. his hands are hot to the touch as they grab your hips with almost punishing force, pushing you even closer to his face.

just as you thought this was enough to light your whole being on fire, geto starts pumping his tongue in and out of you, sloshing sounds echoing in your ears, making you burn hot. suguru is alternating between giving your pretty clit attention, tracing his tongue along your lips, and sucking on nerve bundle that sends sparks to your pleasure receptors, making you burn all that hotter. flatting out the tongue, suguru is running it over your clit and labia, before pumping the tip of it back into your wanting hole.

your moaning becomes louder and louder, grip on geto’s hair almost painful now but he doesn’t mind. looking back up at you, he meets your gaze – and can’t help but praise you for how good you’ve been to him.

“my cute bunny actually listened to me, huh? keeping your pretty eyes on me while i eat you out like this? i bet you enjoy the view.”

and you do, of course you do. the orgasm is imminent now as geto speeds up his movement, licking up and down. your breathing accelerates and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of your pleasure – until geto pushes you over. it doesn’t take much longer for you to cum, juices dripping out of you and down his tongue. suguru is drinking up every last drop, not daring to spill his very own elixir of life.

“fu-uuck, it feels so good,” you cry out as he keeps tongue fucking you through your orgasm, your thighs trying to close around his head to escape the ongoing assault on your poor cunt, but suguru’s iron grip doesn’t falter. you whine and try to push his head away, body starting to shake with overstimulation, but geto is determined – he sucks on your clit again and you yelp, seeing stars. he finally relents and gets up from his knees, kissing you again. you taste yourself on his lips, and you feel the arousal climbing up again.

“thank you for the best meal of my life. that was one, yeah?”

he doesn’t give you time to respond before he is caging your smaller body, one hand moving to the nape of your neck to bring you even closer while other teases your entrance. you try not to seem too desperate, hugging suguru around his shoulders and bucking your hips into him. geto chuckles darkly, licking your lips and gently massaging the nape of your neck while his digits explore where his tongue already paved the way.

the first flick of his digits on your clit is embarrassingly enough to start lighting up your nerve endings again – a hot feeling, something akin to a molten lava, spreads across your skin, sending the goosebumps running wild. you concentrate on geto’s face, so close to yours, and you are tempted to kiss him again. but he is moving away when you try to chase him, and the prettiest, most adorable pout is dancing on your lips. it makes him want to ruin you.

geto inserts the first finger without any warning, and you’re tearing up from the sudden intrusion – you’re lost in the mix of pain and pleasure that you don’t notice the beads of tears escaping the corners of your eyes. suguru leans close and runs his tongue over salty trails, cleaning you up.

“shhh, it’s only one finger. it’s not your limit, is it? i have so much more to offer.”

geto pushes in the second finger, and you have to grab onto his shoulders. you’re curving your spine into him, trying to guide his fingers to touch that special spongy spot inside your tight, hot hole. suguru’s fingers are slender and long – fingers that should belong to a pianist or a guitarist. and you are no musical instrument, but fuck, you would be lying if geto didn’t know how to play you without missing a beat.

“sug-suguru…” you say thought a whiny hiccup, “i want you to move.”

“yeah? you want me to fuck you with my fingers? on the same couch where you and satoru probably did the same thing?”

mention of your boyfriend’s name sends a wave of shame through you, and geto is quick to notice. before your brain can process the feelings of guilt, he starts pumping his digits in and out of you while drawing tight circles on your sensitive nub. still recovering from your previous orgasm, your body is sent into overdrive, accelerating into ecstasy in no time. if this is wrong, then why does it feel so good?

the squelching sounds your pussy makes around his fingers makes your cheeks heat up, blush kissing your face in a way only suguru should be allowed to do. this time, you close your eyes and tilt your head back, losing yourself to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure spreading throughout your every nerve. geto’s hand comes to tighten around your body, and the sudden cut of airflow is intensifying everything tenfold.

your body starts panicking when blood stops receiving necessary oxygen but the pleasure signals in your brain are setting off like fireworks. geto is pistoning his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt while squeezing his hand around your neck just a little bit tighter. breathless moans are escaping you as your body fights for more oxygen, not able to decide whether the line between pain and pleasure is blurring fast enough. suguru is curling his digits inside you and oh! eureka! he touches that sweet spot making white spots to dance across your vision.

“yeah, that’s it. you’re being such a good girl for me,” geto says above you but his voice is coming through a vacuum – the ringing in your ears becomes louder as your tummy is tightening up again. your mouth hangs open, a ribbon of drool dripping down your chin, and suguru thinks he’s never seen anything sexier. keeping his rhythm, he rubs your clit again, earning a broken moan from you.

geto feels your pussy tightening around his fingers, and he growls imagining his cock stretching your pretty cunt instead. he keeps pushing them in and out, massaging your nub with perfect pressure, squeezing your neck just tight enough, and mere second later, you’re cumming again. a broken moan that turns into a sob is everything you’re able to let out – suguru thinks you look so damn cute, he wants to take a picture. his phone is forgotten somewhere on the couch so instead, he commits to memory every single sound and facial expression.

he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, again, and you try to push at his hand to stop.

“no, common, i know you can do better than this. keep it coming, yeah?” geto says with a smirk, and takes both your wrists into his hand, keeping them close to his chest. you cannot do anything but sob as the waves of pleasure keeps crashing against your shores, leaving you to fend for yourself through the aftershocks of ecstasy. sweat is running between your boobs, down the sides of your face – you’re glistening all over, and suguru swears that’s what a goddess would look like.

“g-geto… please… i can’t take it anymore…”

“geto, huh? i thought we were on the first-name basis now.”

“i’m sorry…” hiccup “it’s just so hard to think…” hiccup.

“aw, i haven’t even made you cum around my cock yet and you’re already fucked out dumb? poor little angel.” you know he is mocking but fuck, why does it feel so good?

geto finally relents when you bit your lips a little too harsh and takes his fingers out of you. he brings them to your lips, and you suck on the digits without any further instructions.

“such a good fucking girl. open your mouth wider for me,” you do as he says, and suguru spits inside. “now, swallow.”

again, you follow his command without any deliberation and then open your mouth to show you’ve done it. geto chuckles and very gently slaps your cheek.

“that was two.”

you whine, thinking if you had to cum one more time, you might actually pass out. you try to pout, and tug at the hem of his t-shirt. “i don’t think i can cum again, suguru.”

“nuh-uh, i told you i’ll make you cum three times, and i will. now come on, be good for me and turn around.”

“i want you to take off your clothes.” your simple request takes him by surprise, but he obliges immediately. his t-shirt is gone first, then cargo pants follow. you trail your eyes down and your mouth forms a perfect little “o” when you see the tent formed in his boxer briefs – geto mentally takes a picture of this moment – and you are left almost speechless.

“it’s not going to fit.”

“i’ll make it fit.”

you don’t dare to look away when suguru starts to pull his underwear down, and your suspicions are correct – he is big, maybe even too big for you. not as long as satoru’s but he is thicker, curvier. angry red tip already leaking with pre-cum, and you want to run your tongue along his slit.

“are you drooling looking at my cock?” geto chuckles, and you turn your gaze away in embarrassment. “aw, ‘m sorry, princess. let me give you something else to drool for.”

geto comes close and grabs you by your hips, moving you around. your forearms land on the back of the couch, and you can feel the heat of suguru’s chest against your back, his heavy cock slapping your thigh.

“you’re so fucking pretty, i can’t get enough of you,” geto sounds out of breath, burying his face in your hair and inhaling your sex-soaked scent. he wraps his hand around your waist while pumping his dick with the other. he spreads his pre-cum along his length, finally guiding himself to your waiting cunt.

the stretch is painful – even with all the prep suguru has done, it’s not enough for your tight little pussy to take him in comfortably. geto doesn’t give you time to adjust and pushes himself all the way in, until his balls slap against you. you squeeze your eyes, and little snowflakes of tears run down your cheeks, and your tongue darts out to taste the salty evidence. geto is moving his hips now, dragging his thick length in and out of you. your pussy is clenching every time he pushes against your needy spot, veins on his cock massaging your walls, helping you climb towards your climax again.

suguru grabs you by the jaw and turns your face towards him, losing no time ravishing your lips with his again. they are swollen – he could see how red they are – yet the kiss is hungry, as if geto’s appetite has not been satiated. he is so concentrated on kissing you, he loses his rhythm, and his dick slips out, making both of you whine in displeasure.

“please, give it back,” you mewl into him, and suguru’s losing himself in you – he is losing himself to you. so he gives it back, of course he does, thrusting his cock to the hilt, mushroom tip kissing your cervix. when geto sets a bruising pace, pistoning his hips with the punishing rhythm, you can do nothing but hold onto his forearm – he is the only thing tethering you to earth now, gravity has no hold on a force that is geto.

his slender digits start massaging your abused clit, and you can feel your toes curling again. he fucks into you fast and steady, and lewd sounds of his hips smashing into yours bounce around the four walls – the cacophony of squelching sounds your greedy cunt makes when it sucks geto’s cock fully and readily mixed with your wanton moans create the sex-induced symphony suguru never wants to forget.

you are completely lost to the storm that is suguru geto. he is everywhere, it’s all so much: his hand around your tit, squeezing the soft mound; his middle finger on your clit, drawing the perfect circles with purpose; his mouth on yours, tongue exploring the secrets between your teeth; and his cock being dragged in and out of your crying hole. suguru geto is all encompassing, and you can’t get enough.

geto pinches your nipple, and you jump in surprise while your pussy grips him even tighter. he keeps twirling your nub between his fingers while his mouth moves behind your ear, sucking the little sensitive spot that makes you shiver. soft pad of his middle finger is still playing with your clit, and every single feeling is becoming increasingly overwhelming. you can feel the sweat trickle down your spine and white spots dance across your vision as his curved cock kisses just the right spot somewhere deep inside you.

you think you are on fire – everything feels feverish and suguru’s body heat surrounds you like steaky sauna air. tingling in your fingertips and all the way down in your toes intensifies, and you further dig your nails into geto’s forearm. he growls in your ear but doesn’t stop; he continues fucking you in the earnest, like it’s his life-long mission to bring you as much pleasure as humanly possible.

geto’s forehead is pressed against the back of your head, and he can feel his composure slipping – he has been edging himself for a while now, trying to make you cum with him but it slowly becomes all too much. he starts blabbering into your ear, hoping his filthy words will finally bring you over the edge.

