#i get off work and this has notes without having a single direct tag

[ncteez]

Give & Take (l.s)

It’s not weird that you and your roommate do certain things that others would consider, um, strange. It’s not weird because you don’t make it weird, and he certainly doesn’t go out of his way to make a big deal either. 

or the one where you and your roommate masturbate together casually until it becomes not so casual, and maybe neither of you can do it at this point without wanting more.

ao3 | m.list | reblog to give seokmin a boner 

minors dni!! 

WORDCOUNT― 6.6k

PAIRING― seokmin x afab reader 

CONTENT― roommate au, roommates to lovers

NOTE― This is dedicated to @onlyseokmins and that’s all I have to say about this. (i’m a liar i actually want this man so bad so here’s my need for him in fic form and also a direct attack on elv.) not proof read.

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― big dick seokmin, mutual masturbation, pining, desperate stuff i guess, pretending he’s fucking you instead of his hand,  just the tip moment, unprotected sex, he pulls out bc he’s polite. ~

Moving in with Seokmin was a no-brainer. Both of you were freshly graduated from the same college and starting new jobs in the same city hours away from home. Seeing a familiar face in a city of bustling businesses and loud streets was a welcome comfort for you, living with that familiar face only made it easier. 

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that back during the college days, you and Seokmin weren’t close. Not until your senior year together that the two of you somehow met in the middle with a single class despite the drastically different majors. He took it as an elective, yours was the last “easy” class to get through before graduation, because maybe your advisor fucked up and never told you it was necessary to take, and maybe you were a little mad about it. 

You became less mad as you helped Seokmin through his struggles. An elective for him was a career for you, so it was easy to walk him through it. You grew close within the stress of senior year so of course, when you found out he was moving to the same city that you’re moving to, you instantly jumped into action in trying to convince him to save money by living together with you. 

It’s a big city, and while you both had jobs lined up, it’s not like the pay was enough for one person to afford an apartment in the heart of the city. Thankfully, he didn’t need to be swayed and it only took a few weeks for the two of you to head out and explore the apartments offered, landing on one that leaves an equal distance both of you would need to travel to work. One that only costs some seven hundred and fifty dollars a month each (a hefty amount for just one person.) 

By now, it’s been about six months since the two of you settled here in the heart of a great city. Work has been going smoothly despite the tired nights when the two of you meet up outside (because somehow you both clock out at the same time too) and decide on whether you want to walk to a shop for dinner or fight over who is gonna put the nuggets in the oven this time. 

Things were normal for the most part, you think, regarding roommates anyway. There is one thing that’s changed though. Not your fondness of him, not even the way you look at him when he’s being annoying and loud while singing in the shower. 

It started about two months into living in this space with him. He must have lost track of the time that day because he knew your schedule then and still knows it now like the back of his hand. He took the day off, feigning sickness after a long Sunday of doing absolutely nothing and wanting to extend it just a bit longer through the following Monday. You worked that day, of course, you did. You came home on time as you always did too, except this time you didn’t come home to him in his room or cooking dinner. 

It was a weird kind of rush, wondering how the fuck this could be happening as you stood at your doorway to find him exposing more of himself than you ever expected or wanted to see at the time. There, on the couch was your dope of a roommate, legs spread wide and length in hand. On the tv played nothing, but his phone was propped on his thigh as he stared down at it with deep sighs. 

You were frozen at that moment, watching him and feeling your cheeks warm up. You didn’t know if you should turn to leave, make a noise so he stops, or just watch. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting to disturb him. Was it because you liked what you saw? At the time, you would have said absolutely not. But seeing how it is now, it’s more common than not to see him orgasm, it’s kind of laughable.

On that day, he must have felt someone watching him because mid-stroke he looked up at you and fumbled his pants back over his length. Muffling apologies with raspy whispers, skin glistening on his forehead indicating he must’ve been at it for a while, and you were just standing there silent. 

That night, you laid in your bed wondering why you couldn’t get that image out of your head. Seeing him like that wasn’t something you ever thought about despite how handsome he is. He’s your friend, he’s your roommate. You can’t stop thinking now though, about how big he is in all of his entirety. From his height to his– yeah. 

It went on like that for about two weeks. You, not able to get that image out of your head and him, acting as normal as ever as if it never happened. It wasn’t until the end of that two-week time span that you realized you enjoyed it. Like you would have liked to have seen him finish. 

It swam in your brain for a while, wondering if you should bring it up or if you should push past it and find some guy to meet up with just to work out the horny energy, after all, it’s not like you know anyone in this city well enough to have an intimate relationship with. No one besides Seokmin anyway. Dilemmas, dilemmas. 

Not so much a dilemma though, to your pleasure. It’s brought up one night on a Saturday as the two of you say at the kitchen table complaining about work. Minutes passed, then an hour passed and he suggested having a drink to wind down. You accepted, sipping the alcohol he so proudly made for you. 

It felt warm in the apartment by that point, but you didn’t mind as you found your brain falling back to that image of him. You thought he might be wearing the same shirt that we was wearing that day, which is kind of detrimental for your fogging brain. But, he brings it up. 

“You know, you’ve been kind of weird since that day.” He commented, running his fingers along the rim of his glass. “I really did lose track of time, and I can’t stop feeling embarrassed by it.”

You could see a softer side of him at that moment. Out of how long you’ve known him by now, never once have you seen him embarrassed. 

“About that,” You started, not able to look him in the eye. “I was shocked but–” 

The way he looked at you at that moment was difficult to process. It was new ground for both of you. 

“I think I liked it?”

~

The tip-toeing around each other didn’t last as long as you expected it to. After the talk you had with him on that Saturday night, somehow the two of you ended up doing the very thing that had you in a rut in the first place.

You got to watch him in full, working himself up until he suggested you join, that maybe he’d be into it too. Saying that he felt weird being the only one, though he didn’t mind that you were watching. You don’t know what got into you that night, maybe it was the alcohol, but you did join him. A full five feet away from each other but shamelessly watching hand movements until orgasm. You noted him holding off too, until you got there. It was an interesting dynamic, truly. 

And now, six months into living with him, it’s become a normal occurrence. After every hard day at work, “wanna get off with me?”, after every long movie session or board game loss, “wanna watch each other come?”, to the point that now it’s nearing every day. Any self-fuck session became a shared one. 

Sometimes he even texts you from his room late at night. It’s like you know his jerk-off schedule more than your own work schedule by now. Sometimes, you don’t even touch yourself but instead, enjoy watching him get there with a little help from you, taking off your shirt or spreading your legs. It’s become a thing. And somehow, it’s not as weird as it should be. 

“You got plans this weekend?” Seokmin bellows through a yawn from his room after hearing your alarm go off. 

“Since when do I ever have plans?” You say through your own yawn after pulling yourself out of the bed. You tiptoe the few feet from your door to his, leaning against it and scratching the back of your neck. “Why?”

He stretches loud and obnoxiously before rolling over and planting his face into his pillows. 

“Wanna skip out on work today?” 

You step into his room, throwing yourself on top of him with a tired groan. 

“Yeah,” You sigh out, closing your eyes and fully aware that you could go back to sleep right now despite this uncomfortable position over your roommate. “but why?”

His voice is muffled more by the pillows when he answers you, mostly because your body weight is pressing him further down. He fights to turn his head away from the pillow, takes in a deep breath from the brief smothering, and smiles. 

“I dunno, we haven’t really had a chance to go out and explore the city much outside of furniture and grocery shopping.” 

You realize that he’s right. You’ve heard talk of the malls in this area, of the theme parks, the museums. There’s so much to do here, and neither of you have really attempted to do any of it. 

“Starting today, because we are going to skip work,” He narrows his eyes as he lifts his body up and forces you to roll off of him. “You are going to skip, right?”

You nod, waiting for him to continue what he was originally going to say. 

“We should go out and explore. Rent is paid already, fridge is full, I saved up a bit so we could go do some stuff.”

It flies right past your head. You don’t even stop to think that he saved up to do this with you, and instead you simply nod with a smile before hopping off of him and rolling off of the bed to your feet.

“Guess I should call my boss.” You shrug, starting to leave the room. 

“Wanna sleep a little more first? Kind of dumb to skip out on work and not sleep in.”

You nod again, yawning and looking down at your phone to search for your workplace number. Thankfully, after calling, there was no issue with you skipping work today. After all, you haven’t really missed a single day since you started (unlike some people: seokmin.)

~

Friday was eventful, the two of you walked to all of the shops closest to your apartment, stepping into a cafe and having some coffee, then went to a pristine shopping district and scoffed together at the price of a pair of socks. 

By the time you got home, you were just as tired as you would have been coming home from work, and he was still bouncing on his feet. Drinks, dinner, sleep. 

No casual masturbation that day.

On Saturday, it started much the same except this time the two of you went to a mall. Why he kept insisting on buying you cute panties and matching bras? You know the answer. You’re kind of part of his porn collection now, and he is part of yours too. Maybe he considered it a little too hard when you also suggested he get a cute pair of panties to wear. He didn’t though, and instead bought you like six too-expensive sets of lingerie. Each color to match whatever horny brain he’s in, you assume. 

That night, the two of you ate at a restaurant and took a taxi back home. Sitting beside him on the couch, a question started floating in your brain and by now you knew better than to keep these kinds of things to yourself given the dynamic you have with him.

“You know, you’re buying me all of this sexy stuff–” 

“I am, yeah.” He smiles proudly, eyes crinkling as his eyes shoot to the bag on the kitchen table. 

“Why aren’t you just going out to meet someone instead of settling with jerking off all the time?”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“That’s a lot of work, why would I do that when you’re right here?”

Why would he do that if you’re here? 

“Why, you getting bored of me?” He jokes, leaning against you and nudging your shoulder. “Should I have bought those panties to spice it up a bit?”

God, it’s so weird how normal this is. No touching each other, only looking. Desperate looking at that, searing eyes, extremely hot orgasms, wobbling legs, and then sleeping alone. Would it really be so strange at this point to want to touch him? To want to spice it up not with panties, but with the act of actually feeling how warm he is? 

“Oh no.” He pauses, eyes widening. “You actually wanted me to wear those?”

“No!” You laugh, though it would’ve maybe awoken something in you, you’re not sure. “I just figured you know, it’s not like you wouldn’t be able to go get laid.”

He stares are you before throwing out another joke. 

“I know that.” He laughs, turning to face you. “It’s not like it would be hard for you either. Why aren’t you out and about instead of sitting in front of me and touching yourself?”

You freeze at his words, realizing that so many times it’s been silent sessions together save for moaning. He’s never actually said those words to you, never dirty talked, never crossed an invisible line while it happened. 

“Would you prefer I go find someone else?” You avoid the feeling in your gut right now only briefly, staring him down.

“No, I’d honestly prefer you touch yourself for me and only me.” 

Oh. Oh fucking no. 

“That’s all you need to be satisfied?” 

He smiles proudly again, eyes flicking back over to the bag and you shake your head at him. 

“We need to wash those before I wear them so you’re gonna have to deal with the boring panties I wore today, I guess.”

He nods, already following suit on the regular list of things he does when this happens. 

It’s always so quiet, and never did it bother you until now. Watching him do nothing but grab his length and squeeze it until it starts to harden. Eyes on you as you do your own version of working yourself up, hand down your waist band and simply touching and rubbing until you feel the first sensation of your gut flipping.

“Seokmin.” You start, looking at him through narrow eyes. This is enough for you, but…is it?

“Hm?” He responds, eyes focused on the movement under your shorts. 

“Can you talk a little bit this time?” 

He smiles, chuckling a bit at you for the question.

“Oh, you’re into that?” He says almost in a mocking tone, but it sends a little wave of heat through his body to have you asking for more of him in some way. “I can’t promise I won’t say something stupid though.”

You shake your head, running your fingers up your folds and stopping at your clit.

“I don’t care what you say, I just really like your voice right now.”

Another pause from him as you watch him adjust his almost fully erect length under his pants. 

“Only right now?” He asks, trailing his fingers gently along the underside of his length and turning his body back to where his back is against the couch cushions. 

“No, I mean, I like your voice all the time but you never say much when we do this–” You admit, watching him intently like you always do, feeling the clock tick up to the point you know he’s going to pull it out and start sighing. 

“Alright, does this mean I can ask for something too?”

You quirk a brow at that but quickly nod in anticipation because finally, this is going somewhere past just watching. 

“Can we like, um–” He blushes mid-question, turning his face to look at you with all of his shame showing plainly. “Can we do it in an actual position for once?”

You can’t tell if your mind is playing tricks on you or if he’s actually wanting to pretend he’s fucking you by suggesting that. Immediately you fumble with the button on your shorts to get them off. 

“Yeah, Oh–” You stop yourself from sounding too excited. “I mean, like, what position?”

“Can I be on top?” He blurts, pulling his hand away from his length and once again looking at you and the way your fingers remain on the hem of your shorts, preparing to take them off. 

The image alone in your head of that is enough to want exactly what he wants, if not more. The illusion of him fucking you while you fuck yourself? You really couldn’t ask for more than that at this moment, though that could be argued if you think too hard about it.

“Deal.” 

The second you say that word, he’s jumping up and practically tearing his pants off of him. His eagerness is as loud and obnoxious as always, you can even hear a small “fuck yeah” whispered to himself when he does it. All is well and good until he’s tugging your shorts down for you.

Never has he taken your clothes off for you. The intimacy is flowing through you, but you’re not sure if he is feeling the same way about it. He’s probably just eager to try something new tonight rather than the usual. 

Your shorts are off faster than you’d normally take them off and you’re kind of chuckling about his blatant desperation until he hovers over you and positions himself where he wants to be. 

Now…now he’s intimidating. With both knees on the couch, your legs bent at the knees and resting on his hips. That doesn’t even matter to you right now, because you haven’t seen his face this close before. You haven’t felt his hips against your legs before, outside of when you flop down on each other during a tired morning to wake the other up. You’ve never felt your stomach flip like this over him.

And when his eyes leave that spot between your legs to meet your own with his same dopey smile, it’s like you melt into a puddle instantly and you’re wanting so much more than just this. You hold back though, finally pulling your eyes from his and looking between his legs.

You knew his cock was big but you’ve also never seen it this close to your body. It’s like, big big. Thick too, and never did you notice just how huge it is because his hands are equally huge, and wrap around it perfectly. To him, it’s a perfectly accurate cock for a man so tall and broad, but damn. 

It’s a bit embarrassing that all it took was for him to hover over you with his cock out to have you forgetting that you asked for him to talk through it. You’re in danger. Extreme danger with him like this and eager to talk this time. It starts so fast, so casually, and you’re still spinning internally just to grasp what you’re feeling right now. 

“Good?” 

That all he fucking says to start, settling into his position fully and grasping himself. Honestly, his cock is only a few inches above your core and you can feel the heat from it.

You nod, curling in on yourself a bit and he takes note of it because you’re never fucking shy. 

“Too much?” He asks, watching you shake your head in response. “God, thank fuck. Because you look so good right now.”

Spinning. 

“You can let go of me now though, I can see how wet you are already.” He continues, chuckling at the way your arms grip his shoulders.

You didn’t even fucking notice that you instantly started clinging to him. Especially with the fact that you didn’t expect him to talk to you like this. The two of you haven’t even started yet and he’s already got you on the verge of insanity. 

You’re quick to pull your arms back and lift your shirt up over your chest before slowly trailing your hand down. 

“Match my pace, okay? It’ll feel better.” He instructs, blatantly making a point so it does look and feel like he’s actually fucking you, all movements matching, sounds matching, lust matching.

You nod again, silently, eyes now focusing on his cock because if you look at his face right now you might just buckle and start crying over how insanely hot he is. 

He lets out a short chuckle at your silence, he’s used to that and didn’t take issue with it at all until you asked him to talk. He hopes you talk back at some point, but for now he leaves it alone as he starts stroking.

Precum is leaking already just from seeing you beneath him like this, bra covering your chest, panties covering your pussy– but it’s enough to get him going. He would feel selfish to ask for more unless you offer it first. He’s got you where he’s always wanted you since this whole thing started. 

You watch his hands, slipping your fingers under your panties and sliding them through your folds at the same pace, shivering only slightly at the feeling at you watch him. 

This pace works for a few minutes, but you note his grip grows tighter on himself and you hear his breath stutter in a sigh when he does it. You wonder what that feels like for him, and you wonder what he’s thinking about as he does it. You move your fingers to your clit at that point, pressing in and releasing your own sigh of relief.

He watches you, eyes shooting to your face and studying the way you close your eyes to really feel it. 

“Look at you,” he coos, trying to talk like you asked him to. “feels better when I’m here, right?”

You half open your eyes with a crooked smile, because of course it feels better when he’s with you. Even if he’s not touching you, even if he’s not the one doing it. 

“So pretty when you do this, you know–” He continues, praising you and falling into the words easier than he expected. “I think I fell in love with watching you from the second you spread your legs for me.”

You can’t. You can’t look at him when he’s talking to you, it’s a lot. It does something, it does a lot of something to you, so you focus on his cock and the way he starts pressing his hips into the circle his fingers create rather than pumping himself. He’s slow with it, lazily moving his hips back, forward, then back again. 

At that moment, you slide your fingers down and tease at your entrance, dipping a finger in easily and releasing a sigh. You can’t imagine this one finger will mimic what he could do to you, but you settle. 

“That’s it,” he says as he watches, hanging his head and knowing exactly what you’re doing with your fingers. “Can I see?”

You don’t respond and instead use your other hand to hook your panties to the side, revealing your finger sliding into you at the pace he’s sliding into his palm. 

The sigh he lets out begins to form into a moan at the end as he watches, wetting his lips and furrowing his brows. He keeps his hips steady despite obsessing over the fact that you’re fucking yourself at the same pace for illusion’s sake. 

“Put in another.” He instructs, watching you do just that and release another sigh. He’s becoming frustrated with the situation though, knowing for a fact that he could do better for you. Knowing that if you’d just suggest it, he would instantly be giving in. “Is that even enough for you?”

Your eyes shoot open and go straight to his face, which is staring down intently at the way your fingers fuck you open. 

“Not always.” You admit, shooting your gaze back down to his cock and the way his grip tightens around it. “Is that enough for you?” You follow up, pointing to his hand with your head.

“Not always…” he mimics you, and then it’s silent as the two of you accept the fact that this has to be enough right now.

And it stays like that for a while. To the point that his hips are relentlessly fucking into his palm, causing his knuckles to bump your clit every few seconds, and you’ve buried in a third finger trying your best to pretend it’s him. 

It’s both too much and not enough. Too much in the fact that he’s all over you, and too little in the fact that he’s right there and not in you. Your fingers aren’t enough when his cock is right there, his words aren’t enough when he’s not muffling that voice with your lips, and you can’t imagine he’s not feeling frustrated with the situation. All of the puzzle pieces are in front of you and neither of you are putting in the effort other than organizing them. You’re not snapping them together, you’re just on the fucking edge of the situation you want. 

Does he want it? Is it too much to ask? Is it–Oh. 

“Can I–” he starts, cutting himself off with a sharp breath because of the way you clearly are trying to reach deeper inside of yourself in pace with his long thrusts. 

“Yes.” You don’t even know what he’s asking, and to be fair you don’t think you give a shit. Whatever he wants to do, please, just do it. 

And he does without a second thought, releasing his grip and pulling at your wrist to slip your fingers out of yourself. Then, he presses his cock directly between your holds, holding it down as he picks up the pace again and thrusts up.

It’s not what you were expecting, but then again you should have known he wasn’t asking to fuck you. This is good though, feeling his cock sliding between your lips, head bumping your clit. The warmth, the heaviness, the way his length is so thick that all you can do is try to not feel empty while it’s sliding through your arousal.

He’s more focused now than he was before, nearly letting out a sob rather than a moan at the feeling of your pussy against the underside of his cock. It's like he’s getting everything he needs and nothing at the same time, but the image of your eyes staring down at it too was enough for him to know you like it too. You like it enough. 

When you let out a moan, trailing your hands up to your chest and releasing your tits from the bra, he only grinds faster against you, pressing down harder on his cock to create a tight space between your pussy and his palm. He stares at your tits, and then at your lips, and then back down at the way your pussy lips spread around his cock as he slides through them. 

Another hidden sob pretending to be a moan, and then he’s leaning closer to your face. 

