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svndaysaweek · 2 months

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You Don’t Even Know My Name, Do You? — {Feat. Minji}

3.1k words

A/N: Hi! It’s me, back in 6 months! I had the idea for this one since last summer, but never really made it a fic. But now I post it…! It’s a rushed fic, no editing, I’m sorry for any grammatical errors or typos. Thank you @praeluxius for help and advice in making the conversation better and more natural! Thanks for 1.6k followers and most importantly 1k notes for ‘Niche’!!! Enjoy reading this and luv you all…!

******

Subways late at night are dangerous, and you can’t deny it’s because of you. Drunken bodies swaying along the rail, left and right, back and forth, grasping up on their wasted balance not to embarrass themselves by falling on the floor. Less than an hour left from waving away the day, you can tell where others in the train came from—bars, karaokes, or anywhere with entertainment and alcohol. Returning home after having some fun to wrap up the day and live the following day. Victims of society, some say, but that’s what all people are. We work, get paid. Victims don’t get to enjoy themselves, do they? But to be honest, you’re not the one to care for them, the victims, when you’re one of the victimizers.

You’re standing next to the door, the best position to scan the people in and out, empirically certified by yourself. There are quite a few people in the car—only a few seats available and half of the people chose to spare the seats empty. You’re holding onto a steel bar and slightly leaning your weight on it, eyeing thoroughly for your prey. But there’s no one yet to suit your taste, no one looking good and wealthy.

The mechanical female voice informs the next stop and a few dozens of seconds later the train halts for another group of people to be added to your menu.

“Alright, alright! I’m not that stupid to let someone just, like, snatch my purse away, huh?”

You hear a girl talking to her phone, laughing like she just heard the dumbest advice ever. A crop top for her defined belly to be open, relatively baggy jeans hinting the sculpted curve of her hips and full-blown outlines of legs. Within a second that girl has made everyone in the car latch their eyes on her doing nothing.

“What the fuck? I didn’t drink that much tonight I swear, and fuck, even an alcoholic won’t forget his own name,”

The girl, however, certainly looks drunk, sounds drunk, and acts drunk. Her eyes barely stay open, her tongue hardly makes her words clear. You can even smell how much she poured down her throat. It’s becoming more and more fit for your ideal condition.

Her talk goes on for a few more minutes then she puts her phone in her handbag and looks into the dark, mirror-like window. Her blinks become lazier and slower by the second, alcohol weighing her eyelids, but she does her best to stay up. She looks around to shake off the fatigue and meets your eyes, which have been on her since the moment she walked in. Three seconds is enough to make her look away in shyness, but it isn’t enough for her to examine you as her eyes lock with yours again.

She lets her eyes travel down your body to your toes slowly through(in) the window, alcohol erasing the fact that the subway is public. You pretend to neglect as she keeps eyeing you, head to toe several times, and the next stop the stumbly girl is forced to stand next to you by the crowd gushing in. Unavoidable contacts add leads to your eyes awkwardly meeting, which draws out mirrored smiles from each.

“Sorr-oh!”

A slight rattle of the train almost tackles her down but your arms are there to hold her from meeting the floor.

"Careful, you almost hit your head, could have ended up like our friend over there." You nod and gesture at old man asleep at the other end of the carriage

"He looks peaceful though."

"You think you can stand up by yourself now?"

"Of Course! I'm not even that drunk."

"The last time my friend said that, he ended up face down in a bush." As soon as you’re done talking she stumbles again to her embarrassment. And of course you keep her standing.

"So you didn't catch him?"

"He's not as cute as you." She laughs and blushes, palm on her mouth and the tone a bit too high for a laughter in a subway.

“Where do you live?” Change of topic, and you’re surprised that it’s her asking you, not the other way around as it used to be.

“Two stops before the terminus.” She checks where the train currently is, and stares at the map for a few dozen seconds as if her brain is still soaked with drinks, before looking back at you and pointing to the map.

“I’m getting off two stops later,” She blushes again, this time there’s even an awkward smile on her face. As if trying to say something shameful.

“And…” Her fidgety fingers dig into the arm of your shirt and her eyes are fixed on your shoes to never climb up. “And?” You repeat her, grin on your face because of her being so bashful and how overt her real intention is.

“And my name’s Minji by the way. Kim Minji.” It's trickery. A decoy. You almost burst into laughter but keep it down to a debonair ‘mhmm’ instead, hoping to bail Minji out of her own struggle to let the real words out.

And her phone rings. “No, not yet. Only two stops left. No, I don’t sound slurry at all, thanks. Oh my god, Hanni. I said I’m not that drunk! Yeah, I met a guy and maybe he’s taking me to my place-oh my god.” A brief moment of soberness washes through her body but her face is even rosier than ever. Over her phone you hear a woman shouting ‘hey’s and her name, but soon Minji hangs up. The train halts, and she just rushes between the crowd to get off out of shame but you catch her arm.

“Hey, it’s the wrong station.” She can’t look at your smirking face even facing you, face still red and fumbles the hem of her top. “Sorry for that… That was a total mistake.”

“It’s okay,” Minji raises her head, looks at you. “You’re drunk like hell, and you were going to say that anyways.” She's left speechless for a moment, then she opens her mouth to say something but frowns ignorantly.

“Why are you laughing? I was so embarrassed!” She's overtly trying to act cute and it's so working on you. With drunken red cheeks, slurry, lethargic pronunciation and on top of everything, her mesmerizing face. Even your most prior purpose is being threatened to melt by her exhilarating cuteness.

“It’s nothing.” But your lips just can’t hide your smile, and there is more than one reason; Minji’s being so clingy, which is what usually happens when alcohol infiltrates people’s brains, and it is an aid for you as always. And when the announcement informs you of the next stop, her babyish grumbles are gone and shyness permeates again.

“So… Are you going to take me to my place…?” You hold out our arms and guide the groggy girl out of the train. “After you.” Minji can’t subdue the chuckles from the dizzy liquor, how sensible you are, at least in her opinion, and the fact that you two are going to stay the night together in her place.

On the other hand, for you the reasons are somewhat different; it’s because tonight you made it, will see some pennies in your pocket and will be able to keep your stomach filled for a few more days. And she’s completely blind for that, giggling so innocently like what she’d do with her lover.

It must be her first time flirting with a guy. She can’t just follow anybody she likes. It’s dangerous. She can’t just trust anybody because he’s amiable. There could be a vice in his mind, transgressions at the tips of his fingers. Somebody should warn her about this, you think. How paradoxical. Maybe you won’t be doing this for long. But that’s something to worry about later.

All these thoughts pass through your mind in less than a second, and when you look back at her you see the green, innocent girl fluttered with excitement. “Lead the way please.” And she does.

******

“This is my place, it might be a little bit messy but-“ Minji opens the door and you close. “It’s okay. No one cares.” She sounds like the soberness has returned, but when you catch her ridiculously stumbling changing her shoes into slippers, ask if she’s okay, and she answers back that she’s alright, you just find yourself tentative about what’s in your mind.

“Are we going to kiss?” You know it’s a tipsy whim. You know she might not know what she’s doing. But it’s her asking you, not the opposite, she has no one to blame but herself, and you also know that she won’t. So you give it a go.

Her lips feel soft. You kiss her lips in a gingerly manner, eyes closed to focus all your senses to your lips. It feels like forever, but it’s obviously provisional so you do your best to find the perfect angle of your head, the right position of your hands, and the exact moment for your tongue to engage. A brief detach and then smoothly latch onto again, and a several times more, and in no time you two are completely submerged in the sensation, in the atmosphere and the feeling.

You open her lips with your tongue, and the key works so well you don’t even have to put any more effort to meet hers; she’s been waiting for it. When you taste her mouth, the alcoholic air hits your gustation and the olfactory sense—Jesus, how many glasses did she empty?—and you swallow it down to your body. Her tongue jockeys in your mouth, on your palate, around your tongue, everywhere it can reach. She’s so needy that when you try to withdraw for some air her arms lock you up and pull you in for a longer liplock.

But that doesn’t last long, before Minji herself pulls back to breathe.

“Minji,” Gasping, you call her name. She doesn’t respond. She takes your hand and drags you to her bedroom. It’s tidied up well unlike what she warned you about, but you don’t have any time to be infatuated with how neat her bedroom is, when her hasty tongue knocks on your lips to open up.

She really can’t hold it back as she redoubles the whirl inside your mouth. At this point you’re a bit shocked at how aggressive she has become—or, she might’ve been like this from the very start—but god, what a joy to reciprocate. But this desire is not a genital one, rather more like a sheer indulgence of the feeling itself as if it’s her first time.

“Minji, no one’s chasing you. You don’t have to rush.” Hands on her shoulders you say, in an assuring tone, to the panting girl in front of you. Regardless she dives in yet again, this time her hands dragging her jeans down, totally ignoring what you said. She doesn’t feel sorry, but neither do you when you can in fact enjoy what’s going to unfold.

You find it kinda cute to see that talkative girl in the subway all silent and busy with her hands with heavy breaths. It’s as if you have unbound her from the straitjacket—or the alcohol did—and her actual self inside was in need of some rabid lovemaking. No denial that she’s getting what she wants.

It’s hammy but a pleasure to watch. Her hands move to your top and hastily take it off of you, a sigh when it blocks the kiss. You’re overwhelmed as you take your pants yourself but Minji pulls it down to your ankles. Stepping out of them you push her onto her bed and crawl up to be parallel with her, eyes to eyes. When your erect cock brushes on her tummy she squints her eyes with a flinch. Her nerves are so worked up, whether it be from the intoxication she’s been in for hours or the anticipation. Or both.

“Minji, are you alright?” Her face is so red, her breaths are shallow and her teeth keep on biting her own fist. She just nods, eyes still filled with unrest; in fact you can’t tell if it’s concern or anticipation, but either way it’s your job to relax her.

And putting her hand off of her mouth and replacing it with your lips is what you come up with as a solution. As if you want to absorb the turmoil out of her. When your tongues meet and intertwine her hands climb up to the back of your head and pull you deeper into the trance. Time passes like that. Minji’s so lost in the sensation, and when you lightly put your hand on her breasts she moans into your mouth. The size is just unblemished for you to leisurely fondle, so you keep doing that until she detaches from the kiss, asks you to take her top off with a coo.

“You look so beautiful. Just relax, Minji.” She bites on your under lip when your hand softly squeezes her breast and plays with her nipple. The pain is an approval you’d gratefully take.

You slide down to her neck, collarbone, chest, stomach and finally to her crotch, peppering everywhere on your way with pecks and licks and making it glisten. And oh, her pussy lips are already glistening—dripping, soaking wet—with her own water, nectar so dense with desire. You glimpse at her and she nods desperately, underside of her lips bitten hard, as if when you latch your tongue on her sex it’ll bleed.

And when you do she yelps, sharp yet gutty, with her back involuntarily arching upward. “Ah, please…!” Is what follows her scream when you flick your tongue on her sensitive nub. You cherish her response and repeat it, eyeing her facial expressions and enjoying every furrow of her brows, every grasp on your hair and every squish of her thighs on your ears. It doesn’t take a while to reach the point where she loses control of herself. Where she loses her mind and cums with a scream. Your skull gets crushed between Minji’s fleshy thighs and your tongue drowns in her juices gushing into your mouth. It’s too saccharine, too flashy, beyond what you expected from her.

“You’re so good at that… I’ve never squirted like that before.” Minji looks spent. Chest heaving up and down quickly, eyes almost teary and her tongue barely pronouncing correctly. You climb up again and lock lips with her, letting her taste her own liquid.

“Nngh…” You coat your cock with her prevailing girlcum, scrub it on her entrance a few times and slowly, slowly enter her first with only the head. That summons the clingy girl into her again as her arms lock around your neck and she screams into your shoulder. It’s enrapturing to feel the head of your cock slowly discover deeper parts of her, to hear her material moans permeating into your bones.

“God, you feel amazing!” Is what she says when you are halfway inside her. You withdraw a little bit, and put in even more, to make your entire cock disappear inside her. Her arms almost choke you when she hugs you tighter and shouts ‘yes’s and ‘oh my god’s right next to your ear.

“Minji, I’m going to move. I’m going to fuck you.” You groan. It’s finally the time to unleash everything in you, all too stacked up from the agonizing foreplays. “Yes, fuck me. Make me cum please-oh my god it feels so good!” You’re not going slow at all. The smacking sound is music to your ears, and her moans melt your brain. So you go brainless. Hitting the right spot and making her cry every time. It's soft no more, and Minji finds it crazy. Her arms can't settle down but intermittently darts about on the bed.

“Minji, fuck…” You doubt that she can hear you in the room full of her orgasmic yelps and moans. “Fuck, I love it! So deep inside me, don't stop…!” Her legs flutter, eyes roll back and fingers dig into your arms helplessly when she cums on your cock hard. “God, I can't… I can't-” The girl shyly asking for a kiss is now gone, beautifully degraded to a girl enjoying, loving and getting overtaken by the pleasure teeming into her.

Overstimulated, Minji wriggles as if the sensations are throttling her. A few minutes you were caring about her more than you, but now your priorities are reset; you’re reminded of your purpose here, it's not for her sake, it's for you. And regardless of her condition you just push in, harder and deeper than each thrust, to the finish line. Her torso is turned red and at some point she's looking into your eyes, those subtle muscles beckoning for you to go for it, to cum.

“Minji, I'm cumming…! Fuck!” You splatter your seed all over her tummy and tits. The icing on the cake, an eye candy you're never going to be tired looking at.

“It was… Incredible.” Minji has a satisfied smile on her face. “Good to know you enjoyed it.” You nestle on the bed next to her, rearranging the wet strands of her hair out of her face.

******

Minji is asleep. Like nothing happened a few minutes ago. Like you're not in the bed with her. That's not an unexpected thing for you. You dress up, wipe your cum off her body. She's so pretty when sleeping, you think to yourself.

But right after that you take her purse; there are a few bucks and a credit card. And in the dressing table you find some fancy jewelry boxes.

It's bad, immoral. It's what you do for a living. Can't say you feel proud but not much of a guilt in your mind either. Maybe a little though. But only for this time. You actually liked Minji. Not that much, but you felt something different. Maybe you two can run into each other someday. And maybe you're hoping that happens, even though you know it won't help you in any ways. You can't explain it but there's something in your mind about what happened tonight.

But you carry on, find a pen and a post-it, write something down and stick it on her empty purse on the nightstand.

‘You don't even know my name, do you?’

******

#kpop x male reader #kpop male reader #minji smut #newjeans smut

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cupcakeinat0r · 1 month

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A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

Head Canons!

Professor O’Hara was an intimidating man, to say the least. Despite his menacing exterior, he came highly recommended and sought after as a professor due to his ability to clearly get the material across. At times, it felt cutthroat, but he only meant well. He was just very passionate about his job and wanted everyone to learn.

You didn’t think he was scary at all. In fact, that first day of lecture, you new you were doomed. All you saw was a poor, misunderstood, teddy bear of a man. You thought it was so endearing how his glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, or how he filled out his button ups and vests: equal parts of muscle and squish <3

n you totally stared at his huge butt and dick print oops what I didn’t say that what-

Professor O’Hara who’s scowl would melt away when you’d hurry into class, completely dismissing that fact that you were late. People who had him previously would be so confused that the Miguel O’Hara is stumbling on his own words during a lecture. Little did they know that it was because you, his very pretty and very eager student, was sitting front row and center. You’d fix your hair or apply lip gloss hoping you’d get his attention, and you succeeded.

Professor O’Hara thought you were so cute. He loved the way you dressed, the way you’d raise your hand and ask such good questions, the way you took notes, making them look equally as adorable as you. It didn’t help that you were a total ace in his class. Your brains n beauty were going straight to both of his heads……..

Professor O’Hara who although was naturally pretty distant and quiet with students, was trying very hard to be vocal with you, making sure to let you know when you were doing good. “Good job today, Mama.” “Thank you for being so involved in class today, mama, I appreciate it.” “Aye, Mama, make sure you get some sleep before the quiz tomorrow, mkay?” “Have a safe weekend, mama, and please, if you need anything, you have my email. It doesn’t matter what time it is.” and if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, he’d definitely leave notes for you when handing back your work <3

Professor O’Hara who now wakes up earlier and takes longer to get ready in the morning. For you. He would put on his most expensive cologne knowing you liked to ask for help. You’d smell it every time he bent over your desk behind you, enough so that the timbre of his low voice tickled your ear and his belly just barely grazing your back.

Professor O’Hara who was developing his own crush on you, even though it was definitely wrong. Besides, you were a model. He was convinced that even if he were a student, he wouldn’t have a chance with you.

Professor O’Hara who always felt his eyes gravitating toward you in the mass of seats when lecturing, as if he forgot what you looked like and needed to see your face again. You’d tilt your head n give him a smile each time he did, as if telling him you’re following along, and this rattled him. He’d smile back right before shying away from your gaze, clearing his throat and starting wherever he left off on in his lesson. You thought that was cute.

Professor O’Hara who was always there for you when you were troubled, his office becoming a place you frequented for comfort. He was a great ear, elbows on his knees and brows furrowed as he listened to your trials and tribulations. Pobrecita preciosa. He hated seeing you this way. His bear hugs always seemed to make the troubles go away.

Professor O’Hara who would praise you after seeing all the work you put into his class. Anytime you were stressed, he’d take you some place other than his office to relax, maybe buy you some tea or your favorite pastry. He’d take those opportunities to learn more about you, asking you in a gentle, sweet tone about your other studies, your goals, your life etc. he’d hopelessly fall for you even more when watching you speak about things you were passionate about, seeing how your eyes sparkled. He’d try to keep his composure by maintaining a stoic expression, but a small smile would crack every time. He was a melting mess.

Professor O’Hara who would keep all your assignments and reread them at home since you liked to leave him little notes like, “ So lucky to have you as a professor” “Amazing class today!” “Looking forward to our tutoring sesh tmw<3”, the curvy letters of your pretty hand writing feeding into his desires for you, those same desires going from wholesome to more lustful.

Professor O’Hara, who’s walls you break down with your kindness, intelligence, humility, and beauty. He’d play with your hair during tutoring sessions, buy you things that reminded him of you, call you ‘mama’ when no one else was around. He loved the way you knit your brows together telling him he shouldn’t be spending money on you as he’s already doing so much for you already, to which he replies, “You deserve it, and more, mama”.

Professor O’Hara who, when you stay after class to help him clean (because you volunteered to, otherwise, Miguel would never let you lift even a finger because you’re a princess), instead of picking up stray mechanical pencils, he would imagine you picking up stranded toys in the living room. He’d imagine what it’s like living life with you, having a life with you, then immediately shoo those absurd thoughts away after realizing he’s falling for you after only months of knowing you.

Professor O’Hara who genuinely cares about your well-being, wants to see you succeed and get everything you want and deserve. Who wants the absolute best for you.

A/n: Just some hcs before I continue the story…. I won’t edge y’all for long so just bear w meeeeee <3333

Tags <3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @maomaimao @pomakori @rxckstarss @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @ce3stvu @m4dyy @kaidxra

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list, bae!!!

#miguel o'hara #professor!miguel #dadbod!miguel #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara fanfiction #atsv #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel o’hara atsv #spider man 2099 #miguel fic #miguel fanfic #miguel o’hara x y/n

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jjungkookislife · 3 months

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New Year With You (M)

pairing: hfth!jungkook x f. reader

genre: established relationship, fluff, light smut [18+]

summary: Ringing in the new year means saying goodbye to Grandmother Jeon, lots of alcohol, and a devastatingly handsome Jungkook.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: alcohol use/mention (body shots), implied smut (unprotected sex, hickeys, sexual thoughts/conversations), food mention, Tae is a flirt and Seokjin is shy about it, oc scratched the hell out of JK's back (with consent), teasing

a/n: thank you @btsgotjams27 for helping me again 💜💜

read home for the holidays

date: January 19, 2024

Grandmother Jeon had left early this morning with the Jeons and Parks in tow. She had pulled you into a tight hug as Dae loaded her suitcases into the trunk.

“You two have a good new year, and if I don’t see you before Spring Break, make sure to call,” Grandmother Jeon instructs as she releases you to hug Jungkook just as tight.

“And you,” she smiles. “Make sure you check the house out before you return to school. I’ll make arrangements for renovations if you want to change anything up. Do what you want with it, okay?”

“Yes, Grandmother Jeon. Thank you,” he says as he hugs her tighter, and she kisses his cheek before releasing him.

“Don’t get into too much trouble tonight while your parents are away,” Grandmother Jeon raises a brow. “I’m gonna be overseas, and your parents are going to be out of town so we can’t bail you out of jail.”

“I’ll keep him in check, Grandmother Jeon,” you promise as you wrap your arm around Jungkook’s waist. His sweater is thicker than yours, and the wind rattles you to the core, but your goodbyes are more important than a few chilly minutes.

“That’s what I like to hear, honey!” Minji laughs. “We’ve got to be tough with these Jeon men!”

“Mom!” Dae calls from the car as he shuts the trunk. “We’re all set.”

Minji smiles again. “You watch out for that Park boy, too. Jimin and that mouth of his. I’m sure I’ll be hearing about tonight from his grandmother. We’re gonna play shuffleboard and find us some dance partners before midnight! Don’t worry about me.”

“Get ‘em, Minji,” you giggle as you hug her one last time, promising to call soon. She waves as she links her arm with Jungkook’s as he walks her out of the house and toward the driveway where his parents wait for them. Luna is buckled in her seat, barking her head off when she finally spots her mother.

Across the street, Jimin is helping his grandmother get into his parents’ car. He waves when he spots you in the doorway, and you grin.

The eight of you had plans to spend the New Year together. The weather was still rough. Snow still covered the streets and you weren’t in the mood to be stuffed in a club like a sardine.

Jungkook had invited everyone over. Jimin, Joon, and Tae would probably walk home, and Seokjin, Hoseok, and Yoongi would either sleep over or go across the street.

The plans for tonight involved games, alcohol, and plenty of food. The home was still decorated for Christmas, and Aera promised to put everything away once she returned. Before you could offer to help, Jungkook shook his head.

“Mom likes to keep them up a little longer. She decorates for Valentine’s Day and so on. We should come back for Halloween. You’d love it.” Jungkook smiled.

“I’m gonna miss her,” you tell Jungkook as he joins you on the front porch. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, kissing your cheek.

“Grandmother Jeon will be fine,” Jungkook assures you. “My parents will be back in a couple of days and then we can go look at the house.”

“It’ll be nice to party with Minji on Spring Break,” you giggle as you head back inside and shut the door after Jungkook.

“If we can keep up,” he chuckles with a shake of his head.

“I’m glad this all worked out, Koo,” you admit as you wrap your arms around his waist. He rubs your back as you rest your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It soothes you.