“common, pretty thing, i want you creaming all over my cock. i want you to cum with me, can you do it for me, kitten?”

his words reverberate in every crevice of your mind, and your last orgasm washes over you like tsunami. your body is shaking against geto, tears and drool running down the sides of your face and mouth; your vision goes black and you struggle to breathe for a moment. your brain is connecting nerves usually left untouched as climax waves rush over you, making you twitch in the man’s hold. you’re crying and moaning his name – he is the divine presence you need right now, the only god that’s worth worshipping. you’re on the verge of completely losing yourself to pleasure as you think you’re going to faint but suguru’s voice grounds you back.

“shhhh, common, we’re not done yet. milk my cock, gorgeous.”

“no, suguru, i’m not on birth control, you have to pull out.”

“that’s okay, i’ll get you plan b tomorrow. or maybe even better, babytrap you so you have no reason to come back to satoru, hm? how about that?”

“nn-no, please…” but before you can finish your sentence, you hear suguru groan and you can feel him cumming inside. you want to be mad but the overwhelming ecstasy he keeps taking you through is overshadowing every rational thought in your head now. you cannot hold yourself anymore, has not been able to do so for the past 10 minutes, so you helplessly hang onto geto’s forearm while he fucks his cum back into you.

when he finally slows down and pulls out, the two of you are a mess – the room smells of sex and something akin to guilt, but you don’t let yourself linger on it for two long. he gives you a final kiss, gently massaging the nape of your back, guiding you to lie down. you’re unable to stay awake as suguru walks back to your kitchen to grab you a glass of water, passing out on the couch before he even comes back. he smirks, looking down at your figure, and runs his fingers through your hair, hoping your head is only filled with the thoughts of him.

“that was three.”

© rinniessance do not steal, plagiarize or translate my works. do not recommend me on tiktok, thank you

#꒰ྀི penned by ange ꒱ྀི #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you #suguru geto x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you

[bastardmandennis]

i can see you (teacher!joel x fem teacher!reader)

Teacher!joel x fem teacher!reader

Summary: You’re a substitute teacher trying to find your classroom for the day. Joel is a high school teacher who mistakes you for a student, and after school shenanigans ensue.

“You’re a…” “Substitute,” you finish. Joel crosses his arms against his chest, clearly embarrassed at the mishap. “Well,” he grumbles, “why didn’t ya say anything before?”

Warnings: SMUT!! NSFW, age gap (reader is mid-20s, Joel is Joel), grinding, fingering, sass, oral sex (m receiving), …yeah. pls let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.6k (idk idk idk)

A/N: yeah i…don’t even know what happened. The spirit of speak now tv possessed me (specifically the sexy vibes of “i can see you,” which this fic is obviously named after). so, yeah. pls like/comment/reblog if you liked this and maybe i’ll write more! hope y'all enjoy teacher joel as much as i do 🙂

Read my neighbor!joel fic here

The bell rings, echoing shrilly through the packed hallway. Students push and move all around you, nearly knocking your messenger back off your shoulder.

You huff and push the strap back up. The hallway is nearly empty now, students funneling themselves into different classrooms. So much for asking someone for directions. This school is massive and disorienting. You weren’t even supposed to be here, but after a last minute call from your friend Laura, a high school geometry teacher, you’d dragged yourself here to watch her classes for the afternoon. Not like you could afford to be picky, job wise. 

If you could only find it. You peer at the directions the ancient secretary had written down for you and give up trying to decipher her looping scrawl. The hallway is a dead zone now and as you scurry to the end of the hallway, you almost miss the man leaning against the wall. His arm shoots out to block you from moving up the stairs. You look up, relieved to find someone to direct you, when he speaks.

“You got a hall pass?”

A–huh? He’s not smiling, his arms crossed over his chest, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his tan forearms, but surely he’s joking. Right?

“Hall pass, right,” you snort. “Sure. I’m actually just heading up to Ms. Sim–”

“That’s fine. Come with me,” he says. He peels himself off the wall and stalks the opposite way down the hall, not looking to see if you’re following. A student slams his locker and calls out “Hey, Mr. Miller!” The man—Mr. Miller, apparently—raises a hand in acknowledgement but doesn’t slow his pace.

You hitch your bag up again and try to keep up with his long strides. Damn, he’s fast. “Oh, thank you! I think I got all turned around back there…”

Your voice trails off as you enter a classroom. Instead of 25 bored looking teenagers waiting for you, the room is completely empty. A shelf in the corner is crammed with books, spilling out onto the little area rug in front. You turn and a poster of Shakespeare hanging crookedly seems to follow your movements. There’s Christmas lights strung up around the room and a variety of throw pillows laying haphazardly on the ground. This definitely isn’t a math room. 

“Wha–” you start.

And immediately shut up at the sight before you. The man–Mr. Miller–is bent over the front of the teacher’s desk, scribbling furiously on a pad of paper. His dark jeans stretch over his ass. You can’t look away. He abruptly stands and turns to face you, perching against the edge of the desk. Does he ever stand up straight? you wonder.

He raises an eyebrow when you don’t move. Holds the piece of paper in his outstretched hand. You want to trace the veins sticking out and quickly push that thought away.

“I sure hope your directions are more legible than Sandra’s,” you laugh and step closer, reaching for the paper. Kind of weird that he’d rather take the time to write it down for you than just tell you, or bring you there, but whatever. 

He holds the paper up, out of your reach. “What directions?”

You huff. “To Laura’s room. Ms. Simons, eleventh grade geometry?” you say slowly. His eyebrows furrow and his arm lowers in confusion. Your fingers brush his when you grab the paper and you ignore the spark that shudders through you.

What the–a detention slip? Signed by Joel Miller, the man standing in front of you. Who looks as confused as you feel. Oh my god, he really thought you were a student. A snort makes its way out and you quickly cover it with a cough.

“You’re a…”

“Substitute,” you finish. Joel crosses his arms against his chest, clearly embarrassed at the mishap.

“Well,” he grumbles, “why didn’t ya say anything before?”

The nerve of this guy. 

“I would have,” you say, “if someone hadn’t dragged me away before I could.”

He scoffs. Kicks a booted foot across the floor. “You even old enough to be teachin’?” 

“Yes, and I’m clearly late, so if you could just direct me to Laura’s room, that would be great.” Who knows what a group of unsupervised teens could get into during your little detour. “Please, Mr. Miller,” you add.

Your sarcasm is lost and his name comes out as a breathy whisper. He stares at you, his dark eyes clouding over. Studies your face until you clear your throat.

“Joel,” he finally says. He takes the paper back from your limp fingers, twisting around to write something on the back of the detention slip. 

He pushes the note back into your hand, closing your hand with his. His hand practically dwarfs yours. “Here ya go, darlin’,” he drawls. “‘F you get lost again, you know where to find me.”

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat and mumble out a thank you before stumbling out of the room. Did they turn the heat up in here or something? Your fingers are still clenched around the paper and you make yourself unroll them, staring at the simple block scrawl with directions to your assigned classroom.

Underneath that, in smaller letters: Meet me after class. -Joel

The afternoon flies by in a blur, Joel’s note burning a hole in your pocket as you play random Shark Tank episodes for the last 3 periods. You find yourself tracing the ink, smudged where he’d pressed down a little too hard.

A glance at the clock lets you know there’s one more period before you’re free for the day. Ignoring the sudden butterflies, you give a quick spiel to the bored students, cue up a new Shark Tank, and open your laptop once they’re distracted. It doesn’t take you long to find the school directory, and then after a little more digging, the faculty page and contact info for Joel Miller. Ninth and tenth grade English. 

His school picture is what you expected, very no nonsense. Simple. A hint of a smile pulls his lips up, his short beard highlighting his chiseled jaw. He looks serious but you can see the warmth in his deep brown eyes. Just like when he’d looked at you earlier. Eyed you up and down, lingering on your breasts… you shake your head and pull up a new email.

See you tonight. Xx

After a slight hesitation, you add your phone number to the email and click send. As soon as you hear the whoosh of the sent message you want to take it back. What if he was just being nice? Or worse, reports you to the school board or something for harassment. Your head thunks to the desk with a small groan. You silently curse Laura for being sick, for calling you in, for walking down that hallway at the exact right time to run into Mr. Miller–Joel.

You tune into the video playing, trying to ignore the hope that lurches your stomach with each new email that comes in. Just spam, a how’s it going? from Laura that you definitely ignore, some online sales. You feel your chest deflate, stomach sinking the longer your email to Joel goes unanswered.

Stupid, so dumb. The final bell rings and you barely notice the kids leaving, scraping their chairs away from their desks in a rush to get home for the weekend. You pack your bag slowly, dreading having to walk by Joel’s room, hoping he’s not still here. Maybe there’s another way out, one where you won’t have to see him. You’re making a mental map in your mind, debating whether you want to try to follow another teacher out, when your phone dings from the pocket of your bag.

An unknown number. You still here?

Your heart beats faster, hope lifting your chest when you see the second message that comes in right after. It’s Joel. Miller.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way carefully back to his classroom. The school is a ghost town, the rumble of the last bus pulling away from the front quickly fading away. Your footsteps echo down the stairs and you curse yourself for not wearing flats.

You knock lightly against his door, try to calm your beating heart and hope he can’t hear it.

“Mr. Miller?” you call lightly, and step in the room. The overhead lights are off, Christmas lights casting deep shadows around the classroom. You’re grateful for the lack of fluorescent lights–no one looks good under fluorescents. Except maybe Joel, who’d probably look good in any lighting. 

Case in point–he’s got a pen between his lips, a book with a folded-over cover in his hand. His hair is ruffled even more than earlier, like he’d been running his hands through it. He puts the book down when you step closer to his desk. The pen dangles from the corner of his mouth, which lifts in a little smile.

“This’s a pleasant surprise,” he says. He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms behind his head. You can see a strip of skin where his shirt untucks from his jeans, and you tear your eyes away.

“Yeah, I, uh. Got your note,” you say. “And your text.” Smooth.

He slaps his hands down on his thighs, rubbing his palms on his rough jeans. You wonder what they would feel like on your bare skin, if they’d be gentle or rough like the calluses on his fingers.

“Hmm,” he murmurs. His eyes rake up and down your body, this time so intentional you know he knows you’re watching. You fight back a blush.

“’M sorry about earlier,” he says. You blink and he continues. “Too pretty to be a student.”

It should be sleazy, the way his eyes linger on your high heeled feet, the hem of your barely-long enough pencil skirt you’d thrown on in a rush. Instead you feel the heat of his gaze and it settles in your stomach, lower. You shift and he looks away, meeting your eyes with a smile.