“If I kiss you, would you be mad?”

You instantly strain your neck to connect your lips with his, and he falls into it all too easily. You can feel him speed up his thrusts, and you can feel his desperate tongue. It takes you a moment to realize this is your first kiss, and it’s while his cock is getting off against you. 

Its more than you could have asked for, honestly, but you’re going to ask for more because as you kiss him, well, all you can think of is how this looks outside of your position. It definitely looks like he’s fucking you. The image that you can’t even see in full is arousing you beyond belief as you kiss him, and when he pulls back for a breath, you take that short moment to spill your thoughts.

“Just a little.” You groan blankly, squeezing your breast in your hand and using your other hand to push his cock away from you. “Just–”

He stops, out of breath, trying and failing to comprehend what you’re trying to say. 

“Just what?” He groans, grabbing his cock and pumping it much like he normally would. 

“A little, just put it in a little bit.”

His face is on fire as his hand halts on his leaking cock. Did he hear you wrong? He’s watching your hands squeeze against your chest, he sees your eyes avoiding him, he can still taste your lips on his, and your pussy is just below his cock, pulsing around nothing. Is he reading you wrong?

“Just a little bit…” he repeats what you ask for, looking down at you and placing a hand on your thigh, spreading his fingers out wide. “You’re asking me to fuck you, just a little bit?”

God, the words. So few words but also so many words.

“Yes.”

He leans down inches from your face and you can feel his cock fall back to your folds at the moment, you shiver unintentionally.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to do that and then you end up regretting it.”

He told himself time and time again during these sessions with you that he would instantly jump for the opportunity to fuck you, but now that he’s faced with it– he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself aside from asking for confirmation as many times as he can until he believes you really want it. 

“Just,” You still avoid his eyes and the way they’re staring through you. “Please.”

He nods in an unsure way at first before pulling back and holding his length in his hand again. 

“Just a little bit, right?” He tries to confirm, and you nod.

With a deep breath, pounding heart, and spinning thoughts, he aligns himself with you and doesn’t know how to comprehend the feeling of slipping into you. So he simply…doesn’t.

You can feel the intense stretch instantly, the feeling you’ve been searching for making you shiver and nearly writhe beneath him. Just an inch, it’s all you need, he doesn’t have to do any more than that. You don’t need more, you have self-control, right?

“Oh, fuck,” he groans as your pussy envelops the head of his cock. He can feel the pulsing inside of you massage against it, he can feel the wetness, the fucking warmth. “Fuck, fuck.” 

It’s all he can say, honestly, speechless at your silence of the act. The way your mouth falls open in a silent moan only urges him to give you short, single inch thrusts despite the wetness you offer making it difficult to not accidentally slide further in.

“So thick,” You whine out in a broken and desperate voice. 

It causes him to have to take in a deep breath and hold it. Good lord, he’s fighting so many demons right now not to plunge into you and take whatever he can get. 

“A little more,” you urge him, wiggling your hips and sucking him in against his own movements. He doesn’t mind it, nor does he mind the embarrassing sound he lets out at the feeling. 

Now, he can thrust another inch in, stretching you open a little more, shocked that the three fingers you used before didn’t seem to come close to preparing you for this. He can feel how tight your walls are around him, and again, the demons. 

He lets out another embarrassing sound when he looks down, seeing only a quarter of his cock inside of you. He, once again, holds himself back from pushing in more. He could go so deep, but he can’t. 

“Little more?” He asks meekly, reaching a hand out to your cheek in the hope that you’d let him. He won’t ask again. Just, if he can get half of his cock in you, it would be plenty. It would be enough, he would be satisfied. 

“Or,” you groan at the adjustment around him, knowing full well that by asking him to put the tip in that you’d want so much more. It’s fun thinking you can control yourself, but it’s more fun losing that control with another person. You’re both controlling the need to fuck and be fucked solely because you don’t know if the other wants it. But god, he’s already inside of you, isn’t it fucking obvious?! 

“You could just fuck me.”

Say no more, with those words it’s like his hips act of their own will and he’s slowly sliding into you in full. Relishing in the way your pussy spread out to make room, cooing over the feeling of himself going deeper, deeper, and fucking deeper into you. 

“Finally.” He breathes out in relief when he bottoms out, leaning forward yet again to lay his lips against your forehead. “Felt like I’ve waited so long.”

You’re silent as you adjust to what you can consider the biggest cock you’ve ever taken. The searing pain isn’t much compared to the arousal of his admittance of wanting this only after getting inside of you. 

All you can offer him is a moan when you try to respond with your own witty sex talk, but he sends him spiraling somehow further than he already had gone. His hips stuttering in their planted spot as he lets you adjust, moaning in response to your moan. His lips kissing all over your face now, feeling in this moment that you’re his, and this feeling is shared, and that only your pussy could massage him this way simply because he’s inside of you. It’s overwhelming, all of the feelings hitting at once.

From physical feelings to emotional ones, it comes with such a harsh hit to him that all he can do is flutter those kisses to as much skin his lips can reach. Feeling your eyelashes on his cheek when he kisses the corner of your mouth, to feeling that corner of your mouth open in a yelp when he finally starts to move his hips back. Sliding out of you only a little bit before pressing back in again, deep and lazy.

“Good?” He asks, much like he did before. “So good.” He answers for both of you immediately after, keeping that lazy pace as he leans on his elbows on either side of your head. 

“Wrap your legs around me?” He follows up, already so comfortable speaking through your silence that it feels natural, especially when you do just as he asks.

In wrapping your legs around him, he’s able to adjust his body from the position he’s been stuck in this whole time. Now, he can be on his knees with you curled under him, clinging to him like a koala as he uses the back of the couch to support his balance. 

There, he’s able to pick up pace, there he’s able to see what you look like when you’re being fucked. There, he can see what you look like when he’s the one doing it. And he might be spiraling, but he feels more sane than he ever has in this moment, watching your lips and feeling you squeeze around him.

It’s no wonder he felt no interest in finding someone else. He was more satisfied jerking on in front of you than he had ever been actually inside of another person. Now though, it’s insane to think he was satisfied because he’s changed his mind. Why would he find someone else when you act like this? 

Why would he put himself through the possibility of you going out and doing the same thing with someone else? 

For you, there are no thoughts, just Seokmin. You’d laugh right now if it weren’t for the fact that each thrust forces a desperate and wet sound out of your throat. You’d laugh harder if it weren’t for the fact that you don’t even need to rub your clit to get yourself there.

He easily hits that soft spot inside of you, time and time again as his lips travel over repeated areas until landing on your mouth.

You kiss him harder than before, now trying to move your hips despite the difficulty of being under him. You try to meet him halfway now that he’s sliding nearly his entire cock out before slamming back into you. Emptying you and filling you up time and time again as if to remind you of the few moments before when you felt him for the first time. 

Repeatedly you think you’re about to come, and repeatedly you hold off until he whispers.

“I know that face, you’re holding back.”

It’s so fucking surreal knowing that he knows this without ever actually fucking you before now. He knows what you look like when you come, he knows how you like to be touched after watching you so many times. He knows where you sleep, knows what your favorite foods are, and showers in the same bathroom as you. 

You let go, thinking of only him and this moment you’re sharing. You don’t worry if it’ll ever happen again, because you know it will if he lets it. You’re not in control of this anymore, nor of yourself. 

“Pretty, like always.” He compliments when you make that familiar face of release, pumping into you faster now just to feel the gush of wet he’s seen leave your body time and time again. “Prettier now, though.” He corrects himself, feeling just what he was expecting as your body releases the tension all at once. 

The wet sounds somehow become wetter as he thrusts, still fluttering those kisses across your face to the point that you’re either numbed to it or tingling because of it. And only after he knows you’re finished does he pull out, fucking against his hand so aggressively that you’re more aware now than before that he always lets you finish first if not at the same time.

Except now, if he were to finish at the same time, he’d be filling you up so that there’s no question about the worry that comes after it. Despite knowing you’re on birth control, despite knowing you’re both clean because neither of you have fucked another person in half a year–

You watch with drowsy eyes as he releases strings of thick, white seed against both your pussy and stomach. Your panties, ruined and forgotten as they strain at the crease of your thigh. You whimper at the sight, so in love with the way it feels hitting you for some reason. So endeared with the way he pulled out despite knowing in his head that it would have been fine if he stayed. 

When he flops down over you, ignoring the mess between your bodies, you’ve never felt so close to him. You don’t think you ever want to feel further from him, actually. 

It’s the start of something else now, you’re not sure what, but it’s a given.

~

The start of something new came in the form of his room turning into a guest room for a new roommate. 

That roommate has yet to be found, but it’s an excuse to sleep next to him every night. No titles have been claimed but they’re definitely been given. Just a day after that happened, you caught him slipping and calling you his girlfriend. He figured that since you didn’t correct him, it must be true.

Yeah, it must be. 

#seokmin smut #seventeen smut #lee seokmin smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #svt smut

[sansxfuckyou]

a formal introduction

Summary: Branch finds a moment to introduce Poppy to the members of Kismet properly

Warnings: None!

Authors Note: I know I'm insane about the Kismet Poly thing but trust me guys, it's good even without the side of broppy I included to ease the wider fanbase into the idea of it. @ohposhers briefly went insane over this with me so I'm tagging 'em just for that, so did @bulliestrolls

"Branch! You never told me you were part of Kismet!" Poppy squealed, she was bouncing a little bit, holding tight to Branch's hand.

He gives an amused hum, "You want introductions don't you?"

Poppy nods eagerly, "Of course I do!"

"Promise not to freak out?"

"I promise."

Branch leads her over to where the members of Kismet sit, Ablaze, Trickee, Hype, and Boom. They're huddled in one general spot, lounging on bean bags and chairs and sipping drinks. They all perk up a bit and straighten their posture when they see Branch walking over with Poppy.

"You're finally gonna show off your girlfriend?" Hype asked eagerly.

"Actually, I'm showing off you four," Branch said.

He got a chorus of intrigued and teasing 'ooh's and 'ah's from the ensemble.

"Poppy, these are my on and off boyfriends-"

"Your what?!"

"We've been off for a couple years now, Queen Poppy," Trickee said, "No need to worry about us stealing your man."

"You dated the members of Kismet?!" Poppy exclaimed.

Branch recoiled a bit at the volume she displayed, "It's still a hush hush thing, none of my brothers know."

Poppy nodded and zipped her lips, dragging thumb and pointer across them to imitate the zipping. She stilled grinned, "Got it."

"Wait, you didn't tell anyone about us?" Hype asked.

"Anyone at all?" Ablaze chimed in with.

Branch shook his head, "Then they'd realize I was part of Kismet, Hype." He took a seat on one of the chairs, "Which would've made it really hard to isolate myself."

"You should've stayed with us," Boom said, "You were so close to getting back your true colors."

"Why did you leave them?" Poppy asked.

Branch heaved a sigh, "Because I was getting tired of performing shows. I started graying mid performance sometimes, it was stressful."

Boom leaned against Branch and bumped their shoulders together gently, "Yeah, and then we'd all give you hugs and kisses and a fruit drink and your colors would come back."

Hype did the same to Branch's other shoulder, "Boom's right, we always took care of you when your colors started to fade."

Trickee rests an arm on the back of the chair, "That we most certainly did, we never let you go fully gray for even a second."

Ablaze knocks his head against Branch's gently, "The guys have good points Branch, we took real good care of ya."

Branch's face burns bright as his bandmate relish him with attention.

"Aw, how cute," Poppy teased.

All of them scattered away from Branch like cockroaches.

"Sorry, Queen Poppy," Boom said, a nervous laugh on his voice as he spoke, "Old habits die hard."

Poppy laughs and waves off his concerns, "I don't mind much, I'm sure that there's plenty of Branch to go around."

"Are you sacrificing me to my on and off boyfriends right now, Poppy?" Branch asked.

Poppy nodded with this smug smirk on her face, "That's exactly what I'm doing right now."

"Are you for real, Queen Poppy?"

"Really, you're not joking?"

"You're serious about this?"

"We can have him again?"

Questions assaulted Poppy from every single direction and Branch gave her this look. It spoke volumes, it said he was happy with just her, it said he wasn't ready for his brothers to know he was a bit queer, it said he needed more time before trying with Kismet again. And Poppy heard every single thing that look said but she pushed it to the side, pushing Branch past his comfort zone has worked in the past.

"Of course you can, only on one condition," Poppy answered with a smirk on her face.

They all waited patiently and obediently for her condition to be stated.

"I still get to be his girlfriend."

"We'd never dream of taking him from ya."

"Of course, Queen Poppy!"

"He's absolutely still yours in part."

"Really we don't need him twenty four seven."

Poppy's just smirking as Branch shoots her a small glare. He sits up and brushes off the touches and attention from the likes of his bandmates. He drags her out of the room to a place where Kismet can't hear the discussion that Poppy knows is coming.

He brings a finger and presses it to Poppy's chest, "You."

"Me?" Poppy asked.

"Yes you, I haven't talked to these guys in years, Poppy," Branch fumed.

Poppy gently nudged his paw away from her, "It'll be good for your health."

"To be doted on and coddled like I'm helpless?"

"Exactly! You stress too much, I can't take enough care of you alone! It's a blessing, Branch."

"Four of my sort of ex's showing up and you deciding I should get back together with them is a blessing?"

"Yes! Of course it is! I promise you, most of the time it'll still be me and you," She gently grabs his paw and holds it carefully. She gives a soft smile, "I promise."

Branch squeezes her paw, "Alright, Poppy, I'll try them again."

"Now let's go talk about a housing arrangement if we're all gonna live together!"

"One step at a time, Poppifer."

#trolls #trolls fanfiction #kismet poly #branch x poppy #kismet trolls #branch trolls #poppy trolls #ablaze trolls #hype trolls #boom trolls #trickee trolls #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

[magicalrocketships]

WIP 7 Line Game

Rules: Share 7 (or more) lines of a WIP you've been working on.

I was tagged by @writcraft to post seven or more lines of a WIP. Welllllll... have two snippets, because for the first time in three years I have actual things on the go (hurray).

I've put them underneath the read more because I have lazily copied and pasted two half-scenes rather than seven sentences, one from Max and Daniel play dick chicken, and one from the one where Max figures out he likes boys and pretty underwear, not in that order.

Tagging @junkshop-disco, @lights-out-go, and @flawlessassholes, if they'd like to share too :)

This is from the one gently known as Max and Daniel play dick chicken:

The messages are from Max. There are three of them, all pictures. The first one, he's topless, in his bathroom. Daniel recognises it from hanging out at his, even though it's the one that comes off the bedroom and not the main bathroom. The second one, a wider angle, Daniel can see his bare hips too, although anything not safe for work is hidden beneath the countertop so that Daniel can't see, thank fuck. The third one is Max reaching down to cup his dick. It's accompanied by a single question mark. 

He hasn't deleted the messages or said anything else. 

Daniel waits until he's in his flat, and then his thumb hovers over his phone keyboard. He gives in and types, did you mean to send these to me?

The answer is a screen cap, taken on Max's phone, of his message window. It says Daniel at the top. It's accompanied by a single Y. 

&&&

And this one is from my emotionally isolated, touch-starved Max figuring out who he is fic (with pretty underwear and also Daniel):

Daniel grins. "And, definitely unrelatedly, how much lube have you got left, are we going to need more?"

Max tilts his head to the side. 

"If we're going to have our hands on each other's dicks again," Daniel says, still grinning, "we're going to need more lube than the none we used before. This baby doesn't like to chafe." He waves a hand in the general direction of his dick. 

That he has just called baby. Max re-focuses. "I don't have any." 

"All right, I'll get some of that too. Any preferences? What's the Japanese for lube? Hope no one recognises me when I'm just waving my google translate at the shop assistant. Maybe it'll just be like, super obvious. Next to the condoms—" Daniel, Max notes, has gone pink too. He bends down to unlace his Vans so he can shove his feet in, going in barefoot and hiding his dirty socks in the pocket of his jeans. 

"I've never bought lube," Max says finally. 

Daniel stops tying his shoelaces, perched on the end of Max's bed. "Why not? Do you get given it as presents, or what? How have you never bought it?"

"No, I mean—" Max shrugs a shoulder. "It is fine without." 

It is Daniel's turn to tilt his head to one side. "Like, you like it dry and it turns you on, or you have an actual aversion to lubrication, or—"

"Or," Max says. "It is fine. I have just never tried it. Is it not pointless if you're going to come anyway in the end?"

"Okay," Daniel says, after a pause. "I am going to buy you some lube, and I'm going to get your dick so wet you won't know what to do with yourself, and then afterwards you can compare it to a dry jerk and tell me which you like best. If you'd like."

#my fic #fic i wish i was writing #dick chicken #closer #max/daniel #f1

[emblazons]

hi!

i read the tags you wrote about millie in a post yesterday (i think you deleted the post because i cant find it now) and i just wanted to say im glad theres someone who shares similar thoughts as me. i love millie but i cant even say anything on twitter without her toxic stans accusing me of misogyny and insulting her intelligence, even though thats not my intention.

if byler is canon, how do you think she’ll feel about it? im asking because your perspective is interesting! i think shes going to take it a bit personally because she strongly relates to her character and wants el to be on the same path as her (like getting married young). its understandable though, considering her upbringing.

!! I actually took it off my blog because the other day I resolved the issue of my tags not archiving—but when it got resolved, my blog ended up square in the middle as “top blogs” with the full mlvn name tag because I hadn’t been abbreviating their ship in the tag I used before ☠️ that said, I changed the tag to “anti mlvn” so I could keep myself out of mlvn corners, but a lot of the recent posts that I kept under the old tag are gone or private until tumblr tracks the change—hence the missing post!

Still...me and that tag rant was giving “why would you say something so controversial, yet so brave” for sure (lmao), though I certainly meant it less as a comment on her life decisions themselves and more a "I can tell by the decisions you make as a creator, producer of other films, and in general that you are not The Duffer Brother's target audience, but a lot of your fans can't" kind of way...which is still controversial in several corners of this fandom for sure. 😭

the rest of this answer under the cut because it got long lol

Like, yes, she does play a principal character in the show, but playing a character does not mean the character is modeled to you as a person—just look at Emilia Clarke playing Daenerys Targaryen, Anthony Hopkins playing Hannibal Lecter, or even Rachel McAdams playing Regina George lmao.

Despite playing El since she was a child, as Millie has come into adulthood it's become clearer that she is very different from El—and that The Duffers aren't creating Eleven's arc with Millie's own "coming of age" in mind. Her choices to create things like Enola Holmes, Damsel, and even Nineteen Steps (her new book) showing up as sharp contrasts to not only the women in Stranger Things, but in all of The Duffer's upcoming work on Death Note, The Talisman and The Boroughs prove that well enough, which would be zero problem at all...if a lot of her fans didn't conflate Millie with El is as a character.

To your point though...I honestly don't think Millie is going to be all that personally upset if El ends up single and Byler happens—she's already made clear that she loves El, but is ready to move on and tell other stories and that she would have written the story as a high school drama if she was in control of the direction of the plot (while pointing out that she's not the one in control of it) lol.

Even what she said recently in an widely published and official Seventeen interview shows that she's really just here to finish the story and move on with her career—that she's ready for her role as El (and the drama I'm 10000% sure comes with that) to be done:

At least to me, all of that makes it seem like she is a level-headed young woman who can handle her character not being aligned with how she would live her own life—and will, when the time comes.

That said: imo the real problem is that fans of MBB are confusing Millie's own "I can be young, strong and still have a man" creative and life choices with El's "I am overcoming the bounds men have put on me to become strong by myself" storyline, which only becomes an issue when Millie jokes about things like mlvn getting married—

—and (by nature of being an influential celebrity) ends up with fans who mistake Millie's headcanons (because...honestly that's what they are) based on what she enjoys in fiction as what The Duffers are writing & planning for the ending of Stranger Things.

Basically: as an actress, it's literally MBB's job to bring life to stories that don't necessarily reflect her own values or desires, and she knows it—but because she's been playing the character on people's screens so long (and from a young age) a lot of fans have issues separating the woman from the fiction and recognizing that (as Adam Driver once said) it's not Millie's job to have a feeling about or even agree with who El is as a person—it's her job to bring El & The Duffer's vision to life, even if her life informs how she plays the role.