“Me too, baby. Otherwise, I would have waited until we got back to school to say something,” He giggles, his nose scrunching the tiniest bit.

You smile, kissing the mole beneath his lip. “Come on, babe. We have the house to ourselves and a few more hours before our friends come over.”

“Oh, and how do you suggest we pass the time, baby?” Jungkook smirks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say coyly as you walk two fingers up his broad chest. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

Your laughter fills the home as you take off running toward the stairs with Jungkook right behind you. His laughter and yours grow louder when he catches you and leads you to his bedroom, where you spend the next few hours wrapped up in each other.

You shouldn’t stare.

You shouldn’t.

You’re not.

Honestly, you’re not.

But you so are!

“Are you part of some male dancer association?” you blurt, covering your mouth with your hands. You did not just say that!

Jimin cackles, shaking his head. “No.”

Seokjin smirks. “Hoseok picked our outfits.”

Your eyes look over at Hoseok, the menace. He smirks when you eye him up and down. He lowers his sunglasses to drown you in his dark look. Fuck, fuck, wow!

“Don’t you look ravishing,” he comments as he sets his sunglasses on his head. “Gotta say, you look just as hot as I imagined.”

“Hoseok!” you giggle, shaking your head.

Hoseok shrugs. “It’s a nice dress. Still had the tags on when I found it in your closet.”

“Has Kook seen it yet?” Seokjin asks as he rakes his eyes over you.

“Not yet,” you explain. “We decided to get ready separately.”

“Oh, he’s gonna die,” Jimin chuckles as he walks past you to the kitchen, where Yoongi finished cooking the food.

Alcohol fills the refrigerator and the counters. Jimin has a bottomless stomach when it comes to alcohol, and Tae always tries to keep up.

You’re excited to see Jungkook, but after the stunt Hoseok pulled, you’re not so sure you could handle it.

“Darling,” Jungkook calls from the stairs.

Hoseok chuckles as he watches you turn around slowly, gasping when you spot Jungkook.

Jungkook’s dark hair is coiffed in a slicked-back manner. The blazer is too big for his frame, but the black mesh shirt hugs him in all the right places, showing off his taut chest and ripped abs. Silver jewelry adorns his ears, neck, and hand, but what you really love is the one pierced into his bottom lip.

You swear your brain malfunctions as it does for SpongeBob when all he needs to remember is fine dining. You don’t think you could even remember your name right now if somebody asked because all you can think is how fucking hot your boyfriend looks. You don’t even think you’re breathing, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes take in every delicious inch of his body.

Were you two alone, you’d have him beneath you already. His chest would get covered in your lipstick, and his cock would be inside you, making you cream around him as you bounced on him.

Jungkook isn’t faring much better. The dress you’re wearing leaves little to the imagination. He’s breathless as he admires your radiance. The smile on your face is bashful but directed right at him.

Jungkook should send Hoseok a personalized thank you note after this trip. Perhaps even a bouquet of peonies, freshly picked from a field they visited as children not too far from their home. He knows Hoseok wishes he had more time to make something for you. He’s very talented, and no doubt would create amazing clothing for each of you if given the chance. Jimin wore a suit made just for him, a gift for his birthday just a few months ago.

Smirking, Jungkook takes the last step as he eyes the necklace sitting perfectly on your chest. It’s on a thin gold chain with his initial. There’s an accompanying one on your thigh that glimmers in the light when you move toward him, the slit on your dress dangerously high up, and your heels click on the floor as you meet him.

“You look gorgeous,” Jungkook whispers when you grab his suit jacket. He notes how you bat your lashes, eyes sparkling when you look at him.

“And you look good enough to eat,” you respond, not noticing how your friends give you a moment alone.

To be honest, Hoseok was a little worried you’d jump each other in front of everyone. You wouldn’t lie. The thought had crossed your mind.

“Do I?” Jungkook smiles as he cups your face. His lips look very tempting as he toys with his lip ring.

What you wouldn’t give to strip him naked where he stands. The thought alone sends a tingle down your spine as his fingers move downward to the necklace you’re wearing.

“Perhaps there’s something I can do about that later on,” he whispers as he releases the initial and locks eyes with you. You blink, left breathless as his gaze locks you in place.

Should you take him to his room? Forget all about the evening planned with your friends and welcome the new year tangled in sheets, his name on your lips, and his hands on your hips.

“If you guys are gonna fuck, can you do it somewhere else?” Namjoon asks with a brownie in one hand and a champagne flute in the other.

Jungkook chuckles as he steps away from you. He takes your hand in his and leads you to your friends in the kitchen.

It’s no surprise that Jimin’s already got the alcohol open. Yoongi turns the stove off and moves a pot off of the eye before calling everyone for dinner.

The dining room is filled with laughter. Joy spreads from one person to the next as the alcohol and fond memories flow.

Taehyung and Yoongi suggest moving the party to the living room. The table gets cleared by Seokjin and a tipsy Namjoon, who’s had too many brownies and flutes of champagne.

Hoseok has cleared the living room coffee table and set the liquor and glasses on it. Each of you has a different glass straw to not get confused, but you know you’ll end up sharing with Jungkook and possibly Jimin by the end of the night.

The TV is on in the background, a show on mute as they prepare for the new year. The countdown flashes on the screen, still two hours away.

Fireworks blast off outside from the neighbors and their kids. Despite the cold weather, gatherings still take place.

Jimin smirks when you take a seat on the couch beside Jungkook. Your hand rests on his thigh, and Jungkook toys with the small chain on your leg.

“How about we start with body shots?” Jimin suggests, feigning innocence when his eyes connect with yours.

Jungkook scoffs. “As if, Park.”

Jimin chuckles. He knows Jungkook well enough to know when he’s pissed him off.

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin giggles. “We won’t do it off your girl.”

“Already making him mad?” Yoongi asks as he sets down a bowl of perfectly cut limes for the tequila. Yoongi normally sticks to whiskey and Tae and Jimin love tequila. Hoseok and you loved cocktails, and Jungkook and Seokjin will have what’s available. Namjoon keeps a flute of champagne in his hand most of the night, sipping in between sweets.

“Can we just drink already?” Taehyung pouts as he eyes the bottle of tequila sitting untouched on the coffee table. “Please?”

Everyone laughs as they open bottles. Yoongi sits in a recliner with a glass of whiskey in his hand as the music plays from a speaker on the mantel.

Hoseok sits on the loveseat, a sketchbook in his lap as he watches you. He’d have to get your measurements later, perhaps in a few days or once you return to campus before the semester gets too busy for everyone. He’d like to make something for you and Jungkook. Perhaps matching outfits if time allows, but if not, matching accessories are just as good. After all, nothing is better than a gift given from the heart.

An hour l and a half later, everyone is giddy and tipsy. Seokjin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Namjoon play cards on the floor. They grow louder, and curses and groans of dissatisfaction escape them when Seokjin lays down his winning hand.

Yoongi hums along to the song playing, and Hoseok puts the finishing touches on his sketch.

Jungkook has shed his suit jacket, as have most of your friends. The fireplace roars brightly after getting started by Jungkook and Yoongi.

Hoseok insisted everyone pose for pictures for his Polaroid camera, which caused Taehyung to ask everyone to pose for him.

“Memories,” he had said with a stern look. “Precious memories that you will thank me for twenty years down the line when your kids ask how you spent your first New Year's Eve.”

It was hard to say no after that.

The countdown seems to fly by once you’re done taking photos. Jimin and Taehyung demand one more shot before heading outside to watch the fireworks and ring in the new year.

“Oh, come on,” Jimin chuckles. “One body shot.”

You laugh. “I’ll do it off Koo if he’ll let me.”

Jungkook nods, eager to get your hands on his body. He’s been pretty tame due to company but he’s been eyeing you all night, wanting to get you alone to kiss you as much as he wants.

He hopes he can see you in that dress again when both of you are completely sober. He clears his throat as he lies on the couch after removing his mesh shirt. He’s done a good job of covering the hickeys left on his torso from your past few romps.

You kneel in front of him while Jimin shoves a lime wedge in Jungkook’s mouth.

“Lick around his belly button,” Yoongi instructs with a cheeky grin.

“You guys are the worst,” you grumble.

“You can back out whenever,” Seokjin assures you. “No judgment.”

Taehyung’s nods. “I’ll do a shot off Seokjin next if it’ll help.”

“No,” Seokjin huffs. “The last time you let it go down into my underwear.”

Taehyung shrugs. “I would have gotten it.”

Seokjin blushes. “Shut up.”

“Can we do this before we miss the clock striking twelve?” Hoseok frowns.

“Okay, okay,” Jimin says as you lick around Jungkook’s navel. Yoongi puts some salt around the circle and moves out of the way.

“Come on, Seokjin,” Jimin says as he moves to the older man to get his shirt off.

“Wait, you were serious,” he laughs as he takes his shirt off, and the friends get distracted for a moment while they tease him.

You do your shot seamlessly, kissing Jungkook’s hip before moving toward the lime wedge. You grimace when it touches your tongue, and you spit it out into a napkin.

“Ugh, that never goes down easy for me,” you complain as you get on your feet.

Namjoon and Yoongi have left to fill flutes with champagne in the kitchen while Seokjin put his shirt back on.

“Get your coats on,” Taehyung claps as he starts handing coats to your friends. Jungkook gets off the couch, turning around to grab his shirt when your friends freeze, and you cover your face with your hands.

“Geez,” Jimin said your name in between bouts of laughter. “Did you have to maul him?”

“Oh, lord,” you murmur into your hands as your face grows hot.

“What?” Jungkook asks as he puts his shirt back on and then his jacket.

“Keep your shirt on around your parents,” Taehyung giggles.

“Unless you want them to see the claw marks on your back,” Seokjin cackles as he leads his friends toward the door.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, mortified. “Does it hurt? Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Darling, it’s fine,” Jungkook assures you. “I asked for it, remember? I kept asking you to do it harder and harder?”

You bite your lip, nodding. Jungkook grins, kissing your lips.

“Maybe tomorrow we can do it again?” Jungkook kisses your cheek as he leads you to the door to get your coat. He helps you into it before you join your friends on the porch.

Jimin hands you a flute, and Yoongi hands one to Jungkook.

Hoseok nearly jumps in his spot as he counts down from thirty.

Giddiness fills your body as you look at your friends. When all of this first started you never imagined feeling joy like this. True friendship that would last a lifetime surrounded you; and included you.

Jungkook’s hand goes to your hip as he pulls you closer. The wind is brutal but the fireworks burst with color in the air, and their beauty makes being cold worth it.

“3! 2! 1!”

“Happy New Year!”

You smile brightly as you raise your flute with your friends, taking a sip before Jungkook’s lips are on yours.

A new year, a new chance to make wonderful memories with the man beside you.

Nothing could be better than this.

#bangtanarmynet #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff and smut #jungkook drabble #bts cchristmas au #fake dating!jungkook au #bf!jungkook

526 notes · View notes

gureumz · 1 year

Text

kingdom come

rating: explicit

member: sunghoon

notes: fem-bodied reader, dom!sunghoon, friends to lovers, pwp, BLASPHEMY, religious references (specifically catholic allusions), slapping, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, reader and sunghoon are students in a catholic college institution

a/n: finally, my blasphemous sunghoon piece that was supposed to coincide with holy week lol i struggled with this a bit but i did my best </3 enjoy!

"holy fuck, wasn't it just sunday yesterday?"

you giggle as you trudge along the halls of your school, sunghoon's voice carrying over to your other classmates' ears. a few of them snicker along while others glance ahead nervously at the professor leading your class to the chapel.

you look up at him, your duly declared best friend, who also happens to always be conveniently right next to you when your class lines up to go anywhere.

"you do know, with you being the tallest out of all of us, your voice is most likely the first to be heard, right?" you ask, grinning mischievously up at sunghoon.

sunghoon flashes you the middle finger. you let out a sound akin to an incredulous gasp.

"i'm telling on you," you tease, punching sunghoon on the arm.

"what are you, five?" sunghoon bites back, pulling lightly at your ponytail.

"oh, wait—," sunghoon hurriedly continues. "you are five. five feet tall, that is."

before you can counter with your own insult, the professor whips his head around and gives both you and sunghoon a pointed look. your head immediately lowers in embarrassment.

sunghoon chuckles one last time beside you, shoving you lightly. you return with another punch, this time to his chest. sunghoon lets out a strangled noise of pain.

eventually, your class arrives at the chapel, your two lines filing into the quiet space. your professor seats you on the pews alternately, one girl, then one boy, then another girl, and so on. presumably, this is done to avoid any gossiping or roughhousing between the female and male students, respectively, but as you seat yourself beside sunghoon, you know that your professors will always forget that you and sunghoon have been inseparable since the day you stepped foot on campus.

"hi," sunghoon whispers, tilting his head down towards you.

"fuck off," you whisper back, but you're already smiling.

sunghoon smiles back, eyes glancing down momentarily. you follow his line of sight, rolling your eyes as you realize the buttons on your blouse are barely holding it together.

"you're such a creep," you mutter, shaking your head.

"you need new blouses," sunghoon says matter-of-factly. "and maybe a bra that isn't a push-up one."

you reach over to pinch sunghoon's thigh. he curses a little too loudly, other students' heads whipping around in your direction.

"is your love language physical harm?" sunghoon complains, rubbing at the spot where your fingernails dug themselves into his thigh.

"wouldn't you wanna know?" you reply sarcastically.

you observe the way his forearm flexes as he continues to absentmindedly soothe the skin underneath the fabric of his pants. your attention is then brought to the stretch in his gray uniform slacks, large thighs practically bursting from the hours sunghoon spends in the college workout room.

your mind had just started to wonder about the veins in sunghoon's hand when the commentator's mic screeches on.

the first half of the mass goes by uneventfully, with you going through the motions of it, standing and seating and responding whenever needed.

you plop down on your seat as the homily begins, most of your mind already tuned out from whatever lesson in conjunction with the gospel the priest is about to rattle on about.

your eyes wander around the chapel at this time, thoughts floating to whatever catches your attention. one minute, it's the gaudy gold trimmings of the altar decorations, the next, it's the sleepy gazes of the mass servers.

and the next minute still, it's the clenching of sunghoon's jaw. you gulp, unaware of just how hard you're staring.

you're not sure when it started, where the playful remarks between you two turned into borderline dirty jokes and the casual playfighting became excuses for you both to let your touches linger on each other for more than what was deemed appropriate for friends.

you're not one to assume, but none of your other guy friends had the audacity to comment so openly on your boobs.

sunghoon catches your eye and his expression shifts to a playful smirk.

he lays a hand on your bare knee, squeezing lightly. you remain nonchalant, ignoring the sneaky side eye you get from jungwon, the guy seated directly to your right who also happens to be the class president.

sunghoon leans ever so slightly toward you, whispering lowly, "are you bored? cause i'm bored."

"shut up, i don't feel like getting in trouble for talking during mass," comes your curt reply.

sunghoon hums in acknowledgment. "i can do the talking. you can just listen."

sunghoon is drawing patterns on your knee and part of your exposed thigh, fingertips swirling over your skin. goosebumps erupt all over your body and you know sunghoon can feel it.

"shut up," you say through gritted teeth, sunghoon's fingers stopping right as they've slipped beneath the hem of your skirt.

sunghoon straightens up, hand unmoving on your thigh.

there it remains for the rest of the homily.

---

"i'm honestly so exhausted," sunghoon grumbles, the two of you walking amongst the throng of students pouring out the chapel doors.

sunghoon has an arm thrown lazily around your shoulders, his perfume coming off strong as he pulls you closer to him.

"i'm so tired of being woken up at ass o'clock in the morning for mass," sunghoon continues.

"same," you agree, trying to conceal the quiver in your voice when you feel sunghoon absentmindedly toying with the patch sewn onto your blouse, the embroidered school's logo conveniently placed right at the upward slope of your breast.

"we can go back to the dorms," you suggest, gently nudging sunghoon's hand off the vicinity of your chest. "take a nap until lunchtime."

sunghoon grins at you, winking. "my place or yours?"

"honestly, you need to stop with the innuendos," you complain, rolling your eyes. "it's getting a little weird."

sunghoon laughs, tightening his arm around you as he maneuvers you toward the direction of the dorm.

sunghoon leans in close to your ear.

"oh, please. i know you like it."

---

normally, girls aren't allowed in the boys' dorm and vice versa, but the security sitting leisurely by his desk outside the squat two-story building of the boys' dorm doesn't care nearly as much as the one standing watch outside the girls' building.

you step into the small common area where there are a handful of students lounging about. they barely spare you and sunghoon a glance as the two of you make your way up the stairs.

you arrive at sunghoon's room at the very end of the hallway, with him opening the door and motioning for you to get in first.

already well-acquainted with your best friend's room, you head straight for sunghoon's bed, sprawling yourself over the comfy sheets.

"move," sunghoon says with a laugh, coaxing you closer to the wall where the bed is pushed up against. you comply, curling into yourself as you press your back against the cool concrete.

sunghoon settles beside you, stretching languidly, his polo riding up his body and revealing part of his toned stomach.

you pretend not to notice.

sunghoon turns to his side, facing you.

"you're incredibly pretty today," sunghoon says right out of the blue.

you giggle, despite the blush you feel creeping down your neck. "i know."

"ooh, confidence. i like that," sunghoon comments, reaching over to toy at the ends of your hair.

"you've been awfully touchy lately," you reply, a shiver running up your spine as sunghoon slowly undoes your ponytail.

"and they're observant, too," sunghoon points out, pulling your hair tie onto his wrist.

"another point for you," sunghoon adds, raising his eyebrows at you.

you bite down on your lip, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

"just tell me whatever it is you want to tell me," you urge.

sunghoon moves closer, your knees knocking against his. he slips a leg between yours, tangling your limbs together.

"i have no idea what you're on about," sunghoon says with a smile and a shrug.

you roll your eyes, giving sunghoon a look.

a few seconds pass by and neither of you has spoken a word. finally, sunghoon takes in a breath.

"as you already know, despite being enrolled in this obviously catholic institute, i was never one for religious worship," sunghoon begins, tracing a finger down from your shoulder to your wrist.

"but when you look the way you do today, sitting so clueless under the chapel lights and in front of the son of God himself, i might just start believing in the divine."

you're bewildered at what you just heard. you're so dumbstruck, you start to laugh.

"you're so full of shit," you say, shoving at sunghoon's shoulder.

sunghoon's expression turns into surprise for a moment before shifting to amusement.

"i thought girls liked romance," sunghoon points out. "i just said 'you're pretty' in the most poetic way i can."

you laugh even louder this time.

"didn't know you were one for poetry," you reply, reaching a hand out toward sunghoon's face. hesitantly, you start to run your fingers through his dark hair.

sunghoon makes a sound of satisfaction as you tug a little near the nape of his neck.

"when you listen to scripture enough times, it starts to sound a little like poetry," sunghoon explains, eyes blinking lazily as he takes in your appearance.

the two of you had moved closer to each other without even noticing.

"that's kind of naughty, don't you think?" you tease, running your nails against sunghoon's scalp. "using the word of God to practice picking up girls?"

sunghoon looks stunned for a second but his laughter soon follows.

"what if i meant to get a little naughty?" sunghoon says with a raise of his brow, pulling your hand away from his head before placing featherlight kisses on your knuckles.

your heart leaps in your chest and your whole body suddenly feels warm, despite the air conditioning in sunghoon's room on full blast. you swallow, trying to find the words to say.

before either of you can get another word out, the bell from the main building on campus tolls noon, signaling the start of lunch.

you bolt upright, palms sweaty as you scoot away from sunghoon.

"we should go eat," you say through unsteady breaths. "the cafeteria will be full, for sure."

sunghoon wordlessly nods, eyes following the curve of your body as he watches you straighten yourself in his mirror.

---

you and sunghoon make your way across campus, at a much slower pace than one would expect from people who are supposedly in a hurry to get lunch.

you walk ahead of sunghoon, replaying in your mind the scene that played out in his room. you can feel his eyes burning through the back of your head but you continue along.

you enter the main building, nearing the chapel once more. you maintain your distance from sunghoon, determined to get to the cafeteria on the second floor. just as you were about to pass by the heavy wooden doors of the chapel towards the stairs, you feel a hand circle around your wrist, pulling you back.

you look up to see sunghoon walking backward toward the chapel, a mischievous glint in his eye. with his overwhelming strength, you can't help but move along with him.

"what are you doing?" you say, eyes wide as sunghoon momentarily turns away to open the chapel door. he slips into the room, pulling you along with him.

sunghoon closes the door behind you as carefully as he can, letting out a breath as he hears the mechanism click in place. he reaches over to lock it.

you're about to protest once more when you feel him press up against you, forcing you against the firm wood.

"i like you," sunghoon blurts out, resting a large hand against your hip.

you stare at him for a moment, expressionless.

"i know," you finally respond, smiling up at him.

sunghoon lets out a chuckle, wrapping his arms around your midsection, pulling you flush against him.

you feel him press his lips against yours and your hands automatically reach up to hold his face steady.

sunghoon kisses you deeper, leaving no space between you as he practically flattens you into the chapel doors. sunghoon's movements are frantic, rushing against the possibility that anyone can find the chapel suspiciously locked at this moment. it wasn't that hard either to request for the key.

you gasp as you feel sunghoon kiss his way down your neck, sucking at a spot just above your collar.

"i know you—fuck—don't really subscribe to the whole religion thing, but in here? are you sure?" you question, growing more breathless by the second.

sunghoon returns to your lips, his hand slipping under your skirt and giving your ass a harsh squeeze. you moan loudly into the kiss.

"you said it yourself. i don't subscribe to the whole religion thing," sunghoon points out as he pulls away, hooking his fingers through the waistband of your underwear.

"in here is perfect."

you have to stop yourself from whimpering at his words, your panties slipping off easily and gliding down your legs as they fall to your ankles. you lift a leg up to quickly grab the lace garment, shoving it deep into sunghoon's pocket.

"that's my girl," sunghoon praises, grinning down at you.

sunghoon pulls you towards the nearest pew, seating himself right in the middle. you climb onto his lap, letting your bare ass press down perfectly with his straining bulge.

"you're gonna stain my pants, baby," sunghoon points out, reaching under your skirt to prod at your core. you gasp when you feel him graze your clit.

"i mean, you're already soaked," sunghoon adds, running his fingers up and down between your pussy lips, gathering more of your arousal.

"hurry up, then," you challenge, glancing briefly at the door.

"so mouthy as always," sunghoon says, grabbing at your chin. you moan, surprisingly pleased at his sudden display of control. his eyes flit toward something behind you.

"and in front of Jesus, no less," sunghoon reminds with a laugh, tightening his grip on your jaw.

you try to get your next words out as best as you can through sunghoon's hold on your face.