You step forward, drawn to that smile. Wanting to make him smile again, only for you, a secret only you’d know about. 

“I’m sorry too, Mr. Miller,” you say. His eyes darken. Interesting. 

“Thought I told ya to call me Joel,” he finally says. Is it just you or did his voice get a lot deeper all of a sudden? More authoritative. That sends a rush of arousal through you and you curse yourself (again) for not wearing underwear today. 

You step even closer to his desk, until you’re practically standing in between his spread legs. His eyes trace your legs up up up and linger at your chest. Your lips.

You bite your lower lip and he shifts in his chair. “Of course, Joel.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and just when you think you’ve gone too far, he surprises you, surging up out of the chair to tower over you. He grips your face in his hands. Noses along your cheek until he reaches your ear. You hold back a moan as he bites the lobe lightly.

“Nuh uh, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Wanna hear you, go on.”

He moves down your neck, lingering at your exposed collarbone. He sucks a mark there and this time you can’t hold back, your moan mingling with his panting breaths.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper. 

At that he pulls back before finally pressing his lips against yours. They’re rough but his movements are gentle, slow and steady until you’re gasping for air. All you can smell, taste, see, is him him him. You rake your nails through the scruff of his jaw and this time he groans, leaning his head into your hand. You smile and press your lips against his, moaning as his tongue slips against yours.

He pulls you impossibly closer, the wide spread of his hands sliding low down your back. You can feel his arousal pressing up between you and you shift to try to get friction against your throbbing clit. 

His groan is low as he pulls away, panting. His eyes are practically black with desire as he grips your ass and pulls you closer, grinding into him. His hands move lower to the back of your thighs and you take the hint, jumping up at the same time he catches you and hoists you up. He walks you over to his desk and deposits you on top, careful not to jostle your mouth away from his. A hardcover book digs into your back and you sweep your hand behind you impatiently, trying to clear a space. He looks at his belongings now covering the floor and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

His answering groan is low. “Thought about this a lot, huh? Spread out on the teacher’s desk?”

“Not any teacher,” you whisper. Hook your legs around the back of his thighs and pull him closer to where you’re warm and aching and so wet. “Just you.”

He runs a thumb over your cheek, down over your swollen bottom lip. Watches as you suck his thumb in, run your tongue around it and hollow your cheeks. He grunts and pops his thumb out, a string of saliva connecting them. He runs the wet finger down the side of your neck, tracing your collarbone before settling over a nipple.

He looks surprised to see no bra in the way of his wandering hands. “I was in a rush,” you grumble, tightening your legs where they’re hooked low on his waist.

“’M glad you were,” he murmurs, eyes on the way your nipples have hardened against your shirt. “Or I couldn’t do this.”

He bends down, forcing your back to lower onto the desk. Sucks your nipple right through your shirt, his tongue sweeping over and over the hardened bud. You let out a high-pitched whine, tug his hair the way you’ve been thinking about this whole time while he mouths the other one.

“Joel, come on, touch me,” you whine. The ache between your legs is unbearable now, the pounding of your clit overwhelming. You arch your hips up for any kind of friction but he stops that quickly. Throws a hand across your hips, pushing down. His jaw clenches and you want to grin at how disheveled he looks, curls all pointing in different directions and the light shadow of a hickey under his jaw.

“I am touching you,” he teases. The heat from his hand leeches through the layers of clothes, branding you as his. 

“Please, I just–ugh,” you groan.

“Whaddya want, hm?” he whispers. Drags his lips around your jaw, your cheeks, your lips again until you’re squirming. “Give you anything, just gotta ask.”

For some reason you’re suddenly shy and can’t meet his intense gaze. “Want…want your fingers. In me,” you say softly. He groans at your words and adjusts his pants.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Okay, sweetheart. Lemme see.”

He drags his slightly damp thumb down your hip, pressing briefly there before running under the waistband of your skirt. He snaps it against your skin and you hiss lightly. 

He lets out a tortured groan when he pushes your skirt up and finds you bare, nothing between your slick skin and his thick fingers.

“’S all for me?” His voice is rough, wrecked as he swipes his thumb through your slit, collecting the slick there. Groans when you nod, shifting to spread your legs even further, opening yourself up to him even more.

“Alright,” he husks. “Gonna take care of you, don’t worry.”

He drags his thumb lightly over your clit once, twice. You jolt and pull him closer, arching your back off the desk. He traces a single finger down the crease of your thigh slowly, the bastard, grinning when you become impatient and hook your leg around to try and bring him closer. 

Finally, finally, he pushes the tip of his finger in and you moan at the sudden intrusion. His fingers are thick, calluses rubbing just right as his thumb flicks your clit. He mouths loosely at your neck and you wish you could do something more besides whimper and arch yourself closer to his insanely talented fingers.

“’S okay, sweetheart, I got you,” he says lowly. Dips a second finger in you, drags your slick back up to your clit and presses down hard. “You’re so tight, fuck, how’m I gonna fit, huh? Gonna make room for me in this tight pussy?”

“Fuck, please,” you groan. His fingers pump steadily, thumb swiping your clit lazily. You feel your release building, head spinning as you gasp for breath. “’M gonna–ah, please. Please.”

He presses his thumb directly to your swollen clit and your back arches so hard you almost throw him off. Your legs clamp around him, as if he could physically be any closer, and he pulls down your top, exposing your breast to the cool air. He sucks a mark on the side of your breast and your head spins, the sensations overwhelming. You can hear the squelch of his fingers pumping in and out but you can’t even feel embarrassed, too busy chasing your orgasm that’s just out of reach.

You whimper in frustration when he stills his fingers, thumb resting in the crease of your hip. You’re throbbing, so wet you can feel it spilling down the backs of your thighs onto his desk. He’ll think of me after, when he’s cleaning it off his desk, you realize, and that thought combined with the press of Joel’s teeth on the edge of your breast, his thumb swirling around your slippery clit, finally sends you over the edge.

“Good girl,” he murmurs lowly. “Such a good girl, just for me.”

When you finally catch your breath and open your eyes, he’s looking at you with such raw hunger that you can’t even be self conscious that you just came all over his desk, breast hanging out of your shirt, skirt hiked up, while he’s still fully dressed. His shirt is rumpled, fully untucked from his pants now. You reach for the bulge in his jeans, more than ready to reciprocate, when he grabs your wrist.

“Let me,” you whisper. “Please, Mr. Miller?”

He thrusts his hips into your hand at your words and you smile. You slump to the floor, boneless after one of (if not the) best orgasm of your life, and look up at him through your lashes. Fuck, he’s pretty, marked up and wet spot spreading on the front of his jeans. I did that to him, you think, and that sends another surge of arousal through you. He leans back against his desk, legs spread, watching as you slowly unbuckle his belt and drag it out of the loops. It makes a hollow clang when it hits the ground. You pull his jeans and briefs down slowly, and he growls.

You flash him an innocent grin and pull them down the rest of the way, his hard cock springing up at the sudden freedom. Holy shit, he’s big. You run your hands down his stomach, scratching lightly through the trail of hair there and avoiding his leaking cock.

“Go on,” he says. His hands twitch like he wants to grab your head but he stops, gripping the edge of the desk instead. “’S my good girl, such a good–fuck.”

You take the tip of him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the leaking head. You pull back, leaving little kitten licks up and down the shaft, never settling in one place for long. He groans, long and loud, and his knuckles go white with how hard he’s gripping the desk.

“Shit, I’m, can I? Let me fuck your mouth, please, let me fill that pretty little mouth,” he rambles. He sounds wrecked, hair sticking up at all angles from where he’d run his hands through it over and over.

You moan, the heavy weight of his cock on your tongue. Pull off to say in a hoarse voice, “Yes yes, please,” and that’s all he needs to hear, fisting his hands in your hair and slowly feeding you his cock. You can’t take the whole thing, nose almost pressed to the wiry hair at the base, but you do your best, letting the spit run from your mouth as you twist your hand around what your mouth can’t reach.

He thrusts his hips up shallowly, grunting when he hits the back of your throat. You swallow around him and the grip on your hair gets tighter. His thighs tense when you hum around his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he pants. “Such a good girl, lettin’ me fuck you right here where anyone can see, hmm? Feels so–so good. ’M gonna–where d’you want it, hm?”

You don’t answer, licking at the tip, tonguing the slit gently. He shoves once, twice, to hit the back of your throat and finally comes with a stutter of his hips when you swallow around him.

“Fuck, fu-uck,” he says, broken. Watches as you let his spent dick fall from your mouth, string of come and spit dragging from the corner of your mouth. Your breath hitches as he reaches out with a thumb to push it back into your mouth. He gives you a smile, small but genuine.

“That was…” you trail off. Push yourself off your knees, brushing invisible dirt off your skirt. You feel his eyes on you again.

Joel reaches out and grabs your hand. Interlocks your fingers together before you can pull back. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Can I…take you out tomorrow, or somethin’?” He sounds nervous, and you can’t help but smile. He just fucked your mouth, whispered the dirtiest things in your ear, but the idea of a date makes him blush? How cute.

“You know where to find me,” you say. 

Joel’s answering smile is bright, just for you. 

masterlist here

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou fic #pedro pascal fic #smut #lexi writes things #this has been consuming my brain for the past week so pls enjoy

[futureman]

hi ur writing is so so good, makes me go insane ur amazing

okay so could you do a normally dom!joel but one day he has the day off and reader doesn’t, so all he does ALL day is think about her. When she gets home he’s worked himself into a frenzy, desperate asf. So instead of his usual dominant self he’s desperate!joel whining and whimpering for her to touch him, make him cum, moaning in her ear and grinding against her.. all of that fun stuff 🤭

thank u for ur time, pls excuse the depravity 🙏🏾

hi nonie! loooved this request so much. i got a similar one from @luvrxbunny, so i combined them a bit and made it a lil longer. hope you both enjoy!

omg ur so amazing ily pls pls pls pls pls pls pls can i have dom!joel with a praise kink 🙏🏾 he doesn’t even really realize it but reader does and she’s just pummels him with praise while he’s fucking her and he does feral, moaning and grunting in her ear i’m sorry im so feral

way too damn needy

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, language, smut, dom-turned-sub!joel, gentle-dom!reader, praise kink, masturbation, phone sex, blowjobs, face fucking, lil fluff

word count: 2.8k

What a way to spend his only day off in weeks. The weather’s perfect for playing his guitar on the porch, and he thought he’d even squeeze in a swim before getting started on building that new bedside table for Sarah. He had plans. 