None of that is particularly Millie's fault (though she, like Noah sometimes, adds fuel to fandom fire with the jokes she makes lmao), though it does get irritating to navigate when you're constantly subjected to arguments rooted in nothing but headcanons when trying to make sense of The Duffer's work itself lmao.

TL;DR - Mills joking about El and Mike getting married feels the same as someone here putting their headcanon out into the world about married & domestic Byler—only, because she's the face of Eleven + has now gotten engaged young herself, people misinterpret her own "cute headcanons" as canonical fact, leaving people who love the actual canon + who enjoy the 'style of womanhood' the Duffers write to arguing with people who misunderstand the actual characters.

Millie is a woman whose had a complicated relationship with celebrity and fame since she was a very young girl, and she has certainly made different decisions than I have (and likes different fiction than I do)—but that has nothing to do with her intelligence or ability to respond gracefully to the character she's played since 12 turning out differently than she would have imagined it if she had written El herself. If and when Byler happens, I'm sure she will meet the reality of it with respect and consideration, even if her fans (and hardcore fans of mlvn) don't lmao.

Hopefully that explains it (and doesn't get me shot for saying lmao). But thanks for the ask!

#the short answer to your question? #I genuinely think she's gonna be just fine with it when it happens even if she wouldn't have written it like that herself #her personal history is immaterial given she's not a 'method actress' and doesn't conflate herself with her characters #when she says things like 'they'll get married' its basically her making joke-y headcanons same as people do here #but...a lot of superfans don't see it like that—they take it as law over anything the duffers ACTUALLY do in the show lmao #tbh its the same for every one of the actors but. her fans seem to take her jokes more seriously than anyone else takes Noah or Finns #also...I could have been nicer in those old tags but I was super annoyed when I wrote them so. apologies for the snark LMAO #asks

[unpopularbunny]

`

Chubby!Reader X sanemi

Reader is AFAB and has female pronouns. 

MINORS DNI!!

Previous fic: X

Start here: X

Next fic: X

warnings: Long story again, mind break (ish), aphrodisiacs, exhibitionism (kinda), outside sex, cunnilingus, generally rough sex, Sanemi continues to be a giant asshole to your 'friend’, drama, a fist fight lol, angst, ambiguous spoilers at the end.

THIS GETS A LITTLE BIT SPOILERISH!!! MANGA SPOILERS!!! 

Notes: Okay! Here’s the last smut centered fic for these two! (until the last fic hehe.) I am sorry it took me a bit to write! I’m working on keeping consistent without pressuring myself! After this fic I will be writing a smaller fic for before the final battle, a smaller fic for after, and an ending fic that will include smut! I will maybe do a bonus fic after that. 

Thank you for reading and don’t be afraid to let me know what you think!

Beta read by @lets-get-kraken-boys

Tag list: @trishiepo0

Things were becoming tense around the house lately, you being at the center of it. Not that anyone was really surprised. Since three months ago when your ‘friend’ walked in on a sight most sinful, he hadn’t said a single word to you. He stopped offering you lunch and tea. When he passed you in the hall he stared at the floor. Even when you tried to talk to him, he was short, direct, and gone before you could bring anything else up. It hurt your feelings at first, but over time you realized that maybe the reason he refused to interact with you was because he wanted something from you. Once  he found out he couldn’t have it. 

You pushed it to the back of your mind and continued on with work, counting the days until Sanemi returned. It was in the middle of fall, your favorite season really, warm in the sun and cool in the shade. You were bringing a decent harvest to the kitchen when you overheard the cooks squabbling. They needed someone to go with one of them to buy some things in the nearby town, but two of the three had to stay and do prep as for tonight’s dinner. 

When all three laid eyes on you, you agreed to go without hesitation, taking any chance given to get some space from the house. It was a brief walk before you both were in town. It wasn't too busy, but there were a few people wandering the streets like you. You both split the list and money accordingly and set to work. Your grandparents taught you the skills of ‘haggling’ with shop keeps to get the best deals. 

A few hours later you both met back up and took inventory of your shopping, celebrating the little bit of money that was left over. You split the change and decided to buy yourselves something before returning for the night. You were looking at seeds to plant, maybe start stocking up before spring so-

“Excuse me!” You stood up and  glanced around. Was someone talking to you? 

“Excuse me, miss!” A few booths down an older woman was waving you over to her booth, when you pointed at yourself, she nodded, “Yes yes! I have some very interesting things for sale~” She cooed, beckoning you over. 

You figured it wouldn’t hurt and approached her. Her table had an array of many different things you don’t think you’d ever seen before. 

“A young beautiful woman such as yourself must have men crawling to court you, yes~?” She was shoving something in your face before you could respond, “If there’s a man in your life that you want, just brew this like any other tea and it’s sure to make for a long pleasurable night!” She cackled. 

You felt your face flush and realized what she was trying to sell you. As much as you were embarrassed, you were curious as to what ‘components’ were in the little satchels of tea leaves. You quickly bought some of the tea and scurried off to meet back up with the cook. She asked what you bought and you told her just some seeds for next spring’s harvest. 

The walk home was filled with small talk to fill the time. Upon arrival you both stopped, Sanemi was leaning against the opening of the gates, staring you both down. Your friend whispered a small ‘I’ll see you later’ and sped past him. His eyes didn’t even acknowledge her, instead looking into yours. You couldn’t help smiling at him. He wasn’t even injured this time, no, he simply ‘requested’ some time off to ‘recover mentally’. 

By that he just wanted to be attached to you for a few days so he didn’t have to think about fighting. For once he didn’t want to constantly be on the offense, he wanted to exhale all the tension and inhale you. Your sly smile when you saw him was enough to make his adrenaline pump. You were both absolutely enamored with each other and the desire was palpable. As you walked through the gate, you stopped directly in front of him and bowed. 

“It’s good to see you again, Shinazugawa-sama.” You were being coy, looking up at him and fluttering your eyelashes. 

He shouldn’t have to wait; he shouldn’t have to dance around to have you to himself. So, he didn’t. 

As soon as you stood up straight, he grabbed you, throwing you over his shoulder. If this had been the first time, you’d be worried, but now when he did it, you felt all the more empowered and excited.

“I told you to call me by name” He tried to sound annoyed, but you knew he wasn’t. 

“When we’re in public I would like to be form-” You jolted as he stopped suddenly. 

“The fuck are you staring at.” Sanemi snapped, setting you down ever so gently.

Standing in front of you both appeared to be another demon slayer, but this one appeared to be very, very different. Flashy was an understatement to describe this man. He was covered in accessories. To be honest, he was quite the piece of eye candy. He was staring you and Sanemi down. You noticed that Sanemi clenched his fists. You were growing more and more confused. 

“Eh~ That’s no way to treat your elders, Sanemi~” He taunted sanemi. 

“I don’t have to respect a bitch like you!” He barked right back. 

“And just who might this be?” His eyes focused solely on you, “Ara ara~ This must be the reason you’ve been losing at sparring; she doesn’t seem like anything special to me.” Sanemi clicked his tongue at him. 

“Well, she’s not for you, so fuck off already!” He hissed and snatched you by the wrist and pulled you along as he stomped away. The other man gave a small wave and you waved back as you went. 

You didn’t ask too much about it, sensing that it would cause an argument if you asked about the obvious ‘pretty boy’. Instead, you both settled into your room. He was as coarse as ever. Sanemi complained about demons and nothing more, missions were annoying, he hated when the demons begged to live after they’d killed innocent people. You chatted about your plant’s growth and the many things ongoing in the house, omitting the part about your now ex-friend avoiding you. All while this went on, you were seated quite comfortably in his lap, working on the tea that you had bought earlier that afternoon on the table in front of you two. 

You had poured it onto a plate and were separating what you could decipher what was in it, but you couldn’t make heads or tails of the mixture. It was littered with bits of lavender, cloves, and what appeared to be green tea leaves. You figured that it was a scam anyway. When Sanemi asked about it, you said it was just a tea for relaxation and you’d make it for the both of you. When you finally pried yourself out of his lap, an exercise altogether because of he clingy boy, you left to brew the tea. 

You both enjoyed two cups, finding it pleasantly sweet and warming as night fell and it got colder. He grew drowsy and yawned, you took this as your chance to escape once again to check on your pond once more. As it grew colder, some of the fish would begin to slow and rest. As soon as spring came, they would start mating and breeding. You liked to keep a very close eye on this so the fish would not overpopulate the pond. 

You held your lantern close, shivering as you were greeted by chilly autumn air. You could see your breath as you carefully made your way to the pond side. The fish seemed well, some of them familiar with you, nudging your hand when you dipped it in the water. You giggled, knowing that they were only looking for food and feeling just a little bad when you didn’t bring it. 

Your skin started to tingle. 

You withdrew your hand, something felt wrong. The tingling started to get stronger, your skin started to heat up, your head started to feel cloudy. When did it get so hot outside? You set the lantern down and loosened the collar on your yukata, sighing in relief when the cold air met your shoulders. This couldn’t have been the tea, right? You leaned, one hand supporting yourself on the ground. It felt so nice and cold. Of course your crotch felt hot; everything felt hot, sticky, and feverish right now. 

The thought of if it had been affecting Sanemi too hadn’t even crossed your mind. 

He was laid out on your futon, eyes half lidded and fighting sleep. He was holding on and waiting for you to come back so he could trick you into talking to him in that voice you’d use to lure him to sleep. He had just about given in when his eyes shot back open. He sat upright. His fingertips were tingling. Not like the normal tingling when you’d beg for him, no, this was worse. It traveled up his arm and felt like he was burning from the inside out.  

Alarms fired off in his head. Could he have been poisoned? Was it you? There’s no way you’d- 

His crotch throbbed. 

He looked down and groaned in frustration, he looked back up the door, his vision just a little blurred and his thinking slurred. No, you couldn’t have poisoned him, but you did something else. Whether you knew it or not. He got up and made his way out of the room, using the wall to support himself. His anger was rising with every uneasy step he took. He loved you, of course, but this was going way too far. 

It was you who he sought first. It was you who he yearned for more than anything else. You had him wrapped around your finger, had him at your every beck and call. But was it not enough for you. He was gritting his teeth, praying to whatever sick god controlled this life that he wasn’t caught struggling down the hall with a massive erection. His thoughts were focusing on one goal. Get his hands on you. 

“What the fuck did you do to me.” Your head snapped over at the voice. 

When he made it to the pond you were fully sitting, leaning to the side and barely being supported with a shaky arm. You had pulled the lower half of your yukata open and had your hand buried between your legs, rubbing furiously. You seemed frantic and confused, panting and whining loudly. When you saw him, you felt bad at first, but then stared directly at the bulge in his pants. You crawled to him, hands grasping at his pants while you pressed your face against his crotch and nuzzled his erection through his pants. The desperate moment was short-lived when he yanked you back by the hair and made you look up at him. 

“What. Did. You. Do.” His tone was forced as he spoke through clenched teeth. It was so hard to talk, you couldn’t think but you needed to explain yourself. 

You opened your mouth; your words were slurred and you couldn’t stop stuttering. One of your hands was back between your legs and you felt like a shameless animal in heat. You told him about the tea and what the old woman said it was, you thought it was just a scam. Your voice was cracking and you were tearing up, but not because you were sad. You were crying because your hand wasn’t enough. You were rubbing and prodding, your thighs were wet with slick. You were crying because you were desperate to have something inside of you, to cure the ache that was getting stronger. 

He understood what you were saying and that you were sorry, but he wanted to make you feel sorry. His breathing was haggard. He let go of your hair and grabbed you by the chin, using his thumb to pry your mouth open. He loved the look of desperation on you, it scratched an itch deep within his brain. Finally, you looked as desperate as he felt when he first pursued you, and it was about damn time. Parted lips, skin glistening with sweat, and panting just to bend over and be his personal fuck toy. At this point he couldn’t hide his grin. 

“Stick your tongue out.” You complied, drooling as you complied.

He leaned down, shoving his tongue in your mouth. You thought that maybe he’d use your mouth differently, but you didn’t care. It was slippery, hot, and it made you feel dirty in the best way. Neither of you cared that you were outside. He wasn’t intending to take you inside just yet. You were pressed against one of the wisteria trees as he kneeled in front of you, forcing you to watch as he buried his face between your thighs and lapped at your throbbing core. 

Your hands were fisted in his hair and you were grinding against his face, while your legs shook uncontrollably. He hefted one of your legs over his shoulder so he had better access to you. He didn’t look away from you for even a moment, hazy eyes focusing as much as possible on every reaction you made. The first orgasm was fast and intense, sparks flying across your vision as you called out his name. Your whole body shook, Sanemi kept you steady until the tremors subsided. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Your core still felt tight, you still felt so hot. You were sure that he wasn’t faring any better than you were. While attempting to collect your thoughts and self-control you were spun around and bent over. His hand was on the back of your head, pushing your face into the wisteria tree. Sanemi couldn’t get his pants down fast enough for his liking,  acting on impulse and urges alone.

“H-Hey we can’t do this outside, wh-what if someone comes?”

You’re trying to push back and get away from him, knowing that once he started, he wasn’t going to stop. You feel the cold breeze on the bare skin of your ass followed by fingers rubbing and prodding at you.

“So what?” He laughs at you, his tone sounding as if he’s mocking you, “So what if they catch me fucking you, huh?” He shoves two fingers deep and you gasp, “I wouldn’t stop, I’d make them watch.” he curled them against your G-spot and laughed when your thighs shook.

“Don’t you want me to show everyone how pretty you look when I’m-“ He withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock, “Fucking a baby into you?” He bottomed out with one thrust, your legs almost giving out. You choked on anymore words of protest, your head focusing on his words. You were trembling, not out of any negative feelings, but from the way your own body throbbed around him and just how full you felt.

You didn’t even notice the drool dripping from your parted mouth.

His hand settled on your lower back, rubbing gently, “See? Doesn’t that feel so much better?” His other hand was holding your hip, nails digging into the flesh with a grip that contradicted his softer tone. You nodded your head and stopped fighting it. There was only one way to beat the ‘heat’ that you put the both of you in.

After that, it was a blur of sweat, moaning, and desperation at its finest. You couldn’t say much, just trying to keep yourself quiet while Sanemi let his own mouth run (not surprising), saying and doing whatever he wanted. Slapping your ass just to get a reaction out of you and holding your hair in a tight fist. He fucked you through his first orgasm, not slowing down or stopping, but eventually pulling out of you.

Your legs gave out without his support and you were on your knees, panting and trying to gain some kind of clarity as he helped you to your feet. You were both still flushed and horny, but didn’t want to risk too much exposure.

“It’s still hard.” He mumbled, that wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Sanemi had crazy amounts of stamina, so sometimes three to four rounds was normal for you two, unless you grew tired and wanted to stop.

“Okay, let’s ju-just go to my room, okay?” You pulled on his sleeve and you both snuck back into your room with, thankfully, no one to catch you two.

All through the night, into the mid-afternoon of the next day, you two couldn’t leave each other alone longer than 10 minutes. Small breaks for the bathroom or food were scattered throughout, but other than that, he wouldn’t let you stray too far. Every time you stood up, cum would drip out of you and make you feel embarrassed, while it only made Sanemi scoff. He’d then complain, “How am I supposed to knock you up if you’re so careless” And he’d fill you right back up.

The concerns you had about being too loud were forgotten, even going so far as to abandon your chores for the day. Unfortunately, anyone who walked past your room knew exactly what was happening and the hallway leading past your door was avoided. Uzui would laugh when he’d overhear concerns and complaints from fellow nurses about you and Sanemi. He was genuinely amused and surprised that Sanemi had an obsession with you like this.

Your room was a mess and the air was damp. That night you were in his lap, legs locked around his waist and nails digging into his back while he gripped you tight and bounced you as if you were nothing more than a toy. You both were covered in bite marks, hickeys, and bruises. Your bodies were sore, and even though the aphrodisiac was at its end, your mind was lost a few hours ago, reduced to broken sobs and garbled words. Sanemi wasn’t doing much better, basically using your body to get himself off, not that it was an issue. You both acted like animals in heat and couldn’t focus on anything except chasing one last orgasm.

This time when you came, all you could do was whine and clench around him, pushing him over the edge one final time. It was a dry orgasm for the both of you and the last one as the aphrodisiacs had finally worn off. He laid down on the futon with you on his chest, already falling asleep from exhaustion while he rubbed your back gently. You both slept through the night to the following afternoon, you would have slept longer, but there was a fierce banging on your door. You struggled out of bed, your whole body sore and throbbing. You threw a blanket over Sanemi and wrapped yourself in a robe. Outside the door stood the building manager, alongside the man from the other day. The building manager had an annoyed look on her face.

“Y/N, usually I wouldn’t start issues with your ‘personal business’ like this. However…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“We need to split you two up,” He cut off, “Just to ask questions. I promise.” He was all smiles and charm.

“I-I’m terribly sorry for my behavior. I’ll wake him up immediately and tell him you need to speak to him!” You bowed your head in shame and quietly shut the door. Waking up your partner wasn’t too hard but his usual morning grogginess turned into anger when you explained that you both were in trouble. He was frustrated because instead of spending a morning wrapped around you, he had to look at Uzui and that stupid fucking smug face of his.

After a brief shower to wash the dried fluids and shame off of you, you found yourself in the building manager's office. You were both avoiding each other’s gaze and didn’t want to approach this subject.

“Listen.” She began, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Relationships between employees are strictly prohibited in the house. You sleeping with Shinazugawa-sama is a loophole because you two aren’t in a ‘relationship’ and because he’s not technically my employee. However, the events of the last two days are completely unacceptable.” You shrunk under her words and she paused to sigh deeply, “I just have…..some questions.” You nodded, giving her the go ahead.

“Are you using proper contraceptives?” You nodded. “Are you being…..forced?” 

“A-Absolutely not! It’s all consensual.” 

“I see.” She pursed her lips and exhaled, leaning back in her chair, “What….happened exactly?” She was hesitating to ask this question.

You told her about acquiring the tea with the intent to decipher its ingredients, omitting the part where you and the cook pocketed the spare money. You apologized profusely, saying that you had no idea that it was going to actually work and were so deeply sorry about causing a ruckus like this.

“It’s…It’s okay Y/N really, just please be more careful next time, okay?” She sounded concerned more than angry at this point, “Just take today to rest and recover from this ordeal, we don’t know what else that ‘tea’ could have done to your body.” She smiled. You felt so relieved.

You got up and bowed before turning to leave, “Oh! Y/N!” You turned back around, “Please refrain from any extracurricular things for the next few days, aside from your chores.” You flushed and nodded before closing the door and hastily heading to your bedroom, both to clean and to keep your mind from thinking about that whole conversation.

Sanemi had yet to return as he was sitting in Uzui’s room being laughed at.

Upon the sight of Sanemi’s (Freshly showered but still a mess) disheveled look, complete with bite marks and hickeys; Uzui couldn’t keep it in. They were both sitting cross-legged at a tea table, Sanemi’s arms crossed and clenching his teeth to keep from leaping across the table and biting his colleague.

“Will you shut the fuck up already?!” He snapped and Uzui’s laughs started to dwindle down to chuckles.

“I just think it’s very funny-”

“Just ask your dumb ass questions already or I’m leaving. I have better shit to do than sit here and entertain you.” Sanemi was sick of this annoying asshole.

“Like what? Fuck that girl all day and night?” Uzui’s teasing was merciless, “Who couldn’t hear you both? Humping like animals in heat~” Sanemi scoffed and moved to get up and leave. “Are you making sure she’s not getting pregnant?”

“What?” He stopped.

“Y/N? You know, the girl who you pine for.” Uzui said it like it was obvious. It was, to everyone except you and Sanemi, “Contraceptives? Are you just having sex raw? Do you not remember any of your education regarding sex?” Sanemi’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and frustration.

“What the fuck are you even saying?” Uzui busted into loud laughter again, “What so damn funny?!”

“She could be pregnant! You are SO dense, did you ignore the sexual education class that Shinobu made us sit through?” The answer was yes, but Sanemi wouldn’t admit that.

“I guess I have to explain it to you, huh?” Uzui wasn’t going to let Sanemi live this down.