"you're the one who brought me here."

sunghoon's eyes darken. he lets go of you, both of his hands grabbing harshly at your boobs instead. he's nowhere near gentle, nails digging through your blouse.

you cry out in surprise, a jolt of pleasure running through you. your hips start to grind against sunghoon but you stop short when you feel him land a slap against your cheek.

"weren't you taught to be quiet in the house of the Lord?" sunghoon asks, brows furrowed as he looks at your bewildered expression.

the skin of your cheek seems to be screaming, red hot with the blood rushing to it.

"i-i'm sorry," you mumble, cradling the side of your face.

sunghoon's expression softens. he leans in, pulling your hand away to kiss the warm flesh of where he had just smacked you.

"good girl," sunghoon says. you shiver as you feel his breath tickle your face.

sunghoon pulls away, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"you okay?" sunghoon asks, his eyes running over your features in concern, and suddenly, he's back to being your playful, pain-in-the-ass best friend.

"i'm fine," you assure him. "but, i swear if we don't hurry up..."

you trail off, grinding your hips down again. you see sunghoon visibly tense, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth.

"go on then," sunghoon says, expression stony once again. "take it out."

he motions to the tent in his pants and you hurriedly oblige, pulling his zipper down. you reach beneath his underwear, tugging it down enough to let his cock free.

your mouth involuntarily waters at the sight, sunghoon's tip an angry red as it oozes precum. the rest is pale, even paler than all of his body, with veins all over.

"i thought you were in a hurry?" sunghoon's voice cuts through your thoughts. "don't keep me waiting, angel."

you move closer, angling his cock right at your aching entrance. sunghoon holds onto your waist as you guide him through your hole.

both of you sigh when you feel him enter you. you lower yourself until all of him is inside you, so impossibly deep you can practically feel it in your belly.

"come on, baby," sunghoon encourages, lifting you off his cock and bringing you back down. you clamp a hand over your mouth, the stretch and feel of him inside you overwhelming your entire body.

you start to move on your own, moving your hips up and down. your knees strain against the wooden seat but you anchor yourself against sunghoon, trying to find the perfect pace.

"that's it," sunghoon says lowly, watching as you ride him, your skirt hiking up higher and higher on your body, leaving you looking totally debauched with your uniform in disarray.

"fuck, _______. just like that, angel."

sunghoon throws his head back, exposing his smooth neck to you. you quicken your movements, whining when you feel the pleasure double. you lean forward, suckling near sunghoon's adam's apple.

"oh God," sunghoon groans, threading his fingers through your hair. he pulls you away from his neck abruptly, looking over your head and right at the altar.

"you see this, God? all that talk about finding your kingdom, but it's right here in—shit—in their warm, sopping wet pussy."

you whine at his words, cheeks burning at how absolutely filthy they are, but the thrill of doing this, of saying all this, right in the very heart of this whole school's foundation, sends you reeling and wanting more.

"up," sunghoon commands, pushing you off him.

confused, you do as he says, standing shakily. you let out a yelp when you feel him turn you around, pressing you against the pew in front of you. you brace yourself against the backrest as sunghoon slips back inside you easily, leaning down so his chest is right against your back.

your eyes roll into the back of your head as you feel sunghoon set up a relentless pace, taking you from behind as you both gaze upon the religious relics in front of you.

"so dirty," sunghoon comments. the sound of his skin slapping against yours bounces off the walls of the chapel.

"such a slut for letting me fuck them in a chapel."

you cry out, collapsing against the pew as you feel your orgasm quickly approaching. sunghoon grunts when he feels you clench around him, tightening his hold on your hips, fucking into you even rougher than he already was.

"gonna cum, baby?" sunghoon asks. "say a little prayer when you do, 'kay angel?"

"oh my God," you whimper as you reach down to rub your clit, urging yourself closer and closer to your release.

you hear sunghoon laugh breathlessly behind you but you barely take note of it because the floodgates in your abdomen open and the rush of your orgasm quickly takes over you.

a string of curses, sunghoon's name, and some variations of 'oh my God' spill out of your mouth. you deem this close enough to prayer as you can get.

sunghoon groans in your ear as you clamp down tightly around his cock. he gives a couple more thrusts before he shudders, spilling himself inside you.

you lay limp under sunghoon, catching your breath as your bleary eyes stop to observe the crucified Jesus in front of you. you shiver as you realize what you've just done.

"hoon," you let out weakly. "hoon, we need to get out of here."

sunghoon pulls out of you, quick to shove two fingers in you to keep his cum from leaking out. you gasp at the feeling, shooting sunghoon a death glare.

sunghoon laughs, leaning in to kiss you.

"oh my sweet, sweet angel," sunghoon singsongs, kissing you all over your face.

"you're nasty," you say with a scowl, pushing sunghoon away. he takes his fingers out, reaching into his pocket to hand you your underwear back.

"here, wouldn't want the whole school to know i just filled you with my cum," sunghoon offers with a wink.

you grimace, landing a soft punch to sunghoon's stomach.

"so nasty."

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon smut #sunghoon scenarios #w: sunghoon

2K notes · View notes

plasticferal · 3 months

Note

girl PLEASE write something for facetime/phone sex with matt (he was looking a little too fine on that ipad in the last vid omg)

kiss me through the phone | matt sturniolo.

authors note: matt is looking fine as fuck lately, i'm going absolutely feral. short and sweet 2.8k words. not proof read! just brain goop.

warnings: 18+ content. fem!reader, masturbation, facetime, sweet talk, praise, explicit language. reader discretion is advised.

the vibrating sound of your phone rattling against your side table echoes in your room. you’ve been waiting for matt to call you all night, and with how sick he’s been lately, it’s the only way to actually see him.

you eagerly answer the facetime call, holding your phone up as you lay in bed, revealing the intricate lace bra and pyjama shorts you’re wearing.

matt answers the call, slouching tiredly at his desk, headphones on. his hair is messy. he’s shaved his facial hair into a faint goatee, and he looks perfect. even when he's unwell.

“i can’t believe you look that good and i can’t touch you” his eyes are wide as he speaks, smiling the second you're in his sight.

“i can’t believe we’re talking through a screen” you pout, rolling over in bed and hugging a pillow close to your cheek.

“you can blame nick” matt scoffs, making you chuckle lightly, watching as his eyes dart between his display screens quickly, then focusing solely on you.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asks, scooting closer in his desk chair, rubbing his hands together in that way he does when he speaks, and you get lost staring at his hands.

you’re too familiar with their touch to ignore the thoughts running through your mind. how much you miss them on your body, even if it’s only been a couple of days of not seeing him face to face.

"y/n?" he snaps you out of your trance.

"sorry, i'm good. i just miss you" you huff, rolling over once again with your phone tight in your grip.

you get positioned in an angle that pans down your body as you shift on the mattress, and you hear matt hum through the screen.

"i miss you more," his smile is so infectious.

you're giddy like it's the first time you're speaking to a crush, despite being in a secure relationship with him.

"you look so good right now, you know that?" he sounds so smug, somehow being able to be alluring through a device as he would in person.

"you do too. i like this look on you" you nod toward the screen, as if he's physically ahead of you.

matt rubs his jaw and bites his lip, the same way he would to make his brothers laugh, and you roll your eyes playfully. you know it's to entertain you, but somehow hit little bit genuinely has an affect on you.

you rub your thighs together, feeling a buzz in stomach as your mind shifts, and goosebumps rise on your skin. he just looks so good.

"does it turn you on?" he charms.

"you could do anything and it'd turn me on" you speak sweetly, a light lace of tiredness in your voice that you can drives him insane.

you can tell by the way he drags his hand down his face. suddenly his little joke hit too close to home.

"ugh, don't say that" he groans into his palm.

"why? does it turn you on?" you mimic him, in a luring tone.

"i've been pent up for like four days" he huffs, shifting in his seat.

"alright baby, i'm sorry" you chuckle, watching him suddenly become tense.

"don't be, it's not your fault you're gorgeous" he winks through the screen and you roll your eyes with a smile.

"alright romeo, are you feeling any better?" you ask pleasantly, trying to redirect the conversation, realizing you haven't even asked him how he is.

"my head still kinda hurts" he scrunches his face.

"my poor boy" you frown, genuinely.

you hate seeing him sick, but you know he handles it well. the boredom makes him more uncomfortable than the actual illness. proof being the hundreds of messages he's sent you, having full conversations with himself through text. his screen time would have been off the charts.

"distract me, tell me what you did today" he coos, a dopey grin on his face as he leans into his hand while looking at you.

"nothing exciting. i did some shopping, bought some new panties. you'd love them" you flash a warm smile, knowing your words are going to get his skin hot.

"not exciting? i'm gonna get hard just thinking about it" he blurts out, an abrupt confidence in him that he's had lingering lately. it's awfully attractive.

you watch his hand dip under his desk, where your view is cut off. you assume he's adjusting himself in his pants. you're trying to squeeze your lips together to hide a smirk.

"don't even show me, i'm going insane as it is" matt adjusts his headset, but it looks like he's doing it to make sure he can hear you better. it's like he can read your mind.

"you don't even wanna see the pair i have on now?" you begin to shift your camera closer to your body, slowly, teasingly down your torso.

"fuck" you hear matt sigh, and you lose sight of him as your phone faces down on your waist.

you slip a thumb under the band of your shorts, tugging them down and only flashing him the lace that hugs the crease of your leg. your dainty fingers caress the skin at your hip.

"i thought about you when i chose them"

he grabs your attention through his lack of response. instead, he stifles a cough, as if he's covering up another sound. it's a soft strain in his throat.

you narrow your eyes, snapping your phone back up to your face, the brightness taking you aback for a moment, and you need to readjust your vision. you're laying on your back, neck perked up on your fluffed pillows, but you lean closer to the screen to observe his actions.

matt's mouth is open ajar, and his right arm is tucked tight to his side, moving ever so slowly. you can't see the view past his ribcage, but you can string together what's happening.

“matty?"

"y-yeah baby," he asks, clearing his throat soon after.

you squint, trying to envision what your full view would be, where his hand is hiding, and the way he's in a state of stupor.

"are you touching yourself?” you bite your lip.

"’m sorry baby. just hearing you speak. your body” his voice is breathy and coarse, and he's staring at you on his screen like he's watching porn, viciously lost in his own thoughts.

“it’s been lonely in that room, huh?”

"mmph-you have no idea," he shakes his head, hesitantly picking up the pace of his strokes, making his voice shake.

you're rolling your hips at the thought of him jerking off, knowing he hasn't been able to satisfy his needs unless you're the one helping him through it. it brings you more pleasure than it should, how quickly he crumbles. even when you're miles apart.

"do you want me to stop?" he asks, and you can tell he's slowly palming himself, shamlessly all of a sudden as he does so.

you can't deny the ache that's been growing between your thighs since you've realized what he's doing. your legs arch up on the bed, and he can't see you, but you're spreading them open slightly.

“keep going" you order, sliding a hand into your own panties, and matt sharply exhales through his nose.

matt nods, leaning in his chair. he silently shows you gratitude by the look in his eyes. they soften, but are full of lust. the office chair dips with him, and the further he leans back, the more of him that's revealed.

taking time to let both of you get more into it as he strokes himself, turning the volume of his phone up to hear the breathy sounds you try to hold back. your fingers working between your thighs as you listen to his soft grunts and moans.

"are you imagining that's my hand, matt?" your voice lowers an octave, using your most seductive shift in mannerisms, voice, and stare to guide matt through.

"or my mouth?" and when those words escape your lips, he throws his head back with a moan.

"i wish i could fuck your pretty mouth so bad" his teeth are tight as he speaks, chest rising and falling heavily.

pushing his chair back so he can finally release his cock from his sweatpants, your heart skips at a beat at the sight of him with his hard dick in his grip, leaking tip and veins prominent in his big hand.

"you touching yourself, baby?" he asks, giving long, wrist twisting strokes to himself.

"mhm" you strain a hum, and pan your phone down so he gets a preview of you your hand under your shorts, caressing through your folds steadily.

you circle your clit that's already soaked, spreading your juices, and you're seeping through the fabric of your pants. you know you need to pull them off, becoming impatient by your own restriction. plus, how badly matt wants to see you.

"you have no idea how bad i wanna be in-between those thighs right now" the nearly desperate moan that spilled from his lips makes you clench around your own touch, whimpering as you rock into your palm.

trying to find the same sweet spot matt has always manages to find, you put your phone down by your side, so the camera view is on your ceiling momentarily.

“don’t stop talking, y/n" he pants, focusing the pump of his hand on his swollen head.

"you wanna see this pussy, baby?" you speak while he doesn't have a visual source for a second.

"who's pussy is it, y/n?" matt growls, and you can hear the wet sounds coming from his hand moving more savagely.

you quickly, ferociously strip from your undergarments, discarding them. you whip out a decorative pillow from under your back and rest it at the edge of your bed, using it as a phone stand so matt can have the perfect view, as if he were actually between your legs.

"yours. all yours" you swallow as you look at your screen again with heavy eyelids.

you watch as matt spits into his hand, making your core tighten.

“bet your fingers don’t feel the same as mine. do they, sweetheart?” he huffs, pace of his hand picking up when you moan in response.

you start groping your breasts with closed eyes, imagining it was his strong hand grasping at you.

“you’re a tease” you murmur, pinching your nipples hard with one hand and squeezing your legs together against the other.

"say it" he chokes out, continuing to fuck himself hard and fast, eyes flicking between a narrow stare and shutting tight with a halted breath.

"n-nothing is better than your touch"

you want to get a better view of him. you can see the entirety of him in his chair, but it's just not close enough. his sweats cover most of his hand movements, and you're mentally begging for him to pull them off.

"for someone who's whole life is behind the camera, your angles could be better, baby" you tease, breathless, and matt glares at you.

he yanks his pants to his ankles first. the sight of his shirt pulled up enough to show the tensing muscles of his abdomen and throbbing erection begging to be relieved. needier moans and whines coming from both of you before he finally fixes his camera angle.

he reaches forward to the screen, bringing it closer, and panning down more. your screen is engulfed by a close up of matt's face and lap. a perfect view.

"better?" he rushes his question. you nod, chuckling lightly.

you continue to roll your fingers across your vulva, spreading yourself open for him and tease your own hole with your fingertips. his whole arm is shaking from the quick rhythm he’s set, drowning himself in the fantasy he’s creating as he watches your expressions of bliss.

pushing into yourself while you watch him, matt almost releases right then and there.

the sight of him masturbating is something you're going to be replaying in your mind, and you already know he's going to make this a more common occurrence.

“i’ve been aching all week for this,” he speaks, voice singing through the speakers of your phone, trying not to sound too much like he's whining.

“you have no idea how hard it is to not get myself off when i think about you, y/n.” matt continues, and it makes you fuck deeper into yourself, arching your back.

you feel yourself growing a sickeningly sweet pain in your stomach, a sharp feeling that bubbles like champagne and brings you such a overwhelming sensation. you're a moaning mess. anyone hearing your vocal exchanges would think it's an act, almost sounding scripted.

“matt-” his full name is cut off in a stuttered gasp, pleasure washing over you wave after wave until all you could do was pant and grind against your palm.

"ngh, keep going. that's my girl," you're both desperate to keep hearing each other and melt completely into your own touch, using nothing but desire and the memory of him devouring you to push you over the limit.

you can hear his skin slapping with how forceful his strokes are, almost like he's putting himself through misery by going fast, then slow. playing with himself, giving his cock the same feeling you would by changing the momentum.

"wish that was my fucking hand. oh, fuck” he groans through gritt teeth, following right behind you as his release spills out onto his stomach.

"mm-matty," you shriek, grinding into your quilt cover and pushing into your fingers to feel like your climax hit it's peak, abs tightening and a sharp inhale flooding your entire body. your pleasure slowly subsides.

your mouth feels dry from gasping and you need to lick your lips straight away, to bring some relief. to regain your composure. you lean forward, grabbing your phone with your clean, shaky hand.

"god that was so fucking hot" matt grabs at the armrests, head tossed back, staring at the ceiling in a post-orgasm daze.

you giggle at the state he's in, watching his cock slap against his lower stomach, resting next to his happy trail that you'd give anything to lick clean. he gives himself a few more lazy stokes, overstimulated as he jolts to his own touch.

you wipe your sticky fingers on your shorts beside you, so you can hold your phone more comfortably.

"i can't wait to touch you again" you admire, snuggling back into your pillow and curling into yourself, bringing the screen to your face.

"better be soon, i don't know how much longer i can last without you" matt pulls himself to slide back under desk, hiding the explicit sight. you know he won't be putting pants back on anytime soon.

"come closer to the screen" you implore.

"why? you want a kiss?" he jokes, and you play along.

"i do actually. c'mhere" you wave him over as you hold your phone to your lips, probably not your most flattering angle but matt adores you in any state. from any angle. even when you're virtual.

"you seriously want me to kiss the screen?" he snorts, shaking his head at you while flashing his teeth.

"if you don't, i'll hang up" you shrug to yourself, earning a grumble from matt.

"you're ridiculous" he laughs.

"kiss me through the phone, baby" you both exchange a fatigued half-smile, as you know it's past his bedtime, so you initiate a parting line.

your eyes strain to see the screen as you pucker at the circle camera on the black mirrored surface, and matt is trying to be serious as he leans forward with a 'mwah' sound, smacking his lips onto his more advanced ipad setup.

the messy burgundy silk sheets in his background shot look so enticing, and you're sure he wants nothing more than to tangle himself between them.

"was that your way of telling me to say goodnight?" he raises an eyebrow, and you nod, trying to be stern in your sentence.

"it was, my love" you speak in a gentle tone.

as much as you want nothing more than to fall asleep to his voice, or his light snores, or even the sound of him playing videos. he needs to rest. and you know it'll be a good sleep after his much deserved orgasm.

"alright my angel, i'll let you go" his eyes are getting darker, and heavier with each word.

"goodnight, matty bear" you slip the nickname in, knowing he's too delirious to argue against it.

"goodnight, baby. dream about me." he smiles with his flushed cheeks, blowing you one last kiss through the screen before it turns black.

you're left alone with the vision of him, and your own arms to wrap around before you drift into a sleep where you will absolutely be dreaming about matthew.

end.

tag list: @luverboychris @recklessmatt @floofparker @teampurpleforlife @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @fake-sturniolos @recklessmatt @kentahoe

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo oneshot #kiss me through the phone

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gigabyte-flare · 10 months

Text

Hybrid

(A Gigabyte Flare One Shot)

Summary: The year is 2123. The latest craze to hit the market are Hybrids, humans genetically engineered to have animalistic traits, born and raised to be the perfect companion. Your mom convinces you to get one since you live alone in a big city, however you get way more than you bargained for

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: puppy!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Pet play, dubcon, oral (f receiving), somnophilia, sex [p in v], mommy kink, breeding kink

A/N: Finally hopping on the puppy!Leon band wagon! Huge shoutout to @nexysworld for creating the adorable puppy!Leon for this fic's banner and for her and @elfven-blog for enabling me to write a puppy!Leon fic. Also lightly inspired by the puppy!Leon POV series by Nekrophil/ABP0RNS on Twitter (go check them out, their artwork is *chef's kiss*) Enjoy!

“Hybrids, the latest craze in New Los Angeles for human companionship. Humans spliced with animal DNA and raised to be your best friend! Hybrids are the perfect addition to any household! Adopt your Hybrid today at your nearest--”

You abruptly change the channel, sitting in a living room with your mom at her condo.

“Those things freak me the fuck out…” you say, mindlessly scrolling through channels.

“Hybrids? Aw, really? I think they’re cute!”

You turn to your mom, giving her a disgusted look, “really? You don’t see anything wrong with those things?”

She shakes her head, “no worse than the cyber augmentations people get, sweetie”

You watch your mom ponder for a moment, her eyes suddenly widening, “you should get one!”

“What-- Mom, no!”

“You’re in that apartment all away across town all by yourself, it’ll be good for you!”

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How you got dragged out to adopt a Hybrid is beyond you. Your mom somehow convinced you to at least go and look at what they have available for adoption. You lean your head against the passenger window and watch the sights of the city. You mindlessly listen to your mom rattle on about how excited she is to look at the Hybrids and you picking out one, which finally draws your attention.

“Whoa hold on, Mom, I never said I was buying one! I just said I would look, that’s all!” you draw your attention back out the passenger window, “besides, I can’t afford one, you know that. I’d never have enough credits in my lifetime for something like that.”

“Hun, I’m going to help you with that, don’t worry. This is for your wellbeing, after all!”

“Great…”

The large neon sign proclaiming that it was the location of a Hybrid adoption center made your stomach sink. Your mom pulls the car into the parking lot, getting out and practically dragging you out of the passenger’s side to go into the building. The reception area is a blinding white, a stark contrast to the neon grunge of the city outside. The woman behind the desk greets both of you both with a smile.

“Welcome to the Hybrid adoption center! How can I help you ladies today?”

Your mom grasps you by your shoulders, pushing you forward, “my daughter wants to see the Hybrids available for adoption today!”

“Oh that’s fantastic!” the receptionist says, her smile still plastered on her face, “what kind of Hybrid are you looking for?”

You look at the receptionist with a confused look, “what do you mean what kind?”

“Well, we have different kinds that are spliced with different animals! However, our dog and cat Hybrids are our most popular, would you like to start with one of those?”

You look at your mom for a moment before shifting your attention back to the receptionist, “um… I guess the dog ones…?”

“Great choice! Now then, I’ll notify our active adoption coordinator and have her come out to take you to see what we have for dog Hybrids, have a seat!”

You and your mom take a seat in the waiting area. You lean forward, fiddling with your fingers as you both wait. Your mom was more excited to see the Hybrids than anyone. You just wanted to please your Mom and move on. You had no intention of adopting a Hybrid. The sound of a door sliding open makes you jump as a woman with a clipboard comes out to you and your Mom.

“Are you the two ladies here to see our dog Hybrids?” she asks enthusiastically.

“Yes we are!” your mom immediately answers, practically jumping out of her seat.

The woman motions for you both to follow her, you do so reluctantly. She leads you down a set of pure white corridors before coming upon another door that slides open. Both sides of the room were lined what you could only describe as cells and you see them, the Hybrids. You expected to hear barking for some reason, but that’s not the case here. They all are saying hello and grabbing the bars that keep them in their cells.

“They can talk…?” I ask.

“Yes! Hybrids are perfectly capable of human speech! Did you have something in particular in mind for a dog Hybrid?”

“You should get a male--” Mom interjects.

“Mom!”

The coordinator just laughs, “we have plenty of males to choose from, let’s take a look!”

The first thing you notice is all of them are naked, making this whole situation even more awkward. Hybrids were quite literally people with animal parts grafted onto them; it was quite unsettling to you.

“How is this even ethical?” you whisper to your Mom.

“Stop it!” your Mom scolds you.