But instead, Joel’s stalking around his living room like a caged animal in an endless loop of waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s like he’s been transported back to his teenage years when every guy in a relationship followed his girl around like a puppy, always at her beck and call. Wondering what she was doing, if she was thinking about him. Except he wasn’t even that guy in high school. Not then, and definitely not now.

There’s really no logical reason for him to be this wound up, totally unable to do a single thing on his to-do list just because you’re not home. Leave it to your company to be the only one in the entire country that doesn’t give their employees Labor Day off.

That’s probably a gross exaggeration, but what does he care? He’s been tragically affected by this clearly personal transgression, and has to wait…two more hours? Seriously? You normally leave around 5:30, which means you’re home by six, and he’s not sure he can wait that long.

The sad fact of it all is that he’s already wasted almost the entire day not enjoying all of those relaxing activities he’d planned for. What’s even sadder is that he’s been half-hard for most of it, intermittently pausing his ridiculous pacing to grind the heel of his hand into his crotch for relief. Petulantly waiting for you to get home and take care of it for him.

Well, another hour’s gone by, it’s 5 pm, and he’s officially past his limit. At this point, he's probably better off handling it himself, at least until you're finally back. Then, you’re all his. 

He’ll fill you up with every last bit of pent-up frustration he’s felt since you left the house this morning, making you regret not just calling in sick. You might have to tomorrow after he’s done with you.

Joel drops onto the couch, laying to face the door so he’s the first thing you see when you walk in. Pulling his boxers and jeans down just enough to get his cock out, he wraps his hand around himself, immediately hissing out a breath through his teeth. Shit, he’s been hard for hours and just that slight touch already has him leaking precum all over his fingers. 

For a moment, he worries that maybe he’s a little too worked up, that he’ll cum way before he gets the chance to make you sorry for making him feel so desperate. So needy. And that makes him mad.

It should be your fingers covered in precum, your plush lips sucking him down to the hilt, and your pretty pussy aching with the need to have him inside you. Funny how you’re always so good for him, except today when he needs you the most.

His hand starts to move languidly before he can stop it, the slide wet and tight, just like he knows you’ll be. But it’s not you, and that makes him even angrier. If he can’t feel you the way he needs to, then maybe your voice will hold him over until he can. 

The phone only rings twice before you pick up.

“Baby, I’m busy right now. What’s up?” you answer, slightly out of breath. 

It’s cruel, but Joel honestly doesn’t give a shit if you’re busy. Not when his mind is this clouded with thoughts of you on your back, breathing much heavier than you are right now. But he manages to keep that to himself.

“You comin’ home soon?” he asks gruffly, still tugging on his cock, head thrown back on the armrest of the couch.

“Uhh, probably leaving in about…a half hour?” Your voice lilts like you had to double-check the time. “Everything okay?”

“Any chance you can leave now?” he tries again, side-stepping your question. 

The desperation in his voice is obvious, and it makes him feel even more pathetic. He wonders if you can hear it. Part of him hopes you can.

“Why, did something happen? Is Sarah okay?” you ask, clearly concerned. 

“S’fine, everythin’s fine. Just miss ya, s’all," he lies shakily.

Of course, he misses you, but nothing here is fine. His angrily weeping cock is a testament to that. He's all but fucking into his own fist now, hips bucking off the couch as he pants into the phone.

“Joel, what—are you touching yourself? Jesus,” you mumble, and he can hear your heels clacking against the floor like you’re walking somewhere. Quickly.

“Been thinkin’ about ya all damn day. Dunno why you went into work on a fuckin’ holiday,” he grunts. “Should’a been here with me, on your back, beggin’ for my cock like a good girl.” 

You inhale sharply and, though muted through the phone, he hears it loud and clear, dribbling more precum down his shaft. Unfamiliar voices start to filter through the speaker, so he’s guessing you can’t say much. 

And that’s okay. He has no problem filling the silence. Joel loves talking to you while he’s getting off.

“Had me feelin’ needy today, babygirl. Y’know I don’t like that,” he says dangerously. Your heels hit the ground faster, and he subconsciously matches his strokes to your pace. “Thought I was losin’ my mind for a while there. Was just about ready to let you do whatever you wanted to me when you got home, s’long as I got to fuck that tight pussy of yours.”

A door slams in the background, then all he can hear is you panting heavily in his ear. But when you finally speak again, your voice sounds different. Less like his good girl, and more like someone who knows they hold all the power.

“Oh, poor baby,” you coo, catching him off guard. “Did I leave you alone too long?”

He can tell you’re mocking him but, for some reason, his resolve starts to slip away more and more with every violent throb of his cock. Maybe it’s desperation. Or maybe he just likes it. 

“I’m so sorry,” you continue, murmuring sweetly in his ear. “I can make it all better…but only if you wait a little longer. Can you do that for me? Be my good boy.”

He bites back a groan, gripping the base of his cock hard to keep from cumming then and there. That's...new. And sexy as hell. He's still frenzied to the point of no return, but you also might've rewired something in his brain because he suddenly realizes he does want to be your good boy. Badly.

Fuck, he hopes you get home soon.

That last half hour of work was torture. You spent the entirety of it, and the car ride afterward, marinating in your soaked underwear, anticipating everything Joel has in store for you when you get home.

You're not sure what came over you on the phone, but it sounded like he enjoyed it. A lot. It’s a dynamic you’d never thought to try in your relationship, not with Joel’s domineering personality. The fact that he went along with it at all must mean he’s going through it, and that’s something you’re a little too excited to see.

The house is quiet when you walk in, save for the sound of your keys dropping into the bowl by the door. You turn to hang your bag on a nearby coat rack, and that's when you see him.

Joel, still lying on the couch exactly where you assume you left him after your call, with his hand squeezed tight around the base of his cock. He looks like a goddamn mess—sweating, hard as a rock, and leaking all over himself. His eyes are a little wild, more so than you've ever seen them. Christ, poor baby. You didn’t think your absence would affect him this much.

“Aw, sweet boy. Is all this for me?" you smile softly. He sucks in a breath, visibly twitching in his hand, and your smile widens. “Sit up, I can’t play with you like this.”

He complies immediately, and it sends a shiver up your spine. You love how well he’s listening, even though he almost looks like he's in pain after being in this state for so long. For that, you think he deserves a reward.

So, you give him one—the one he’s been waiting for all day. You undress for him, maintaining eye contact as you slip off your stuffy business attire, finally ridding yourself of your oppressively sticky underwear. 

Dropping to your knees between his legs, you gaze up at him affectionately, mouth inches away from his drooling cock. 

"Tell me what you want," you lean in, pressing your lips against the smooth, velvety skin. "Still wanna fuck me? Get me on my back, begging for it?"

Your tongue darts out to taste him, and you moan, licking a wide stripe up to wrap your lips around the tip. He's salty and heady, and so fucking delicious, but he still hasn't answered you. Instead, his fingers thread through your hair, guiding you down halfway and back up, shallowly fucking your mouth.

"I—fuck, please...," he's struggling with his words, whimpering around each syllable. "—baby, I waited...been good, did what ya said."

You nod your head understandingly, or at least try to as you continue to let him thrust into the inside of your cheek. His eyes are hyperfocused on the way your skin bulges around him, each stroke sending a shockwave of pleasure straight down his tightening balls.

"Christ, you feel good. Worth waitin' for, so fuckin' worth it," he rasps, his fingers tensing in your hair. "Need ya to—," he repositions your head so he can thrust further, deeper until he's nudging the back of your throat, "—ngh, make me cum. Suck harder, baby, please."

Soft, hiccuped moans escape his parted lips, increasing in volume when you start to drool around him, down your chin and onto your breasts. You can tell he's about to burst, feeling his skin growing taut against your tongue.

"M'gonna—haah, gonna...," desperation clouds his eyes, still dictating his every thought and move. 

But you don't let him because that's not what he said he wanted earlier. He's allowed to buck into you a few more times before you pull off with a loud pop, and the needy, frustrated whine he lets out almost makes you reconsider. Almost.

"I'm gonna make you cum, I promise, but not with my mouth," you tell him, voice tinged with disappointment, wrecked from the force of taking him like that. "You were doing so well for me. Come down here, keep being my good boy and I'll make you feel good."

Plopping down on the carpet, you spread your legs so he can see how wet you are for him. It's only gotten worse since earlier, slick coating your thighs, shiny and all the more inviting. You lay back, trailing your fingers up your belly to your breast to tweak a nipple, sighing as you reach out to him with your other hand.

Again, he obeys, his desire to empty down your throat all but forgotten. His shirt is quickly discarded, followed by everything below his waist, and then he's shifting onto the floor between your legs.

"There's my sweet boy," you coo, running your hands up his chest through a smattering of coarse, dark curls, and it rumbles under your palms as he mewls sweetly at your praise. 

He leans over you, hovering like he's waiting for permission to touch you, but he doesn't need it. The only thing you're trying to do is guide him, not control him. You want to make sure he gets exactly what he was so patient for. 

"Wanna feel you, babygirl. Let me—," he amends what he was about to demand, "...can I touch you?"

You bite your lip nodding as you smile up at him, and he wastes no time dropping down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, sucking wetly as he presses his body flush against yours. You writhe underneath him, just as pent up as he is by now, the realization triggered by how incredible his naked body feels on top of you. 

"Fuckin' hell, you're soft," he moans into your ear, propped up on his forearms. His cock brushes against your inner thigh, and his moan turns guttural, raw like it clawed its way out. "Mmph, I can't—"

He lurches up to crash his lips into yours, kissing you sloppily, hungrily, as his hips finally dip to drag against where you're soaked and aching. But not for nearly as long as he's been, and right now, he comes first. You need him to know he can have you. That he doesn't have to wait anymore.

"Don't...don't fight it. You've been perfect, you deserve it," you gasp out, and his hips jerk, your words forcing a low keen past his lips and into your mouth. "Take, baby. Take what you need."

Joel doesn't take, he seizes, laying claim to every part of you. Like he's afraid he won't get another chance if he doesn't take full advantage of what you've given him right now.

He faintly reminds you of a puppy lacking object permanence, believing the next time you leave, he'll be stuck waiting for you to come back to him forever. God, you're not even sure how you fucked him up so badly, but it's clear by the way he's handling you that he won't let you go again.

He moves quickly. One moment, he's leaning back on his heels, digging his fingers into your waist to yank you up onto his thighs, and the next, he's fucking into you as hard and fast as a bullet train. His cock somehow feels thicker, heavier than it ever has when he breaches your cunt, and the stretch has you clawing at the carpet beneath you.