Meanwhile, you were busy cleaning. The room was just about done and the windows were open to let it air out. You had to take frequent breaks as your hips and back were more sore than usual and your lower stomach hadn’t stopped hurting all day. You figured it was after ‘affects’ of the tea and tried to ignore it. You were returning from the kitchen after taking some dishes and kindly asking one of the kitchen staff to take care of it for you, offering to do a favor for them at a later time.

Someone grabbed your wrist and yanked you back behind a wall. You yanked your hand back and looked up at the person who had been avoiding you for months. You purse your lips at the annoyed look on his face.

“He’s forcing you, isn’t he?” He blurts out.

“What?! No!” You huff and try to leave, but he grabs you again.

“You’re lying! If he’s hurting you, just say that! I can help you-“ You snatched your wrist back from him again.

“I don’t need your help!” You snap at him, fists clenched at your side. “I never asked you for anything! You do nice things for people on your own, which is nice in theory, but you always expect something in return!” You haven’t felt anger like this in years. “I am VERY grateful for all the nice things you do for me, I really am, but just because you do things for me doesn’t mean I’ll have sex with you and that you can be in my business!” Your voice cracks at the end and tears gather in your eyes, he scoffs like YOU’RE the one causing him grief!

“It’s not even like that Y/N-“

“Isn’t it? It’s happened to me so many times now” You hiss at him, “Men like you who come to me, bringing me gifts, food, and trinkets-“ Your anger wins over your tears, “Just so they can walk around the village and say that they fucked the fat girl, like I’m just some kind of milestone they can check off their list!” Your face is red and you’re heaving with rage. It’s not fair, you had spent so long with Sanemi reminding you that you’re worth more than a good fuck that you forget that, at the end of the day, you should always be thankful for any speck of attention someone shows you. You feel so sick you could throw up.

“Just stop freaking out! It’s because I love you-“

“Just what the fuck are you doing?”

You both freeze and turn to the end of the hallway, Sanemi is standing there with Uzui right behind him, who is thoroughly enjoying the drama and can’t wait to gossip about it to anyone who’d listen. Sanemi had heard what you said and that pissed him off more than your friend’s pathetic attempt at a confession. He told you how beautiful you were, how impressive your knowledge of plants was, and how nice you were to him. Surely, you understood, right? At this point, you both were the two most dense people Uzui had ever seen.

“Just forget it.” He huffed and tried to pass but Sanemi stood firmly in front of him, glaring right up at him.

“I don’t care how you feel about Y/N,” He tilted his head and cracked his neck. “I don’t care about whatever pathetic confession this might be, however…” His hand twitched, which didn’t go unnoticed by Uzui, who was on alert to keep Sanemi from doing something that he’d have no choice but to report to Kagaya.

“She’s mine. She can decide whenever the fuck she wants to stop this, but until then? She’s mine. Right?” He was addressing you, they both looked at you. You nodded without hesitation. “Right. So don’t assume shit about her or me. Again.” Sanemi almost stood on his tippy toes to assert himself, but that was unnecessary. Your friend made a face as if he was confused and bewildered. You sighed.

“Just…to you it looks bad, right?” He hesitantly nodded, “But I wanted this. If I was being hurt, the building owner wouldn’t let him come here anymore. That,  I just….I don’t like you in that way….” You tried to whisper the last part, staring at the floor. Sanemi laughed cruelly at this as your friend stomped off in frustration. Uzui called him childish and returned to his room, reminding Sanemi to ask you something.

When you both returned to your room, it was tense and quiet while you moved some things around and checked on the plants. He watched you flutter about, enjoying his favorite pastime. Every so often, you’d have to pause. Your stomach was still hurting and sometimes the cramping would be too much for you.

“If you’re in pain, you should sit down.” He mused watching you hold onto a table edge to steady yourself.

“That was mean.” You said.

“Huh?”

“You laughing at him was mean…and what you said about us.” You were focusing on the plant on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, well, he was making you cry.” He snorted. “And it wasn’t like I was lying. We can stop what we’re doing anytime you want.” He didn’t want to actually discuss the arrangement you two had, fearing it would lead to said arrangement ending.

“I don’t want to stop but-“

“Are you pregnant?” He said it without thinking. You turned around fast.

“What? No!” You rubbed at your eyes and forehead in exasperation, “I take medicine to keep that from happening….” You walked over and sat next to him, he slung his arm around you as a reflex.

You told him you just wanted to relax, as you felt nauseous and sick. He dropped the subject and you two relaxed until dinner, talking until you both fell asleep. For the next few days, you were still being affected by side effects of the tea, so Sanemi helped you with your chores until you could do it by yourself.

You did, however, find out who that man was. When you did, you bowed and apologized repeatedly for being so rude to a pillar. When Sanemi saw this, he told you ‘He’s not even worth a damn’. However, when Uzui caught you alone, he mused that it was simply too entertaining to see Sanemi follow you around like a little yapping puppy. He told you that he’d keep your little relationship with Sanemi a secret, just to respect your privacy. Uzui left not long after that, his minor injuries being healed and heading off to another mission. Before Uzui left, he told Sanemi he should hurry up and confess and marry you before someone else does, Sanemi promptly told him he can shove his sword up his ass blade first.

It was very odd though; you and Sanemi hadn’t had sex once since the tea incident. He didn’t want to bother you when you were sore, still having side effects, and you were busy as you were a day behind on chores. You two generally enjoyed each other's company for a few days, aside from the few times you’d pass your ‘friend’ in the hall and the air would be tense for a few moments. Sanemi opened up a little, telling you about a few of his interests and his favorite foods. You returned the enthusiasm by telling him a few stories about growing up on your grandparent’s farm.

When his little vacation ends, he reluctantly leaves. You bow at the entrance and wish him a safe journey and a small ‘Until next time’. It makes his chest tight when you treat him like this, like he has a home to return too. This is the first time he hugs you before he leaves and it’s very awkward. He’s stiff and you’re confused at first, but you hug him back. For a moment, you can both feel how fast each other's heart is beating. It’s hard for him to pull away and leave as he realizes that he’s truly deeply afraid to lose you.

You spend a week in a euphoric state, sighing wistfully and deep in thought. The weather is getting colder day by day and you wish that Sanemi was still here. Things have gone relatively back to normal, everyone seemed to respect your privacy and not ask questions. The side effects of the tea still hit you every so often, you’d awake with nausea and lightheadedness. The nurses would run tests and exams, but you were okay, so they would just tell you to take it easy.

As the days went by, you’d think back to the way Sanemi treated your ‘friend’, and you’d feel worse and worse with every reminder. So, you decided that you should apologize to him. You pulled a page from Sanemi’s book and watched him, waiting for him to go into the medical supply room before you slipped in behind him. He turned and looked at you before rolling his eyes and turning back around.

“What do you want?” He kept the conversation short and to the point, and judging from his tone of voice, he did not want to talk to you.

“I just wanted to apologize. What Sanemi said wasn’t right-“ You jumped when he slammed the tray he was using to collect medical tools.

“Just save it, okay? Your personality is wasted on him. He’s a rude asshole who thinks everything belongs to him. You let him treat you like shit.” He bends down and starts picking up the things that fell.

“You don’t know anything about him.” He stands up and tries to leave, tools and tray forgotten on the table, but you block the door, “Sure, he’s an asshole, but he’s never done anything to me that I didn’t ask of him. He'd stop if I say to.”

“So, you asked him to fuck you outside like that?” Your stomach drops into the floor.

“Wh-what?”

“I saw you two outside right under the wisteria tree. Real ‘Romantic’ if you ask me.” He sneered, suddenly standing closer and towering over you, making you aware of how much taller he was than you. “You were right, before, that I just wanted ‘something’ from you” He puts his hands on either side of your head, pinning you against the door. “But I don’t want it anymore. Not from someone as brainwashed or used like you are.” You can barely hear him as your heart beat was getting louder and louder, “Besides, he’s just going to leave you when he’s had enough, anywa-'' What happened after that is hazy for you. It was as if you were watching in third person.

You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to head butt him right in the face. He stumbled back with his face in his hands as you were frantically trying to open the door. When you looked back at him, his nose was bleeding. Just as you got the door open and you went into the hall, he followed and snatched you by the arm. He turned you and struck you across the face. Your flight or fight instincts chose to fight, leading to you and him wrestling in a fist fight on the floor.

It took two of the cooks and a few nurses to split you both up. He felt remorseful when he saw your split lip and bleeding nose, even started trying to apologize, but you weren’t going to have any of that.

“You know WHY I don’t like you?” You yanked out of the cook’s hold. “Because I love Sanemi. He wants me for ME.” You couldn’t even stop yourself from crying, “I love the way he’s hard headed to the highest goddamn degree, that he has the communication of a fucking ROCK.” You inhale deeply, “Most of all, I love him because he makes me feel safe. Never ONCE have I ever doubted my self-worth when I’m with him.” Everyone was staring at you and you felt so exposed and vulnerable. He opened his mouth and said something, but you wouldn’t let him, “I never want to see you again.” You stomped off, two of the nurses going after you to clean you up.

After some light first aid, each of you separately telling your sides of the story to the building owner, he was dismissed from the house, while you were given verbal warning as well as probation for two months. The building owner had never yelled at you the way she had tonight. She called you irresponsible and impulsive. In a sense, she had ‘grounded you’ to your room for the night. One of the cooks snuck you some snacks and checked on you as the others were worried. You ended up with a black eye, some light bruising, and a busted lip. That night, you tossed and turned restlessly, your face and head were throbbing but not as bad as your stomach. You just kept chanting to yourself that it was just leftover effects of the tea, but you hardly got any sleep that night.

The house owner gave you the cold shoulder for two weeks before accepting your apology. Thankfully, things started to relatively calm down afterwards, but not for long. Soon after, there was word that the demon slayer corps had made a breakthrough in fighting against the demons and were preparing to go on the offense and attack Muzan directly. All of the pillars would be leading the charge and you knew what it meant. When the news first hit you, it was from an injured soldier telling all the nurses about it ecstatically, commenting that they were expecting casualties.

You didn’t expect it to last forever. You mused that maybe one day he would find someone more fitting for him, or maybe you’d find someone more fitting for you. You thought of a lot of different ideas and scenarios but there was always one you’d never let yourself dwell on. The idea of him dying. You knew that in his line of work that was part of the job, but he was always confident and he always came back. The mere idea that he may never return was enough to make you feel sick.

You couldn’t hide how it made you feel, you were out back on your hands and knees, dry heaving and throwing up. One of the nurses rubbed your back and asked you what you’d eaten lately. After answering a few more questions, telling her about the tea that made you sick, and how its side effects were still lingering, she gave you a knowing look. You knew what it meant, you shook your head and started denying what you knew she was going to say.

“Y/N….have you considered that you’re pregnant? When was your last period?” Her voice was so soft and you started to cry, sobbing out to her that you didn’t know anymore. 

You were scared.

Note: This took a very long time to do and WHEW!!! I wouldn’t have made it without my sweet and kind beta reader!! As well as all the people who have encouraged me with their likes and reblogs! Thank you all for your continued support! I’ve already started planning out what my next series will be and will hold a poll regarding that soon enough! 

#KNY #kny smut #kny x reader insert #kny x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi #reader x sanemi #chubby!reader x sanemi

[lumpofwhump]

I posted 1,706 times in 2022

That's 1,706 more posts than 2021!

159 posts created (9%)

1,547 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@whumpsday

@soheavyaburden

@whumpwillow

@wolfeyedwitch

@a-crumb-of-whump

I tagged 1,207 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#whump - 107 posts

#asks - 94 posts

#whump prompt - 53 posts

#whumpee - 50 posts

#emotional whump - 48 posts

#caretaker - 41 posts

#whump writing - 39 posts

#whump community - 38 posts

#whump art - 35 posts

#not whump - 34 posts

Longest Tag: 130 characters

#there’s a reason her faceclaim is of the director of an irl ‘residential school’ that the united nations has condemned for torture

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

After nearly marching Caretaker back to their room to get some rest already, Former Whumpee set to wiping down the bloodied medical equipment in stony silence. They practically threw the newly-cleaned items back into their respective drawers and containers.

Whumperee watched their former victim warily from across the room, where they lay half-curled up on the bed. “You got something you want to say?” they asked in a surly tone. A bit of their old defiance, popping back up at the most inconvenient time as always.

Former Whumpee stopped and turned around, looking only vaguely in Whumperee’s direction, reaching for a scalpel in the drawer behind them. “I just keep thinking,” they said, a dangerous edge to their otherwise calm voice, “about how many people died in the cells back there. Scared, alone, in as much pain as you and Whumper could put them through.”

Their knuckles went pale as they clutched the scalpel, advancing toward Whumperee, who scrambled back only to find their back against the wall.

“All of them were better people than you,” Former Whumpee snapped, grabbing Whumperee by the front of their loose gown and pinning them to the wall while holding the scalpel to their neck. “Every. Single. One.”

Whumperee swallowed with a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a squeak.

Former Whumpee held them there for a long moment, staring at them with cold fury in their eyes, before releasing them to collapse down onto the bed with a groan of pain.

“It should’ve been you,” they spat out, before turning back to their work.

Whumperee curled in on themself, sulking, but didn’t bother to respond. They knew Former Whumpee was right.

166 notes - Posted July 11, 2022

#4

“Oh man,” Caretaker said with a giddy laugh, wiping the blood off their face with the back of their hand and practically jittering with leftover adrenaline as they stood over Whumper’s unconscious body. “This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow. Hey, though, are you okay?” They looked over to the bruised, trembling Whumpee with a sympathetic smile and offered them a hand up. “Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

There was a long pause before Whumpee took Caretaker’s hand, figuring they’d be safer just doing what they were told, like usual. When they’d made it to their feet without incident, they hesitantly looked over to Caretaker with wide, fearful eyes. “N-not to be rude or anything, but. Um. Who are you? And why are you in my house?” They immediately cringed at Caretaker’s slightest movement. “Pleasedon’thurtme…!”

As the excitement wore off, the would-be burglar realized that barging in and swinging a crowbar into Whumper’s face just might’ve given Whumpee the wrong impression about their intentions here.

273 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

#3

“You’re going to fight me with that?” Whumper asked with a chortle.

“Depends,” Caretaker said with a feral grin, fidgeting with their hastily-chosen improvised weapon while Whumpee hid behind them. “Are you gonna risk getting beaten with just this, or are you gonna leave them alone?”

Whumper hesitated for only a moment before walking toward this annoying interloper with a tight smirk. Even if they were more than a bit unhinged, they couldn’t be all that hard to —

“Huh,” Caretaker said a moment later, having rendered Whumper unconscious with the most ridiculous item in their possession. They met Whumpee’s stunned expression with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I wasn’t too sure that was going to work either.”

276 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

#2

Caretaker is the kindest, gentlest, most unwaveringly loyal person Whumpee has ever known. But they’re utterly ruthless toward anyone - not just Whumper - who would put Whumpee in harm’s way. Not out of anger or reflexive protectiveness in the heat of the moment, either. They’re cold-blooded and deliberate about it, knowing exactly who and what they’re sacrificing and going ahead with it anyways.

Caretaker wouldn’t bother with this kind of thing for their own wealth, power, or prestige. But they’d calmly burn the whole world down for Whumpee… with reluctance and even hesitation, maybe, but without a shred of remorse after the fact.

And they’ll make damn sure Whumpee will never find out what Caretaker - the one person Whumpee has ever felt completely safe around - is really like, or what they’ve done for Whumpee’s sake. Because unlike Caretaker, Whumpee is actually a good person.

397 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Whumpees who compulsively apologize, even for things that can’t possibly be their fault… either out of fear of disapproval, abandonment or punishment; because they’ve become convinced that everything actually is their fault; or both.

Whumpers who punish their Whumpees for apologizing, causing said Whumpees to become more stressed and therefore more overly apologetic.

Caretakers who reassure their Whumpees after they apologize for minor mistakes or things they’re not in control of: “It’s okay, I’m not mad at you.”

506 notes - Posted April 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

—

@soheavyaburden @skinofafish How about you?

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[embracethemadmess]

Dreaming with the Witch- #2b - just Marc

Story summary:  Steven is refusing to sleep at night again, but this time he also doesn’t want to front during the day, so Marc has to cover for him at work, running on little to no sleep every day, straining his voice on -quite bad- British soft accent. If that wasn’t enough, there’s this third alter still actively moon knighting without the other two knowing. All this leaves the body completely exhausted and, well, on the edge of falling apart. One time the system meets a witch willing to help heal both the body and the disturbed minds in it.

Chapter summary: Steven disappears for a day.

word count: 4075

previous part

masterpost

spotify playlist

Chapter notes: I can't write flirting scenes, sorry you have to witness that. I'm gonna do beta reading tomorrow after work, so I'm sorry in advance if there are any mistakes.

Enjoy and don't hesitate to share your thoughts :).

Disclaimers: I do not have D.I.D., therefore my story should not be treated as a trustful source of knowledge on the topic. I strongly encourage you all to learn about it from actual systems or other resources. Mirrors and all that reflections theme are used as a way to connect the story to the TV show. If you notice any mistakes on my side, please let me know so I can fix them.

* * ☾ * *

"Okay, okay, sorry!" A high-toned squeak is torn out from the woman held by him while the fingernails of her free hand dig desperately into his bare forearm's skin, leaving half-moon indents on it. 

Although Marc feels as if his brain is clouded, he disentangles her from the armlock instantly. Worrisomeness hides in crinkles between his brows as they furrow, and in the amber of his eyes now focused on her face after he put his hands on her shoulder and turned her around so she could face him, looking for any sign of distress in her facial expression. The tension in his body increases a notch when he realises the woman is, as a matter of fact, a girl. Young adult. Adolescent girl. Practically a child. He lets out an almost laboured grunt at that, a few of his own curses directed at him echoing in his mind. 

"Jesus, what was that?" The girl - Anna, he discovers after taking a quick glance at the name tag on her beige blouse - inquiries, a breathy cry in her voice loud and clear for his ears to hear being one part of the remnant of the abuse he's deployed on her, the other making itself present in massaging sore elbow and exercising a mild shoulder rotation.

"Please, accept my dearest apologies," Marc begins, his voice adopting Steven's tone and manner as if a default setting, his face not so cooperative, though, remaining more of his own than his alter's which he can tell even without seeing himself simply by not feeling the slightest tug of a single muscle. His wording choice, moreover, surprises both him and the girl in front of him, but it doesn't stop him from continuing, "I didn't mean to cause you any harm, it's just, I-" he stutters just a tad, hoping it would grant him some bonus points, and then focuses his stare at everything but her eyes, scratching his beard in a clear sign of discomfort. "I was in my head straight up fuming at this bloody stupid machine over here, and your touch caught me off guard."

As a response to his elaborated apology, Anna gives him as much as a simple shrug of her shoulders which almost earns her his scoff. Almost, because by the time he opens his mouth to express his discontent with her reaction, she muses:

"Should've guessed it myself." And as she gets no reply, with Marc just standing there, expression as blank as the circles dark around the redness of his waterlines, eyes now closer to the shade of onyx rather than amber, and plump lips closed in a straight line in between salt-and-pepper thick growth, she feels the urgent need to add: "I mean, with the way you always flinch when something unexpected or louder than you'd want happens around you, I figure I kind of deserved this whole American arrest hold."

After admitting that, her shoulders shrug again and then a devilish grin plays on her lips as she takes one step closer to him, barely leaving any space between the two of them. Marc's brows knit marginally at the movement, making the permanent crease in the skin between them even more prominent, but he doesn't back away from her as he examines her face in silence; freckle by freckle, acne scar by brownish patch, rosacea's redness blemishing her fair skin. So young, he makes a notice in the privacy of his thoughts when she cocks her head a little to be able to burn a hole in the lion's wrinkle of his with the sky blue of her gaze.

"Nevertheless, I think I also deserve a tight hug, eh?" Anna murmurs, later on drawing her lower lip between her teeth and keeping it there long enough for him to notice. "To ease the pain, you know, you're not exactly the weakest man alive" comes in addition, as if she tried to excuse her suggestion. 

With a faint, faked smile Marc nods in agreement.

"I guess s-" he trails off mid-sentence and instead nearly chokes on the air she seems to punch out of his lungs with the force she uses to pound into his embrace, enclasping his neck, giving him no other choice than to wrap his own arms around her waist.