Most of the Hybrids were much too… eager and hyper for you, making you a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t until you got to one of the last cells when a Hybrid actually caught your attention. He, of course, was nude like the rest, but he wasn’t jumping all over the place trying to get your attention. He was laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and, admittedly, he was quite gorgeous; you were bummed he was a Hybrid and not a human. He finally notices you, rolling over and smiling as he grasps the bars on his cell.

His voice is gentle, “hi there! I’m Leon!” his matching blonde tail wagging back and forth.

Something you hadn’t noticed before was that all the Hybrids had two sets of ears, their human ears and their animal ears, “do they all have two sets of ears?” you ask.

“So their animal ears aren’t actually ears, they’re simply appendages meant for cosmetics. Their human looking ears are their actual ears.” the coordinator replies, “this is Leon, he just turned 21; he’s a very calm boy, very loyal and friendly, but protective, too.”

“Oh sweetie he’s perfect for you! Look at him! He’s adorable!” your mom exclaims before speaking to the coordinator, “she lives in an apartment all by herself.”

“Oh! Leon would be perfect for you! What do you say?”

Your gaze shifts to Leon, his pretty blue eyes practically pleading at you, his tail still wagging.

You let out a heavy sigh, you can’t believe you’re actually doing this, “I’ll take him.”

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The next few days were a blur, consisting of filling out paperwork and buying things Leon would need for when he comes home. Thankfully Hybrids eat the same things humans do, so you just have to make sure you buy for two instead of just for yourself. The day came for Leon to come home to your apartment and your first order of business was getting clothes on him, having him naked all the time was just way too weird. That was proving harder than you anticipated.

“No! It’s itchy!” Leon whines, kicking off the pants and underwear you had put on him for the fifth time before curling up on the floor.

At that point you conceded defeat, you were just going to have to deal with him being naked for now. You guessed it made sense, he’s probably been naked his entire life. You watch him as he plays with a rubber bone you had bought him, immediately noticing his canine teeth were much sharper than a normal human’s would be. You look over in the corner where you had a large crate set up, it was actually at the coordinators recommendation that you get a crate for him even though the idea of putting him in it made you really uncomfortable. You’d hope you wouldn’t have to use it.

Your attention returns to Leon, who’s still playing with his bone happily, sporting this new collar you got him. It was a blue leather collar to match his eyes and had a bone shaped tag that had his name on the front and your contact info on the back.

“Leon,” you suddenly call to him, holding your hand out, “wanna play fetch?”

Leon immediately perks up onto his haunches before crawling over to you with the toy in his mouth.

You tried your damned hardest not to focus on his very large dick, even flaccid it was quite large. Again, you curse that he’s not a human internally. He drops the toy from his mouth into your hand and you reach out, giving him a scratch behind one of his dog ears. His cheeks turn red, leaning his head into your touch.

“Aren’t you a sweet boy…” you say before tossing the toy gently.

Leon chases after the toy, picking it up in his mouth and bringing it back over to you for you to throw again. You do this a few more times before Leon decides he’s had enough, he climbs up onto the couch next to you, laying his head in your lap as he stretches out across the rest of the couch, his tail making a rhythmic thumping sound as he wags his tail. You run your fingers through his hair, looking down at him.

His blue eyes look up at you and he smiles, “I love you, Mommy!”

You feel your breath hitch at his words, but you quickly recover and smile back, “love you too, Leon.”

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“Leon, get back here right now!”

You never thought you’d be starting your day chasing Leon around the living room with a pair of boxers in your hands.

“Leon, come on! My best friend is coming over and I can’t have you running around naked, at least wear these boxers for god’s sake! I even cut a hole in the back for your tail, just get over here so I can put them on!”

“No! It itches!” Leon protests, somehow managing to stay one step ahead of you as he darts around the living room on all fours.

After a while, you manage to corner him on the couch, quickly slipping on the boxers, making sure to pull his tail through the makeshift hole you had made. He starts to pull them off when you scold him.

“Leon, no! Do you want to go in the crate?”

Leon stops, pulling the boxers back up and giving you the most pathetic puppy eyes, “no, Mommy…”

“Then they stay on at least until my best friend leaves, ok?”

Leon nods, climbing off the couch, grabbing his rubber bone before climbing back onto the couch to chew on it.

“Thank you… good boy…” you say before you work on cleaning up your apartment for your best friend to arrive.

About a half hour goes by when you hear your phone go off, a notification displaying that there is someone at the door. With a couple of taps on your phone, your best friend’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey there, I’m here!” she says, giving you a big smile.

“Hang on Hailey, I’ll be right there!”

You go up to your apartment door, push a few buttons on the key panel next to the door and the door slides open. Hailey, your best friend since you were kids, comes in and gives you a hug.

“It’s been too long! What is it that you wanted to show me?” Hailey asks.

You motion for Hailey to follow you into the living room, where you find Leon still contently chewing on his bone, the boxers thankfully still on.

“Is… is that one of those Hybrids?!” the shock is evident in Hailey’s voice.

“Y-Yeah… mom convinced me to get him; his name is--”

“Hi there!” Leon sits up, his tail wagging in full circles as he looks to your friend, “I’m Leon!”

Hailey leans over to whisper into your ear, “are all Hybrids that hot?”

You elbow her, “shut up! It’s hard enough to deal with as it is without you mentioning it!”

Leon looks between the two of you, cocking his head in confusion, his tail still wagging, now hitting against the couch.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure most people fuck their Hybrids, like, look at him, how could you not?”

“Hailey, no! That’s fucking weird.”

“You’re telling me that you haven’t at least thought about it?”

“We’re not talking about this, not in front of Leon.”

Leon, meanwhile, has returned his attention to his rubber bone, chewing it aggressively when he suddenly picks up an unusual scent, one he’s never smelled before. He stops chewing, flaring his nostrils as he sniffs the air. Whatever it was, it smells sweet, almost like a wildflower. He quickly realizes that it’s you that smells like this, even though it was so faint. He wanted to get up and stuff his nose into you to take in more of this sweet smell, however, he knew he’d get in trouble, especially with your friend being here. To his dismay, you and your friend went back into the kitchen to hang out, bringing that irresistible smell with you.

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In the dead of night, Leon is restless, tossing and turning in his plush bed that sat at the foot of your bed. The smell from the other day has only become stronger over time and it was getting to Leon’s head. The smell was making his cock hard, something he hadn’t really experienced until now. It is almost painful; just him simply running his fingers along his cock made him flinch. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, he sat up, carefully climbing onto your bed. You were laying on your back, sound asleep with your legs spread open.

Leon gently crawls his way between your legs, the intoxicating smell emanating from the spot between your legs; he notices a dark spot on your panties. Gently, he presses his nose against the wet spot, inhaling deeply as his tail wags back and forth.

That’s it… that’s where that smell is coming from…

He glances up at you, you’re still sound asleep. He gently hooks a finger on your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening cunt to him; it practically makes him salivate. He hesitantly runs his tongue over your slit, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors the taste of you. You suddenly stir, your hips shifting slightly as a soft moan comes out of you. Your eyes flutter open and you look down to find, to your horror, Leon between your legs, eating you out.

You blink a few times before shouting, “LEON!”

Taking his mouth off of you, Leon’s eyes widen as he pushes himself off the bed, letting out a soft whimper as you sit up and cover yourself with your blanket.

“In your crate!” you point to the bedroom door, your face beet red, “now!”

“Mommy… I’m sorry… I just--”

“GET. OUT!”

Leon’s puppy ears droop and his tail tucks itself between his legs as he crawls out into the living room. You follow behind him, making sure he puts himself in his crate before shutting the crate door behind him. Looking up and whining at you, his fingers grip the bars of the crate as he stares up at you, pleading to you with his blue eyes. Unfortunately, you simply shake your head at him and walk back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Leon feels tears well up in his eyes as he grips the bars on the crate.

What did he do wrong? He was only doing what his instincts told him to do, why was that bad? Releasing his grip on the crate bars, he makes himself as comfortable as he possibly can in his situation, crying himself to sleep, your sweet scent still lingering in the air.

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You didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night, between the sounds of Leon’s cries echoing through your bedroom door to just the thought of waking up to Leon eating you out disturbed you to your core. You finally get yourself out of bed, throwing on your pajama bottoms before walking out of your bedroom. You find Leon awake in his crate, his eyes red and puffy from crying all night. Upon seeing you, he immediately sits up, gripping the crate bars, his tail wagging so hard it was a blonde blur. Against your better judgment, you walk up to the crate, unlocking it to let him out.

As soon as you open the crate door, Leon bolts out, wrapping his arms around your legs, holding you tight. The fact that he buries his nose into you and deeply inhales doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Thank you for letting me out, Mommy! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll be a good boy, I swear!”

You pry his arms off you and push him away, “Just… just go play with your toys Leon…” you say before walking into the kitchen to make yourself coffee and breakfast.

Once you have your coffee and breakfast, you practically collapse at the small dining table, rubbing your face with your hands. What are you going to do? You could start crating him at night, but something about that didn’t sit right with you. Suddenly, you feel something rest on your lap and the sound of something thumping against the floor. You move your hands away from your face to find Leon’s head resting in your lap, his tail wagging against the floor.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you, his puppy ears erect and alert.

“Nothing, Leon…” you say with a sigh, “you must be hungry. I’ll make you something to eat…”

You get up from the table and over to the stove where you make him some eggs and bacon. Once finished, you put them on a plate and set it on the floor in front of him and watch as he scarfs it down. You sit back down at the table and slowly pick away at your breakfast and take sips out of your coffee mug. You feel Leon rest his head onto your lap again. You look back down, finding him looking up at you longingly, his tail wagging insistently.

“What is it, Leon?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.

Leon doesn’t say a word, however, as he climbs up until he’s face to face with you, staring directly into your eyes, his tail still wagging. He lets out a soft whimper as he grinds his hips into the side of your thigh. You happen to glance down, greeted with his painfully hard member rubbing against you. Looking back up at him, Leon whimpers again, his hands softly caressing your arms.

“Leon… are you ok…?”

You watch as Leon swallows hard before he continues rutting himself against your thigh, his breath trembling.

“I need… to mate with you…” Leon finally replies, his grip on your arms tightening as he continues to grind into your thigh.

Your heart begins to race as very conflicting feelings begin to overtake you.

This is so wrong, you think to yourself.

That thought doesn’t stop you as you lean forward, giving Leon a gentle kiss on the lips, cupping his face in your hands. Leon deepens your kiss, his tongue dancing with yours before playfully biting your bottom lip. You stand up from the table, leading him back into the bedroom, shutting the door before you begin to undress. As soon as you're naked, Leon stands up on two feet, pushing you into the bed face first so that your backside is propped up. You feel yourself tremble in anticipation as you feel Leon climb onto the bed behind you. You flinch when you feel his cock caress your soaked slit, coating itself in your arousal before he pushes himself inside you.

“Oh… Oh god--!” you cry out as Leon’s length fills you completely, pushing into your g-spot almost immediately, your fingers gripping your sheets.

You hear Leon whimper as his hips begin to move into you. He starts out slow, but he quickly gains confidence and begins to thrust into you harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips so hard that you’re bound to have bruises later.

“Yes… oh yes, Mommy… you feel so good…” Leon moans as he pounds into you harder, “am I a good boy…?”

“Yes…” you reply in a breathy moan as your eyes roll back into your head, “you’re such a good boy, Leon… you fuck Mommy so good…”

You feel his hands grip your hips even tighter as he pulls your body to him, thrusting into you even harder, his loud moans and whimpers filling the room along with the wet sounds of your needy cunt taking him.

“Aaaaahhh… f-fill me up with your puppies Leon--!” you suddenly cry out, your pussy walls squeezing around his cock as he continues to thrust into you.

Leon growls in response, placing one of his hands onto your back to push you into the mattress as he fucks you relentlessly. His instincts are in overdrive, his thoughts completely overtaken by his burning desire to breed you.

“Oh my god… you’re such a good boy, Leon!” you praise him, completely drunk off his cock, your legs trembling as you’re filled with complete ecstasy.

You suddenly feel his cock start to swell inside you and you quickly realize he is knotting. It feels surprisingly good, making you feel full. You sit up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest as he continues to thrust into you. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, nuzzling your cheek against his as his hands find their way to the front of your body, caressing your breasts as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“I can’t wait…” Leon starts, his voice rough, “to see your belly full of my puppies.”

You repeatedly moan his name, the word fuck and good boy as he pounds his cock into you, your legs starting to feel weak as they violently tremble. Before they give way, a sudden warmth fills your pussy as he pushes himself inside you as hard and deep as he possibly can, his hands gripping both your breasts tightly as he bites into your shoulder. You let out an animalistic moan as you also cum on his cock, your greedy cunt milking his seed deep inside your womb.

Both of you collapse onto the bed in exhaustion with his length still buried inside you, ensuring that not a single drop of his cum is wasted. His arms and legs wrap around you as his face nuzzles into the back of your neck. Your whole body is trembling, completely overwhelmed by how good Leon was for you. You reach back, running your hand through his hair and caressing one of his puppy ears, whispering softly to him that he is a good boy.

You’re going to get used to this.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #puppy!leon kennedy #gigabyte writes

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munsster · 1 year

Note

hii!! i'd like to request a steve harrington x fem!reader fic pls <33 reader confesses to steve, but he says he doesn't like her. then reader's all 'okay fine, i'm gonna move on' and when she actually does that, steve is 🥺 lots of angst please and some steve grovelling teehee <33

gut feeling

A/N: okay yes 😏 i screwed this up the littlest bit, but i hope it still tickles ur fancy. also i’ve seen this done for king!steve and i wanted to write it for s4 steven

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have big feelings for Steve, he’s just not sure he feels the same way. 3.6k words.

Warnings: angst, but it resolves into fluff, unrequited love trope, lots of feelings, friends to lovers?, CURSING!, italics, established friendship, feat. Keith 😑

"You think it would be gross if we kissed?"

Steve thinks you might actually sound hurt, but he also thinks the face he's making is hilarious beyond belief: kind of contorted and screwed inward, nose scrunched and trying really hard to batten down a grin. You glare at him from the passenger's seat, arms crossed tight over your green Family Video vest.

You think he's wonderful despite his naiveté. If only he knew how handsome you thought he was, all caramel locks and big brown eyes and the kind of smile that reaches his eyes before he's even thought of it. No wonder he has an ego up to the moon. No wonder he still manages to weasel his way into the creases and crevices of any living creature's heart. Even yours. Hell, especially yours.

"Yeah, duh!"—and he's so sure of it, you could cry—"You're like the little sister I never had!"

You chuckle but you look like you're about to hurl yourself out of the car or get yourself arrested for manslaughter. Thank God he's only a block away from your house, or he'd never see the light of day again. Does he really think of you like that? The soft laughter peters out into a grating silence that burns right down your throat and feels like hard metal settling in your lungs.

He doesn't dare glance over at you. He only bites down hard around nothing and grimaces, eyes set hard on the lines dashing beneath the grill of his car. Jesus Christ, he does not think of you like that. And he begs whatever stupid pride is keeping him steady in this nonexistent pissing contest to leave it be, but its jaw is set in the tender meat of the game.

"Don't have to be so jovial about it," you grumble.

"What?"

"Mine's on the left," you grumble, nodding out the window. Oh, he's definitely in trouble. You only ignore him like this when he's done something boyish to a fault.

"I know. I drive you home every—hey!"

"Bye," you coo, booking it up the steps to your door, refusing to turn over your shoulder for fear that you'll burst into tears upon seeing him smile or frown or crack the slightest look of confusion.

He watches you slam the door and rolls the passenger window up with a frustrated sigh. Where the Hell did that come from and why. All while you're sitting against the foot of your bed, chattering into the phone at Robin, still wearing your uniform and tugging at strands of your hair as expletives weave themselves between every three words.

"Oh my Fucking God, I'm so fucking embarrassed right now, Robs—Does he—? Does he think I'm some sort of fuckin' baby? I just don't—"

"He's just being Steve, okay? He probably didn't mean it—"

"The way he looked at me, Robin, I felt like a fucking imbecile. Of all the dickheads in the world I could fall for, my heart chose Harrington? Maybe I'm the idiot." You sigh and kick your feet out, the frustration winding up new nerves and letting them go like tight springs to fling out over your body.

She sighs and it rattles through the grainy speaker. "You're not an idiot; he has his moments. Don't beat yourself up, you know how he gets. He's probably not thinking straight, just... tell him? The worst he can say is—"

"That I'm like a sister to him? Oh, how delightful. That's even worse than just flat out admitting I'm unattractive."

"You're not unattractive, don't do that."

"I am to him," you groan.

"Hey," she hums after a beat of crackling silence. You close your eyes and grip the sickly yellow receiver a little tighter.

"I really like him."

"I know."

"And it sucks."

"I know." The other end rustles and you let out a curt sigh just as you move to stand. "I love you, and I'm here for you. Especially when dumb boys make you feel like shit. You'll always be the most amazing and most beautiful girl in my life, don't forget that."

"Thank you. I'll see you, Robs."

"Take it easy."

—

Steve wakes up to an ache in his neck and a soreness in his knuckles. You didn't call him last night. And he's assuming you didn't call him before school this morning because his alarm clock flashes eleven, first period starts at eight-thirty, and the tone his ancient landline emits is shrill enough to deafen a man. Let alone wake him up in a cold sweat. He concocts a sick feeling in his stomach of burnt orange shame and maroon guilt because he has to wait until closing shift tonight to explain himself to you.

But by then, he's feeling spiteful. You weren't home when he went to pick you up and he waited ten minutes and knocked on the door in bulk. Until someone who was not you answered and told him that you'd gotten a ride with some jerk from the Hawkins High football team. That's not how it was originally said, but that's how he heard it. So you're avoiding him? It makes him spit up a little in his mouth, and he's going about twenty over the speed limit the entire way to make it on time.

By the time he can fling open the glass door and hear the sound of the tiny bell, he spots you in the back corner with a stack of tapes under your arm. Listening to music. To drown him out. And it makes him frown. Six hours. That's how long he'd have to endure this, then he could go home and not call you and not be able to sleep.

The casette in your Walkman can only run for so long, right? But he watches you rewind it after an hour and a half and slumps against the front desk when you grab a new stack of tapes from behind him. He simmers down after the first half of the shift, and of course, the fact that you won't talk to him rubs him the wrong way, but what's even worse is that now you're bumming rides off of losers on the worst football team in all of Indiana.

He gets worked up thinking about that guy's motivation and how many times he probably tried to make a pass at you. Steve would never do that to you. Even if he wanted to, he's a gentleman at heart. He could beat that jerk to a pulp just imagining him giving you the look. God forbid that sucker puts his hands on you. Steve would get charged with battery before ever letting that happen.

It's not like he can say anything to you about it either. He's pissed, and he knows himself. He'd get all angry and confrontational, and you deserve better than that. It's his fault you got there first, and it's his fault you got to stocking, and it's his fault you're tuning him out. But he didn't think what he said last night would be worth all that trouble.

"If you keep up the optic blast, I'm gonna buy you a ruby-quartz visored monocle." And that droning voice could only belong to one overbearing manager.

"What do you need, Keith?" Steve grumbles, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches you looking to the front of the store to watch the encounter with a smirk.

"Duty calls, Harrington. Corporate sent us more shelf space. Need someone to unload it into the office," Keith murmurs, shooting a glance your way, "And, uh... it's kind of unwieldy, so get the kid to help you out."

It makes Steve's eye twitch because you're not some kid. And if you heard Keith refer to you as such, you'd unleash a fleet of curses on him. Only Steve is allowed to call you that. Because it's funny, duh. You're a year younger than him, obviously he's going to use that to his comedic advantage. Oh.

He lets out a sigh—"alright"—and leaves Keith to man the front while he skirts to the back of the store and leads you by the hand through the office.

"'The Hell, Harrington?" you hiss, but you keep your fingers locked between Steve's, abandoning the rest of the tapes on Keith's desk and jogging to catch up with his stride. As forward and demanding as his grip may be, you have to admit, the warmth of his palm is comforting and it makes your heart race because you've never held hands with Steve before. And in any other circumstance, you might've been able to enjoy it a little more.

"Keith told me to tell you that you have to help me bring a shelf in from the truck."

"Oh, I have to?" you bark, now pulling your hand away and putting your headphones around your neck once you exit through the back door with him. "And you didn't think to give me a warning before yanking on my arm?"

"Yes, you have to, and maybe if you weren't listening to that shit so loud, you would've been in the loop." It comes out far more harsh than he intended, and that was exactly what he was afraid of happening in a confrontation with you. His brow softens, and the tension in his upper back and jaw dissipates into his own self-pity party. "And I didn't yank on your arm. Or at least I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry for that much."

Steve hops up into the truck and offers you a hand you don't take as much as you both wish you would have. Because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you have to stop yourself from cheering yourself on. Maybe this will be your first literal step towards getting over him. Once and for all.

After about fifteen minutes of heaving and ho-ing, the two of you manage to haul the shelf into the office as per Keith's request. He was right: it was unwieldy. The awkward grip spots caused a lot of overlap, and you both flinched away from the physical contact in a matter of milliseconds. But Steve couldn't deny he felt bad, and you couldn't deny that you definitely still had feelings for him.

You grab your previously abandoned stack of tapes to scurry out of the office, but Steve stops you by the elbow. And you glare back at him.

"Sorry. The... yanking, I know"—he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down—"Look, I'm not entirely sure what happened last night in the car, but it clearly made you uncomfortable, and I'd like to apologize."

He can see the neurons firing when he looks you in the eye, but he can also see that his apology wasn't effective in the slightest. Because you're still anger-ridden and fuming at him. You put your headphones on and go back to restocking shelves.

He checks the digital clock above the door. Two hours till eleven. Great.

And they creep by like refrigerated molasses. Second by second. Every time he glances at the clock, only a minute has passed. Eventually, though, he starts cleaning up for closing: vacuuming, cleaning the windows, fixing the display. And he finds himself getting a little more efficient at checking tapes back in and rewinding them only so you'll cruise by the front—scowling at him, but nonetheless at him—to grab a new stack and shelf it.

Five minutes to closing and a sleek, blue sedan pulls into the parking lot, and you practically beam at it, grinning and skipping to the front. You grab your bag from under the counter next to Steve's hip and shove your Walkman into it.

"You know, my car works perfectly fine," he grumbles, "don't have to replace me with some football jerk." He knows that struck a nerve because your smile immediately flickers away into a squint.

"That football jerk is bilingual, a painter, and lets me listen to the music I like in his car."

"But that's not the rules," he whines, desperately defending himself against some sports guy who's probably taking advantage of you.

"Well, I like him and he's nice to me." You sling your bag over your shoulder triumphantly, marching towards the door.