"Missed you all day, wanted you all goddamn day," he growls, plowing into you forcefully enough to make your brain go fuzzy. "Fuck, babygirl, you got no idea what I've been through."

Christ, that feels—it feels...Christ. He's hitting something. You have no idea what, but it feels ungodly, like if he keeps going just like that, you'll cum without his fingers on you at all. It's happened before with Joel, but it's rare—and it's only when he's deep, lighting up all of your nerve endings at once. Fuck, he's being so good today.

"S'okay, you're okay," you gasp, clenching down around him when he suddenly pounds into the spot dead on. "I...I'm here now. Just keep going there, right there."

He nods frantically, gritting his teeth as you continue to tighten around him.

"Good boy," you mumble deliriously, your back arching completely off the ground as your orgasm rocks you. 

"Shit, you—'m not touchin'...fuck, baby, you cummin'?" 

It hits him all at once, what's happening, and then he's cumming, too. He's loud through his entire release, alternating between drawn-out moans and hiccuped whimpers as he fills you up with a whole day's worth of pent-up frustration.

Thrusting until your aftershocks have subsided, he grinds in deep one last time, letting you milk him completely dry before he pulls out. You're boneless underneath him, your eyes glazed over while his are finally clear for the first time in almost ten hours. 

He lowers your body onto the floor and crawls over next you, pulling your body against his. His embrace is warm and pleasant, and enough to pull you out of your post-orgasm stupor. Wriggling in his arms to get more comfortable, you tilt your head back from where he'd tucked it under his chin to grin up at him.

"So you missed me, huh?"

He rolls his eyes, back to his usual, not-totally-depraved self, but you already know the answer. He just spent the last hour showing you exactly how much.

"Thought I already made that clear," he confirms gruffly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Next time, could ya maybe just use your vacation days? Please?"

"Sure," you laugh, nuzzling into his neck. "I'll save them up just for you." 

You reach up to scratch your fingernails across his beard, your other hand petting the soft curls at the nape of his neck. A soft noise rumbles low in his chest, but he tries to play it off by clearing his throat. Playfully raising an eyebrow, you continue your ministrations and it happens again.

"Baby, quit, 'm not a dog," he deadpans, even as he leans into your touch, his body betraying him.

"You sure about that? Because you sure were needy like one today."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[moonstruckme]

Oooo darling!! Your latest TASM fic sparked and idea!

(Before that, hello lovely 🩷 i hope you're having the best spooky season!)

Big brother!Sirius coming to save some poor sod that upset his slytherin!sister (Regulus' twin). So you have the charming & fun Sirius; quiet & regal Regulus; loyal & volatile reader. And i imagine Sirius calls them his twin stars (because hes deffinately a huge sap).

Where wolfstar is in 7th year and has a great relationship with the twins (maybe theyre trying to become their legal guardians behind the scenes). He and Remus are in their dorm before Peter bursts in, breathless, only saying "y/n" before Sirius is off. He has no doubt to why you were put in 🐍, and god forbid someone actually hurt his baby sister.

On reader's side, someone made a snide comment about Remmy being a halfblood or ruining the Black legacy or something and reader gets pissed because shes actually quite fond of him.

Then whatever you decide love; maybe reader gets hurt; maybe she does the hurting; maybe Remus saves the day with his long legs; or Sirius might show people what growing up in the 'Noble house of Black' does to someone. And idk what Reggie is doing, i imagine he was making out with James and they come in at the last minute ("😱 james!! What have you done!? Youve DEFILED one of my precious stars!!! Let go of him!!!! NO, dont touch him, get away.")

Anyway bub, as always; dont feel pressured and take all the creative liberties youd like!! Love you lots darling x

Hi my lovely, thanks for requesting! I really need to get more creative than bloody noses but ugh they're just so classic

cw: blood

big brother!sirius + (as opposed to x, I guess?) little sister!reader ♡ 861 words

“You weren’t there!” you insist as Sirius stalks back and forth across the room, tapping his wand against his leg in a quick, restless beat. “He said—he—” You look at Remus, the boy’s eyebrows drawn together in concentration and concern as he presses a cloth under your nose, trying to stop the blood that’s already crusted down your chin. You decide to keep your mouth shut. 

Remus smiles wryly, and you know he suspects why you’ve chosen to go quiet. “It doesn’t matter what they said, love. I don’t need you getting in fights for me.”

“Who was it?” Sirius demands, for probably the fourth or fifth time. You’re losing count. 

“It’s already been hand—ah!” Remus murmurs an episky while you’re distracted, and you flinch, hands flying to your face as your septum snaps back into its proper place. “Fuck, could’a given me some warning.” 

“Sorry,” Remus says, and he looks like he means it, tilting your chin up to continue cleaning your face as you look at him with teary eyes. “Thought it might hurt less if you weren’t expecting it.” 

“How do you figure?” you ask him, somewhat miffed. 

“Back. On. Task.” Sirius claps his hands with each word, coming to a stop in front of you. “Who did this? Remus is my boyfriend, I have twice as much a right to defend his honor as you do, you—you fucking—squirt.” 

You sneer at the childish name, but you know your brother means to rile you. “I told you, I handled it. He won’t do it again.” 

“And he’s never going to touch you again either,” Sirius promises menacingly, squatting in front of you to look you in the eyes, “if you just tell me the fucker’s name.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Remus says, taking his boyfriend’s shoulder in a spindly hand, the touch both soothing and controlling as he pushes Sirius back from you. “Let’s just let her rest for a minute, yeah?” Sirius sputters in protest, but Remus moves in front of him, pressing his face into his boyfriends’ dark locks. You roll your eyes at the display, though a tiny part of you loves that your brother has someone who loves him this well. Once he quiets, Remus speaks in a low, soothing voice. “I know, I know, you won’t be deterred from your vengeance, but there’s time for that later. Let’s just calm down for now.” 

It’s a lovely prospect, but at that moment, the door opens to reveal Regulus and James, both looking somewhat ruffled. James stops short at seeing you all gathered in his dorm (Remus and Sirius, of course, have every right to be here, but you’d bet he and Reg were hoping for some privacy) and stands there blinking for a moment. Your twin’s blasé facade slips the moment he sees you with blood still crusted to your nostrils and tear tracks down your face. 

“What happened?” he asks, pushing past James and into the dorm. 

“She got into a fight,” Sirius says, outrage instantly rekindled, and Remus sighs in exasperated resignation, his work undone. “Someone said something about Moony, but she won’t tell who.” 

Now James looks upset too, eyes darting to Remus concernedly. “About Moony? When?” 

“Just now!” Sirius throws up his hands. “Ten minutes ago! Did either of you see anything?” 

James shakes his head, and despite Regulus’ blank expression, you catch the embarrassed shifting of his stance. “No,” James says, “we were, uh…we didn’t see anything.” 

“I bet I know who it was though,” Regulus offers, that traitorous scum. He’s just throwing you under the bus to take the heat off himself. 

It works; Sirius perks up. “Yeah? Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who,” you say, but Sirius cuts you off, facing your twin. 

“Who?” he asks. 

“It was the guy you were arguing with yesterday too, right?” Reg glances at you for confirmation, and you glare at him. Don’t you dare, your look says, but he nods and turns back to Sirius. “He’s your year, the one you guys call Sni—”

“Reg and James were coming in here to have sex!” you blurt. 

It’s a wonder Sirius doesn’t get whiplash from how fast he turns around. “What?” 

You nod, unable to feel guilty as Regulus gives you an appalled look from behind your older brother. “Mhm,” you say. “Their hair is all messed up, and look—their lips are swollen. Plus, they were surprised we were in here.” 

You do feel a tiny bit bad for James, whose dark skin blanches when Sirius turns on him. “James Potter, did you come in here to defile my brother?” 

James looks to Remus for help, but his friend only turns his palms up like Sorry, what can you do?. After a second, Regulus steps closer to him.

“Sirius, we—”

“Don’t touch him,” Sirius practically retches. He shakes his head, grabbing Regulus by the arm and all but dragging him from the room. “Alright, listen. You are going to tell me who was talking shit about Remus, and then we’re going to have an entirely separate conversation about boundaries.” He casts a noxious look back at James. “And I’ll deal with you later!” 

#not totally sure how to tag this #I've never not done x reader before #big brother!sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #fem!reader #little sister!reader #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black imagine #sirius black oneshot #sirius black one shot #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #the marauders era #marauders fandom #hp marauders

[steveshairychest]

Steve and Robin have been working at the plant nursery for months. It was the only job that would hire them both, and it's honestly been the best job they've had.

Steve loves taking care of the plants, loves the way the outdoor plants wave at him in the wind and sparkle in the sunlight after he's watered them. No one gives him weird looks when he talks to the plants because everyone that comes in understands, they're all plant people too, they know talking to plants is hard to resist. Steve loves that they are very good listeners, especially the ferns in the back corner of the nursery. They brush their long arms against Steve's cheek and make him feel so much better after he's finished dumping all his problems on the poor plant.

And then they get a new employee, a guy with long curly hair and too many tattoos and piercings for Steve to count. His name is Eddie. And he does not have a green thumb. Not at all.

Steve can't understand why the nursery hired this guy! He's hopeless!

Steve watches in horror from behind his beloved ferns as Eddie accidentally chops the head off one of the gorgeous rose blooms while pruning and then tries to hide the evidence. He walks away from the rose bush with the poor chopped off bloom clenched tightly in his fist and then he dumps it in the compost bin.

Steve spends the rest of the afternoon glaring at the new guy while talking to the poor rose bush. Eddie flushes a shade of red similar to the rose he murdered any time Steve looks at him, and Steve hates how pretty he looks, hates that it causes a small smile to pull at his lips.

And then Eddie drops a watering can on a peace lily, a peace lily that Steve spent weeks nurturing back to life and the spell Eddie put on him with his flushed cheeks and big, brown eyes is broken.

Robin pities the poor new guy, she can see he's struggling, so she just makes him do all the heavy lifting with her. She doesn't want him anywhere near Steve's precious plants. She saw Steve reach for his giant pruning shears a few days ago when Eddie went near his ferns.

"You know he's terrified of you." Robin says to Steve on their joint lunch break. They're sitting on a stack of soil bags watching Eddie potter around and show people the plants they're looking for. Steve will give him that, he's good with people. Really good.