Marc swallows the dryness in his throat at the sudden realisation that this, the hug, feels wrong. For many reasons, he tries to tell himself that the one being most crucial is the fact this girl is significantly younger than him and barely knows him, while he doesn't know her at all, even if she's not aware of it, therefore she shouldn't be this comfortable near him. 

However, the truth is, and the American resigned himself to the fact some time ago, it feels wrong because it's not Steven. For both of them, actually, it should be Steven but it isn't, and that aspect of the embrace lies heavy on Marc's heart, trying to sink it deep into the melancholy of memories of the one hug that's been engraved in his memory for months now and the one that came to his mind every time someone tried to give him something similar.

He would call himself a narcissist, yearning for the touch of his own body, if it wasn't for the fact Steven carried it differently to an extreme degree; to the point where it felt like a completely separate person. His touch was so tender whereas Marc's was firm, his was dripping hesitation when Marc's distinguish itself by confidence, and finally - Steven brought warmth, trust and love where Marc could only provide safety. 

Physically, they were also different. Marc was always straight as a ruler, unable to stoop, his posture always asserting dominance. Used to deploy an iron-clad grip, muscles constantly tense and on the verge of ache. Steven wasn't like that, no. There was a gentleness in the way he slouched a little, with his shoulders and bladder loose, prioritising everyone else's comfort above his own. Absurdly naive sometimes in his belief that everyone was good at heart, some people simply lacking something in their life if they showed other, cooler shades of their personalities. Letting them walk all over him due to refusing to accept the fact that some of them were just pricks and no amount of kindness would ever change that. It all showed up in the way Marc was constantly keeping his guards up while Steven walked around wearing his heart on his sleeve.

But when it came to holding his close ones in his arms, Steven changed diametrically; his grip strong and desperate, squeezing their body with his own, locking them in an unbreakable hold for what could last an eternity. Marc was his opposite; he would wrap his arms around another person with a sense of distance, not letting them cling to his body completely, so he could still have a good chance of blocking an attack or escaping. 

Of course, with Steven in his arms, he threw all his tactics away without batting an eyelid, letting his body join the battle over who consumed who in the tight embrace they shared twice. 

Marc still could recall his scent as he buried his nose in the British one's hair after quickly pressing his lips to his temple while Steven occupied himself with clenching his fists on the material of Marc's t-shirt, squidging the meat on his back and possibly bruising his shoulderblades in the process. The world around them seemed to stop spinning for a while, time frozen on a single second stretching to hours. Not an ounce of spare space between the two of them to fit the thinnest needle. Their knuckles white as snow on the tan skin of their hands, with veins more visible and bluer than usual. It felt like home when Steven was blowing hot air down the side of Marc's neck, his sharp jaw nudged into the American's collarbone. Desperate gaps that were making them both feel dizzy made the whole experience even more special, and Marc quickly decided at that moment that it was once in a lifetime experience no one ever would be able to replicate for him.

And yet, Steven did it again, holding him tight enough to steal his breath if he wanted to, not so long after the first time. His Steven. The incredibly stubborn, righteous Steven who refused to kill a hippopotamus and hijack an ancient boat to save his life.

Ever since then, no one could make Marc feel quite the same as he felt in his alter's arms. Not even his wife, and he loved and cared for her deeply. Nothing seemed to taste even remotely similar, at some point Marc resigned to this thought. 

Even so, he still can't help the immense tug of longing deep in his chest as he gives Steven's coworker a few friendly strokes on her lower back, earning a satisfied purr from her.

"Can't believe you finally let me do this, after so long?" she says with her fingers buried in his hair, playfully curling some locks at the back of his head around her finger. Marc stiffens at the sound of this statement, and as he slowly pulls away from her, he feels his heart sinking, joining the little tight knot already formed in his stomach.

"What'd you say?" He asks just for the sake of hearing it again, already knowing the answer and processing it in his mind.

"You never let anyone touch you, honestly I was starting to worry you'll never give up and let me hug you. I suppose you like using force beforehand, I don't know, some kind of hot and cold behaviour," the girl starts mumbling so fast the words blur together and it makes Marc's brain feel like it's about to explode trying to make sense of what is happening, "Hey, I don't judge, of course, I just didn't take you as an 'into bondage' kinda guy, know what I mean?"

"Anna" is all he's able to say as the begging of a headache builds up a familiar pressure behind his eyes. An ice-cold feeling shoots up his spine when the realization of the meaning behind her words strikes him with the force of a thunderbolt, and he lets go of her in a matter of seconds, glaring at her in unspoken reprimand that only he knows hides stupefaction behind its sharpness. She looks surprised, he can tell by the way her blue eyes widen and a faint blush makes its way to her cheeks and nose, but she's mainly confused, and to be honest, so is Marc. He only agreed to this hug because he thought it was a norm for her and Steven; a standard greeting they gave each other every day at work. He left the safety of his comfort zone because of this misunderstanding, letting unwanted memories get to him when he needed them the least. All because of a girl who decided to take advantage of his mistake.

He lets out an exasperated sign.

"Listen, I need you to understand that this was a one-time thing," he starts, his voice is soft but firm, letting her know he's not mad at her, but he's also not kidding with what he has to say, "I attacked you without reason, and you deserved some kind of a remedy, eh? But it doesn't change the fact that if I say I don't wish for you to touch me, I mean it. For as long as I don't voice out that I've changed my mind. You heard me?" as he asks that question, he points at her with an expectant look in his eyes, actually meeting hers for the first time in the entire duration of their conversation.

"Loud and clear, Steven." Anna nods while answering him, and at that, he shakes his head, more to himself than at her actions, and settles himself behind the still not fully operative cash register, muttering under his breath something alongside the words:

"Something to keep in mind for the future, yeah?"

* * ☾ * *

She lives up to that promise for approximately two hours. 

Two long hours, or not long enough, Marc can't really decide. The entire room seems to be spinning as he tries to mimic Anna's actions around the gift shop, discreetly peeking at what she inserts into the system while scanning merchandise, hesitantly serving some older clients (which he chooses on purpose, hoping their age would help them be more patient with his pace than younger people), and sneaking around the room, pretending to be tidying up the store just so he can avoid the stubborn cash register. As he's picking up different figurines, puzzles and books, he actually takes short moments to inspect them in his late attempt to get to know what kind of job Steven deals with on daily basis. Obviously, he's ignoring the fact that half of the letters on the books' covers are barely visible to him without his reading glasses - that goes without question. In his opinion he doesn't need them, glasses are for the other guy, and he does just fine without them. And if his eyes start hurting after the first hour of having to read small letters on everything, he tells himself there's surely another reason for it. Thus, he settles on rubbing his eyelids every five minutes as a solution to the problem.

When the clock on his watch hits 12:10 pm and he's standing next to the scanner with the fingers of one hand curled around a paper cup halfway filled with coffee and the other fidgeting with a stray wiry basket with some cheap bracelets in it, that's when Anna shoots her shot again.

With one smooth move, she places herself in the small space between him and the counter, and Marc's hand, forced to abandon the basket, is quickly shoved down his front pocket. He raises an eyebrow at her ministrations, not sure what the sinister sparkles in her eyes could mean. The silence around them feels thick on his lips, sounds loud in his ears, and it all makes him uncomfortable, so he tries to step backwards in a desire to regain the sense of personal space, however, he's stopped dead in his tracks by the slender hands on his sweater.

"I know I'm not allowed to touch you," she asks with a sweet, gentle voice, attention directed at one of his sleeves which she finds herself absentmindedly playing with. One of her fingertips accidentally brushes over soft skin there and she feels how the dark hairs on his forearm stand up as a direct result of goosebumps. A ghost of a smirk dances on the corners of her lips as she makes notice of his reaction to her touch, "but you didn't really tell me why. Don't you like me?"

"I-I don't know" comes as an answer, to which confusion settles in her furrowed brows.

"You don't know?" she repeats after him in a form of a question and he only nods in response.

It's true, he doesn't know. Not the slightest idea comes to his mind as to why Steven feels repulsed about his co-worker to a point where he visibly keeps off her touch and makes her aware of that, even. Out of the two of them, Marc is pretty sure he's the one who avoids socialising, with Steven being the one craving it so badly, he's willing to go to a steakhouse, despite being vegan, just to meet up with a girl he had a date scheduled. The American once again regrets not paying attention to his alter's behaviour at work and therefore being left in the dark as to why it seems like for once in his lifetime Steven is running away from human interaction instead of chasing it.

"Listen, Anna. Please, listen to me," he murmurs after putting the coffee cup away and he snaps his fingers to get her attention before putting his hand in the pocket of his pants. "I'm 38, come to that I could very easily be your father," he adds in the hope this excuse will be enough to take the girl's hands off him. Unfortunately, he quickly discovers how wrong he was for thinking it when Anna places her hand on his cheek and focuses on tracing the line of his growth.

"Wouldn't mind calling you daddy, you know." As Marc registers her purr, a cold shiver slides down his spine at her words and for a moment scotomas are taking over his vision. 

"Why would you- it wouldn't make sense, now, would it?" he asks, disorientation painting across his face, and it has Anna chuckling genuinely but Marc continues nevertheless as if she hasn't interrupted him with her reaction. "I meant that I could be your father, I'm old enough to be. I'm not, so there's no-"

"Steven." Her voice takes a demanding tone, yet her expression remains soft. She's looking him straight in the eyes and he's not looking at her at all, glancing at the scanner behind her instead. "See that's why I like you so much."

"You do?"

"I do," nodding, she swipes at his lower lip with her thumb, making him thread his brows in consternation. "You're so awkwardly funny, so adorably unaware, and so freakishly hot with your tan skin, forever exhausted look, and now this," she accentuates her last word, gesturing lazily at his entire frame prior to going back to her rambling, "fuck, you're looking good today. Can't take my eyes off you."

At that moment Marc is too close to passing out, to say the least.

"Sorry. But..." comes from his mouth, he sounds husky and it encourages him to clear his throat while he takes a quick look over the store to check whether there's someone in there save for them. Then his eyes lock with hers, "Are you flirting with me?"

"Been doing it since you first arrived here, thanks for finally noticing." Before, during and after making this statement, she's laughing gently, there's pure joy in her eyes, that he could be sure of. "Bit late to the party, aren't you?" she asks next but she doesn't sound rude. Something in Marc wishes she sounded rude, though, so he could end this conversation. 

"I don't actually do- speak... the language of love. Or whatever." It's obvious he's trying to act as nonchalantly as he possibly can, but nervousness pours out from the tone of his voice. Once again he makes an effort to step away from her.

"Oh, I'd gladly teach you if you let me." A suggestion dripping with something that tells Marc she wanted to sound coquettish, which only adds to his rapidity as he wraps his hands around her wrists and pulls away from her.

"No, thank you," he says, already on his way to the store's entrance, "Be right back, need to use the loo."

Needless to say, he doesn't return.

His head is throbbing agonisingly while he's making his way across the hallway in search of the toilets. Stroking through the mess of wild curls, he scratches at his scalp hoping to find relief in mild pain. Words can't seem to describe the utter confusion that ties a knot in his abdomen.

He looks over his shoulder when cautiously scanning the space around him, as if expecting Anna to follow him for some reason, and when he makes sure she isn't, that's when he bumps into something, or rather someone, and if it makes him jump a little, he will take this secret to the grave with him.

"Steven!"

"Mr- Security guard," Marc breathes indiscriminately, just to hawk as soon as the elder man knits his brows at him, and immediately corrects himself, "Mr Henry" comes from him right after glancing at the man's nametag. "Mr Henry."

"I'm old, Steven, not deaf" the guard snaps at him, Marc winces, even though he doesn't show that on his face, and the older one sighs without any particular reason. "Where you headed, eh?"

"The loo."

"It's the opposite way, kid."

"Oh. Right."

For a moment they resign to the dead silence of the awkward situation. Both of them cross their arms on their chests, Marc hawks two or three more times, and somewhere between the second and the third time he switches his pose to staying straight and rubbing the nape his nape. Meantime Henry absentmindedly taps the silver clasp of his belt with the fingertip of his index.

"So... How are you?" Marc begins, trying to sound as friendly as he can, but trails off as soon as he sees Henry's hand waving at him dismissively. 

"You know I'm not a fan of small talks, Steven," he admits, making Marc instantly like him, "Might wanna hurry if you really need the loo, they are closing the museum." 

After that, Henry is already continuing his walk across the hallway, leaving Marc even more confused than he already was. The younger looks at the dock of his watch and his eyebrows furrow for gods know which time this day. His stare chases the slowly pacing co-worker, and before he even acknowledges it, he shouts after him.

"Any particular reason for that?"

"I don't know, something in the air is killing people again and the authorities told people to sit their arses at home. It's like the damn pandemic all over again..."

The guard is still grumbling as he slowly disappears behind the corner, but Marc doesn't listen to him anymore. He lets out another exasperated sigh, trying to wrap his lost head around what's going on exactly.

"What pandemic - never mind, actually," he adds a blurred fuck this day in his mind, then gives up in favour of making his way out of the museum with the heels of his palms digging ruthlessly into his eye sockets.

The ex-mercenary doesn't go back home, though, instead, he drags his feet to another familiar place that is the storage locker. Again, on his way not even once does he look around, a part of him secretly wishing for a deep hood in which he could hide his face. Forever grateful that the word seemed to have spread about the lockdown, the streets and pavements are almost empty, with only a few lost souls here and there rushing homes and a distant siren of an ambulance reaching his ears. Marc detached himself from the external stimuli, with half-lidded eyes watching the route before him but not really seeing anything peculiar.

The warm light of a single bulb welcomes him in the well-known emptiness of military green boxes stocked neatly along the walls, right after he's greeted by the guy working at the reception and given the key to locker 43. With a prolonged glance around the room, he makes notice of the artefacts of his old life - some clothes, emergency supplies and a cot in the corner with a modest, flat pillow on it. 

Weirdly enough, tin walls blurrily reflecting his body, with the pervasive order of the room coming from every single thing stored in it, somehow manage to ease his every nerve, spreading a sense of peace through every limb.

With a quiet sigh, he makes his way across the room until he's standing at the side of the cot. He sits up on the edge, takes his sneakers off to set them aside, lined up with the box standing next near, and lays himself on the flat, a bit rough even, surface.

He stays in late, just lying there and staring at the ceiling.

If he takes the pillow from underneath him and puts it on his face for a brief moment somewhere along the way, there is no one with him to witness it.

If he lets himself scream once or twice in the same pillow, there is no one there to hear it as well.

If he passes away from enfeeblement, he also comes to on his own, still able to deny he's tired, in case someone asks him about it.

He doesn't feel Steven, which in this precise case is good, too. Other than that, he wants him back already. Still, he does nothing to trigger him back to the front.

Even as a single tear carves its way along the crow's feet, down the side of his cheek.

He's not tired.

#dreaming with the witch #moon knight fic #Moon Knight #the scarlet witch fic #scarlet witch fic #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marcsteven #stevenmarc #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff #marc x wanda #marc spector x wanda maximoff #steven grant x wanda maximoff #jake lockley x wanda maximoff

[forfoxessake]

I posted 166 times in 2022

129 posts created (78%)

37 posts reblogged (22%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@oldstuffnewstuff

@girlgerard

@mcrbois

@teachmetokill

@iero

I tagged 164 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#100 movies challenge - 110 posts

#movies seen in 2022 - 110 posts

#movie review - 89 posts

#100 movies - 22 posts

#oscar nominee 2022 - 18 posts

#review - 16 posts

#gerard way - 15 posts

#my chemical romance - 15 posts

#movies seen in 2021 - 7 posts

#documentary - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 55 characters

#reasons why gerard would make a great newsletter writer

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

[02] Harry Potter 20th Anniversary: Return to Hogwarts

Directed by Eran Creevy, Giorgio Testi,  Joe Pearlman

 As a fan, I absolutely loved this. Of course, there wasn't going to be anything new, it was not the point. It was a time to remember what they experienced throughout those years and it's wonderful to be able to look back and see things from a distance. Unfortunately, due to covid this probably was smaller than could have been but not any less enjoyable.

14 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

#4

[45] Tom At The Farm (2013)

Directed by Xavier Dolan 

 The thing about this movie is that you are constantly waiting for something horrible to happen. The tension is palpable. It's sexually charged, it's angry and mad and without a reason. Tom is at the farm and he can't get out of it.

18 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

#3

[41] Belfast (2021)

Directed by Kenneth Branagh 

 Remembering your own past is a thing that seems to be popular with directors currently. I like this trend, and I like that Branagh did it slightly differently. He goes further back and tries to remember something from his childhood that at the time he wasn't fully able to understand, and he doesn't try to make it make sense to us. It still feels like living in his memories, a bit confusing, sometimes fantastical, often a bit scary. Grown-ups can be magical and so big, almost unreal characters. It's an honest trip down memory lane, one where you don't ask your family to explain things how they really were.

20 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

#2

[14] Pleasantville (1998)

Directed by Gary Ross 

This was one of the movies I always stopped everything I was doing and watched whenever it was on tv after school. I wasn’t old enough to understand what it was talking about or the more complex themes but I still enjoyed it a lot.

I was surprised to still find enjoyment and beauty here, it’s a very original work, filled with practical effects and what is a simple plot at first but it gets more and more exquisite when those tv characters start to feel like real people and you can’t stop the changes. We can’t go back to seeing the world in black and white, pleasant.

24 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

You know what.

I truly am an #MCR5 believer but I don't think it's happening on #MCRLA5 - specially now that the main buck of the tour is almost officially over. No more tour buses and all.

This #Return tour has been about them reconnecting with My Chemical Romance, not just us, but them relearning nearly all of their songs, giving them new arrangements, new lyrics, it means something different now.

They choose to give us a different set list every single night, it’s incredible rare and precious what they have done, it show us that they are truly committed, it’s far beyond a “let’s make money off people’s memories tour”. They didn’t need to do that to have a successful tour and yet they choose to - even now so close to the end - add songs that they haven’t played yet and even a song they have never played live before.

It’s watching them become a band again, and I really think they needed to learn how to be that again, to learn all of their songs, revisit who they were, to find out who they want My Chemical Romance to be from now on.

Whoever that is going work out it’s up to them, maybe it won’t be as intense as they were before (up until BP), but it will special.

24 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[admiringlove]

hurtful things

+synopsis: genshin boys and the hurtful things they said.

+genre: angst; headcanons.

+characters: kaeya; diluc; childe; zhongli.

+warnings: swearing; crying; implied panic attack.

+order: hey bubs! i saw you doing requests and i HAD to ask for genshin angst :) spare me some tears pls <//3 preferably w kaeya or diluc or childe :) [submitted by @crackheadsara​]

+author’s note: okay so i included zhongli bc he’s the love of my life, also i needed comfort from him after writing such hurtful things :D

+navigation: main menu, genshin menu.

— KAEYA.

“i’m better off without you.”

you know from the way your door was knocked in the middle of the night on a weekday after months, that it’s kaeya. you rub your eyes sleepily, trudging towards the door as anger and doubt fuse into a nasty green in your mind. 

you unlock the door, pulling it open to see the man with the eyepatch tapping his foot on the deck of your home impatiently. he smirks when his eye lands on you, attempting to walk in but stopping himself when he realizes you're standing at the door, unmoving. 

"kaeya, it's three in the morning. and it's monday. i have to report to jean in three hours," you mumble tiredly as you look up at him. the lamp grass by your windowsill outside and the moonlit night accentuated his cerulean eyes and contrasting coffee-colored skin. he frowns, peering down at you as he asks, "may i come in?"

you shrug, opening the door wide as you let the man in. he places his sword on the table and proceeds to walk into the bedroom when you ask, "where have you been for the past two weeks?"

"work," his reply is the same. you let out a sigh in impatience as you retort, "that's the same excuse as always."

he was tired and wanted to sleep off the fatigue from his latest mission. but when he hears you say that, something in him snaps and he turns around, his jaw clenched and a fixed glare making you a little agitated. he raises an eyebrow as he says, "well, unlike you, i am an actual important member of the knights of favonius."

"kaeya, all i meant was that you're always gone. you never write a letter back even if i send you one, and you somehow manage to come back every single time, expecting that it doesn't hurt me. what am i supposed to do?" your voice is small as you look down, hair drooping towards the ground. you're not even yelling at him, you're just worried. he always leaves you alone(sometimes you tag along, but you couldn't tell why nowadays he'd leave you alone without some sort of warning).