Steve is aghast at the implication. He thought you liked listening to the radio. Plus he took Spanish and art for the required two years, it's not that great of an achievement.

Still, he sputters out, "Yeah, well—"

You wave over your shoulder. "Later, Steve."

Since when did he become such a loser.

He watches jerk-face open the car door for you then glance over to wave at him with a perfect smile and perfect hair and perfect manners. What an asshole. Steve does not wave back.

—

"That's the kinda guy she likes?" he fusses into the phone, palming his face while Robin chuckles on the other line. This whole time he thought for sure you liked the self-assured, cocky, college-age boy type. And now you're dating a high schooler. Come on, jerk-face is not even that good looking.

"First of all, they're not dating. Second of all, don't lie to make yourself feel better; even I can admit he's basically a Greek god," Robin says, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Third... why do you care? You’re acting like it’s your job to protect her, but it’s not. She’s an adult now, you know, she can take her of herself.”

He lets out a puff of air through his nose, blinking hard and leaning into the pale yellow receiver. Then mumbling: "She told you."

And she replies, cheerily: "Yup."

"Well—! I just... don't want to see her get hurt. I know that type of guy. I used to be that type of guy. He's bad news, I can tell."

"Right,” Robin scoffs, “It's definitely not because you love her.”

"I don't love her. She's just a baby, and we don't even like the same things. It would never work out between us, there's no connection." They both know it’s a lame excuse, but it’s worked up until this moment. It’s worked since the day you met. You’re too young, the end. Sure, you can be cute sometimes, but you’re also a pain in the ass and you two could never get along long enough to stitch together a real relationship.

But Robin sees through all of that shit. And she’s over it.

“Okay, maybe, but she listens when you talk about cars, and you buy the albums she likes even when she only mentions them once. Plus, you both love Dustin like he's an extra limb”—she’s right, you love that kid to death and Lord knows Steve looks after him like a son—“I think as much as you wretch and complain over her being too young and the connection not 'being there', it seems like you try an awful lot to get her to like you."

He immediately rejects the idea with a scoff.

"Of course I’d want a cool person to like me, old fuckin’ habits die hard. But that's all. She's cool and has a good sense of style and tells the best jokes and makes me feel smart and listens to me, and right now I'm feeling pretty crazy because maybe I do love her and I blew it because... because? Because I don’t know why—but she's probably sitting in some jerk's car listening to her favorite songs and watching him paint the sunset while speaking Spanish or whatever."

Robin closes her eyes, and Steve’s annoyed by the fact that he can hear her smirking. "Jesus Christ, I need to start charging you idiots for my time"—and she sighs—"Just... tell her all that cheese. And maybe throw in an apology or two. I don't know, do what you usually do when you pick up girls.”

He’s frustrated. And annoyed. But he throws a thanks at her anyway and stomps down the stairs and to his beamer. It’s not until he’s shrouded in the piercing light of the convenience store that he realizes three things: he’s still in his work uniform, it’s midnight, and he’s pretty sure he does love you. He grabs a bouquet, not even realizing it’s a bouquet of amaryllis and baby’s breath—he’d prefer roses, but ‘tis not the season, as the cashier told him.

Minutes later, he’s muttering under his breath like he’s mad, waiting for someone to answer your door. And thank God you do.

“Steve—?”

“Oh, shit, did I—were you—?”

“Oh, no, I was just…”—thinking about him—“nothin’. What’re you doing here?”

He pushes a furious hand through his hair, then tucks a chunk behind his ear, worrying at his bottom lip. More nervous than he’s been in his whole life. Then he flashes those soft brown eyes at you, and you’re toast. You step onto your doormat and shut the door behind you because he starts into his sentence like a blazing fire:

"I feel so stupid, and I’m sorry for saying you're like a little sister to me; I don’t believe that, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. You're not like a sister to me, you're like the only thing that matters and I feel like I wanna learn another language for you and take a cooking class for you and listen to your music with you. I just, I mean I’m trying to say you make me want to be a better person, and I feel like I’m already a better person whenever I’m around you. I... what I’m saying—and I promise I’m getting to it—is that I’m sorry for being so stupid and not seeing it before, but I think you're beautiful and I'd be honored if you'd forgive me and maybe consider letting me take you out sometime. Like on a date."

He’s breathing heavily, looking and feeling manic, and your eyes are wide as you slowly process his confession. It goes down like sweet wine, floral down your throat and settling in your tummy like candy. But still: what the fuck? Is he insane? Are you insane?

His hair is flopped to one side, and his work vest is snug around his shoulders. You step forward slowly, and the creases in his forehead seem to go smooth. And you point to the bouquet.

“For me?”

Steve glances down. "Oh, yeah, got em for you. Sorry they're not roses, it's not—"

"I love them, thank you."

He nods. And you smile. And despite how beautiful the soft pink and white flowers are, you’re not particularly focused on their safety when you hook your arms beneath his and rope him into a hug. It’s clearly just what he needed when he goes pliant and heavy against your chest, smiling into your neck as his hands wrap over your shoulders.

"I think we might both be stupid,” you whisper.

He chuckles. "Yup. Just a couple of stupids. Geez, what kinda pair are we?" You both pull away. Only to look at each other squarely. To see a smile creep and creep across the other’s face. And he cocks a brow and says, "By the way, worst twenty-four hours of my life—"

And that’s saying something after the last three years.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Steve, I was just so—"

"I know."

"So confused and disappointed, it was—"

"Torture, yeah, don't even think about doing that ever again,” he teases, pinching your side and scrunching his nose when you pinch him back.

"Yeah. Well, never tell me I’m like a little sister to you ever again.”

Gross.

"I don't plan on it"

With the slow bat of your lashes, and the tender curve of your lips, he can’t not think about kissing you. Not in this light. Not under the meddling moon, and not holding your waist like cupping pools of honey.

Then you look away. For all the shit you talk, he manages to make you far more shy than he ever anticipates. And it gives him butterflies to see you duck away.

"You know, I think you're pretty beautiful yourself, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s blushing now. The blood gushes hot to his face, he could sweat buckets right here and now. You can probably hear his heartbeat. Jesus Christ, what’ve you done to him? You can tell he’s nervous when he chuckles softly. "Does this mean I can start giving you rides again?"

You pretend to weigh your options. As if there would ever be a better alternative. "Only if you let me play my music sometimes.”

"Absolutely. I never liked the radio much anyway."

You let go of him only to cradle your bouquet in both hands, admiring the petals while Steve puts his hands back in his pockets.

"Then I'll see you later," he says. Grinning ear to ear, mind you.

"Yeah,” you coo, “I’ll see you."

With one hand on his shoulder, you plant a kiss on his willing cheek and let him go. But before he can make it to his car you holler, “Wait!” and he jogs back over to you.

"Did I forget somethin’?"

“Yeah,” you poke, "you forgot about our date."

He tilts his head a little, brows furrowed. "Our... our date? What do you mean our… Ohhhh”—he nods in understanding, suddenly hit with a wave of excitement and embarrassment—"Does tomorrow work? We could grab lunch or dinner or something and maybe stop by the arcade or—oh, the fair's in town, that could be kinda fun, unless you don't want to, I mean—"

"Steve?" you hum.

“Mhm?”

"I'd love to."

And suddenly his ego is miles through the roof; he's nodding and grinning and it’s like he can’t wait to wake up tomorrow just to see you again.

"Me too. Okay. Yeah! I'll see you then."

"Bye, Stevie.” You give him a small wave, and the shroud of plastic around the bouquet crinkles like the corners of his eyes at the idea of tomorrow.

masterlist

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #unrequited crush #stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #steve harrington #st4 #stranger things 4 #x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #angst #best friends to lovers #friends to lovers

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months

Text

kook princess

words: 3.3k

warnings: kind of reference to possible sexual assault?, being rescued from a drunk man by rafe, reader is a kook but new to the outer banks, innuendo/suggestion of sex but not explicit, drinking, partying

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

you were meant to be leaving the party. you were tired and just want to head back home, so you bid your new friends goodbye and then headed out to the parking lot, only to get cornered by an obviously drunk man.

he has his arm raised, caging your body with how close he is standing to you, the alcohol on his breath reeking. you had one single drink when you first came to the party, you certainly weren't drunk enough to fall for his obvious flirting, especially since he is not someone you find attractive in the slightest.

you tried to step away, to flee from him, but his voice turned gruff and angry and grounded your feet to the concrete in fear of whatever retaliation his drunk mind finds applicable.

footsteps sound, causing you to turn your head. the drunk man turns too as whoever is walking stops, eyes assessing the situation as he stops twirling the keys in his hand.

you glance back to the drunk man, seeing he's still staring and turn back to who is hopefully your savior, mouthing “help.” the second your mouth forms the words, he springs into action, smoothly walking over with a smile gracing his features.

“hey, baby.” he says, slinging his arm around your shoulder, pulling you away from the car you were backed up into. “was wondering where you were.”

“you didn't tell me you were dating rafe cameron.” the man slurs, giving you the strangers name.

“you didn't exactly give me the chance.” you say, melting into your saviors-rafes side, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you're too drunk, man. find someone to drive you home.” rafe says, before giving him a pointed look. “and stay away from my girl.”

“you got it.” the drunk nods, and you don't wait to see if he does find someone to give him a ride as rafe turns you, weaving through the parking lot until you get to a truck.

“just get in.” rafe says, “you can get out later but let's make sure he's not following you.”

“thank you so much.” you say, climbing into the passenger seat. rafe rounds the hood and gets into the driver's seat, turning the truck on and blasting the heat upon seeing you shivering.

“are you okay?” he asks, and that's when you break down completely, bringing your hands to your face as tears begin to flow, embarrassed that you are crying in front of a stranger, but the relief of being saved from whatever your fate might have been has you overwhelmed with emotions.

“hey, it's okay.” rafe says softly, his voice so different from when he was confronting the drunk man. he hesitatingly puts a hand on your back, rubbing it gently.

“sorry, sorry.” you say, wiping away your tears, sure that your makeup is a mess now.

“it's okay.” rafe says, his large hand still stroking down your back comfortingly.

“i was just so scared.” you gasp out, trying to control the tears that still have the urge to fall. “thank you so much for rescuing me.”

“of course.” rafe says. “although be prepared tomorrow to fight the rumor that we are dating now. im sure most won't believe his drunk rambles, but it'll still get around.”

you can't help but giggle, the thought of just moving to the outer banks and already being the subject of gossip.

“what's your name, sweetheart? ive never seen you around before.”

“y/n.” you reply, tapping at your undereyes to hopefully smooth out your concealer, especially as you calm down and realize your savior is very attractive. “i just moved here. to umm…” it takes you a second to remember your new street address, but then you rattle it off to rafe.

“you're right near me.” rafe says. “let me drive you home? you're in no state to operate a vehicle.”

you bite your lip, wanting to accept the offer but not sure if it's the best idea to get yourself involved with another random man, even if rafe seems normal and not completely smashed.

“ill help you get your car in the morning.” rafe says, and that is what finally causes you to nod. you really don't want to drive, or even move from the spot you're in.

rafe smiles gently, removing his hand from your back and shifting the car into gear.

the ride home is quick, and you chat to rafe about your thoughts on the outer banks since you just arrived, curious about what you have and haven't explored yet.

“that's me right there.” rafe points to his house as you roll past. you nod, making a mental note before he drives the few more blocks to your house, pulling in the driveway when he sees no one else is home.

“where are your parents?” he asks.

“they're already traveling again.” you say. your parents are nice enough, but when you came along as an accident they viewed you more as an obstruction to their world travels for 18 years, but now that you're of age, they let you stay home while they spend what was both their parents money on near constant vacations.

“ah.” rafe says, stepping out of the truck to round the side, opening the door for you. you accept his hand out, not sure if your shaky legs can get you down the tall steps.

“let me just make sure you get in okay, and then ill be on my way.” rafe says, walking with you right up to the door.

“thank you again, rafe.” you say, pulling your key out and unlocking the door, letting it swing open.

“of course.” he nods, before pulling his phone out. “put your number in so i can text you tomorrow about getting your car.”

you nod, taking the phone and punching in your name and number before handing it back, an uncontrollable shiver moving through your body when your hands brush together.

“goodnight.” rafe says, pocketing his phone.

“goodnight.” you mumble back, stumbling into the house, ready to smash your face into your pillow and pass out.

you groan, surprised that the one drink you had caused a slight throb in your head and before you do anything else, the second your feet hit the floor as you slide out of bed, you head to the bathroom and down a painkiller with some water.

you look at your face in the mirror, you manage to smear your makeup off with a wipe last night, but didn't bother cleansing or anything, so you move through the motions now, feeling much more awake by the time your face is clean and moisturized.

you still flop back down onto your bed when you're done, grabbing your phone off your nightstand. your eyes widen upon seeing it completely flooded with texts from your new friends.

girl there's a rumor going around that you went home with rafe cameron?!

DID YOU HOOK UP WITH RAFE?? he is like THE it boy of the outer banks

literally everyone is talking about you and rafe

if these rumors are true im JEALOUS

no way you just moved here and you've already got with rafe?? omfg i want your life 😭😭😭

hey y/n, it's rafe. just let me know when you're up and ready to go pick up your car

you smile at the last text, glancing at the time to realize you slept in until almost noon. you ignore the texts from your new friends, clearly needing to get some more information on who rafe really is, considering their reactions.

hey sorry i just woke up. im ready whenever you are.

you respond to rafe before hopping up, getting dressed quickly in case he was ready right away. you decide on a simple sundress, soft and innocent flowing to your knees unlike the tighter tank top and shorts you were wearing last night.

you head to your vanity next, deciding just on some light concealer and mascara, as well as your signature lip gloss color.

your phone vibrates at the perfect time, just as you slip your feet into some sandals.

ready now. on my way to your place.

you head downstairs and sit on the swinging bench on the front porch, checking instagram on your phone and finding rafes profile, wanting to do a little more digging before clarifying the events of last night to your friends. you don't see any evidence of a girlfriend, but he does have a staggering amount of followers, like the whole island wants to see his mostly golf posts, with a few sprinkled shirtless pictures or fishing adventures sprinkled in.

you close out of the app when rafe pulls into your driveway, not wanting to get caught spying.

“good morning.” rafe says as he hops out, even though its almost noon.

“hey.” you smile, letting him pull you into a hug that you expected to be awkward, but your arms slot so easily around his waist that it just feels natural.

rafe guides you around his truck, again giving you a helping hand in before shutting your door gently for you and moving to the driver's side.

“so…” rafe says as he begins to back down your driveway. “if you're too busy you can say no, but i wanted to show you a bit of the island before we pick up your car.”

“oh my gosh, i would actually appreciate that so much.” you say. “everyone brings up these places names and i have no idea what they're talking about, and neither does google.”

rafe chuckles softly, his eyes fluttering between the road and you. “most of the names are local nicknames. don't worry, ill teach you.”

rafe drives you around the outer banks as the hours tick by, showing you all the popular spots, as well as giving you a rundown of the dynamic of the island, warning you to stay away from the pogues.

your stomach grumbles, and your eyes widen with embarrassment when you realize rafe can hear it. “oh my god, sorry, i just didn't eat any breakfast… or lunch.”

“don't apologize.” rafe says, turning down a road as a new destination comes to mind. “can i take you out to eat though? then we can get your car.”

“yeah, yeah, that'll be great.” you say, not wanting to part from rafes company, already feeling that you've known him for much longer than just a singular day from how easily you get along.

“we can eat at the country club. i'm a member.”

“cool.” you shrug. “im not big into golf but i’d love to learn.” you say, hoping it's not too obvious of a plea to hang out more in the future.

“i can teach you.” rafe offers, and you nod enthusiastically.

“that'd be great.” you say, eyes taking in the lush grounds of the country club as rafe pulls in. he again rounds the car to help you out, and you resist the urge to blush and how much of a gentleman he's being.

“order whatever you want.” rafe says once you're inside and seated.

you look through the menu before deciding on a basic chicken salad. rafe begins to question you on how much you know about golf, and you're glad for playing wii sports golf with your little cousins for giving you a bit of knowledge.

your food arrives, with rafe ordering a steak and you begin to eat, still chatting when your phone begins buzzing incessantly.

“oh my god, im so sorry.” you sigh, picking it up off the table and realizing that a picture must have been taken of you and rafe by someone at the country club, as it's now being spread around.

stop why are you guys the cutest couple ever??

ONE DAY AND RAFE IS ALREADY TAKING YOU OUT TO EAT? GIVE ME YOUR LIFE

he's supposed to be mine omg 😩😩

you show rafe the picture as an explanation for the texts, surprised when his mouth quirks up into a smirk. you figured that he'd be annoyed about the rumors being spread around.

“that's hilarious that people care that much.” rafe says.

“apparently you're the kook prince, at least that's what my friends tell me.” you giggle before taking a sip of your pink lemonade.

“i think i only got that nickname because my dad is a really… prominent figure.” rafe says, which makes you realize out of all the conversations you've had today, none of them have been about rafes family.

“oh.” you hum. “and probably because you're hot.”

“you think im hot?” rafe says, a smiling making his features look even more attractive.

“maybe.” you shrug, a blush coming to your face.

“well i think you're beautiful.” rafe says. “and um… maybe we don't do anything to stop the rumors.”

“are you saying you want to see me again?” you question, glad that your flirting is working out.

“that's exactly what im saying. maybe we let them believe that we are dating and actually start.”

“im down.” you nod, knowing your face must be red, but not caring if rafe sees the effect he has on you.

“perfect.” rafe says, reaching across the table and squeezing your hand with his own.

you keep ignoring the text messages as you and rafe finish your meal before heading back to his truck.

“i kind of don't want to pick up your car.” rafe says, and you look over at him puzzled. “why's that?”

“because i like driving you around.” rafe admits, reaching his hand over to rest it against your thigh. not too high up to make it scandalous, but letting you enjoy his touch.

“well, i like you driving me around.” you admit. “we can pick up my car and then ill go ahead and park it in the garage and use you to get me around.”

“perfect.” rafe says, looking over at you with soft eyes.

“if you're the kook prince, does that make me the kook princess?” you ask as rafe drives you to one of your friends houses. he's been chauffeuring you around for the past week, showing you more parts of the island as well as taking you to the country club for golf lessons. you're glad to spend most of your time with him. you flirt with each other, but you don't do anything beyond holding hands and hugs when greeting each other for the day.

“i suppose it does.” rafe says, pulling to a stop in front of the mansion.

“ill see you tomorrow? probably around 11?” you tell rafe, having asked him already to pick you up from the girls night, since they were begging you to give them the details on your new relationship.

“of course.” rafe says, and you lean over the center console to wrap your arms around him in a hug, loving how soft he touches you as his hand strokes along your side.

you reach for the door handle when rafe let's out an unpleasant sound.

“what is it?” you question, eyes going wide in confusion.

“you have to let me open the door for you.” rafe explains before getting out of the truck, rounding it to pull open your door.

“don't try to open it again, baby.” rafe says, the nickname making your cheeks flare.

“well, thank you for driving me, picking me up tomorrow and being a gentleman.” you say, accepting another hug from rafe, this one accompanied by him pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“see you tomorrow, beautiful.” rafe bids you farewell as you rush up the path to your friends front door, not even needing to knock as hannah swings it open, revealing stephanie and tina as well, all with an excited look on their face.

you turn to see rafe smirking, knowing of course what kind of reaction he gets as the girls pull you inside the house, facemasks and nail polish already ready on the coffee table.

“girl.” hannah sits down, and you follow by plopping onto the couch. “tell us everything.”

-- two months later --

“hey baby.” rafe greets you, eyes looking you up and down. you're dressed in a new golf outfit for your private lesson, a polo tank top and a skirt so short rafe swears the lightest breeze will expose you.

“hey rafe.” you say, looping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his lips, melting into his body.

“missed you.” you whisper against his lips before pulling away, letting rafe walk you, hand in hand, to the passenger side of his truck, never making the mistake of trying to open your own door again.

“we had dinner together last night.” rafe says as you climb into the seat, buckling yourself.

“i know, and i still missed you.” you smile, still head over heels in that honeymoon phase of your relationship where all you want to do is spend every second with your boyfriend.

“missed you too, baby.” rafe says, stepping up onto the truck to plant another kiss on your lips before shutting the door softly and rounding the bed of the truck to get into the driver's side.

you smile when rafes hand instantly finds your own, your fingers fitting firmly between his.

“ready for your golf lessons?” rafe questions, surprised by how quickly you've learned, still needing to get the precision down, but able to whack the ball quite far for a beginner.

“always ready.” you hum, surprised yourself by how much you've enjoyed golfing, but rafes constant presence sure has something to do with that.

“you wanna go to that party tonight?” rafe asks, eyeing you up and down as you finalize your outfit in the mirror.

“i did not dress up just to stay home.” you say, turning to look at rafe as he leans his head against the headboard of your bed, completely comfortable in your room.

“but you look so hot.” rafe complains. really, he's excited to show you off, but he's equally excited to have you all to himself. you've yet to do anything beyond make out, and rafe has been nothing but respectful of your boundaries.

“why don't we make just a quick appearance.” you say, sauntering over to the bed as rafe turns to place his feet on the ground, letting you step between his legs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “and then you can come back here? spend the night?”

rafes eyes widen, nodding enthusiastically, fingers tightening slightly on your hips, not sure if he will be able to restrain himself at the party with your obvious innuendo.

“good.” you lean down and press your lips to rafe, not caring that your lip gloss is smearing over his mouth. “now let's go.”

rafe groans, wishing he could convince you to skip the party, but he knows you told your friends you'd be there, so he forces himself to make it through the night, his cock consistently half hard in his pants as you both partake in only one drink, not wanting to be anything more than slightly buzzed for what is about to happen tonight.

“im ready to go now, rafey.” you say, leaning into your boyfriend. you only were at the party for about an hour, but you chatted and danced with your girls, and now you were ready for what the night brought you.

“perfect.” rafe leads you to the truck, admittedly breaking the speed limit a bit to get you back as quick as possible.

you rush inside the house, of course after letting rafe open your door for you, and the second you cross the threshold, you press your lips against his, mouths fighting for dominance as you both stumble further into the house, pushing off walls and bumping into things but not willing to stop the kiss to look away.

“why hello, y/n.” a voice rings out, making you both gasp as you turn to see your parents sitting on the couch.

“i believe introductions need to be made.” your dad says, eyes flickering between you and rafe, whose face has gone concerningly pale.

“uhh…” you stammer, not realizing that your parents would be returning tonight. they don't tell you their exact whereabouts in the world now that you are an adult. “mom, dad this is my boyfriend rafe.”