"Why? I'm nice." Steve takes a bite of his sandwich and avoids Robin's stare. He knows she's giving him the 'don't bullshit me' stare and if he looks, he'll crumble and do something ridiculous like admit he has been kinda mean to the new guy and that he should have just helped him out from the start instead of threatening to chop his fingers off every time he touched Steve's plants.

Steve sighs. "OK, fine. I've been a dick." Robin nods and steals the last bite of Steve's sandwich.

"Now, make it right and play nice with the pretty boy."

"He's not pretty."

"That's not what you said to your precious ferns yesterday. I think you said –" Steve walks off before she can finish and ignores her laughter as he stalks over to where Eddie is crouched in front of the baby succulents.

Steve clears his throat to get his attention and the poor guy jumps in fright and nearly smacks a succulent off the stand. "Steve! Hi! I was just talking to them. I promise."

Steve stifles a laugh and sits down on the floor in front of the low plant stand. He gently pulls a dead leaf off one plant before offering Eddie a smile, a truce. "That's good. They like it when you talk to them. I actually sing to them when I'm here alone." His sudden gentleness must spook Eddie because he just blinks at Steve, his mouth open slightly as he stares in disbelief that Steve actually just spoke to him.

"You can sing?" Eddie sits down next to him and mirrors Steve's actions; gently pulling dead leaves off and checking the soil.

"No, I can't." He laughs. "But the plants don't seem to mind."

They sit in silence for a minute before Steve gathers up his small pile of dead leaves and stands up, Eddie follows suit. "I'm sorry I've been such a dick." Steve rushes out before he loses the courage to admit it. "It's just... you're awful with plants."

Eddie laughs, the sound catches Steve off guard and echoes around the nursery, and Steve realises in that moment that he's never heard Eddie laugh before. It's loud and beautiful and Steve wants to hear it again. Every day.

"I know. I don't have a green thumb at all, but this is the only job that would take me. I think the plants want me to quit."

Steve wanted him to quit. He'd grumbled to Robin about it nearly every day. Eddie knew that and he still stayed. He smiles at Steve in a way that says he doesn't mind, he's just teasing.

But Steve still feels like a total asshole.

"I could teach you how to look after them properly." Steve offers. "I should have offered to help weeks ago." He adds on quietly as they walk through the rows and rows of plants. Steve touches all of them gently, he grazes his fingers along their leaves in a friendly greeting.

"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." Eddie says with a smile so bright it could rival the sun and cause all of the flowers to bloom.

They spend nearly every day at work together after that. Steve helps Eddie learn all the plants' names, their technical names and the secret names Steve's given them all. Steve shows him how to prune and shape the baby hedges and tries not to blush when their fingers touch while passing over the shears. Eddie is a fast learner. He absorbs everything Steve says and then executes it perfectly. He looks over at Steve and smiles excitedly after he successfully prunes the rose bush without chopping a single bloom off.

The more time they spend together, the more Steve becomes aware of the feeling blooming in his chest. It tickles his ribs and causes him to blush and bump shoulders with Eddie more often, causes him to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Eddie's ear and brush his hand along Eddie’s back whenever he passes him.

The new bloom in his heart causes him to kiss Eddie in the back corner of the nursery behind the ferns.

Turns out Eddie has a green thumb after all because there is something so beautiful blooming between them, and so far only the ferns know about it.

#DID ANYONE SAY OVERPROTECTIVE PLANT DAD STEVE?!!! #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #stranger things s4 #robin buckley #I DIDN'T PROOF READ THIS I'M SORRY IN ADVANCE

[wiltedreamofbaldursgate]

Steady Hands, Frame My Love

characters: Astarion x race/class neutral fem!Tav/reader word count: +3.2k Rating: M trigger warning: mild-ish sexual content. bad eyebrows. This hasn't been beta-read nor am I a native speaker. read on ao3 read more BG3 one shots

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror.

“Come out, spawn. There is no use in hiding.”

You know there is trouble when you spot Lae'zel in front of Astarion’s tent. Her tiny nose is scrunched up in a way that would be cute if it didn’t mean she wants to skin someone alive. The perfectly sharpened blade twitching in her hand is just another hint that she’s out for blood. You almost can’t blame Astarion for hiding from the Githyanki warrior’s wrath—almost, because it’s within every reason to assume he’s brought her wrath upon himself. 

Taking a quick look around camp, you find that everybody is suspiciously busy minding their own business for once, skillfully ignoring the one-sided commotion in front of your lover’s tent. You can’t really blame them either; it’s been a very long day, and everybody wants to get some rest before dinner. You have half the mind to do the very same when Lae'zel’s intense gaze suddenly locks with yours—an honest rookie mistake.

There’s no use pretending you haven’t noticed her now, so you put your journal aside and approach the red tent with long strides and a smile that you can only hope will have a calming effect on her. Unsurprisingly, your hopes are shattered instantly. 

Lae'zel doesn’t wait for you to friendly inquire about what the fuck the matter is this time; before you can even open your mouth, she’s all the way in your face.

“The spawn does as he pleases!”

Lae'zel would need to get a great deal more specific when it comes to Astarion, but you refrain from telling her so, opting for a questioning look instead. 

The young warrior shakes her head, annoyed that her explanation isn’t sufficient enough for your small istik brain to comprehend.

“It is the spawn’s turn to fetch water from the stream. Thus is his duty,” Lae'zel explains slowly, accentuating every word with a well-placed hiss to get her point across. “A duty he fails to perform.” 

You think it is progress that she isn’t waving her sword at you, although she does glare at you as if you were the offending party, which—since your relationship with the pale elf has become common knowledge around camp—you somewhat are.

“Where I am from, we make sure to keep our mates in check, however pleasing they might be. You might want to do the same.” 

Maybe not so much progress, after all.

“Haven't I made myself quite clear on that before, Lae'zel?”

Holding her intense glare, you stare the warrior down. You have made yourself clear on occasion—you aren’t Astarion’s keeper. 

It takes a moment, but Lae'zel is the first to break eye contact, eventually taking a step back. Not lowering your gaze, you wait patiently for her to continue.

“The spawn would better honour his word, or else…” She spits, not at you, but at Astarion’s firmly closed tent flap. 

“I will remind him,” you assure her, not unkindly.

Lae'zel looks you up and down before she inclines her head ever so slightly.

“I trust you will,” she drawls, glaring at the tent one last time before she stalks away.

Left to take care of the issue at hand, you frown at the closed tent flap. As much as Astarion bitches about pulling his weight in camp, it’s unlike him to not do his chores one way or the other. And now that you think about it, he’s set up his tent uncharacteristically fast earlier, too, not even trying to rope anyone in to help him do his work. The realisation that you haven’t seen him since he vanished into said tent quite a while ago settles unpleasantly in your stomach. 

“Astarion?”

You step closer to the heavy fabric closing off the tent’s entrance, listening. There’s no answer, although you do hear some hurried movement from within the tent. It’s a good sign, you suppose.

“You good in there?”

The silence stretches for another moment before Astarion finally lets out an exaggerated sigh. Going by the sound of it, he, too, must be standing rather close to the entrance.

“Truth be told, darling, I have been better.”

“Are you hurt?” You ask, not bothering to hide the obvious worry lacing your voice. 

When could he have even gotten hurt? Haven’t you checked up on everyone after your earlier fight with some overly pesky, giant spiders? Or is he just messing with you—trying to avoid his laborious chore after all?

It takes yet another moment for Astarion to mumble something incomprehensible in reply. With raised eyebrows, you repeat your question, which earns you another sigh from him, this time more exasperated than theatrical. 

“I just so happened to get some acid in my face when we took care of those cursed spiders and—”

“And?” You press, alarmed.

“It’s nothing, darling, really; it’s just—well…”

“Astarion!”

The vampire curses, and you can hear him step even closer to the tent’s opening, closer to you. You’re almost sure that if you pressed your hand against the fabric shielding him from you, you would be able to touch him. 

“They're gone,” he says, his voice so low you have to strain your ears to hear him. 

Your frown deepens. “What is?” 

More mumbling reaches your ear, and Astarion has to repeat himself twice before you can eventually make any sense of his words. You stare at the tent flap in disbelief. You can't have heard right.

“Your eyebrows are gone?”

Astarion inhales sharply. “Must you scream it around for everyone to hear? Come in, come in!”

Not knowing what to expect, you enter the tent. 

Astarion has retreated to the shadows; his hand is firmly pressed against his forehead. You stare up at him, trying to assess the situation. He looks pained alright, although you have an inkling it’s more from wounded vanity than actual injury. As you step closer to him, you give him a reassuring smile.

“So, acid, huh? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He is not convinced. At all. Wordlessly, he’s staring back at you, his jaw set. Your smile fades.

“Let me take a look?” You try again, feeling your already shaky optimism dwindle further.  

He thinks it over for a couple of heartbeats before he slowly drags his hand to his hairline, pushing up the stands of white hair that usually fall so gracefully in his face… 

Astarion must’ve drunk a healing potion because the presumably once-angry burns on his skin have already faded into pale red blotches sprinkled all over his forehead. By morning, nobody would even be able to tell the acid burns were ever there—were it not for Astarion’s eyebrows, or what’s left of them, that is.

You instantly force your face into a mask of neutrality. You have to approach this very delicately.

“It’s… salvageable. Really,” is all you can blurt out, though. 

Astarion’s crimson eyes grow comically round, accentuated by the lack of eyebrows; he doesn’t believe a word you say, which you can’t really hold against him. You’re talking shit. It’s bad, and you wonder how in the nine hells you haven’t noticed this before.

“You can redraw them here and…there,” you go on for lack of anything better to say—Gods, you really should shut up. “Fill them back in, you know…?” 

Astarion wets his lips while you're evading his piercing gaze.

“Why, what a grand idea,” he breathes, shakily. “I never would’ve thought of that myself. If only there wasn’t this one peculiar little thing. What was it again, my dear?”

You cringe. Of course. Of course… How could you forget?

“Ah, right…” You only notice the delicate hand mirror Astarion was holding when it flies across the tent, shattering somewhere on the bare ground farthest from you. “I can’t fucking see my face!” 

As if all strength has left his body, Astarion sinks to the ground, where he lets himself fall back into his pile of blankets, arms draped over his eyes. It’s all rather dramatic, but you guess you can’t have one without the other. 

Grimacing, because you’re sorry for him, you sink to your knees next to him, gently tugging at his sleeve. 

“Do you want me to do it? Redraw them, I mean.”

You can tell by the way Astarion sits up as if struck by lightning that he was only waiting for your offer. Suddenly very close, he considers you with narrowed eyes.