"does it ever occur to you that you're just a hindrance?" he bites back, thinking that you're trying to put up a front. you flinch at his words, causing him to force a jeer before he starts again, "you always come along, so maybe i wanted to be away from you for a bit. that's why i leave without a warning so i don't have to tend to your yapping all day. because i'm better off without you."

you gasp as you look up to his figure, now retreating to your shared bedroom. you hear him fall onto the bed with a content sigh as you stand there, wiping at your tears incessantly as hiccups escape your lips. you bit your tongue to stop yourself from crying, pressing a hand on your mouth to muffle the sounds so you don't disturb kaeya. you get a quick peek in, eyes widening when you see him sound asleep and tucked in. 

so that's how it was, you think. 

the next morning, kaeya wakes up to a cold bed as his arm reaches out to an empty space. his eyes immediately pry open as he wakes up, to see that you weren't here. 

ah, he ponders to himself, you must've gone to tend to your duties. 

he stretches, letting out a yawn before walking out to the kitchen. he smiles when he sees a plate of food left for him on the countertop with a note from you. but somehow, something felt very wrong about this whole ordeal. this had happened before—he had come back from insanely long missions to you before, so what felt different?

and then it hits him. the things he said last night. he frantically looks around, his azure eyes completely drowned in horror as he notices small changes in your shared household. a few picture frames are missing on the living room walls, your keychain isn't on the bookshelf anymore, and worst of all, when he runs into the closet, half of your clothes are gone. 

did you really feel that bad about what he said?

in panic, he runs out and keeps going till he reaches the headquarters of the knights. he barges in this time, not returning the greetings of the guards upfront as he walks into jean's office. 

"where are they?" he pants, "i-i messed up, do you know where they are?"

jean's eyes widen as she says, "our associates were having a hard time handling with the fatui in liyue harbor so they volunteered to go there for sometime."

"how long has it been?"

"they left long ago, it's about to be around ten hours since," she says. kaeya's heart shatters as he hears those words. he hadn't expected you to outright leave like that, but if you had said the same things to him, he definitely would've stormed out. his voice cracks as he looks at the ground in shame, "h-how long until they'll be back?"

"i.. don't know."

he regrets everything he's said. he truly does because he doesn't even notice that tears are streaming down his cheeks until jean comes to his aid. he hates himself for all of it—he hates that he has to live in a home where traces of you are visible everywhere; worst of all, he hates how he knows he lost you for good. even if you come back, he knows you wouldn’t run and melt into his arms like you did before. you’re gone now, fading into the darkness and away from him. 

maybe it was for the best.

— DILUC.

“you’re nothing but a burden.”

after taking on a few abyss mages and mitachurls, diluc lets a grunt out in pain before you see the slash on his right arm. you gasp, pulling him to the side of the lake as you pull out a bandage and cotton from your bag to clean his wounds. he's reluctant to it at first, but he sits there quietly and broods as you clean the blood with cotton and some type of healing ointment. 

you tie the bandage on his arm, a tiny bit of vermillion liquid seeping through the white cloth before sitting down next to him, finally catching a breath. sighing, you look up at him and say, "that was reckless."

"no, what you did was reckless. who told you to come along with me to dadaupa gorge? you knew what you were getting into when you came along, so don't put this on me," he grumbled, frowning as you look at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. you are sort of hurt, but you know he's only saying this in faux indignation, so it's okay. you chuckle out, beginning, "diluc, i was-"

"i don't know why i even bother with you at this point," he exasperates, looking into the distance behind you. he curses slightly under his breath, his rouge eyes filled to the brim with anger as it finally overflows, "you're nothing but a burden."

your eyes suddenly flick to gape at him in disbelief. you stand up, your voice hitching in your throat as you ask, "diluc, you mean that?"

and it all simmers down into ashes when he mumbles "of course i do" under his breath. your vision is blurry as you walk away from the red-haired man, your body trembling as you almost give away that you're crying your eyes out. you walk back in the direction the two of you came from, leaving your broken heart in the hands of diluc, who sat by the lake not muttering a word after. 

he knows he's said things he doesn't mean; he does that all the time, but you probably knew that. he figures you're leaving to catch a breath of fresh air—to be away from the tension-filled environment for a bit, you had a habit of doing that at home. he sighs as he ponders over his words for a bit. he knew it was wrong to display such harshness to you, but you probably knew he didn't mean anything by it. he always bubbled over rash things when he was frustrated. 

the sun sets in front of him, painting hues of aubergine and peach as it flows down. he wonders where you are, getting up from his spot by the lake to venture towards the path you walked off. 

only when he can't find you, is when he thinks that you might've actually taken offense to his words. although he cares about you sincerely, he finishes his mission first, getting a lead on the abyss order—because protecting monstadt was his first priority. you lingered in his mind every second of every day till he finally got back home. and when he didn't find you there, he asks adelinde about it, who only shakes her head and tells him, "i'm sorry, master diluc, but i haven't seen them come back. i thought they were with you."

it all pieces together in his mind now, how a small gasp had escaped your lips when he had called you a burden. the way you nodded begrudgingly, getting up and walking away from his presence as your shoulders trembled. the way he could hear you choke back a sob, but still ignored it, thinking you had overreacted in the situation. 

he searches the whole city for you. he searches every nook and corner, and even walks into the headquarters of the knights of favonius(he ignores kaeya's teases instead of biting back this time). and when he finally sees you, he holds himself back. his hand is suspended awkwardly in the air as he reaches out for you, your back turned towards him. 

maybe this was better—maybe it was a good thing that you had walked away from him. this way, the abyss order won't be able to harm you. this way, he won't be able to harm you. this way, you'll be safe and sound, away from the storm known as diluc ragnvindr.

— CHILDE.

“it’s not like you mean anything to me.”

it's not often you see childe. he's always in liyue, and you're here, stuck in monstadt or snezhnaya. it's cold today(as it always is) in snezhnaya, the snow covered almost everything outside as you looked out of your window, sipping on hot coffee as you sigh at the wilting roses on the sill. they'd wilted when you had gone to monstadt and you didn't have the heart to plant new ones.

just thinking about the blue-eyed childish man would make your heart bloom and cheeks flustered. you longed to spend more time with him, really. if only he wasn't affiliated with the fatui, he'd be able to spend more time with you. it had been months since you had seen him, and you longed to be in his arms once again, but who knows when that'll happen again? whenever he comes home, he chooses to spend a night with you and then head back. he'd laugh alongside you, tell you about his adventures, and give small reactions when you told him about yours. and the next morning, you'd wake up to an empty bed with a small note by the table, saying how he has to leave for work.  

a knock at your door snaps you out of your entranced state. as you open the lock and look out, you see childe, standing there with a tired grin and disheveled hair as he walks in without a word. he hands you a small paper bag, saying, "i brought you back something from liyue this time."

the same excuse, you think. it's always the same. he brings back small mementos and souvenirs as a pretense for staying, and by the time you think you can forgive him, he's gone. he plops down onto the sofa, stretching his arm out so you could join him. the thought of confronting him crosses your mind, but you shake it off—since he had only just gotten back. 

the night is the same as always. talking about each others' adventures, eating dinner by the fireplace, laughing alongside one another until you hit the bed. it's quiet now as you watch over his sleeping figure, his lapis-colored eyes now hidden. you sigh as you lay there for hours on end, twiddling with his brown hair as you wait for him to wake up(so this time you can actually say goodbye). 

when his eyes flutter open, he's a little taken aback when he looks over at you to see you wide awake. his brows furrow just a smidge as he says, "you're up."

"well, i wanted to say goodbye this time," you chuckle dryly, "you always leave without waking me up."

"i don't like the way you said that," he says, getting up from his position on the bed. you look away from him, your eyes displaying hurt as you murmur, "i don't like the way you leave."

"well, it's my job. it's not like i'm an adventurer like you, wasting my time around. i'm a harbinger and i have responsibilities," he says. his voice is neither too soft and nor too prickly, and you can tell that he's a little worked up by the way he lightly nips on the skin of his bottom lip as his gaze bores into you. 

"i didn't say you don't. all i said was that you could maybe sometimes stay for more than one night. it feels like you're using me, and when you're bored, you leave."

"oh?" he cocks an eyebrow as he stands up, "i'm using you, huh?"

you grimace at the tone of his voice, and when you look at him, you notice the sheer annoyance he puts up towards you. your voice is small when you ask him if he loves you—because you don't know anymore. seeing him once in a few months for the past few years has sure hurt you more than anything, and if you don't tell him now, then you might never get a chance. 

"what if i say i don't?" he smirks, walking up to you, "it's not like you mean anything to me. what if i agree that i am using you to make myself happy until i'm bored, so i can then throw you away?"

he doesn't like what he's saying either. his mind is screaming at him to stop, but he's worked up. he's irritated by the way you jabbed at him first thing in the morning, even though he knows you're right. his heart almost stops when he looks at the expression on your face after he says those words, and as he reaches out his hand for you, you turn away. 

your voice cracks, and he's sure his heart did as well when you mumble, "i-i'd like you to leave, please."

"wait, i didn't mean-"

"tartaglia," your eyes look into his, perhaps for the last time, as you give him a sad smile, "you don't have to come back to me anymore."

it hurts him as he leaves your home that morning. it hurts him when he comes back months later to see that your home is now empty. it hurts him because he tarnished the you that was once his. 

it hurts him, but he thinks it's for the best if you stay away from him if all he does is bring you pain.

— ZHONGLI.

“i’d like you to leave me alone.”

zhongli was never one to pick fights. he was peaceful; his thoughts were positive(most of the time), and he almost always preferred to talk about his problem rather than fighting about it—he believes that fighting will only bring pain, so why not confide in one another about our problems instead?

he's quiet. he's not shy(it's quite the opposite, actually), but he's one to prefer to only talk when absolutely necessary. he's the type to listen rather than speak, saying something like, "we have two ears and one mouth. speak less than you listen."

he smiles when his mind goes back to the time when he said that to you while having a cup of tea together, and you'd replied, "my mother used to tell me that when i was a child."

because it's true; every child in liyue harbor has heard those words at least once in their lives. the quality of listening is appreciated more than the quality of speaking—and zhongli, for one, was a listener. 

you, on the other hand, were a speaker. you always woke him up every morning with a smile as bright and everlasting as the sun, babbling about breakfast and tea as he got up from the bed. you were the one that carried conversations on your shoulders on morning walks, you were the one that intertwined your fingers with his as the two of you walked amongst flowers, adoring them as you talked about the contrasting colors of silk flowers and glaze lilies. he loved you for that. he loved you because you were a speaker. he loved you because you were a perfect balance, the only one who could soften his hardened heart. the only one whom he'd chosen to wake up next to in the mornings, the only one whom he'd let ruffle his hair without asking(because he secretly liked it). 

so why had he reversed the roles tonight? why was he the one to bubble out his frustrations to you, speaking in a cold and stern manner instead of the loving tone that was only reserved for you? why was he the one to speak tonight, and why were you the one to listen?

it's not like he was actually frustrated—he was only thinking about something else as you asked him what he wanted for dinner. it surely wasn't your fault when he had poured over turbulent words to you. and he knows that the ones that hurt the most probably were, "i'd like you to leave me alone."

he looks up at the stars, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he walks back into his shared home with you. he looks around, and when there's no sign of you, he feels himself break apart even more. 

had you actually left? he wants to run to you and tell you he hadn't meant any of those words because he hadn't. he wants to touch you, to caress you, to please you, to make you smile—and he wants to admit he was wrong. he wants to make it right, but he doesn't know where you are. 

he walks into the empty bedroom, sitting on the cold mattress as his eyes sting. he doesn't understand what's happening, or why there are small drops of water falling from his eyes. he doesn't understand why everything feels heavy all of a sudden—his heart, his throat his lungs, everything. he doesn't understand why he feels like he's trapped in a box, and the water seems to be filling up more quickly than he'd prefer. he wants to reach for air, but he can't.

he couldn't breathe without you. 

he hears the door close and immediately gets up in haste to walk to the living room where he sees you take off your boots. you turn around to see him, his disheveled hair and frantic eyes finally calming as he walks over to you and engulfs you in a warm embrace. his throat cleared up, and so did his heart and lungs as he mumbles against your ear, "i'm so sorry."

you smile smally, looking up at him as you cup his cheeks and wipe a stray tear, and mutter, "it's okay, zhongli. stress gets to the best of us."

god, how he loves you. he places a small peck on the top of your forehead as he feels his lips turn upward at your touch and the scent of glaze lilies lingering over you tells him that you'd been to the flower garden. he sleeps with your fingers weaved with his that night and pulls you even closer if you untangle with him in sleep. 

he makes a promise to himself saying he'd never hurt you like that again, and he keeps it.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

#kaeya alberich #diluc ragnvindr #zhongli #childe #tartaglia #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya genshin #genshin kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin headcanons #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x y/n #genshin diluc x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartaglia #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fluff #zhongli x reader #zhongli genshin #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli fluff

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,��� he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

[missskzbiased]

The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan  

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink  

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

                                                            ///

  You are a superhero.

    Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

    “Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

    “Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

    — That you couldn’t show at your work.

    Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

  To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

    … And speaking of which…

    Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

    If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

    Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.  

    It also wasn’t the point right now.

    The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

    Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

    He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

    The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

    Not at all.

    “Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

  A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

    Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

    The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

    You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

    And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

    The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

    “What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

    The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

    It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

    Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

    As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

    “Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

    Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

    Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

     “You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

    “Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

    “Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

    “No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy” He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

    “I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

  Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

  Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

  It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

    If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

  “Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

    You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

    “We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

    “What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

    The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

    Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

    You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

    “Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

    The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

    Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

     “It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

    You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

    “You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

    “That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

    What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

     Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

    “As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

    He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

    “Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

    And now what?

    “So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

    It was practically a silent threat.

    In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

    Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

    The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

    That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

    The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

    “The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

    “Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

    “I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

    Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

    There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

    The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

     Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

   The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

    “Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

    Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

    “I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

    “We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

    “Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

    “Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

    “Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

    “Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

    “He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

    “Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

    “N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

    “Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

    Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

    If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

   He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

    “That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

      The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

    Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

    You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

    It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

    So you grind on his leg for dear life.

    “You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

      “F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

      “Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

      “Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

      “Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

    There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

     For who you become when lust overcomes you.        

    The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

      “Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

    Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

    Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

    “W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

      “Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

    “W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

    “Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

      “Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

    “So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

    The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

    You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

    “Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

    Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

    And… Post.

    Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

    Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

    Yeah, right… You just posted it.

    Chill.

    You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

     Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

      And this was priceless.

     Or maybe… It was priceless.

    As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

     Don’t panic, Y/N.

    You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

    Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

    That’s right…

    You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

    The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

     Finally!    

    The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

    It was fun to talk to Weasel.

    He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

      His fantasies.

    Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

    The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

    You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

    “That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

    “You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

      “I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

    “Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

    “I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

     “Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

    “First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

    “What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

    “I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

    “No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

    “But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

      “That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

    “Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

    “Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

    “If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

    “What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

      Great… He would never let you live it down.

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

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

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

#skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #bang chan smut #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan fanfic #chan fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin fanfic #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader

[maddiwrites]

Breathe With Me

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: After finding out who hurt you on that horrific night, JJ helps you through another panic attack and makes plans to protect his girl.

Note: This was requested a long time ago after a chapter of my rewrite was posted! Instead of doing JJ x OC, like requested, I changed it to JJ x Reader so that people who don’t read my rewrite can enjoy it too. Hopefully this is okay with ya’ll. 

Word Count: 3.5k

WARNINGS: Sexual Assault!!! This chapter has descriptions of sexual assault. Please do not read if this is TRIGGERING!!!! 

National Sexual Assault Hotline: [phone]

Masterlist

It was another regular day on the island. Hot and crowded with tourists. With everyone working, you decided to tag along with JJ and Pope to delivery groceries for Heyward’s business. Usually this meant going to Figure Eight, your least favorite place to be. Normally it didn’t creep you out too much, but because of a rather recent incident, you didn’t like being there.

Right after your dad went missing, you spent a lot of time with Kie as she lived out her Kook Year. Avoiding the Pogues and John B and surrounding yourself with stuck up assholes and their expensive drugs and alcohol helped you forget about your own family crisis. You would do anything to take your mind off your dad’s disappearance even if it meant getting high on whatever was offered to you. You didn’t ask twice about what it was. You figured if the rich people we’re doing it, it couldn’t be that bad right?

One night you did a long line surrounded by Rafe and a couple of his buddies. Pretty much everything after that was a blur. Your memories are fuzzy, like a puzzle piece you can’t piece together. The last thing you remember is your black hitting something soft, like a mattress or a pillow. You thought you heard the zipper of your shorts being pulled down but figured it was Kie helping you change into a pair of pajamas. 

The next morning you woke up practically naked with a blanket covering your bottom half and your bra pulled down to your stomach. You began to panic and ran your hands down your side, flinching at the tenderness by your hips. The skin was yellow/green and getting ready to bruise. Your breathing became shallow and your throat tightened up. You fumbled around the room you didn’t recognize for your clothes and slid them on, not caring what was backwards or inside out. You stumbled out the door and tip toed down the long staircase of the large house you were in. Figure Eight, you thought. 

You didn’t go home first. You went to Kie’s house. Because your body ached. Because you wanted to cry but didn’t want John B or the other boys to hear you. Because you were afraid to be naked around anyone but another girl. The second she opened the door, you sobbed into her arms and told her what you think happened to you. Kie tried to get you to go to the police or even the hospital, but you couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone knowing about what happened. Not even a stranger. Because you were embarrassed. You blamed yourself for this happening to you. You were high as fuck, trying to forget about your family troubles. You were the one to make yourself weak and vulnerable. No one else. Someone just took advantage of the position you put yourself in.

Kie didn’t pressure you. She wanted to support you in whatever decision you made, despite wanting justice for you and sending whoever the sleaze bag was to jail. She sat on the toilet and talked to you as you showered slowly. You spent most of the time staring at the wall and feeling ever inch of your body. You felt so dirty and no amount of soap or scrubbing could make you feel any cleaner. 

You stayed at her house for a couple of days until John B eventually texted her because he was worried. You both decided it was time for you to go home, but you never told them what happened. You were afraid of what John B and even JJ would do if they found out. And the last thing you wanted was for either of them to get hurt or in trouble.

John B didn’t notice something was off as much as JJ did. He could tell you were being more quiet and reserved than usual. Your usual style of crop tops and jean shorts changed to sweats and baggy t shirts. You slept with your door locked and didn’t touch a single can of beer since you came home.

Moving on from that night was a slow and gruesome process, one you don’t know if you’ll ever fully recover form. Luckily for you, JJ was a great distracter. He was an amazing story teller, he could make you laugh with a small hand gesture, and his laugh could draw you in for hours. No one was surprised when the two of you eventually started dating. Not even John B, who was a little apprehensive about it at first. 

To JJ, everything came to light when another make out session became heated. Like that morning, it became hard to breathe and your mind wandered off to what could have happened to you that night. In a blink of an eye, you were back in Figure Eight with someone pulling your zipper down. You could physically feel the bruises on your hips again and your skin burning. 

A panic attack emerged and JJ was left confused and lost. Fortunately for you, he was quick to realize something was seriously wrong and helped you through it. He breathed with you and talked you down. When you were calm, you explained what happened. At first he was pissed. Pissed at whoever could have done this to you and even a little bit at you and Kie for keeping this from him. He was ready to charge out of the house, grab John B, and find the sick son of a bitch who would touch an unconscious girl. But your cries stopped him. He’s never heard pain in your voice like he did that night. It physically cracked his heart into a million little pieces and he dropped every instinct he had and stayed with you instead. 

Since then, he’s been the most supportive and protective boyfriend. At every boneyard party, he would keep an eye out for any Kook that decided to show their face on your turf. He took note of anyone looking at you in a weird way. He carried the gun he stole from Scooter in his backpack for protection. He was serious about using it too. No one touches his girl and gets away with it.

Luckily, nothing happened between JJ and any Kook. No one made a move to talk to you or tease you. Kooks kept their usual distance from you, which not only made you feel better for yourself but because you didn’t want something to happen to JJ. You know the rules of the game of this island. Nothing bad ever happens to Kooks. They don’t know consequences. 

When Pope docks his boat, he asks if you would come with him to drop groceries off at the Thorntons. If he did it alone, it would cause two trips and he doesn’t want to waste time. 