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miinatozakiii · 28 days

Text

after hours

myoui mina x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: what happens after work is the reason you power through it all

warnings: basically none ; meeting mina's parents ; brain rotting fluff (my roots!! my specialty) ; reader is head over heels for mina ; IM head over heels ; not proofread

a/n: i'm extremely late for her bday, hopefully this makes up for it? enjoy

!!! cont/side story of "slow dancing"!! ( i suggest you read it first :-P )

“any questions, comments, remarks?” you ask, eyeing every man in the room.

they sit in their seats, teeth clenched and posture straight as you speak. they watch you place your hands on the table and lean over, feeling smaller as you do so.

a shake of all seven heads leads to a forced smile on your lips, then you clap your hands together.

“great, we’ll wrap things up with mina’s final additions and remarks. the profits have been booming.” you finally say before mina takes the spotlight.

she goes on for less than three minutes, earning raised brows from surprise and approving nods from all the men before she dismisses them. they’re all quick to leave, they’ve been quite wary since your last reprimanding when one of the shareholders decided to second guess your — mostly mina’s —success.

as soon as they leave, you make sure there’s no one to intrude. mina is placing papers in her folder, then hums in surprise when she feels a hand on her chin and lips on her own.

she sinks into the kiss, pressing deeper into you as her hand softly lands on your forearm.

you pull away, grinning. mina rolls her eyes and punches your shoulder.

“someone could’ve seen us.”

“i’m pretty sure they all know.” you giggle, turning over to grab the laptop plugged into the hdmi. “they’re all just scared of us. mostly you though, boss.”

“you’re so annoying when you call me that.”

“can i kiss you to make up for it?” you ask, smirking.

mina scoffs, but immediately she’s walking over and messing up your hair before pecking your lips quickly. “you’re an idiot.”

“yeah, an idiot that’s asking to grab some dinner with you tonight?”

she pushes the folder in her hand against your chest, silently making you carry it for her before responding,

“have you forgotten about our dinner plans already? my parents have reservations with us, remember?”

“that’s today?”

“tonight, and you’re my ride there.”

mina turns over and heads out the door, leaving you with a jolt of realization—you're meeting her parents for the first time, tonight, in a few hours. the reminder hits you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly, nerves start to gnaw at your insides. you had completely forgotten about the upcoming meeting, but you have to at least try to convince yourself that it won’t go terrible.

when mina returns to your shared office, she greets you with a devious smile, fully aware that she's shaken you up. despite feeling a pang of guilt for rattling your nerves, she can't help but find it amusing to see you all serious and focused. and maybe – just maybe – mina is a little evil for thinking this, but you look absolutely adorable like that.

you're cleaning up your workspace, tucking papers back into folders and it’s clear that something clouds your mind. mina walks over to you while you finish up something on your laptop, then places a kiss on the top of your head.

“you’re stressed.”

“a little.”

mina laughs softly. “a lot, don’t lie to me.”

“i completely forgot, i thought next friday.”

she stands next to you and runs a hand through your hair, sliding her hand down to your cheek. you suconciously lean into her touch, pouting lightly.

“you’ll be fine. my parents are wonderful.”

now you’re smiling a little, just a little less nervous now. turning into her hand, you kiss it softly before leaning back into your office chair.

“i’m sure.” it comes out as almost a whisper, “still, i'm just nervous.”

she leans down, her lips gently meeting yours, and you feel a surge of warmth spread through you. her fingers graze your neck as she kisses you, which nearly melts you. your nerves seem to dissolve into nothing, surrendering completely to mina.

after pulling away, she presses a kiss to your forehead. “you shouldn’t be. besides, we’re just going out to some diner, nothing too fancy.”

“i’ll trust you on that, boss.” you mutter, earning a roll of eyes and a flick to your forehead.

the two of you go back home to change, and soon after you’re back in your car to go pick up mina.

mina had texted you to wear something casual, and it sparked a whole crisis of indecision about what was appropriate. she couldn't help but smile upon seeing the flurry of texts from you, feeling a twinge of guilt for how nervous you were—still are—before sending a picture of what she’s wearing.

mina: attachment: 1 image.

you pause at the image because woah, just woah is all you can really think. you find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, gazing at mina's reflection in the mirror as she stands there, holding the phone. she's wearing something simple, really casual, actually, just a t-shirt and jeans, but still, she looks wonderful.

you: oh, so you actually meant simple

mina: y/n, what else would i mean

you: :-(

you: i'm over thinking things

you: a sweater and pleated pants are okay, right?

mina: i'm not going to answer that

you: mina please

mina: just go with what you think is right

you groan after reading her text, flopping down onto your bed and staring at your ceiling before picking your phone back up.

you: you’re evil

on your bed, you’re huffing dramatically as you look at the picture she had sent earlier. you decide that you can’t actually be mad at her. you can’t see mina, but she’s grinning at her phone, rolling her eyes at the text you had just sent.

you: evil and beautiful

mina giggles at the phone, smiling to herself.

mina: pick me up in ten?

you: yes lovely

you're parked outside mina’s place, and right as you’re about to call her, you see her emerge from the door and look for your car. rolling your windows down catches her attention and the two of you smile at each other at the same time.

she walks over and opens the door, sitting in the passengers side.

the picture she sent had you completely enamored but seeing her in person was a whole different level. the simple t-shirt under her zip up, the navy wide-legged jeans—and that smile of hers? it was absolutely priceless. how pretty.

“ready to go?” you ask.

she buckles her seatbelt before responding, “i should be the one asking you that.”

rolling your eyes, you shift the stick and start to drive to the restaurant mina has typed into your phone. once the route is visible on the screen of your car, it shows that it’s only ten minutes away. still not enough time to compose yourself, but oh well.

as you reach the place, you're struck by how casual and simple it is. the first time mina had even mentioned her parents, scenarios of meeting them ran through your head. you had expected to meet mina's parents somewhere fancier in all of them, but the simplicity of the diner setting actually makes you feel more at ease.

after you park, mina places a comforting hand on yours. as she looks at you, it's with an expression that makes you feel like you're her rock and she's the luckiest person in the world. her touch on your cheek is always soothing, her soft fingers grazing your cheekbone, calming your nerves instantly. then, with a reassuring smile, she says, "you'll be fine." and somehow, with her by your side, you believe her. of course you do when she’s looking at you like that.

“thanks.”

she leans in and kisses you, something she loves to do when she can’t really conjure up any words to describe what she’s trying to convey. it's enough to get the message across, and you’re forever grateful.

minutes later, you find yourself holding mina's hand, her thumb gently rubbing against your skin in a subtle gesture of comfort. together, you approach the man at the front counter and request a table for four. soon, you're led to a table outside, where the weather is perfect and you’re able to take in the view of the environment as you wait.

just as you begin to think you have a moment to compose yourself, mina's phone rings, and she receives a call from her mom. the conversation is short, but waht you catch from what she says during the call tells you that her parents have arrived and are searching for your table. panic flutters in your chest as you realize that they’re here, you’re meeting them soon—now.

mina kisses your cheek quickly, it makes you feel a little better, even if your heart beat stays beating a little quick.

seconds later, mina turns her head and stands up, you watch her smile at the woman who walks out the door.

you feel obligated to stand too, following mina as she walks towards her mom and dad. mina hugs her mom tightly, their smiles mirroring each other's, both gummy and wide. then, it's her dad's turn. he gives mina a comforting hug, planting a gentle kiss on the side of her head, and you can't help but feel a swell of warmth, smiling yourself.

they greet her quickly before looking at you, which makes you tense up a bit. her mom looks at you, still smiling as she examines, taking in your presence.

“you must be y/n?” you nod in response, smiling respectfully.

“yes. it’s really nice to meet you.”

her mom tilts her head, staying silent for about three seconds – grueling, really, the worst, most nerve-racking three seconds of your life probably – before speaking again.

“gosh, you’re beatiful. mina wasn’t lying, i mean she’s shown me a brief picture but wow honey, you’re adorable.” her mom says before pulling you in for a hug.

you freeze up a bit before reciprocating, smiling even bigger.

once her mom compliments you a couple more times, you turn towards her dad. he has a friendly face, a small smile gracing his aged features. he simply puts his hand out, which you shake, and then pulls you in for a small hug.

he looks at you dearly after that, smiling bigger. “thanks for making our daughter happy, she mentions you a lot.”

you turn to mina, cheeks dusted pink. “is that true?” you ask teasingly, earning a small punch to your shoulder. “sorry.”

the small interaction earns a giggle from her parents, they look at each other with proud smiles.

back at your table, menus spread out in front of you, you all decide over what to order. when the waiter arrives and asks about drinks, and knowing mina is quite timid, you place the orders: a sprite for herself, a sweet tea for you and her mom, and a water for her dad.

when the waiter leaves, her dad begins the conversation.

“so you’re her assistant?”

your head perks up from the menu. “oh, yes.”

“and how’s working with my daughter? she’s stubborn sometimes.”

you giggle lightly before looking at mina, then back to her dad. “i mean, i wasn’t used to such high position and--” eyeing mina, you continue, “vast workload, but overtime working became great. i think we make a great team, she’s really good with handling everything.”

her dad smiles. “that’s my girl.”

the waiter returns with your drinks, setting them down on the table before retrieving a notepad. he asks if you're all ready to order, and you confirm that you are. you opt for a chicken sandwich and fries, while mina chooses a cheeseburger. her mom orders tenders, and her dad selects a deluxe sandwich. as for appetizers, you decide on some onion rings and salads for everyone to share.

as you all dive into some small talk, mina's parents ask simple questions about you—like if you have any siblings, your hobbies, and your aspirations. you're glad to find that they're genuinely interested in getting to know you, and talking with them isn't as difficult as you had feared. in fact, the conversation flows nicely, and the best part is hearing some small stories from mina's earlier life. you share laughter with her parents, and you can't help but notice how it makes mina all flustered and blushy in return.

moments later, mina excuses herself to the restroom, catching you offguard. you watch her get up and walk back inside the building, and now you’re left with the myoui’s alone.

there's a short silence as you sit there, trying to find out how to keep the conversation you had going before mina left. her mom beats you to it.

“you’re wonderful y/n, really.” she says, placing her hand on yours. “mina adores you.”

smiling, you respond, “i’m glad. i adore her too, twice as much probably.”

her dad chuckles, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “we’re glad to hear. mina calls us every week and most—actually, all of the conversations have included you.”

“really?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. her dad nods and you grin. “that’s great to hear.”

“mina used to complain about work a lot, it worried us.” her mom starts, “and then she mentioned this new assistant that irriated her, but then a week or two later she’d call back saying you were like a gift from heaven.”

the heat on your cheeks intensifies as you process the words. "really?" you question, genuinely surprised. as far as you remember, mina had been distant and pretty (very) cold towards you for at least a month before gradually warming up. the thought that she had been gushing to her parents about you so quickly, already enamored despite her earlier act of annoyance, flatters you, makes you fall deeper in love honestly.

“yeah, it takes time for her to warm up.” her mom explains, laughing. “she went from stressing to talking about you whenever work was mentioned, and now that i get to meet you in person—it’s understandable that she’s grown fond of you.”

you're speechless for a moment, trying to process all of this new information that might just make your heart burst. her parents look at each other and grin before you catch mina in the corner of your eye, walking back towards the table and sitting down.

“everything alright?” mina asks, looking at your features etched into surprise.

“yeah, perfect.” you mumble, looking at her with a warm smile.

dinner goes well, it’s amazing.

the food was truly flawless; your chicken sandwich was perfectly crisp, with the mayonnaise, lettuce, and soft bread complementing each other perfectly. judging by the satisfied expressions around the table, it seemed like everyone's meal was cooked to perfection. as you all ate, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the scene and providing a pretty backdrop to your meal and conversation.

throughout the evening, you learned so much about mina from her parents, gaining insights and anecdotes that you hadn't heard before. the smiles on their faces and the small, proud, and appreciative glances they exchanged with each other hinted that everything was more than alright—it was wonderful. in that moment, surrounded by good food, good company, and a beautiful sunset, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this, for her appreciative parents, and simply for mina.

after finishing your meals, you all decide to linger a bit longer, savoring each other's company. the moon was out now, casting a soft glow over the scene. eventually, mina's dad decides to call it an evening, putting his arm around her mom in a gesture of affection.

“alright, we should get going soon.” he says, fishing for his wallet with the other hand. “we’ve got to drive fourty-five minutes to get back to our place.”

you wave your hand and shake your head, dismissing him. “no, stop, i've got it, really.”

“no, it’s fine, really. let me pay for my daughter and her wonderful girlfriend.”

“mr. myoui, really, please. i've got it.”

“are you really arguing with your girlfriends dad?” he asks, his tone is playful. he raises a brow, looking at you dead in the eye.

“if it means getting the bill instead, then yes.” you challenge, earning a chuckle from him.

“i like you a lot, y/n.” he says, “you’re perfect for my daughter, but please, let me get it.”

before you can even argue, mina places her card down quickly and calls over a waiter. you and her dad exchange puzzled frowns, both of you clearly surprised by her sudden decision. mina and her mom share a laugh at the identical expressions on your faces.

“mina!” you groan, “why would you--”

mina places her hand on the crook of your neck. “you two are so stubborn sometimes.” she says, then looks at her mom. “it’s always like this, fighting for the bill. you and my dad are so stubborn when it comes to this.”

her dad laughs and adds a last remark, “take care of my daughter, lots of care.”

mina's mom and dad give you hugs, muttering thankful comments and praises before departing.

you and mina walk back to your car, and you open the door for her to get in before heading to the driver's side yourself. once you're both settled in and the door is closed, you find yourself leaning back against the seat, exhaling a sigh of relief. you're content, so, so relieved.

your girlfriend laughs at you, holding your hand. “i told you there would be nothing to worry about. they love you.”

a small “mhm” is hummed as you really take in all the events, and then you turn to her lips turned up into a smile.

“i’m just glad they’re fine with me dating the most stubborn, prettiest boss in the world.”

mina rolls her eyes playfully before leaning in to kiss your knuckles, a gesture that makes your cheeks warmer and body relax. you lean your head closer, your gaze lingering on her lips before you press a kiss.

as you pull back slightly, you find yourself taking in her features, illuminated by the soft light above. each contour of her face seems to emphasize the very features that drew you to her, making your heart swell with affection. you grin like an idiot.

you kiss her knuckles. “seriously the prettiest boss in the world.”

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #mina x reader #mina imagines #twice mina #myoui mina #myoui mina x reader

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throwaway-yandere · 5 months

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𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

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writing-for-marvel · 11 months

Note

A Solid Foundation

Builder!Bucky Barnes x Fiancé!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friend suspects your fiancé of having an affair when he starts working late, but Bucky would never cheat on you, right?

Warnings: slight angst - discussion of Bucky potentially cheating (no actual cheating), soft fluff

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: thank you so much for this gorgeous inspiration my love 💕 this is my second entry for the Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse Event by @buckybarnesevents, for the prompt ‘Modern AU’. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

“Where’s Bucky? You two just got engaged, I would have thought he’d barely be able to keep his hands off you - he does at the best of times.” Nat jokes before taking a sip of her wine.

She had been stopping off at your apartment on her way home to drop some supplies for your engagement party next weekend, when you invited her to stay for a drink, wanting to take your mind off your fiancés absence.

“He’s been working late recently.” You try to say nonchalantly, but Nat’s far too observant to miss the disheartened edge to your voice.

“He’s a builder. Start early, finish early, what’s he doing still working at 6:30?” You didn’t know the answer to that question. And though part of you is curious as to what he’s up to, you’re also nervous to find out the truth.

It’s Bucky, the man who has loved you through every high and low, treasured every part of you, especially on those days where your insecurities were at their worst. Who has done the silliest, most embarrassing things just to hear your laugh. Who trusted you enough to reveal his deepest trauma, who comes to your arms for comfort through every nightmare.

You find it difficult to believe that man would be capable of hurting you, even knowing he hadn’t been completely forthcoming with you the past few weeks.

“I’m not sure, he’s been a little secretive since we got engaged. I don’t wanna push him to talk about it, I just wish he knew he can trust me with whatever it is.” You say as Nat supportively takes your hand, something of sympathy in her eyes.

“Oh sweetie, you are far too pure for this world. Working late, the ring, the secrecy - has it crossed your mind that he might be having an affair?”

“It crossed my mind for half a second before I scolded myself. It’s Bucky, he would never cheat on me.” You state with conviction, the memory of each night you’ve fallen to a peaceful sleep in Bucky’s arms only supporting your belief that he would never put himself in that position with someone else.

“As much as I want to believe you, you know I’m a cynic. In my experience men are pigs, you give them an inch and they take a mile. I know he’s sweet and you love him, but at the end of the day, he is a man.”

But Nat doesn’t know Bucky intimately like you do, hasn’t experienced his selfless and generous heart day after day for the past two years, hasn’t been loved all-encompassingly by him like you have.

You’ve never even thought to question his loyalty to you - Bucky has never given you reason to.

You hear keys rattle in the front door and shoot Nat a look which unquestionably screams don’t bring this up.

Bucky smiles instantly when he sees you seated at the dining table, that same adoration and serenity brimming in his eyes as when he always comes home to you. Though you do notice his skin is somewhat flushed, as if he’s just been physically exerting himself, his hair looks a complete mess and appears slightly darker with sweat.

You know exactly what’s running through Nat’s mind at this very moment.

“I’m gonna let you two talk.” She declares with a perceptible tension in her tone as she stands and grabs her purse. “But I swear if you ever hurt her Bucko, you’ll die a slow, painful death.” She vows with a glare that seals her promise. Though you know Nat well enough to perceive she isn’t joking, Bucky seems to think she’s kidding.

“Duly noted Nattie.” He chuckles as he watches Nat shoot you an encouraging look and then make her way out the front door Bucky just walked through. “What was that all about?”

“She’s just being protective.” You justify, not knowing how to, nor really wanting to tell him that your best friend suspects he’s having an affair. “I told her you’d been working late recently.”

“What… she thinks I should instead be here doting on you hand and foot?” Bucky asks as he moves behind where you’re seated, his hands reach for the back of your neck and begin massaging the tension from your shoulders which had built up from your long week at work. “You know I’d much prefer to be here with you than working.” You shudder slightly at his words as he places a gentle kiss to the skin where your neck curves into your shoulder, your body subconsciously revealing that you don’t fully believe he was working.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He asks, feeling your muscles tense even further underneath his hands, and you internally curse yourself for letting Nat’s speculation get under your skin.

“Where were you tonight?” It’s a simple, four word question, yet the weight of significance on his answer feels like your whole world could start crumbling before you depending on his response.

“I told you this morning: Steve needed me working late.” Bucky replies without hesitation. It’s a straightforward answer, yet there’s something about it you can’t quite believe - a half truth that he’s practised too much that doesn’t quite feel natural. “Why do you ask?” There’s a hint of worry to his voice, as if you’re getting a little too close to something he’d like to keep to himself.

“Nat thinks ‘working late’ is code for you cheating on me.” You comment, placing all the blame on your friends postulation rather than your own curiosity.

You hope Bucky won’t hate you too much for indulging in your friends theory, that he won’t completely resent you for insinuating he’s been unfaithful. Because you don’t think he’s cheating on you, but you also don’t believe he was working late tonight.

Instead, Bucky steps towards you and tentatively places two gentle fingers under your chin, tilting your face so that you’re gazing directly into his vulnerable, sincere eyes.

“Doll, you know I would never, ever, hurt you like that. I love you, you’re my whole world, I wanna marry you and spend the rest of my days making you feel as loved and cherished as you make me feel.” You sense the heaviness of your engagement ring on your left hand, you’re still getting used to carrying the small weight of it around with you everyday, though right now it feels substantial.

“I know you wouldn’t Buck, but since you proposed you’ve been a little secretive. Long days, working weekends. I mean you have to admit it’s slightly suspicious.”

He sighs, coming to some sort of internal decision when his gaze meets yours again. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you in an attempt to distract you from the topic of discussion.

“I promise you, I can explain everything, but I think it would be easier to show you.” His hands snake down your arms and when he takes both your hands, pulls you from your seated position at the dining table.

“Show me?” You query, having no idea what that could indicate he’s been keeping to himself.

“Yeah, care for a drive?”

* * *

The night is dark as you sit in the passenger seat watching the world pass you by, the empty roads only lit by periodically placed street lamps and the bright headlights of Bucky’s truck.

You have no idea where he’s taking you - you’ve never been to this part of town before and have no preconceived ideas as to what being here indicates for his unplanned surprise.

Bucky drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other rests comfortingly on your thigh, an indicator that he’s not upset about you insinuating he could be having an affair, and that where he’s taking you to is not a revelation you should be anxious about.

Soon enough he turns down an innocuous street and pulls the car to a slow stop. You're in the middle of a suburban area with expansive blocks of land, stopped a few metres behind an SUV that has stickers of a family of five and a dog on their back window. Looking over at Bucky, you find he’s staring at you with an excited expectancy from the driver's seat.

You turn to look out the car window and the reason Bucky’s been ‘working late’ hits you like a bus.

You’re parked in front of a half built house - at the moment it’s just studs and partitions, with an unemptied skip out the front, but you can see the skeleton of a beautifully spacious two story house.

He’s building you a home.

“Bucky…” You comment under your breath, unable to articulate the swarm of thoughts buzzing around your head and the pure love blooming in your chest like a flower as he rounds the car and opens the passenger door for you.

“I know it doesn’t look like much yet, it’s just the frame and foundation, but soon there will be a roof, walls, windows, and a proper floor. It’ll really start taking shape.” He's nervous, you can tell by his shaky tone of voice, which you find adorable.

“You’re building us a house?” Your stomach contorts with guilt when he smiles crookedly and nods. How could you have ever been suspicious of his long working hours when they were spent building a physical monument to his love for you?

“I wanted to build our dream house, somewhere we can grow old together.” Your heart just about bursts when these words fall from his lips. Though the night is dark, the moon and the small torch Bucky keeps in his truck are the only source of light available, you can see the fondness in his eyes.

You give him a sweet kiss before approaching the house, an outline in chalk on the ground indicates where a front porch will be built and the entry to the house is currently only the rectangular frame of timber.

Bucky starts walking you through the house hand in hand, explaining what he had planned each room to be used for. There's only wooden studs outlining every room and a concrete slab for a floor, but you can already imagine what the space will look like when it’s all complete.

The entry foyer has high ceilings where you can currently see the stars shining, a large winding staircase connects the ground floor with the one above. To one side is a large garage, an offset office and bathroom, to the other has a large sitting room.

As Bucky pulls you further into the structure, the house opens up to a large, open plan living area. You can picture cooking together in the kitchen, room enough for a large island where you can sit and watch as Bucky cooks you breakfast, sneaking kisses in between breaking eggs. A smile grows on your features as you imagine what the future holds for you two, and what you envisage is beautiful.

He shows you where he thinks the lounge room television would go, before steering you to the right to an open room where the walls don’t have horizontal studs like all the other rooms you’ve seen so far.