“I suppose you could,” he muses, tracing the shape of your left eyebrow with his index finger. “You usually look presentable enough.” 

You let the comment slide, but not without rolling your eyes at him. It’s just show, though, a way to suppress a smile. Astarion thinks he’s sly about it, but you catch him often enough looking at you as if you were the sun at dawn. 

Of course, you would never dare mention that to him.

“Give me a minute,” you say instead, already rising to your feet, were it not for the cold fingers curling around your wrist.

Astarion gives you a stern look as he's holding you in place, his nose nearly brushing against yours. “Not a word to anyone about this.” 

You give him a solemn look in return as you comb your fingers through his hair, gently guiding some stray locks back into place. “I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your hand is trembling just a little—enough for Astarion to notice. Enough for that damn smirk to find its way to his lips. You hold your breath. 

“Nervous, love?” 

Yes, and it’s stupid because you’ve done this often enough—daily, even. It’s just easier to apply cosmetics on yourself, sitting in front of a mirror and not kneeling in front of him, trying to evade his piercing gaze. 

“Why would I be?” You scowl, readjusting the hold on your charred willow stick that has yet to make contact with Astarion’s skin. “Aren’t my eyebrows, are they?”

You shift closer to him, brushing against his leg with your knee, which doesn’t help your case at all. You can’t help feeling a little shaky when he’s this close—and he knows it. 

“No need to tremble like a virgin, then, my sweet.” 

Giving him a sharp look, you draw back a little, although you don’t make it far. 

“Maybe you just need to come a little closer still,” he purrs as his hand takes hold of the back of your knee, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. “Might be less distracting for you…”

For someone close to having a meltdown less than fifteen minutes ago, he’s surely having lots of fun now. Biting your lower lip, you adjust your weight, straddling Astarion properly. Trying to ignore the hard body pressing against yours, you assess the natural growth of his eyebrows again, eventually setting the tip of the charred willow stick down on his skin, only to remove it again. This won’t work like this. 

“Honestly, can you please just close your eyes?” 

Astarion scoffs. “Should I blow out the candles, too, while I’m at it? Leave the nightdress on?” 

“Shut up, or you’ll end up looking like a clown.” 

That eventually does the trick. He gives you one last look that is somewhere between peeved and wary before he closes his eyes. 

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing, to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror. The thought alone makes you shudder.

Astarion’s hand wanders up from your knee to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze; this time, his touch is more encouragement than teasing. 

After taking a deep breath, you lean back in. 

With steady hands, you begin to redraw the missing parts of his eyebrows. Taking your time, you make sure to follow the natural shape of them; to blend out the colour where the charcoal comes off as too stark a contrast to his white hair. 

While you’re working, Astarion doesn’t move one bit, eager—for once—to not fluster you. It’s not until you lean back to consider the fruits of your labour that he opens his eyes again. 

“And?”

“Well,” you muse, “you look presentable enough.” 

He scowls as you throw his own words back at him; you suppress a laugh before you take his face between your hands.

“If I could see the stars right now, I could not tell them apart from you,” you proclaim, mimicking his dramatics once again. It’s not as funny when you do it, so you’re quick to add, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

You mean it, and Astarion knows it; trusts that you do. He leans forward to brush a kiss against your lips, hugging you to him, which is as much thanks as you expected to receive. 

“Will you do it again tomorrow? And the day after,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, “please?”  

“Of course,” you assure him, deepening the embrace, “until they’ve grown back.”  

Astarion hums in agreement and you remain like this for a moment before you pull back to look into his eyes, which are once again framed by a pair of sharp eyebrows accentuating his perfect features. 

“I should’ve noticed earlier,” you say, at last. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good mirror, it seems.” 

Astarion frowns at you, the intensity of his gaze taking you aback as it is wont to do. 

“Don’t be,” he urges, gently taking your dominant hand in his. He runs his fingers along the back of it, careful not to put too much pressure on your still-raw skin. His touch stings nonetheless, reminding you of your own acid burns that have yet to heal—those spiders really are a menace. “You should be more careful, too, you know? You’re the only working mirror I have.”

You’re lying flat on your back before you can even gasp in surprise. To your embarrassment, your legs have already wrapped around Astarion’s waist; all you can see is that damn smirk on his lips as he’s towering over you, his face barely a finger width away from yours. Your breath hitches as you take him in; nobody has any right to be this beautiful. 

“It would be a shame if I lost it, my precious little mirror,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours. 

It’s a far cry from his earlier kiss—heated, needy. Knowing you don’t stand a chance against his tongue gliding over your lower lip, you open your mouth to him, slowly losing yourself in him. There’s really nothing easier than that.

Your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer as your fingers dig through his locks, eliciting a low moan from him. This is a lot more thanks for your service than you’ve expected, but you find yourself unable to complain. Your mouth is far too occupied for that anyway.

It’s almost obscene how easily Astarion can undo your stays and by the time his hand finds its way underneath your thin shirt, your mind is long clouded by lust. Leaving goosebumps in its wake, his hand glides over your belly up to your sternum before it firmly cups your breast. The lazy pace of his thumb drawing circles around your hardened nipple has you aching your back, trying to ease the wet heat gathering between your legs. 

Wet.

Somewhere very far in the back of your mind, you remember that you had a reason for coming to him earlier—way before you ended up on his lap, let alone underneath him. Let alone this damn wet. What was it again? 

You break loose from Astarion to take a quick breath. Not wasting any time away from you, his lips begin to trace along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone; his wicked grin is painfully obvious against your skin. By the time you realise Astarion is scheming something, he’s already pushing his knee under your ass, repositioning you so that you can feel his hardness pressing against your core. You hiss at the sudden contact. 

Ah, right—hiss! Lae'zel.

You throw your head back with a sigh as Astarion begins to grind his hips against you, making any thought of the Githyanki warrior evaporate quickly. Fuck Lae'zel and her sense of duty and honour. You can just sit out her wrath with Astarion right here, right now, however long it may take. It doesn’t really matter that you’re not sitting much, either.

But then again, maybe this is why your companions take offence at you the moment Astarion is stepping out of line, although you’re sure they would be biassed, too, if they knew how positively divine he feels—especially when he’s teasing the waistband of your trousers with his long fingers as he does now. Your hips move in answer to his touch, and yet…Fuck.

You groan. Not with pleasure but from your own sense of duty. The others trust you as much as Astarion does; that’s why they somehow thought it wise to make you their leader. Almost annoyed with yourself, you prop yourself up on one elbow, pressing your hand against Astarion’s chest, telling him to stop before you’re way past the point of no return. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. His hair is messy and his lips are red and swollen from your kisses and by the Gods you want him to fuck you. It takes you a very long moment to gather yourself.

“Now that we took care of your issue,” you pant, tracing the shape of his left eyebrow with your index finger, “you might wanna go fetch water if you don’t want Lae'zel to wipe them off right away.” 

Tilting his head, Astarion gives you a long look. His fingers keep digging into your thigh which has you grinding your teeth to suppress another sigh. He doesn’t buy your attempt at keeping order and peace, not when he can undoubtedly feel you trembling with need for him. You’re not even protesting when he leans back over you, one arm next to your head to support his weight. 

“So, what?” he breathes against your shoulder before planting a hot kiss against your skin. And another. And another, as he is slowly kissing his way down your body. “You said you would redo them over and over and over again, didn’t you, darling?” 

Holding your breath, you watch your shirt being pushed up the lower he’s moving down on you, gasping only when the crisp evening air caresses your exposed chest. 

Astarion’s trail of kisses comes to a halt right below your belly button. His crimson eyes are looking at you expectantly but you’re too preoccupied with his fingers slowly undoing your trousers to make any sense of his wordless question. You swallow. 

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He repeats, the amusement evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you nod rather enthusiastically. “No problem. Not at all.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Astarion grins, finally freeing you of your trousers to see how pathetically ready you already are for him.

Duty can wait a little longer, you decide as you give yourself over to the pale elf. You only promised Lae'zel to remind Astarion of his chores, not that you would make him do them, you reason. 

You’re not his keeper, after all. 

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion baldur's gate #astarion romance #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #pale elf #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #emicha writes #long post for these long nights #wilteddreamsbg3

[narcissarina]

Darkened Desires

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 1,088

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

PROLOGUE

“It shouldn’t have come to this.” This wouldn’t have happened, if she could just listen to me! I would not have done that, she was suppose to be mine, mine alone. How dare he laid his hands on her. I should’ve just chained her, isolate her, keep her all by myself. If only she kept her curiosity to herself.

Very well then, curiosity does kill the cat. I’ll be having my own fun to chase and to hunt her down, until she admits that every part of her is mine.

CHAPTER 1:

THE SUN

Nothing makes my morning much more delightful than working in a Café that me and my friend own, a smile spread across my face as I greet a customer with delight, “Hello, welcome to Tulipa Purissima. What can I get you today?” I saw a smile from the little girls face as she waved at me and pointed right to the menu of our café.

“Mommy, mommy!” the girl yelled with a high pitched but adoring voice, “I want a strawberry cake!” the girl added, on the other hand—the mother, was busy speaking to her phone while holding the little girls hand. This very much reminded me of how me and my mother were. I let out a soft laugh as the girl was too eager to have her strawberry cake, pulling her mothers sleeve and arm, whining and pushing her. The older woman didn’t flinched nor yelled at the girl, she just pat her head and hold the call, pinching her daughters cheek.

This is so adorable to watch.

After a few exchanged mutters from the mother and daughter, they placed their order and find their seats. Those two really did remind me of my mother and me, how she’ll always take the call either a call from relatives or from her workplace, then we’ll go to a café and I sulk at her from taking too long.

I laughed and passed the order from my friend, who will make and serve the orders. This is how me and my friend, Estrella do and pick our parts, we also switch roles from time to time.

As I serve customers, call out their name to pick up their order, something caught my attention—someone. Group of men dresses in fancy black tuxedo inside the café, they haven’t get anything yet. I assume they were only bystanders, I sigh and look for my friend to make sure, “Estrella?” I called, she hums in response and finishing the last order and gave the receipt to the customer.

“Those men..” I point towards the right side of the back of the café, trying my best not to seem rude to point to customers and not wanting to be find out that I’m talking about them, “they haven’t ordered anything yet, right?” I asked, worry hinted in my voice. Since I feel a bit of intimidation towards of group of men, worse part is that they even dressed up in black expensive tuxedo’s.