As you go to agree, JJ steps in and shakes his head as he looks between you two. “I don’t think thats a good idea.”

“Why not?” Pope asks, completely clueless.

You subtly shake your head, silently begging for JJ not to say anything. Pope and John B still didn’t know and you want to keep it that way. Sure you would feel safer with JJ by your side, but you won’t be alone. You will be with Pope. And who would try to start something in the middle of the day anyway?

“It’s fine, J,” You tell him. You even try to joke. “I’m sure you’ll survive one hour without me.”

When you kiss his cheek, JJ turns to look at you with his brows pinched together with worry. “Y/N...”

“Seriously, J...” You say. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” You whisper that last part as Pope turns to get the bags. 

“You have your phone?”

You nod and pull it out of your pocket to show him. “Yes. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

As JJ walks in the opposite direction of you and Pope, you feel the tension in your shoulders get tighter. The sight of these homes gives you flashbacks. The worst part about all of this is you don’t even know who hurt you. It could’ve been anyone - a touron even. It would be easier to know who did it so you know who to avoid. 

Pope notices your change in behavior but doesn’t mention it. Instead he keeps a silent eye on you and studies your every movement. 

As you pass the golf course, you hear a couple cat calls and cheering from a group of teenagers. When you look up, you see Rafe, Topper, and one of their friends making their way over to you. You take a step behind Pope, hiding behind his body and keeping your eyes trained down on your shoes. 

“What do we have here?” Rafe whistles as he comes closer. He looks down at the bags in your arms and the beer in Pope’s hand. “Bring us something?”

“These are already paid for,” Pope glares at them.

“Oh, right, right,” Rafe nods as if he understands. Then he takes is golf club and swings it at the brown paper bag in Pope’s arms, causing everything to spill out of it. 

“Dude!” 

“Sorry, man!” Rafe holds his hands up in fake surrender. He leans down to pick up a beer bottle and tosses it to his tall friend. “Trevor, you feeling thirsty?”

The guy, better known as Trevor, cracks the beer open and takes a long sip. When he looks down, he spots you and eyes your figure up and down. Then he smirks to himself and a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Like a piece of meat or someone he knows too much of. 

Rafe catches his eye and smirks to himself. “Ah, yeah. I forgot. You and Routledge have some history.”

Pope looks over his shoulder at you and sees your chest rising and dropping at a quicker pace. You’re gripping the bags in your hands so tight that he can see your knuckles turning white. You look away from the group of Kooks at the golf course with a frown on your face. Something was wrong, Pope thought. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Trevor chuckles. He looks at you again and tilts his head. “What? You don’t remember me?”

“Pope...” You feel like you’re choking. How could he know you when you have no idea who he is? You don’t like where this is going.

Trevor continues, “Can’t say I blame you. You were out of your mind wasted that night -”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Pope says, looking between you and Trevor. He wasn’t one to get confrontational or angry, but he didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like how you were acting. Something wasn't adding up. He knew you’ve hooked up with Kooks before, but this one was different. 

“Almost as dead as her daddy,” Rafe chuckles. Something in Pope snaps and he pushes Rafe back by his shoulders. In retaliation, Rafe raises his golf club and smacks it against the middle of Pope’s back, causing him to fall down with a thump. 

“Pope!” You cry and drop the bags you were holding and kneel next to him. 

“Hey,” Trevor touches your shoulder to try and pull you away from the two fighting boys, but you flinch away from him. 

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” You cry.

Trevor immediately holds up his hands in surrender and takes a step back. Your outburst causes everyone to freeze in their movements, even Rafe and Pope. The wheels in Topper’s head start to move a little quicker too. He looks between you and Trevor and feels off about your connection. You looked terrified. And Y/N Routledge was almost never terrified. 

Even though you are outside, you feel claustrophobic. Your heart is beating so heavily against your ribcage that you wouldn’t be surprised if it were to break your ribs. Pope notices you’re two shades paler and having a hard time breathing. Tears are silently falling down your face and you continue to crawl away form the group of Kooks backwards. 

“Y/N...” Pope says quietly.

“We should go,” Topper says. He never hated you like some of the other Kooks did. Sure you never got along, but a small part of him thought you were cool. He knew something was extremely wrong and he couldn’t help but think it had to do with their friend, Trevor. He looks at Rafe who continues to stare at you with surprise. “Dude.”

“Yeah...” Rafe says slowly. “Trev, let’s go.”

The three Kooks scatter back to the golf course. You squeeze your eyes tightly and grip the fabric of your shirt, pulling it away from your body because right now it just feels suffocating. 

“Hey.” Pope crouches down near you and lightly touches your shoulder. His touch feels like an electric shock, making you flinch even further away. When you open your eyes, you’re back in some random Kook’s house on a mattress you’re unfamiliar with. “They’re gone. Hey, they’re gone.” Pope tries to be gentle with you, but he also wants to get you out of here and in a more comfortable setting. 

“JJ,” You manage to say. Your throat feels on fire. “I need J-”

Pope immediately starts fumbling for his cell phone and dials his best friend’s number. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently listens to the ringing. “Come on. Come on.”

JJ answers. “Hey! Sorry I’m on my way back now. You’ll never believe how much this lady tipped me. I swear I’m coming on every -”

“JJ, shut up and listen to me. Y/N...” He glances back at you and sees you’re hunched over with your forehead resting on your knees and your fingers through your hair. “She’s having a panic attack or something. I - I don’t -”

“Where are you?” JJ’s once elated tone has dropped to a more serious one. 

Pope tries explaining what part of the golf course they are near. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in five minutes. Pope, get her under some shade or something. And if you can, try to get her to look at you. She needs to open her eyes to see where she is.” Pope nods, forgetting that JJ can’t see him. “Pope!”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Okay, doing that now.”

JJ hangs up the phone so he can run faster. 

Meanwhile, Pope crouches down in front of you again and says, “Y/N/N, hey. Can you open your eyes?” Pope lightly taps your ankles. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” You slowly blink your eyes open and sniffle back the tears. Pope smiles when he sees he’s made some sort of progress. “Hey. JJ’s on his way. Why don’t we move you under some shade? It’s getting pretty hot out here. Can I help you up?”

You nod and let Pope help you up and bring you a couple feet away under a large tree. Your back rests against the bark and you try taking deep breaths to calm the swirling nausea in your stomach. 

It was Trevor. It had to be Trevor. From the way he looked at you, to the innuendo Rafe made. You knew in your heart that it was Trevor who had hurt you that night. 

A part of you always wanted to know who did this, but another part of you wished you never figured it out. Because now his face will haunt you forever.

About a minute later, you hear another set of footsteps quickly coming your way. You panic, your immediate thought going to Trevor. Would he come back? 

But then you hear your boyfriend’s beautiful voice. “Hey.” His tone is soft and gentle. “Hey, baby. Look at me. It’s JJ.” You open your eyes and meet the lovely blue one’s you fell in love with. He grins at you and takes your hands in his. 

“I’m so - sorry,” You sob, suddenly hating yourself for bringing this back up to your boyfriend and ruining Pope’s work routine. “I - I -”

“Hey,” JJ says and pulls your hands to his chest, palms down. “Remember what we did last time? Match my breathing, okay? Ready? Take a deep breath.”

Pope watches with awe silently from the sidelines. He’s never seen this side of either one of you. You so panic stricken and scared, JJ so intent with concern and intuitive. 

You follow JJ’s breathing until you feel calm enough to breathe on your own. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” JJ shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You look down at your hands that are folded in your lap. You want to tell him. Of course you want to tell him. But you’re afraid of what happens next. You’re afraid of how JJ will respond.

“Rafe, Topper, and their friend Trevor jumped us,” Pope answers for you. Like JJ, he’s also curious about what happened. Of course he was there for the physical breakdown, but he wants to know more about what you’re going through emotionally. 

“Did they hurt you?” JJ looks back at you and inspects every inch of your open skin for signs of scratches or bruises. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then...”

“I know who it was,” You say, your voice as soft as a whisper. 

“What? You mean. -” JJ’s head snaps back and forth between you and Pope. “Who?”

You dip your chin into your chest to hide your tears as they start to flow again. You take a deep breath and look back up at your boyfriend. “Trevor.”

“Who the fuck is Trevor?” JJ looks at Pope. 

Pope shrugs, “I don’t know. He was golfing with the other two Kooks.”

“Where’d they go?” JJ stands up, causing both you and Pope to follow him.

“No, JJ -” You try to pull him back to you but he slips his wrist out of your grip. 

“JJ!” Pope calls out to JJ who walks in the direction the other three disappeared to. 

“JJ, stop!” Your voice cracks which makes JJ turn around to look at you. “Please. I just want to go home.”

JJ freezes and bites down on his bottom lip, feeling conflicted. His head is telling him to run after the Kooks and beat every single one of their faces in until he finds the one named Trevor. But his heart is telling him to walk back to you and take care of you. 

“Okay,” he decides and wraps his arm around your waist. “Let’s get you home.”

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

After you fall asleep later that night, JJ tip toes out of your room and silently shuts your door behind him. You passed out early, exhausted from the panic attacks and crying. In the living room, Pope, Kie, and John B are waiting. You had no other choice but to tell John B what happened. Now that Pope knew, it felt wrong keeping it from your brother as well. Of course it caused an argument, but in the end, John B only wants the best for you and to protect you. Which is why they’re here now.

“Ready to go?” JJ looks directly at your brother.

John B holds up his car keys. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Kie grabs John B by the elbow and glares at both of them.

“Where do you think?” JJ says.

When Pope and Kie stepped out of the room to check on you, JJ and John B both secretly decided that when you fell asleep, the two of them would sneak out and find this Trevor person and give him what he deserves. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Pope says, looking between the two. “You know how this works. The two of you end up getting in trouble and he gets to walk away clean.”

“I don’t care. I’ll kill him -”

“You can’t,” Kie says.

“I’m not asking for your permission, Kie!”

“Where’s the gun?” Kie says. “If you’re going to do this, I’m not letting you bring the gun. Leave it here.”

JJ looks up at John B who reluctantly nods his head for JJ to give it up. The blonde sighs and reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls it out.

“This is a bad idea,” Pope says again even though he knows the other two don’t give a shit. In a way, he kind of respects it. He would go to if he didn’t have a scholarship to worry about.

“Keep an eye on her. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” John B says.

“You better hope you are. Because if you’re not, you’re only going to be making this worse for her,” Kie tells them.

Kie’s words have both John B and JJ rethinking their decision. But only for a split second. 

JJ nods. “Don’t worry. I’d never leave my girl behind.”

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj fic #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx imagine

[sunder-soul]

hii what about Tom Riddle being fucking jealous about reader ?

So I got massively carried away with this one lol, apologies if this isn’t what you were expecting, my imagination went wild!

PART II AVAILABLE! 💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Jealousy

Summary: Reader has to tutor an insufferable jock and Tom Riddle starts acting very strangely indeed. Wordcount: 1.8k Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The Great Hall was bright and lively with morning sun and the chatter of students, spoons clinking against bowls and butter spreading on toast.

“What is he doing?” you whisper to Margot sitting next to you at the table.

“I think he’s attempting to show off,” she giggles back.

You were both watching Austin Varrowe, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, obnoxiously demonstrate his Beater swing for a series of very bored looking Ravenclaw girls who weren’t paying him any attention in the slightest.

“Slughorn’s making me tutor that idiot,” you grumble.

“No way,” Margot grins, rounding on you.

“Yup,” you sigh, “can you believe it? Two evenings a week for the rest of the term… I think I’ll brain myself with a cauldron by Friday.”

Margot pats your shoulder sympathetically.

That evening, you reluctantly set off for the dungeons to meet Varrowe with your bag slung over your shoulder, but as you round a corridor you very nearly bowl straight into someone coming the opposite direction.

“Riddle,” you say, surprised, “sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Riddle takes a step back and tidily clasping his hands being his back. “You’re out rather late,” he said smoothly. “And in the dungeons, no less. Are you lost? The library is that way.” He nods back down the corridor.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Riddle was such a know-it-all. “I’m meeting someone, actually,” you say dismissively, checking your watch. “In fact, I better get going or he’ll think I’m standing him up.”

Riddle looks very briefly surprised, and then a cool look of disapproval settles on his fine features. “I don’t suppose I have to remind you that curfew is in two hours,” he says stiffly, “you wouldn’t be intending on breaking that, would you?”

You snort a laugh and step past him. “Thanks for the reminder,” you say sarcastically, “see you later, Riddle.”

You manage to get away before he can say anything else.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Varrowe,” you call, giving your friends a quick wave as you dash to catch up to him in the throng of students making their way to their next class. “Are you free tonight?”

“Oh – right,” Varrowe says, looking dispirited. “Sure. Seven o’clock?”

You nod and lean closer. “Please make sure you actually bring your textbook this time,” you mutter, managing to keep your exasperation off your face. “You do in fact need to read it at least once to pass the class.”

Varrowe grins and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “You’re smart,” he says loudly, “barely understood a thing you said last time.”

“Right,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to tidy your hair. “Well, see you this evening.”

“Sounds good,” Varrowe shrugs, wandering away.

You sigh. Slughorn better appreciate your sacrifice; tutoring Varrowe was the equivalent of torture. You turn on your heel to catch up with your friends, but once again you come face to face with –

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me,” you say dryly, “seriously, Riddle, it’s creepy.”

Riddle’s eyes slide from Varrowe’s retreating form to your face. “Is Varrowe the one you were meeting last week?” he asks smoothly.

The question surprises you. “Yeah, why?” you frown.

“And you’re meeting him again?”

You arch a brow at his decidedly clipped tone. “Yeah but don’t worry, I promise I won’t break curfew, I know that’s of the utmost importance to you –”

“An odd choice,” Riddle interrupts, something uncharacteristically irate in his voice, “Varrowe.”

You stare at him. “…Is he?” you ask pointedly, unable to think of anyone more in need of tutoring. Only yesterday Varrowe had lost his phial of Flobberworm mucus and had asked Slughorn if he could just use some of his own instead. “I think he’s the perfect choice.”

Riddle’s eyes flash. “I should be going,” he says curtly, “see you in class.” He gives you a single, stiff nod and leaves without another glance.

You blink after him, shaking your head in confusion. Riddle was acting very, very strangely.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“So if you overboil it, it’ll turns green,” Varrowe said slowly, peering at the notes on Veritaserum on the desk between you, “but if you underboil it, it’ll get those weird lumps?”

“Yes,” you say with great relief.

“Is it better to overboil it or underboil it?”

You immediately regret having felt relieved. “It’s better to do neither,” you say flatly.

Varrowe heave a great sigh and carelessly leans back in his chair. “I’m too tired for this,” he complains. “Did I mention that we had an extra Quidditch practice this morning?”

He had. Six times.

You slide your things into your bag and stand. “You’re right, it’s late,” you mutter, “we can pick this up again on Monday.”

Varrowe gleefully stands too and is out the door of the Potions classroom in a heartbeat. “Are you coming to the game next weekend?” he asks you in the corridor outside, unsubtly flexing his shoulder muscles as he pretends to roll them out.

You very nearly roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Excellent,” he grins, “I’ve been working on this tag-team move with Procker that’ll really have Slytherin guessing, I’ll have to show you later –”

“Varrowe.”

The voice is crisp and cool, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess who it is.

“Riddle,” Varrowe says, looking disgruntled. “Why are you here?”

“I’m a prefect, if you recall,” Riddle says in a glacial tone, “patrols are part of my responsibilities.”

“How very fortunate indeed that you were patrolling this exact corridor at this exact time,” you say with a hint of sarcasm. “Merlin, imagine if we’d forgotten about curfew.”

Riddle’s dark eyes flash to you, and you impassively hold his gaze. “You should return to your common rooms,” he says delicately, “or I will be forced to give you both detentions.”

“Steady on Riddle,” Varrowe grins, “we’ve got half an hour yet, give us a second to say goodbye.”

Riddle wrenches his eyes off you and fixes Varrowe with a very cold look. “You will go at once,” he says in a dangerously soft tone, “do you understand?”

Varrowe bristles, standing taller and pushing his chest out in a way he clearly thinks is intimidating. Riddle looks utterly unfazed.

Sensing trouble on the horizon, you grab Varrowe’s sleeve and tug him back. “Come on, Varrowe,” you say quickly, “let’s go. You’ve got practice in the morning, right?”

Varrowe glares at Riddle who was yet to move an inch, his expression still cool and blank. “Right,” Varrowe growls, “yeah, let’s go.”

Varrowe turns and stalks off, not noticing that you don’t follow. Instead, you round on Riddle.

“Will you explain what the hell is going on?” you whisper angrily.

“Watch your tongue,” Riddle says sharply.

You glower at him. “So sorry – I mean, will you please explain what the hell is going on?”

His eyes narrow. “It would not be wise to antagonise me,” he says icily.

“Would it not?” you breathe, stepping closer. “What are you going to do, dock me points? Give me detention?”

Riddle’s eyes are dark and hostile, and something works in his jaw as he glares back at you.

“Back off, Riddle,” you snap, “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but seriously, drop it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he breathes.

“Oh? You always threaten people with detention when they’ve done nothing wrong? I’m sure Slughorn will be overjoyed to hear that his favourite prefect is abusing his power like that,” you hiss, leaning closer.

Riddle visibly grits his teeth with fury on his face. A tense silence falls, and you suddenly realise that the two of you are standing far, far too closely together.

You step back at once, trying to ignore the strange feeling that swells in your stomach. “Goodnight, Riddle,” you mutter, turning to hurry away.

“Why Varrowe?” he says sharply, stopping you in your tracks.

You look over your shoulder at him. Riddle’s hair looks even blacker in the dark corridor, his burning eyes on yours, the flickering light from the torch on the wall beside him throwing shadows down his cheekbones. “What?” you frown. Now was definitely not the time to get distracted by Riddle’s good looks.

“Why Varrowe?” Riddle repeats stiffly. “He’s a simpleton.”

You blink. “Exactly,” you say slowly.

Something hostile flickers on Riddle’s face before he quickly tempers his expression back into composure. “I appear to have misjudged you,” he says coldly, looking away.

“What are you talking about?” you exclaim in exasperation. “Do you not understand how tutoring works? If he wasn’t absolutely thick I wouldn’t have to waste my evenings explaining to him that Cough Potions are for curing coughs and not inducing them.”

Riddle stares at you. The silence drags on.

You sigh impatiently. “I’m going to bed,” you grumble, turning away again.

“Wait,” he says sharply.

You wheel around, annoyed. “What?”

But your frustration is wiped away in an instant because Riddle is once again much too close. So close, in fact, that you can see the shadows his eyelashes are casting down his cheeks and the heat in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’re tutoring him?” he asks quietly.

You nod silently, your throat suddenly thick with nerves.

“That’s why you were meeting him.”

You nod again, unable to look away from him.

Riddle hums contemplatively, his expression smooth as his dark eyes roam your face. “Good,” he murmurs.

“Good?” you whisper.

Riddle’s lips curve into a small smirk, his head tilting slightly, and you absolutely do not blush at the sight. “Weren’t you going to bed?” he asks silkily.

“Worried about me breaking curfew, are you?” you say with a flicker of a taunt, trying to ignore your heart pounding quickly in your chest.

Riddle’s smirk grows. “I told you not to antagonise me,” he says smoothly as he steps in even closer, so close that his robes graze against your arms and you can feel warmth radiating from him as he looms over you.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “seems to be going pretty well for me so far.”

Riddle’s eyes flick between yours, and for a single burning moment the tension is so thick that you can hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, your gaze dropping to his full lips and seeing his do the same to yours – and then just like that, Riddle steps away.

“Goodnight,” he says evenly, “I trust you can get back to your common room without supervision.”

You nod blankly but Riddle is already turning away and disappearing down the dark corridor, melting into the darkness. You stand there a moment frozen in place, your cheeks burning and your heart still racing as the cold air rushes in where his warmth had been brushing up against your skin.

Riddle was acting very, very strangely indeed.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II AVAILABLE! 💖

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #harry potter #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #prompt #minific #jealous tom #FIL #jealousy #Riddles-wifey #gn reader

[btsydtrash]

So Far Away [1]

single father yoongi x preschool teacher YN

Living as a single father, Yoongi had to make many adjustments to his lifestyle, specifically in two aspects: his sleep schedule and dating. Both of which, he doesn't get to pay enough attention to.