“And this will be your sunroom.” He comments, eying you with a smile as your jaw drops in awe.

“A sunroom?” You ask as your voice cracks and hot tears well in your eyes.

Your dream house always seemed so far out of reach, you wondered if you would ever earn enough to own a place of your own. But it didn’t stop you from wishing for your dream house. That concept had changed over the years, but the one aspect which remained the same was it containing a sunroom. A place where you could sit in quiet contemplation and read your plethora of novels in peace, the warm afternoon sun heating the room as you draped your legs over beloveds, finding tranquillity together.

Bucky really is making all your dreams come true.

“It wouldn’t be our dream home if we didn’t have the sunroom you always wished for. This entire wall will be a huge built-in bookshelf, then the rest will be just glass, looking out over our backyard and have the perfect view of the setting sun.”

You find yourself completely lost for words, unable to articulate how remarkable this entire house is, that he built it for you, and how you will forever come home to a physical reminder of just how much Bucky loves you.

“If there’s anything you don’t like I’ll change it. I want it to be perfect, I want you to love it.” He says as if he can’t see that you already adore every inch of the house he’s built, thinking that your silence indicates aversion rather than pure amazement.

“Bucky, it’s already perfect.” You lean over to kiss him, slow and sweet, because you need to express the overwhelming gratitude and affection for him doing something so special for you. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you when you were putting in your spare hours to build us a home.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry, doll, I shouldn’t have lied to you about where I was and what I was doing, but I wanted it to be a surprise.” His arms snake around your middle and pull you closer to him so none of the cool night air separates you.

“It is a surprise, such a wonderful surprise. I love you so much and I can’t wait to spend our life together here.” You say, looking up at him with wide eyes, only closing them to kiss the stubble on his sharp jawline.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Bucky places a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but heartfelt and full of tenderness.

For a moment you stay cuddled into his strong, warm chest, his arms gently stroking up and down your back in soothing motions, feeling completely loved and so excited to start your marriage in a new home together.

“Will you show me the bedrooms upstairs?” You ask with a small voice, part of you not wanting to move from Bucky’s embrace, but also intrigued to see how much more work he’s done in the name of love for you.

“Of course, my love.”

He kisses you once more, for emphasis, before guiding you carefully upstairs to show you the spacious master bedroom where you will be spending your first nights as a married couple.

If you're interested in seeing the floorplan I based the house off, you can find that here

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call-memissbrightside · 1 year

Text

warnings: age-gap, adultery, mentions of cheating, NSFW scene hinted at

"Mrs. Bakugou look over here please!"

You squint against the harsh flashing of the paparazzi cameras, careful to not let your smile drop as you pose for them. Your feet were killing you in the heels your mother-in-law made you wear to match the custom dress she also had her say in designing for the annual Hero Gala. Thankfully your husband was by your side, hand on the small part of your back to keep you steady.

Peeking up at him through your false eyelashes that felt too heavy for your eyelids, you were envious that Katsuki wasn't pushed to smile for the cameras.

It was his role to be the brute, strong man while you played into the dainty, tempting trophy wife that was so small compared to his large size of pure muscles and testosterone.

You weren't a fan of the label his publicist team slapped onto you after you said 'I Do' to Japan's #2 Top Hero almost a year ago. Yet, being a trophy wife was better than being known as —

"Hey home-wrecker, you still talk to Uravity? I heard she's taking full custody of their daughter, would you like to comment?"

Bakugou moved to correct which ever journalist spoke out, and the they just loved that.

"Dynamite, are you on good terms with your ex wife?" "Does (Y/N) prevent you from seeing your child?" "Sir, did you only marry her to save your image?"

Their questions were harsh, as they were just mean. Thankfully the Bakugou family security moved in before Katsuki had to, and soon the pair of you were ushered off the red carpet.

You could still hear them calling out to you from behind the closed doors of the venue before another victim caught their eyes.

"Stupid fucking press, think they know everything," Katsuki mumbled before hiking up the stairs that led to the main ballroom where the award ceremony was held.

You hesitated at the bottom, staring up at the man who was your husband, the man who called you his wife. He was just as handsome as he was when he debuted as a hero even though now he was hitting his mid-thirties while you barely just turned twenty-two. The invasive questions that were thrown at you are rattling in your head, making it nearly impossible to move to be beside your Husband, The Hero Dynamite.

Katsuki notices you're not following him mid way up the stairs and scoffs before walking back to you.

"Stupid hag, I told her you don't know how to walk in heels," Is all he said before taking your hand and helping to lead you up the stairs.

You want to ask him about what the paparazzi was saying, if it was true that Ochako was trying to get full-custody of Katsumi. That meant he was lying to you when you asked if everything with his ex-wife was okay, right? And that last question... did he only marry you to save face —?

"What's wrong, you look like you're going to cry?" Katsuki asked quietly as a waiter showed them where you were sitting, up and center to the stage where the shiny awards were shown off on the platform.

You sit in the cushy seat, and not even the delicate decorations of the table; the shiny, white plates surrounding the centerpiece made up of what seemed to be hundreds of red roses— were enough to make you swoon and forget your worries.

Taking in Katsuki, how handsome he looks in his sleek black suit with the handkerchief peeking out of his chest pocket matching your dress, makes your heart clench.

You didn't want to cause a scene, or be an issue.

That's what Katsuki wanted, that's what he told you when you first met him.

"My wife is such a worrier, always on my ass and so damn dramatic." That's what he said, and it stuck with you because if he could leave her, a distinguished hero and the mother to his first and only child, he would leave you in the blink of an eye. Then what will become of you? The press would have a field day with that, "Fellow homewrecker gets her karma and now is heartbroken, single, and broke."

So, you suck it up, and shake your head. Putting back on your fake smile, your facade, you try being what he wants.

"Nothing at all baby, I'm just so proud of you," You lean in the gain a kiss, and it does make you a tad better when Katsuki grants you it.

———————

"Daddy!"

Thank god Katsuki had fast reflexives.

The moment the bedroom door is flung open, he's sitting up in bed. Katsuki pulls your naked chest to his and wraps the comforter up your shoulders to hide any naked skin from the view of his six-year old daughter Katsumi.

"'Sumi," He grits his teeth in annoyance but Katsuki never yells at his daughter. You hide your face into his neck, his body heat almost feeling scorching hot against yours as you blush red from embarrassment at almost being caught doing it by the little girl.

"Hi (Y/N)!" Katsumi yells when she spots your hair poking out of the comforter.

"Shhh," Katsuki shushes Katsumi, making her red eyes widen in worry. "(Y/N) is sleeping baby, what do you need?" Katsuki was sure that leaving his daughter occupied in her room with snacks and her favorite Bluey episodes playing on her TV would give him at least an hour to destress.

Katsumi cups her hands to her mouth, whispering, "I missed you guys and wanted to see if (Y/N) would play with me?"

Having Katsumi love you unconditionally was something you were immensely lucky to have, and her plea to play with you makes you teary eye at her sweetness.

Being identical to Katsuki in terms of looks, with his blonde hair and red eyes, she didn't inherit her father's temper. Katsumi was kinder and more willing to wear her heart on her sleeve, which made loving her easy for you.

Katsuki could feel the annoyance of being interrupted vanish at his daughter's sweet question, his hands that were anchored on your bare, bruised hips, gave you a gentle squeeze.

"Sure baby, let me wake her up and (Y/N) would love to play with you," Katsuki said.

Katsumi cheered before she quickly quieted down to not 'wake you', running out of the room after softly closing the door behind her.

You shimmy the blanket off you, both you and Katsuki red in the face from almost being caught.

"Do you need help with this?" You tease, rolling your hips to reignite the pleasure Katsuki was pulling from your body. His cock was still hard inside of you, seeing how he was almost finding his release before Katsumi interrupted.

Usually, Katsuki would take any opportunity to use your wet pussy to make himself feel good so imagine your surprise when he shakes his head no.

"I actually have to head to the office to finish up some reports from the week. Do you mind watching Katsumi until I'm finished? We could go out for dinner afterwards?"

Katsuki doesn't wait for your answer, he easily lifts you completely off his cock and placing you on the bed next to him before he gets up and begins getting dressed. You sit there for a bit, watching as your husband covers up all the love bites you left on him.

"Reports?" You ask, still in shock that he didn't finish what he started.

Katsuki's head falls back as he sighs, annoyance making his brow furrow as he puts on his shirt.

"Yes (Y/N), reports. They're important to hero work, you would know if you were one."

The last part bites, and it's the sting you needed to get up and dress yourself. Katsuki knew talking about your lack of having a quirk was a sore subject to you, you told him this countless times. Yet, he would bring it up time to time when he wanted to showcase how he was wiser, older, and knew what he was talking about and how you were stupid for questioning him.

You're having a pretend tea-party with Katsumi in the living room when Katsuki bids his farewell.

"Girls, give me a kiss for luck," He orders, and Katsumi springs up in giggles to give her father a big kiss on his cheek.

You are slow to make your way to him, still hurt by what he said and because he hadn't apologized.

Katsuki doesn't wait for you, he pulls you to him with a strong hand cupping your asscheek and giving it a squeeze. You kiss him, and he groans softly against your mouth.

"Tonight, we lock the fuckin' door, yeah?" He growls against your ear, too soft for Katsumi to hear as she already was back to playing.

It wasn't a proper apology, but the way your core tightened and your cunt leaked, it would do.

Later, as you now played princess in Katsumi's bedroom in front of her giant doll house, your mood began to damper again.

"(Y/N), does my daddy still pay you for babysitting me?" It was an honest question, and you knew Katsumi didn't mean anything by it but you still flinched at her words.

You try smiling the pain away, shaking your head. "Of course not silly girl, your daddy and I are married now."

Katsumi's sweet smile looks too much like her mother's and it reminds you of how Ochako would look at you when she'd come home from work: naive and so happy, oblivious to the fact that Katsuki had you bent over the bed he shared with her just moments prior to her return.

You had to look away so Katsumi wouldn't see the tears gathering in your eyes as you swallowed back the guilt you felt for breaking up the sweet girl's family.

Katsumi, still oblivious and not able to read nor have access to the internet just yet, still treated you like you were the best stepmom ever.

How many years do I have left before she only sees me as the other woman?

———————

Drop-offs were always awkward for you.

Despite the rumors the paparazzi spread, the relationship between Dynamite and Uravity was civil. Yet the relationship between you and Ochako was a bit strained, to say the least.

You hug Katsumi goodbye as she leaves to spend the week with her mother, before she gets into Ochako's car.

"No Katsuki?" Ochako asked with a raised eyebrow.

You cower under her questionable look, and you shrug. "He got caught up in the office again this week."

Your answer seems to be funny to her, and Ochako laughs before shaking her head. "I've heard that one before."

Saying nothing, you almost feel relief when the woman turns to walk back to her car before turning back to you.

"Let me give you piece of advice sweetheart, wife-to-wife," Ochako said coldly. "When Mr. Bakugou starts using the excuse of being 'caught up at the office', you better start claiming assets for the divorce."

Your eyes tear up, and your bottom lip quivers as the older woman rips into you.

"Trust me (Y/N), you don't want to keep holding on when he's already balls deep in someone else," Ochako warns, scoffing at your distress and walking away finally.

"I can't believe Katsuki liked them so young and stupid," The former Mrs. Bakugou said as she walked.

You openly sob as she drives away, Katsumi's confused face zooming past as you cry standing in the huge driveway of the house Katsuki owned.

It felt like your heart was ripped out of your chest, the idea of there being someone else when you've given your all for Katsuki and this marriage nearly drives you insane with grief. Karma was a bitch—

Your phone dings which takes your attention away from your pain, and you nearly cheer up when you notice a new message from Katsuki, only it read:

be home late, don't wait up

part two

#bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader angst #bnha ochako #bnha ochaco uraraka

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everparanoid · 5 months

Text

Make me lose my breath, make me water ┃Wriothesley

pairing: f!reader x wriothesley

genre: fluff , NSFW

rating: 18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

tags: Cunnilingus, consent is hot, Reader is from Natlan, cuffs used inappropriately, Body Worship, My First Smut, Fontaine is France but it's not but it is, PWF, PWP, Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, Reader is Not Traveler (Genshin Impact), Creampie, biting kink, Written After 4.1 Update, Minor spoilers for 4.0 quest, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Light Bondage, light orgasm denial

wordcount: 6.1k

synopsis: The notorious Duke of the fortress of Meropide hasn't been on his A-game lately, and it shows.

Originally posted: 25.10.23 on AO3

a/n: I am now reposting my AO3 stuff onto tumblr. If you know me....no, you don't. ;) Also check out my AO3 for more wriothesley fics.

Song Inspiration: 'Water' by Tyla.

Three quick knocks rattled the door to his large office. The sound echoed up to the second floor where his desk resided.

“Come in,” Wriothesley said not looking up from his papers.

Wriothesley was a busy man. Well, being the Duke of the self-running, man-powered Fortress of Meropide wasn’t an easy job. It wasn’t exhausting either, but that was beside the point.

He took a slow prolonged sip from his teacup. The second sip in the last hour; the flavoured water had long since cooled from the general chill in the office. Not that he could feel anything beyond the normal chill of the underwater Fortress; and with the added benefit of his cryo vision he considered himself well-suited for the climate. That didn’t mean he didn’t miss the sun. Although, he could see the sun whenever he found a reason to leave the fortress, which he often didn’t.

He sighed for the fifth time that hour.

“I hear you’ve been doing that a lot,” You said ascending the spiralled staircase.

He paused and lowered his teacup, placing it on the small pile of report papers he was using as a mat. One side of his lips raised threatening to become a half smile. He quickly wiped it away.

“Oh? Have I now?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “I think I’m going to have to report you to Sigewinne.”

“Am I to assume she isn’t the one who sent you?”

His eyes met yours as you arrived atop the stairs, a hand on your hip and that sassy look in your eyes that he had grown fond of. He realised now why he had been so distracted.

He missed you.

You often frequented the fortress. First as a commissioned messenger between Wriothesley and Neuvillette, then a ‘convict’, and after that a friend and now… he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain about the company. It was nice having someone as into tea as he was. Not that he would admit it, but it got lonely in the Fortress sometimes. More so since he met you.

“What? You afraid of a couple of stickers?”

“You know about that?” he grumbled, glancing at the pile of crumpled Melusine stickers littering the side of his desk, freshly pulled off the back of his coat.

“I have ears everywhere, Your Grace,” you smirk, withholding the crucial fact that you were the culprit providing the stickers for Sigewinne and her Melusine friends. They paid you back in giggles and smiles, and just the joy on their small faces was enough for you.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You probably know more about what’s happening in my humble home than me,” he said. Only a half lie on his part. You had an aptitude for making tough things bend to your will. Him being the toughest of things in question. He dismissed the thought of you flashing that blinding smile at anyone other than him.

Your shoulders rose and fell as a melodic laugh left your lips and graced his ears. If he could keep your voice in a bottle, he would.

You shook your head and pushed off the railing. His attention remained on you as you took a seat on the settee a bit away from his desk. His throat—as if he hadn’t just taken a sip of his cold tea— felt overwhelmingly dry. He cleared it gently and picked up his teacup.

“How’s the Traveler and Paimon?” he asked, taking a sip.

The flavoured water was colder. He needed to calm down lest he froze the entire thing. He imagined you would be the only one to find amusement in him sipping ice.

You crossed your legs, and your skirt rode up. He looked away respectfully, much to his dismay and the favour of his quickly deteriorating will. He didn’t remember when it happened. When he started seeing you as more than just the middle woman between Neuvillette and himself; more than just a pawn in this game against the fatui, but now he found himself knowing the way your cheek dimpled slightly only on your right cheek when you laugh; how the skin around your eyes crow when you yawn or squint; how you change to fix your posture every thirty minutes when you’re lost in a book, and your neck starts to get sore, and your lower back begs to be stretched out. He pulled himself out of his thoughts before they had a chance to spiral further.

“They send their regards and a thank you for your help with ‘the situation,’” you said making air quotes. You didn’t mention how you didn’t plan to return to them for a while, but some things were best left unsaid with Wriothesley.

Wriothesley nodded and gestured for you to join him in for some tea.

“If you have some time, of course,” he finished.

“Of course, If you are offering,” you responded.

You went to stand but Wriothesley beat you to it. Thankful for the excuse to busy himself with something other than your smouldering presence. If he was an icy avalanche, then you were like a raging inferno, melting him into warm water. Perhaps it had something to do with the pyro vision dangling from your hip. He glanced at the vision and caught a glimpse of your bare legs. He froze, curious about what colour you might be wearing underneath your skirt: black, white, blue, red? Instead, he was beyond relieved when he saw black shorts. He breathed a sigh. That’s so you.

“I can heat the pot, you know?” you say, growing increasingly more tired of his strange mood and equally as obscure silence. Never had Wriothesley sighed so much. Honestly, you never would have considered him a sigher; more a hmpher or a quiet snickering type.

You and everyone in Fontaine who had the pleasure or misfortune—mostly the misfortune—of knowing the Duke, knew that recently he had been off. In truth, your visit hadn’t been to express Neuvillette’s message (though that made a great cover). No, you were there because of a chain of strange letters from Sigewinne, given to you by an equally as annoyed Clorinde, telling you of the Duke’s bizarre behaviour. According to these letters, he was more attentive than usual. He had appeared around the fortress checking in on the production zones and the inmates an alarming number of four times in the last month, nearly causing several heart attacks amongst the inmates, which as a result caused Sigewinne to be on high alert from all the overworking; he hasn’t been partaking in as many fights in the ring, and he hasn’t been drinking as much tea.

It was the last two on the list that shocked you the most and was most of the reason why you were there now. Wriothesley not drinking tea? Was Fontaine’s archon a fraud?

Uncrossing your legs, you stood and approached him. Placing a hand on the teapot, you heated the water with your vision.

“Let me do that," you said.

You sounded more breathless than you had intended to, but being so close to him does that to you. He always managed to take your breath away, but you had stupidly thought that with time those senseless reactions would die upon learning more about the mysterious brutish duke. The way all crushes faded when the mystic i.e., the lack of information and the delusions of projection, disappeared. Instead, it seemed to have only worsened. A butterfly somersaulted in your stomach when you accidentally brushed your hand against his.

Wriothesley stiffened. The touch went straight to his gut.

“Why are you here?” he responded smoothly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Not that he was concerned about why you were here—he couldn’t be happier—but you were supposed to be away for the next six months on a quest with the traveler to your home region, Natlan. Had Sigewinne called you back out of concern for him? He had to be more careful around the small nurse in the future.

“Your tea collection isn’t as depleted as usual,” you observed, staring into the box filled with other miniature boxes of tea, skilfully deflecting the question.

“An interrogation. You’re making me nervous,” he joked. “I am a busy man, I don’t always have time for tea.”

The look you fixed him with was not amused.

“You always drink at least three cups a day,” you said putting stress on the ‘at least.’ If it wasn’t tea, it would be a terrible addiction.

“Wow, you’re counting? I’m impressed.”

“Which flavour do you want?” you said, ignoring him.

“The special blend.”

Without a second thought, you plopped the tea bag into the teapot and left it to brew.

It was your favourite, and that is why he chose it. He was more of a black tea or green tea kind of person, but the special blend he had made specifically for you. You didn’t know that though; you didn’t have to, he enjoyed hearing your quiet hums of happiness with each sip. It was great fodder for his late-night thoughts.

His heart warmed, as the skin around your eyes crowed the way he loved. Loved? He cleared his throat.

“You aren’t booking yourself as many fights. Which I would be happy about if I thought it didn’t directly correlate to why you’re acting so strange,” you lectured, and to him, you sounded like a particular short blue-haired Melusine.

“I can’t help but feel that you are worried about me,” he jested.

“As anyone would be about a friend,” you said.

Friend? Yes, that was what you were. Friends.

“Friends. Yes,” he agreed albeit stiffly.

You gave him a cautious side-eye unsure as to why his tone hurt you.

The word left a bitter taste in Wriothesley’s mouth and when you offered to fill his cup again, he accepted. Suddenly needing the soothing numbing effects of his tea more than ever. You topped up his cup before you poured the heated water into the teacup that had unintentionally become yours.

Wriothesley didn’t let anyone else use it. It was superstitious really, and he didn’t consider himself a superstitious person. However, he worried that if he let anyone else use it you suddenly won’t come back one day. Not that you would be able to tell the difference if he did let someone else use the cup; all the teacups he owned looked exactly alike, but yours was different. It was a cup with a little chip on the rim near the handle from when you decided to have your tea with Neuvillette, Clorinde, the traveler and himself after the recent troubles with the Fatui. Your cup had chipped due to the heat of your hand; he could recall the horror on your face when he informed you how much each cup cost after letting you ramble on about owing him another cup.

You eventually fell into a comfortable silence sitting together on the settee.

“Clorinde has been visiting you a lot recently,” you said from behind your teacup. You took another sip.

Wriothesley recalled his earlier meeting with the champion dualist.

“Yes, we had some tea.”

“Really?”

“Jealous?”

You turned away.

“There is no need to be, I assure you,” he said, feeling a deep sense of relief at the way you seemed so bothered by his meeting with your mutual friend. The same friend who had been lecturing him about his ‘mutual’ feelings for you. Perhaps it was because of your reaction, that he realised that Clorinde might have been right. Or he was delusional? Maybe it was both.

Wriothesley placed his mug down on the coffee table. His hand brushed your bare thigh and you both jolt.

“Who says I am jealous?” You snapped, your lip twitching.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because your lip twitches when you’re upset, and your pyro vision makes you heat the things around you without abandon. Your eyes lose that spark which makes them look like the spotlights guarding Meropide, and you refuse to look at me because you know I’ll see right through you. And I do. I see you.”

He took another sip from his tea, pretending to not notice your tea bubbling in your hand, and the crack growing on the side of the teacup.

“It’s not nice to make jokes like that, Your Grace,” you said nervously.

Your eyes darted about the office settling on anything but him. The bookshelves looked fuller than usual. Has he been reading more books?

“Indeed. It is not but come on you should know me better than that by now. I never joke about things like this,” he said. His voice was clear and sincere. “Is it so strange that I would want to give a few words of praise out of genuine adoration?”

Especially since he saw the way you’re reacting; he knew that it was real and not a fantasy from his misguided thoughts. He wouldn’t lose this opportunity to make his feelings clear. He was a straightforward guy, after all. When he knew what he wanted was within his reach he wouldn’t simply pass it up. It would be unjust. He wanted to watch you smile, to be the one that caused that smile; he wanted to be the first person you went to when something good happened in your life; he wanted to feel your skin and not just in passing touches; he wanted to let it scold him, to embrace the flames.

“Ah, it seems I have ruined the mood,” he said smoothly.

He stood.