My friend took a quick glance and stared at me in the eye, shaking her head and wiping her hands with tissues, “No,” she hums, “I haven’t seen a single one of them come to front and claim their order.” She added, Estrella has a knack for remembering faces of customers for the day and know who’s had ordered and who didn’t, “and they don’t seem like a regular here either.”

I sigh and got out from the counter, “I’ll deal with them, we can’t have bystanders here.” I murmur to myself and to Estrella to hear, she gave a thumbs-up as if it’ll motivate me and have such courage to speak with those dangerous looking men.

There were three to seven people in this table, two on either side of the bench seat and a man in the middle—sweating and fidgeting, as if he’s being threatened by these men. I approach their table, my hands clasp together and I cleared my throat to bring their attention to me, “Hello, gentlemen.” I utter, trying to steady my voice and not stutter or eat my words up. I continue, “I—uh noticed that you guys haven’t order anything here yet and that an atmosphere you bring inside Tulipa Purissima is unsettling, if you all don’t mind, I kindly ask you all to leave.”

A man with dark purple hair and in a short hime cut with lavender highlights, I assume he’s a little older than me but with a baby face like that and how he stood out from the rest of the men, I think I know who’s in charge of the group. He spoke, his tone flat and uninterested, “so we just need to order and you’ll leave us alone?” he asked, his eyes darkening and piercing the more he look at me dead in the eye.

I think I want to curl up into a ball and cry to my mommy.

My lips sealed shut, his voice raspy and husky. I don’t move an inch and I peel my eyes away from his deadly gaze, “uh. I- I mean.” I started stammering, I could feel my heart beating and racing, my legs wanting to give out and run to my friend Estrella.

Help, I’m scared.

He waves his hand lazily, his palm resting his chin and elbow on the table. “Whatever, get me some dark coffee.” He said, tone still flat and uninterested. He turn to his colleagues—or that I assume that were his colleagues, it feels like more a security than old friends…

“You all order some, my treat.” He murmured but it was loud enough to be heard by the others, I took out my handy-dandy notebook and write down all their orders. I’m so glad that I keep this thing all the time with me.

After placing and telling me their order, I noticed the man looking at me. The one in the middle, his eyes big and wide, his hands trembling and fidgeting—as if he’s telling me to help him.

“I don’t want to intrude but,” I said and lean over the table and look at the man, but I don’t lean in too close. “I’m sorry sir but are these gentle folks seems to bother you nor are they intimidating you?” I asked, my tone strong and full of concern.

I could feel a burning sensation at the back of my neck, and I know who’s eyes they were…

Link:

Chapter 2: THE MOON

#genshin impact #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche smut #modern Scaramouche #Mafia!Scaramouche #dark romance #genshin smut #Dark Desires Series #sorry for being inactive #i hope y'all like it #darkened desires series

[valeskafics]

"Confession" - Modern Priest!Osferth x Nun!Reader

Summary: Father Osferth feels tempted by you, a beautiful young nun.

Word Count: 1,700

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

TW: slight dubcon not really tho, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, stalking, perving, darkish!osferth, religion kink, hierophilia, priest kink, corruption kink, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, overstim, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the The Last Kingdom characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

The youngest priest to have ever led his flock, Father Osferth is a man of God. He has never once wavered in his faith. He went straight to seminary school and never looked back. He had no regrets about committing himself to a life of celibacy in service of the Holy Father.

That is, until you came into his life.

You, the sweet young nun, with the kindest smile that he’s ever seen on another person. You, with your curves that are still so evident despite the humble clothing you wear, your body driving his mind wild with lustful, sinful thoughts. You are always so sweet to him, greeting him so cheerfully, always willing to help him with anything. He wonders if you’d be willing to help him lessen the ache of his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. He leans against the wall, watching as you lean over and set out the hymn books, mind consumed with thoughts of bending you over one of the pews and taking you then and there. But, somehow, with whatever little self restraint is left in him, he holds back.

It is Sunday morning, just before the day’s service when you approach him, greeting him as you always do, “Good morning, Father Osferth.”

He hates the way his cock twitches when you call him ‘Father’. It awakens something so depraved, so lustful inside of him that he feels ashamed of his thoughts. He nods, greeting you in return, a stirring in his body as you beam up at him and tell him that everything is ready for the worshipers to arrive. Osferth watches as you walk away, hips swaying back and forth with an effortless grace that has him entirely transfixed. The entire service, he keeps looking over to you as he preaches to his flock on the value of chastity. He’s a hypocrite. A complete hypocrite, with how his mouth waters at the mere sight of you.

Osferth must resist. You have been placed in front of him as a test by the Lord. To prove the depths of his devotion to his faith. He knows this. You have the face of an angel, but you are no doubt here to bring about his ruin. All this becomes fairly evident when you come to give confession. You assume that he will not recognize your voice, but of course he does. Osferth has committed every little thing about you to his memory.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession.”

The heat rises in his body as he swallows thickly, managing to reply, if only barely, gazing at you through the latticed screen, “Confess your sins, my child.”

He hears the slight tremble in your voice, the shame as you admit, “I have had lustful thoughts for a man of the cloth.”

You have to be talking about him. You must be. What other man of the cloth do you have such frequent contact with? It’s almost enough for him to break down the screen and grab you by the waist, taking you right then and there in the confessional booth. But, instead, he manages to control himself and allow you to continue to speak. He wants to hear more. No, he needs to hear more.

“I know it’s wrong,” you admit, your voice full of shame as you fiddle with your fingers, “But I can’t help it. I have done my best to resist. To stop myself from feeling like this. But it grows more and more difficult with each passing day.”

Osferth resists the urge to tell you that it has been much the same for him. That every day, he teeters on the precipice of throwing away everything he has ever worked for just to feel your lips against his, only once. Only for a moment.

“I have tried to pray these thoughts away, but they persist,” you say, your voice wavering, “Night and day I dream of him. And I know I shouldn’t.”

His knuckles grow white as he clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He knows you need his guidance, his advice. But how can he give it? How can he give it when as you speak, his cock grows harder and harder, and he palms at it over the fabric of his trousers, imagining his hand as your own.

“I have touched myself to the thought of him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, “I am sworn to celibacy. And it’s wrong, but all I can think of is him. His lips, his hands, his voice. Oh, Father, please help me…”

His mind reels with images of your delicate fingers moving between your thighs, face twisted in ecstasy as his name falls from your lips. Osferth’s stomach tightens as you plead, asking him what you must do. He finally clears his throat and manages to speak, voice rough and low with barely concealed desire.

“Have no fear, my child. We have all struggled with desires of the flesh. All that matters is your effort to resist the temptation to sin,” he takes a shaky breath before continuing, thoughts of his body intertwined with yours overtaking him, “What you must do is pray for forgiveness, for guidance. And know that our Lord forgives all who truly seek redemption in his name.”

You nod, thanking him for his guidance, and walk out of the confessional. The minute the door closes behind you, Osferth quickly moves to undo his pants, tugging furiously at his cock, feeling no shame for the noises that leave his mouth and echo throughout the now empty church.

Desperate moans of your name.

Osferth never noticed it before today, but there is a tiny hole in the wall between your rooms at the church. It is as if God himself wants him to gaze upon you in your natural state, as you stand in front of your mirror, wearing only your headdress and a thin nightgown, your soft, supple body on display for him as you apply lotion to your arms and neck, humming a hymn to yourself. He’s spellbound, hypnotized by the very sight of you, his greedy eyes devouring your every movement. You remove your habit, shaking out your now loose locks with your fingers, yawning softly. Every movement you make seems as if it is explicitly chosen to tempt him, a siren calling to a sailor at sea, luring him to his demise.

You climb into your bed, closing your eyes and murmuring to yourself, barely loud enough for him to hear, “Oh, Lord, please don’t let him fill my dreams tonight. Give me one night of peace.”

There’s no point in resisting you now. He enters your room, footsteps nearly silent as he opens the door, the idea of you dreaming of him driving him to desperation. You sit up, startled and vulnerable, grabbing the crucifix on your nightstand. But when you see that it’s him, you let out a sigh of relief. But you should not be relieved. Not when he has anything but noble intentions for you.

“Father Osferth,” you greet quietly, pulling your blanket up to cover yourself, “Is something the matter?”

He can’t speak, his tongue so heavy in his mouth, so overwhelmed by your beauty as he moves to sit beside you on your bed. So modest and sweet in how you cover yourself, your eyes wide and innocent as he leans in close to you, pulling your blanket away from your body, revealing you to him once more.

“Father?” You ask, confused.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he replies softly, hand moving to cup your face, replying when you as him what he means, “Fight you. I can’t. Not anymore.”

Osferth’s voice is low and husky, his breath hot against your skin as he runs his nose along your neck, deeply inhaling your scent. His other hand moves to your back, pressing you flush up against him, your soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest. His lips find yours, swallowing them in a heated, passionate kiss. He moves to pin you down to the bed, hands moving along the curves of your body, his cock grinding against your barely clothed cunt.

“I thought we were meant to resist, Father,” you manage to eke out between kisses, his lips now moving to your breasts, tugging your nightgown off your body as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples.

Osferth ignores your words, kissing down farther and farther until he reaches the apex between your thighs. He all but rips your panties from your body, burying his tongue deep inside you making you cry out, your hands flying to his hair as he stares up at you. He laps at your folds greedily, holding you in place, feeling the way you try to squirm away from the intensity of the pleasure he’s giving you. But he will not let you get away. Not from him, not ever. He continues his ministrations, rubbing at your sensitive, swollen pearl with his thumb, smirking to himself as you cry out his name, spilling yourself on his tongue. But he does not stop, he continues, drunk on the taste of you, eyes wild and desperate as he nuzzles his nose against your clit, fucking you with his tongue, large, calloused hands squeezing at your thighs as he devours you.

When he’s finally had his fill, he feels your eyes on him as he tugs at his priest’s collar undoing his pants just enough to free his cock, slowly pushing inside you. You’re so tight around him that he wonders if he’ll even fit, the way you whine and whimper, your body writhing against his as he pushes inside you, inch by inch, until he’s bottomed out. Your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips, his palms moving to grope at them, watching the way you cry out his name, your eyes rolling back as he pounds into you over and over.

He is Father Osferth no more.

No, he is a man consumed by his lust, by his love.

He only worships you now.

#osferth x you #osferth x reader #osferth smut #osferth the last kingdom #osferth tlk #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth imagine #osferth x y/n #osferth x fem!reader #the last kingdom x reader #my writing #osferth oneshot #dark!osferth #modern!osferth #modern!osferth oneshot #nun!reader