Things all change when he meets YN - a warm-hearted girl who gives him butterflies and makes him feel as if he's floating on cloud nine.

Now, all that he has to do is get her to actually notice him.

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter  /  word count: 2.3k

(Author’s note: Yoongi is so precious in this. This is entirely for me and my head-canon. Also, YN is a plus-sized, confident black girl who has lived in Korea since high school, for context. You can apply your own aesthetics to YN, but that’s how I picture her.)

(angst / fluff / gore / yandere / smut)

Chapter 1 - Sweetness

“I’ve asked you nicely,” Yoongi bargains, holding up the half-empty cup of apple juice. “Now, it’s a ransom. Let me finish your braid and then you can have your sippy-cup.”

His four-year-old daughter simply stares at him, her lip curling up in his signature scowl and she slams a hand down on the yellow plastic miniature table. “That’s not how this works, boss.”

He huffs at the terrible nickname, knowing that he was going to kick Jungkook’s bunny-ass the next time he sees him for letting his child watch a movie about loansharks, knowing how fixated she gets on the most asinine of things. Her ADHD makes it hard for her to let things go once she likes them, like this fucking apple juice cup or the stupid movie with the cliche ending that left her calling him things like ‘big boss’ and ‘head of the clan’.

He rubs his thumb and index finger into his eyes and wishes, he wishes, he could brain himself, but he can’t because has to finish this fucking braid and get his child to pre-school before nine because he can’t be late again without having to pay a stupid fine.

He bites his lip to stop himself from swearing - another one of her fixations a couple months back - and lets out another huff of air.

“Sit in my lap, drink your apple juice,” he tells her handing the pink cup over and watches as she happily climbs into his lap and turns around, letting him play in her head. He doesn’t often do styles in her hair, they always turn out weirdly uneven or messy, but he tries, damn it.

“Under, then over, then under,” he mutters to himself, tongue half out of his mouth as he tries to latch the hair in a proper way to create a three-strand braid like he saw on the YouTube video last night.

“Boss, we’re late,” she sing-songs, sometime later after she changed into her clothes (a teal tutu, some converse and a pink t-shirt with a sequin star in the middle of her chest that changes color if you rub it in opposing directions - his child is such a fucking badass) and brushed her teeth. “Gonna get into trouble again.”

“Trouble, my ass,” he growls, slamming the door to the driver’s side a little harder than necessary. He turns to his daughter in her car seat and grumbles, “Don’t repeat that.”

She salutes him and goes back to playing with her dolls and teddy bears that litter the back of his 2010 Volvo, the only car he could afford after everything that happened. He glances down at the tattoo on his forearm, brow puckering as unwanted memories flood the forefront of his brain.

“Today really sucks,” he grumbles, turning the wheel to round the corner. His stomach grumbles and he takes another sip of black coffee, and he feels the caffeine pumping through his system, waking him up a little. He rolls his neck, glancing at his daughter in the rear-view mirror, and he feels a genuine smile tug at his lips.

She’s the only reason why he hasn’t disappeared off somewhere by himself. He doesn’t want to be like his own dad, emotionally absent and physically abusive. The day he found out he was going to be a father, he swears he hasn’t felt a stronger burst of pure euphoria hit his system.

Of course, he was terrified - he was shitting himself at every appointment, at every breathing class, at each mommy-and-me meeting. He thought he would be the worst dad, that he somehow would screw up worse than his own loser father and diabolical mother did with him.

But he didn’t.

He did a great fucking job with her.

“Hey, Sena,” he calls back to his pretty daughter. She looks up, her face a perfect composition of her mother’s but her expressions, they were all him, and he takes a minute to just look at her. “I love you, stinky.”

She curls up her face and sniffs herself. “Not stinky, daddy.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “You’re very stinky.”

She rolls her eyes and kicks the back of his seat, pouting.

“Stop saying that, meanie,” she complains. “I’m not stinky!”

He laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners and he nods. “Sorry, pretty girl. You’re right. Daddy was being annoying.”

She purses her lips and asks, “What’s ‘annoying’?”

“It means when someone says or does something that you don’t like,” he explains.

She asks, “A bad word?”

“Something like that,” he agrees.

“Annoying,” she repeats, slowly, and he feels his heart sink at the intrigued expression of her face: the birth of a new habit. “Annoying!”

He groans but says nothing. He has done enough at this point. He turns up the stereo and taps his finger along to the song playing over the radio, his daughter kicking out her legs and pumping her arms excitedly along to the music.

If she got nothing from him, she got his love of music and sound.

They get to her pre-school on time, and he waves her into her room - the sign above the door reads Honolulu.

He asks aloud, curiously, “Why Honolulu of all cities?”

“Waikiki Beach is one of the prettiest places on Earth,” a tender voice tells him from the door. He jerks and looks back down to see one of the prettiest faces he’s ever seen in his life. She smiles that warm smile that makes him feel like he is walking on static. “Hi, Mr. Min.”

“Hi, YN,” he stammers, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Had a good morning?”

She nods, holding a cup of what he already knows is hot chocolate with cinnamon syrup and honey (way too sweet, but it fits her, so fucking well).

She explains, excitedly, “Yes, I got here early because today is painting day and I wanted to try this new technique that- Oh, I don’t want to bore you with the details, but you’ll see later when Sena comes home. She’s always so excited to show you her work.”

“Miss YN!”

Yoongi watches as his daughter latches onto her teacher’s legs (shapely, thick, curvaceous - god his knees are getting weak) and she chastises, “You’re not supposed to tell him!”

YN puts a hand to her mouth and gives Sena an exaggeratedly apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Sena. I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s annoying!”

YN’s eyes widen at his daughter’s choice of words, and Yoongi feels himself shrivel up inside.

He says, reaching into the class to pull his daughter out and he crouches down so they are eye-level, “Sena! I told you - it’s a bad word.”

She blinks up at him, sniffing a bit, before glancing back towards YN, who is simply watching their exchange with curious eyes. Sena’s eyes get watery instantly and her bottom lip trembles. “I-… Sorry, daddy.”

“Not to me,” he says, softly. He turns his daughter by her shoulders and directs her to her teacher. “Tell Miss YN.”

YN ducks down so she is at the same level and gives Sena an inviting smile.

Sena sniffles a bit, scrubbing a hand across her face, wiping away her tears and she says, voice trembling, “I’m sorry, Miss YN. I said a bad word.”

“Thank you for saying sorry, Sena,” YN says, softly. “What’s rule number 3 for class?”

“No bad words, no mean things,” she recites by heart. “I’m sorry.”

YN puts a hand on Sera’s shoulder and gives her a comforting smile. “It’s okay, but I’m putting one point in the basket. You have until the end of class to earn it back, okay?”

Sena’s heart seems to break at the mere idea of losing one of her precious ‘good noodle points’ (she has the most in the class and losing even one was unacceptable to her) but she nods, despondently.

“Go play,” YN tells Sena, directing her to the upended toy box in the middle of the room. YN has three other students quietly playing together and they are waiting for the other three parents to drop off their kids (two twins and a little boy, if Yoongi remembers correctly). YN returns to Yoongi and gives him an appreciative smile. “Thank you for that.”

He shakes his head. “It was my fault. One slip of the tongue earlier means that for the next month I’m going to have to hear her say ‘annoying’ half a billion times. She never gets attached to things that I need her to, like brushing her hair or making her bed.”

YN lets out a little giggle and Yoongi swears, he swears, he has never heard anything as sweet in his life.

“She’s precious,” YN tells him, and her eyes are shining, they are honest, and he feels choked up all of a sudden. His phone vibrates twice in his pocket and he jerks again, fishing it out and letting out a quiet curse at the text.

“I, uh, gotta go,” he tells YN, and he knows he looks pathetic but it’s not every morning that he gets to talk to her, so he’s reluctant to cut the conversation off.

She brightens up his day, damn it.

Her fucking smile, her pearly white teeth, and shapely lips. Her cheeks, so round and full of joy. Her skin, so smooth and brown, contrasting so sharply with his own pale skin. She always wears skirts or long dresses to work, like a character from one of his favorite movies, but today… today, she’s wearing jeans and he wants to stare at her forever.

Her eyes widen a little and she straightens out from where she had begun to relax against the doorframe and nods. “Of course. Go. Have a great day, Mr. Min.”

He stops, letting out a breath and he steels himself before he turns to her. “It’s Yoongi. Call me Yoongi.”

Her lips form an ‘o’ shape before she nods, cheeks pinking slightly at the familiarity. “Sure thing… Yoongi.”

He hears the sound of her quietly whispering his name echoing in his head for hours.

“If you have a crush on this girl, just ask her out,” Jungkook says, around a mouthful of spicy ramen, shoveling the noodles into his mouth at rapid speed. “We’ve listened to you lament about how much you like her for nearly a year at this point. Hyung. It’s getting kind of… you know, embarrassing.”

“Shut it, you prick,” Yoongi growls out from under a car, using his wrench to tighten bolts that he knows are already more than tight enough. His face is just too red to come out yet and he doesn’t want to hear them tease him anymore. “I’ll talk to her when I feel like it.”

“How do you know she isn’t married or something?” Namjoon asks from the computer in the nearest room. The door is open, and the five of them (Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok) are all dotted around the mechanic’s office, doing everything and nothing at the same time.

“She isn’t,” he says, finally pulling himself out. Jimin holds out his hand and helps Yoongi to his feet. “She’s single.”

Namjoon asks, “And you know this, how?”

His lips purse slightly. “I saw her on Tinder.”

Jungkook snorts so loud, he sniffs up some ramen and he starts to cry out in pain.

“That’s what you get, you dick,” Hoseok jeers from the sofa, where he’s flipping through a magazine, eating a salad. He makes a face, like he smells something sour, as he continues, “So, she’s on the apps? Hyung, you know nothing good comes from being on them.”

Yoongi nods, knowingly. “I just- I don’t know how to talk to her.”

“You talk to her just fine, Hyung,” Jimin says, lightly. “You said you talked to her today.”

“I mumbled at her,” he replies, slinging the dirty rag over his shoulder. His hands were still dirty, they almost always were these days, oil and grime caked under his nails and his palms stained with grease and dirt. “She’s used to dealing with kids who barely speak in coherent sentences.”

“So, she’ll be perfect for you,” Jungkook quips smartly, and he beams when Yoongi shoots him the middle finger. “Love you too, Hyung.”

“Sena likes her,” Hoseok comments, easily, twisting slightly at the hip and leaning on the back of the sofa to survey the older man. Yoongi twists the rag in his hands, awkwardly, his ears burning as images of his daughter and the woman who has snagged his affection getting along outside of the classroom flood his mind. He feels dizzy with how overwhelmed he is at the mere thought.

“That is the most important thing,” Jimin remarks, leaning against the desk. “We can’t make you do anything, Hyung, but you like her. You really like her. And we just want you to be happy.”

Yoongi casts a side-long glance up at the other man, taking in the cherub-faced mechanic and idly he wonders how more YN would like this kind of a warm, inviting face than his own, stiff and awkward one.

“I know, kiddo,” he replies, giving him a half-hearted smile before turning back to his computer, effectively ending the conversation.

Jimin sighs, but says nothing more, knowing Yoongi to be one of the most stubborn and sensitive people he has ever met. It would have been easier to talk a fish into walking on land, truthfully.

“Later, we have a four-man detail that needs to be done,” Namjoon calls. “We have another guy coming in, too. One of the big boss's son’s friends, I hear. He’s supposed to know how to really turn a wrench.”

Hoseok’s brows raise, intrigued, and he asks, “You haven’t seen his work?”

“He wouldn’t be in my shop if I haven’t seen his work,” Namjoon responds, easily. “I’ve seen before and afters, but none of his actual process. He’s impressive.”

“If you like him for the job, then I trust you,” Jimin answers, straightforwardly. That’s just the kind of person Jimin was - easy-going. “Plus one more body means less work. It means I might actually get to go out on a date or two.”

Jungkook scoffs from his spot on the table, finally finished with his third bowl of ramen. “Don’t kid yourself, Hyung.”

Jimin sniffs. “You’re so rude sometimes, maknae.”

Yoongi turns his attentions back to Namjoon. “What’s the kid’s name?”

Namjoon looks at the folder and holds it up, reading. “Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

- end - 

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #preschool teacher yn #single father yoongi #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #btswriterscollective #btswritersguild #btswritersclub #bts fic #non idol AU #single father AU #so far away #myg #agust d #agust d fic #bts suga #plus sized reader #black yn #vmin fic #bts yoongi fic #bts x reader #bts x yn #wi

[oneprompt]

hi… your writing is absolutely amazing <33 can you do a sanji x reader WHERE HES JUST RLLY SUBMISSIVE TO YOU ?? or one where he’s dominant because I don’t see dom sanji a lot.. but I’m a slut for submissive sanji so like ‼️ it’s embarrassing to say but can this be nsfw? the scenario could be where sanji asks you to be dominant in the bedroom, and like when you start to degrade him HE REALLY LIKES IT SO YOU KEEP DOINF IT AND ]\]+|¥ okay am I explaining this well?? This is my first time submitting a request I’m so sorry if this makes no sense . basically just a sanji x reader where sanji enjoys being degraded <3 if you can of course! 🧡

authors note : thank you so much , im flattered to hear such a kind thing directed at me ! <3 and this request ? i adore your brain , sanji is . most definitely a sub ! i did hc + a drabble like i always do <3 hope these are enough

NSFW / SMUT WARNING

.......

.......

tags : degrading , femdom , sub / dom , ( verbal ) masochism , ( alight ) master kink

Sub! Sanji x Dom! Reader Headcanons

• You were a bit surprised from the sudden change of pace from Sanji. You both have a rather fluid routine when it came to sex , neither of you ever being a strict sub or dom. And with the mention of things such as verbal degrading and humiliation... you couldn’t help but be taken aback. Not in a bad way, of course! You were more then open to spice things up with your lover.

• You couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious as you stepped into your shared room, dark blue lace masking your most feminine areas, a garter holding up the matching stockings. You had picked out the lingerie to match the blue that Sanji often wore. Needless to say, his reaction to your body is instant. But who can blame him, truly? Seeing a woman in such scandalous clothing, you’re bound to grow antsy.

• You two are immediately on each other, kissing and touching one another. The more foreplay and light touches Sanji gave you, the more excited you got, the fabric of your brand new panties already grow wet. Sanji seemed so desperate, so needy..

• You found yourself shocked by your own words, the heat of the moment carrying your words better then your own brain. “You’re such a pervert... already getting so hard for me. What type of freak rubs his dick on a girls new clothes?” Your own jaw dropped at your words. Would Sanji be upset over you saying that? Would he have taken it to heart?

• To your relief, you were met with the view of Sanji’s face turning a pure shade of scarlet, his eyes half lidded. He had such a cute smirk on his face, he looked so shy, despite the large erection that peeked up from his boxers. He couldn’t help but fawn over your attitude, encouraging to take your insults even further.

• And so you did. Sure, you still felt a bit guilty for being so cruel to him but you couldn’t deny how worked up it was getting you, nor how pleasing it was for your boyfriend. Sanji showed the most pleasure as you yanked on his tie, ordering him around and calling him tons of names.

• When you two get to the main course, Sanji had already been made a mess by the grinding of your hips and words alone. So, once you prop yourself up ontop of him and let your flooding hole hold his member captive, he turns into pure putty. It’s cute. So very cute.

• The way Sanji pleads and begs for you, moaning and mewling as he repeated your name over and over again. He was a mess, he looked like a true man whore beneath you. You make sure to still degrade him and occasionally yank at his blonde locks while making him pleasure you with his sweet dick.

• Sanji is quick to cum ( not without begging first , though ), letting out a high pitched whine and moan as he came inside of you, even getting a bit on you as he pulled out afterward, leaving your thighs and labia a cum drizzled scape.

Sub! Sanji x Dom! Reader Oneshot

The cries Sanji let out under you was like nothing you had ever heard. Sanji was a very prideful man, at least in the presence of others. Right now, he was nothing but a mask of what he is for the public. He’s not Black Legged Sanji right now, right now he’s your slut.

“Y-Y/n-san..~..Please give me more..” Sanji whimpered out in pleasure, holding himself back from throwing his hips upward, making your hungry hole eat his shaft. You were moving so painfully slow... “Please..faster...”

Your hands stayed planted firmly on his chest, your nails carefully digging themselves into his collarbone. “I’ll move when i want to. Mutts don’t get to tell master what to do..” You sighed out in pleasure, feeling your insides hug Sanji’s girth. You smiled at the sight of Sanji’s face glowing a darker shade of red from your words. He was adorable.

“I’ll beg...please, just go faster,” Sanji said, looking up at you, his gaze pleading. He looked so desperate, he was making an expression you had never seen him make before. You couldn’t help but grow more aroused at the sight of such a rare face.

“Okay, beg, then..” You smirked softly, leaning down and kissing Sanji’s cheek. You patiently waited for Sanji to speak up.

“Y/n-san... please use me up. I’m all yours...no other woman will ever hold my heart captive the way you do,” It was odd. Even when engulfed by pleasure, Sanji still managed to be his poetic and romantic self, didnt he?

With those magic words, your hips snapped downward, taking Sanji balls deep inside of you, the tip of his member staying jammed against the depth of your cervix. You couldn’t hold back as you moaned lustfully, tilting your head back in pleasure. The large frame of the bed began to creek as you eagerly rode the chef, your hips bouncing along with your supple breasts. It felt far too good. Being in a position like this with the role you had in this very moment was more then enough to make you orgasm at any moment.

Sanji couldn’t keep his mouth shut, gentle gasps puffing out of his lips, a line of drool dripping down along the corner of his mouth. Why hadn’t Sanji asked you to do this any sooner? It felt amazing, certainly the best sex the two of you have had.

“Y/n, don’t stop...degrade me, please~,” Sanji moaned out, the pleasure in his voice dragging the letters with it. His eyes were shut as he huffed and puffed, trying to stabilize the rapid mewls that flew out of him.

“Don’t order me around.. you aren’t in the position to do that, unless you want to be punished,” You said shakily, voice trembling from the amount of pleasure that dived in and out of your body.

Punished? Oh, now that was a thought Sanji liked. If just verbal torture felt so good, how good would it be to have you be more hands on with it? The thought of you as a domantrix made him more excited. A dark corset looping itself along your waist, paired with matching gloves. And all sorts of lewd tools on your side to make Sanji scream. It sounds like heaven to him.

“Punish me, Y/n-san! Please..be mean,” Sanji begged, grovelling under your body. And so, that’s what you did. You didn’t hesitate to lift your hips off of Sanji’s erection, the tip a deep red as it looked about ready to burst with the amount of cum he had been holding back.

A pout snuck its way into Sanji’s face as his girthy dick twitched in disappointment. This isn’t the punishment he wanted..

“Why’re you pouting? I said i’d be mean,” You smirked slightly, now located in between your lovers legs.

“I didn’t think-,” Sanji’s breath hitched as you squeezed his throbbing dick in between your breasts, the coating of your own wetness and Sanji’s precum already having it lubed further enough.

Sanji stuttered as you began to move your breasts, letting them bounce against his shaft, making up a pleasurable friction against the sensitive appendage. It felt so good, something as minor as this was enough to have Sanji trembling and begging.

He looked down at you with his beautiful pearly blues, tears of overstimulation brimming his eyes. This was beginning to be far too much for him, holding his ejaculation back was impossible at this point, and Sanji made that very apparent. Without a single word from him you let out the magic words, still letting him thrust into your breasts.

“You may cum, Sanji-kun.” You smiles lovingly at the blonde, awaiting his seed to paint your face. Sanji has been waiting all night for you to say those words, that single chain.

In an instant, thick ropes of Sanji’s semen spouted out from his dick, hitting the warmth of your cheeks and making your entire face sticky. Thankfully for you, it only got upon your face, and not your hair.

Sanji looked absolutely blissed out, letting his head hit the pillows as he was laid out entirely. The small breaths that escaped him made you giggle quietly. He was so incredibly cute.

You feel as if you and Sanji learnt a bit more about each other today, and understood your own selves a lot better.

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece smut #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #sanji vinsmoke #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji smut #fanfic #fanfic smut