You went to stand too, but when you did the boiling liquid in your teacup splashed your hand. You hissed and dropped it. The porcelain shattered against the metal ground; the liquid spilt everywhere.

Wriothesley sat back down on the settee and took your warm hand in his immediately not sparing a second to glance down at his soaked boots. They encased yours and worked to chill the burn; one of the many benefits of having a cryo vision. The two of you couldn't be any more different. Fire and ice co-exist? Impossible. Unimaginable. Dangerous. The tenderness in which he held your hand sets your heart ablaze as if it wasn’t already. Had he been telling the truth? You knew the Duke better than most, and with that knowledge you know he wasn’t the type to lie about that, but did he mean it? Could he mean it?

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Wriothesley’s attention remained on the forming boil on your soft skin. He soothed it gently, trying not to give you frost-burn. Thankfully the natural heat of your skin stopped his cryo from hurting you further.

“For what?” he responded softly, bringing your hand up to his lips and breathing out cool frosty air. You felt like mush, and if it weren’t for the dull ache in your hand you would have snatched up the opportunity to run said hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. It always looked so soft and maybe he would allow you to touch it.

You pulled a face between flustered and self-loathing.

“That was one of your expensive teacups,” you managed to choke out.

He continued to blow cool air onto your hand.

“There will be other teacups,” he says, his lips barely an inch from your skin.

You wanted to melt on the spot.

“But—“

He sighed and said your name sternly looking up at you through the haze of dark lashes.

“Why would I worry about a teacup when you are hurt?” he asked and lowered your hand from his lips. “In any case, I should apologise for ruining a perfectly good meeting. If you have said all you need to say then—”

You waved your hands, flabbergasting him as you snatched them from his cool encasing, momentarily forgetting about the burn, and cutting him off mid-speech.

“No, you didn’t,” you yelped.

He half smiled at the scarlet tint of your ears, and taking your burnt hand back into his, he proceeded to gently apply cryo to the festering burn.

“Ah, is that so?” he chuckled. “Alright then, how will you pay me back?”

“Huh?”

“You broke my favourite teacup, after all. So—“ he said your name with a hint of mischief in his smooth voice. “How will you pay me back?”

“That’s not fair!” You straightened in your seat. “How can that be your favourite teacup when they all look the same? Are you just saying that to make me feel worse than I already do?”

He cocked a brow and tugged you forward. You fell into him, your free hand coming to rest on his lower abdominal. Your nose brushed his, and you felt his cool breath against your cheeks. His breathe smelt of spearmint. Your lips twitched and you tried to focus on the scar under his eye (the one you’ve always wanted to trace with the tips of your fingers) so as to not meet his icy blue stare, or to glance down at the obvious smirk on his lips. You wanted to kiss him; you could kiss him; would he let you kiss him?

Wriothesley watched your tongue dart out to swipe across your lips; he wanted to bite it; but he had more control than that. He had an image to uphold. The Duke was supposed to be fair and reasonable; he was supposed to lead by example and be a neutral figure of respect and reverence, not a brute without self-control. He pushed you back gently, hoping beyond hope that in your shock you haven’t noticed how hard he was.

“Kidding, of course,” he drawled.

Anger coloured your face and you punched his shoulder, half seriously. You hissed and shake your still very much wounded hand. You had been duelling partners for a while when you had spent a significant amount of time in the Fortress pretending to be a convict back when you were neither friend nor whatever you were now. He’d only agreed to it at the time because you managed to beat everyone and nearly him.

“You are breathtaking,” he muttered. “Come on let’s get you to Sigewinne.”

He stood and offered you his hand.

Your heart stuttered. Even though you weren’t native to Fontaine you were well-versed in their mother language, but even then, you didn’t believe your ears.

“What?” you asked.

He chuckled again, a deep and hearty sound.

“When will I stop doubting the ears of a seasoned traveler,” he said out loud although it was meant for his ears alone. He must have been mentioning your mutual friend, the blond traveler, and their small pixie pie companion, Paimon. You have been accompanying them on a few commissions and quests here and there, especially through Natlan. Which kept you away from Fontaine for significant periods of time, much to Wriothesley’s silent dismay.

However, he would never keep something so precious away from the light. He tried to keep a pet once—not that you were a pet—but he soon realised that it was wrong to keep something meant to be in the sun away from it. And if he couldn’t do it to a small animal then he definitely couldn’t do that to you. You were a traveller, not even native to Fontaine. Although you have made it clear countless amounts of times that Fontaine is your favourite region; he can’t help but feel like you weren’t meant to be chained to one place. He won’t be your administrator, the fortress won’t be your prison, and he couldn’t imagine keeping you in this cage with him. He refused to, even if his more selfish desires would have you cuffed to his desk where he could gaze upon you forever till you hated him and wished him gone.

“No, I want to talk first,” you said.

“I assure you we can talk after your hand has been seen too.”

“Wriothesley.”

Your tone went straight to his cock. You have never said his name, at least not his face. Even when you’re both around your mutual ‘friends’ you still have only ever called him ‘your grace.’ He wanted to hear you say his name again. He wanted to hear you say his name breathlessly, desperately, whilst you crumbled into each other. He cleared his throat and walked across his office hoping that the distance would stop you from noticing the obvious tent in trousers. He fiddled with the cuffs on his hips to distract himself and pulled at his tie.

“You really should go…to Sigewinne,” he said.

You approached him. He turned away from you facing a bookshelf. You brushed your fingertips to his forearm feeling the chilling aura around his skin. You expected him to pull away, for him to stop you from going past the point of no return, but he didn’t.

“Wriothesley,” you said his name again, this time with a wistful air. You don’t even realise you’re saying it. You never said it; not to him, only to the crisp cold darkness when your back arched on your sheets late into the night.

“Say it again,” he said.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

Your eyes widened as you realised your mistake. You have always tried not to say his name to separate your lustful fantasies from the real man.

He faced you, capturing your gaze and with it your heart too in his glacial eyes that looked so warm. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but obey. His name slipped out in a hushed prayer: “Wriothesley.”

In turn, he said yours; just as quiet, just as wanting.

“You really should go to Sigewinne,” he said and ghosts his thumb along your jaw.

“What if I don’t want to?” you stepped closer. “What if I want to stay right here?”

His expression darkened.

“You shouldn’t,” he said with no bite behind it.

You didn’t budge.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, sounding way more desperate than you intended. Before you could cringe at yourself, he had you caged in his arms, mouth cold against yours. He groaned when you bit down on this bottom lip, and for the first time, you felt his thick erection brush against your stomach.

None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of kissing Wriothesley and any pain in your hand disappeared altogether. He kissed you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth; like you were his last gulp of air before he dissolved into primordial water.

He tugged on your shirt.

“If you don’t take this thing off right now I’m going to rip it,” he said, his breath laboured.

You reached under your shirt, and he helped you slip it over your head. He threw it away and pulled you into another kiss. His hand wrapped in your hair.

You took off his tie and his waistcoat, his usual fur coat was already draped on the back of his large red chair. He stopped you unbuttoning his shirt, shaking his head, trailing kisses along your jaw, and down your neck as he walked you backwards to his desk. He unclasped your bra. He watched it slide down your arms and then tossed it somewhere that was going to be your future you’s problem.

“Up,” he ordered.

You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grasped the underside of your thighs and placed you down on the free space of his grand desk.

He bit your shoulder, and you moaned out his name in a way that had him almost feral. He lapped at the wound and kissed it. You threw your head back biting down on your lip. He continued leaving kisses and nibbles along your collarbone, slowly lowering until your breasts were under his hungry gaze. You suddenly felt nervous. You wouldn’t say you were insecure in your looks. You knew that your looks were something to behold and of which you were very proud. They’ve come in handy in your many jobs as many times as they have caused unnecessary issues but being under the watchful gaze of Wriothesley felt different… intimate. You tried to bring your hands up to cover yourself. Wriothesley caught your wrists, looking up at you from his crouched position.

“Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

“Wriothesley,” you said.

“If you aren’t comfortable, we can stop,” he assured you, although the words pained him and his dick, consent was king—always. If you weren’t comfortable, he could always sort himself out later. You were the most important thing to him. He let go of your wrists and you dropped them, letting him feast his eyes on your breasts.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“If you change your mind, just tell me and we’ll stop,” he said. “Give me a safe word.”

“Cake,” you instantly responded.

“Cake?” He cocked a brow. “Cake, it is.”

Without a moment spared, he grasped your breasts and planted a kiss there, dragging his lips over your nipples in a way that made you shiver. He smiled to himself at the occasional whimpers that left you; even more pleased that he was the one causing them.

“I love the noises you make. I love your voice. I’m obsessed with it. I wish to capture it and listen to it whenever you’re away,” he groaned.

He dragged his tongue down, further, and further until he was on his knees, he pushed up your skirt that had been bothering him since you crossed your gorgeous legs earlier. He was tempted to have you keep it on when he fucked you, for no other reason than the thought that the next time you decided to wear that poor excuse of a skirt he knew all you would be able to think about was how he messed you up in it. The thought brought him immense pleasure.

He slid his hands into your shorts, squeezing your thighs. The flimsy piece of black material and whatever surprise underwear beneath it were the only things keeping him from what he wanted. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to feel how you’ll curl on his tongue; he wanted to feel you gripping his hair and screaming his name as he brought you to a high only he could give you.

“These damn shorts,” he grumbled.

“I climb mountains. How else am I going to keep myself comfortable?” you asked.

He tutted and tore them open; the fabric did not put up much of a fight at all.

“I guess you won’t be climbing mountains anytime soon,” he said guiding the torn fabric down your legs.

“Those were my favourites, you brute.”

He winked up at you.

“Ah, I suppose that makes us even,” he drawled.

Was he thinking about that damn teacup right now?

“How are you?” He said, checking in on you.

“Good.”

He smiled and your heart melted a little.

He froze when he took in the sight of your lingerie.

“Were you thinking of me when you bought these?”

“Don’t get too cocky,” you said.

“Too late.”

You bit your lip. It hadn’t been intentional, your underwear matching the colour of his eyes. He trailed his nose up the soaked fabric brushing your clit. You grabbed his hair at the stimulation. You felt the beginnings of the scruff threatening to break out of his chin tickling you as he guided your lingerie aside and gave your clit an ardent lick. Wriothesley wasn’t big on savoury treats, but you weren’t savoury, you tasted like you, and you were fast becoming his favourite dessert.

“You taste divine,” he said.

“Oh Archons,” you muttered.

“They won’t hear you down here,” he said.

It didn’t take long before your toes were curling, and you were chanting his name. Wriothesley gripped your thigh with one hand and fingered you with the other, stretching you out in preparation for him; because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that you were going to cum around him. He was going to feel the way you would clench around him; he was going to watch your blissed-out face twist as he fucked you hard into his desk. Although he would love to feel you climax on his face there would be time for that. He’d be damned if this was the first and only time he had you. You were his. Morals and reputation be damned, he wanted—no, needed to be inside you. He didn’t care if the entirety of Meropide could hear you; in fact, he got off on the thought.

Just when you felt like you were about to climax, he pulled away and licked his lips. You glared at him as he stood and bent over you kissing you softer than before. You could taste yourself on his lips, and instead of it turning you off it spurred you on. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, grinding against his clothed erection.

“Do you trust me?” he asked between heated kisses.

Everything felt wet like you both were melting, and you probably were. If so, you didn’t care, becoming water wasn’t half bad if it was with him. You heard his cuffs before you saw them spinning around the two fingers that had been inside you.

“Right now, no,” you lied.

He half smiled.

“I suppose I deserve that. I guess I’ll just have to persuade you then.”

You untangled from around him. He stepped back unbuttoning his shirt and revealing lean scar-littered skin. You wanted to reach out and so you did, tracing the long jagged discoloured scars, slightly keloid. Some looked fresher than others. He shivered and breathed out a low groan when you grazed over his nipple. He raised his signature cuffs.

“Give me your wrists,” he said.

It clinked when it secured around both wrists. The spiked metal looked so beautiful against your skin; he was almost tempted to throw away the key.

“Oh no, you’ve caught me, your grace,” you teased. Something you shouldn’t have done because the way he looked at you after told you that you had triggered something in him.

“You did break my favourite teacup after all,” he said.

“I thought we were even.”

You watched him slowly unbuckle his belt and step between your legs. There would be time for savouring the moment later, many moments if he could help it but not then. You felt his erection only covered by the thin fabric of his boxers press against your vagina, he leans over you caging you between his arms and the desk.

“Indeed, we are for breaking.” He nibbled on your ear, “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. That was an expensive cup you know some flimsy shorts won’t cover the costs. You should know I only play fair, and you got some of the tea on my freshly shined boots.”

Your cuffed hands resting on your stomach fiddled with the lining of his boxers. You lost your breath when he nuzzled into the base of your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” he grunted.

You manage to slip his cock out.

“Says the man who denied me my orgasm.”

You felt his smile on your neck.

He rubbed his cock along your folds but didn’t push in. He wanted to be sure that you’re sure.

“I don’t think friends do this,” he said as he continued to edge your hole.

“Just fuck me already,” you sassed.

He thrust into you, filling you completely. He was thicker than you expected, thicker than you had had before. You couldn’t be more thankful for the earlier foreplay because without it he wouldn’t have fit. He remained still for a while, and you slowly adjusted to his size. The dull ache of the intrusion quickly turned from discomfort to bliss.

“Wriothesley.”

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he breathed. “Don’t stop saying my name.”

You didn’t.

“Good girl,” he said.

The desk jutted, the papers shook, and books slid off the desk smacking the floor in their wake, but the sound was lost to you both. Despite his strong persona, and much to your delight, he didn’t hold back his occasional whimpers, and grunts. The sound blessed your ears like a symphony. Sometime after your first orgasm, he took off the cuffs and threw them to his settee.

He left the occasional bites and kisses on the underside of your jaw, and down to your breasts. You, in turn, added to the long scars down his back, your nails clawing into the flesh. He would treasure those when they scarred.

You guided his face up from your neck, where he had been breathing you in as if he couldn’t get enough of you into his system. In truth, he couldn’t. You kissed him deeply, filling it with all the words you hadn’t yet been able to say. You felt your third climax on the horizon as he hit the same spot that made your back arch.

“Wriothesley,” you said against his mouth. “There.”

He chased your lips.

“That’s it,” he said, rolling his hips. He slipped a hand between your rocking bodies and rubbed your swollen clit. You let out a needy moan.

“I’ve got you,” he said as you clenched around him.

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave of primordial water. He held you to him, as he continued to thrust towards his own high, encasing you in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groaned.

Wriothesley felt like he was on cloud nine. Being with you was entirely different from what he imagined in the best way possible. It felt like a dream having you here, in his arms, pliant to his every desire. In each kiss, he pretended that you felt the same way; that you wanted the same things. He pretended that this moment wasn’t just a moment but forever—because he wanted you forever.

He slowed down prolonging the experience and straightened up looking down at the fucked-out expression on your face. He knew he didn’t look any better. Swiping a hand through his hair, he continued to roll his hip slowly. He placed a hand on your pelvis steadying you. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat which glistened under the light of the office. He felt like he was melting into you—like you were melting into each other.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered opening your arms for him, beckoning him home. And truly, to him, you felt like home.

He pushed his damp hair back once again, before leaning over you. With a final grunt and a spam of your walls around him, he came. He didn’t pull out right away, wrapping his arms around you as if afraid to let go.

Your thighs were sticky from your combined releases, and your body felt like it had been sitting in a sauna for hours but seeing the rare, satisfied look on his face made it all worth it. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You owe me new shorts,” you said.

“I’ll buy you as many shorts as your heart desires,” he uttered, tiredly.

“Really?”

He hummed and nodded slowly.

“Good because I think I’m going to need a lot of them if you’re going to rip them off every time,” you said causing him to perk up. “You know to repay for the teacup.”

“Oh?”

“Unless this was a one-time thing then—“you hesitated.

He kissed you again, unable to hide his smile.

“Next time let’s use my bed.”

“I’d like that,” you said.

He tried to intertwine your hands, but you winced when he brushed against the forming boil.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and to Sigewinne, for real this time.”

“First, can we have a cup of tea?” you asked.

He laughed. Of course, you wanted to have tea. He could do with some tea too; he was famished after all. He laid a kiss on your forehead and made a mental note to send Clorinde an extra box of his finest tea.

“Of course, first let's clean up and then we'll have tea. I promise, but don’t spill it this time.”

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 8 months

Text

The Elevator - Charles Leclerc

You had just gotten into the elevator of your apartment building, eyes glued to your phone as you texted a few friends. You knew there was someone else in there, but you didn't pay them much notice.

As the elevator started to ascend, the lights above you started blinking. The elevator rattled, before grinding to a stiff halt. "Shit," you mumbled, unsure of what to do. The stranger stepped forward to see if he could find the 'open doors' button on the control panel, but he just looked downright confused.

You finally got a good look at him, and he was handsome, to say the least. His dark brown hair was slightly overgrown and his green eyes glowed under the emergency lights of the elevator. "Normally the door button works," he mumbled, pressing the button a few times.

"I think you should probably press the 'get help' button," you explained, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea," he lightly smiled, pressing the button with no more back-lighting. "And now, we wait," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

"These guys take a while to fix this thing, so we're going to be here for a while," you said, knowing how long the maintenance people took to get to the elevator and find out the problems with it. "You live here?" he asked, trying to make conversation so that it wouldn't be awkward.

"Yeah, I've been here for about a year now, and I have taken the stairs every time apart from today," you said, causing the stranger to chuckle along with you. "What about you? I've never seen you around here before,"

"I'm just here visiting a friend, but I don't think I'll be seeing him anytime soon," he nodded, sighing. Silence settled over the two of you, and there was some sort of tension in the air. Both of you wanted to say something, but neither of you knew what to say.

"So, what's your name?" You asked, his attention averting back to you.

"I'm Charles, what about you?" he asked back, glad you were getting acquainted.

"I'm Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," you said, holding your hand out to him for him to shake. You had never done that before, so you were mentally asking yourself why you were being like that. Normally you just smiled or hugged someone, not shook their hand.

But, Charles was cordial and extended his hand out to you, shaking it. "The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," he said, something in his eye sparkling as he looked at you.

"So guys, we think the problem is something to do with the wiring, but we'll need to get a team down the elevator shaft to be sure. The minimum time we're going to be able to do that is an hour, the maximum... I don't know. It is a Saturday after all. The cameras aren't working, so if you two want to find a way to entertain yourselves, be my guest. I'll give you a five minute warning," the voice of someone rang out over the speakers.

You and Charles were both visibly creeped out by his suggestion, and you had a feeling that the cameras were in fact working and he was probably just being creepy. "I am perfectly entertained, thank you," you said, as if he could still hear you.

Charles chuckled at your comment, knowing it wouldn't come to that. Probably.

"We've got an hour, so there's time for a movie or something?" Charles asked, getting his phone out of his pocket. "You don't happen to have any popcorn, do you?" You smiled, taking a seat next to him as he also sat down.

"No, I don't, but I do have Netflix," he smiled, shuffling up closer to you.

"It's a good job I have bad habits when it comes to leaving the house," you said, producing a bag of popcorn out of your bag. "Every time I go out, I have to get some from the store around the corner. It's an own-brand, and it is the best," you explained, opening the bag and placing it in-between you.

"What kind of movies do you like?" Charles asked, taking some popcorn and popping it in his mouth, "This is really good, by the way,"

"I like comedies, or a nice romance. Or even better yet, a rom-com," you told him, taking some of the popcorn yourself, "But whatever you like is fine, I'm not too fussy,"

"Action comedy?" he asked, scrolling through his phone to try and find a movie.

"Sounds good to me," you nodded, taking your jacket off and making a pillow for yourself out of it. It was a lot better than sitting on the cold floor. "Now that is a good idea," he said, shrugging his jacket off as well. "Can you hold this?" he said, handing you his phone.

You took it and immediately scrolled to his 'continue watching' section. "You've got good taste here, Charles," you said, looking through what he had. "You've got some classics, The Office, Friends, Drive to Survive? What's that? And why have you only watched like, two random episodes?"

"Because they're the best ones, they have this guy called Charles Leclerc in them. He's great," he smiled, knowing full well you didn't know who he was. "We have the same first name, it's pretty cool," he smugly smirked, taking his phone back off you.

"How's Murder Mystery with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston sounding?" he asked.

"Pretty good," you nodded as he clicked play. You both sat there, laughing along to the movie and he had made a pretty good choice.

"Hello lovebirds! This is your five minute warning. I know the phrase is 'don't come knocking when the elevators' rocking', but we have to do what we have to do," the maintenance guy said over the speaker.

"This guy is so strange," you said to Charles, and he nodded in agreement with a laugh.

"And very horny," he said, causing a blush to creep up onto your cheeks.

"You got that right," you said, wanting to resume the movie. You stood up to put your jacket back on, since the temperature in there had dropped significantly. You decided you were just going to deal with having a sore behind.

Even with your jacket on, it still wasn't warming you up like you thought it would. You tried not to physically shiver, and Charles noticed. "You alright?" he asked, turning to the side to look at you. "Yeah, just a bit cold,"

"Here, take this," he said, pulling his jacket out from underneath him and draping it over your shoulders. "Are you not cold?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. Sure, it was a bit cold in there, but you looked like you needed it more. You were shivering.

After a bit, you heard some banging and crashing going on above you. "It's either help is here, or the sky is falling down," Charles said, pausing the movie so you didn't get interrupted anymore.

"Thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully for you two, the issue is nearly resolved and you can be on your merry way in around five minutes," the weird speaker guy said.

"Does your friend still want you to go over?" you asked.

"Yeah, he said he's made dinner for us," he nodded, as the elevator sprung back into life and whirred into action. It started ascending the apartment block again, and stopped at the floor you had been waiting to go to for hours.

The doors opened with a ding, and the pair of you stood up from the cold floor. When Charles looked away for a second, you slipped a small piece of folded paper into his jacket pocket. "After you," he said, standing beside the door.

"Thanks," you said, stepping out and glad to stretch your legs. "You going left or right?" You asked as you stood in the corridor. "I'm going to 118, so that is...?"

"Left. Wait, 118? I live in 116," you said, smiling.

"You must know my friend, then,"

"I sure do, he's a nice guy," you said, leading the way and walking down the hall. "This is us," you said, standing outside of your apartment door. "Well, I enjoyed spending the world's longest elevator ride with you, Y/N," Charles smiled, standing in front of you.

"I enjoyed it too, Charles," you said. Charles didn't move, he just stood there with you.

"Hey, Charles, Y/N," your neighbour said, opening the door to his apartment.

"Hey, I'll see you later, Charles. I'll let you get to dinner," you smiled, unlocking the door. Charles reluctantly walked away, stepping into the next apartment along. As you took your multiple jackets off, you realised you still had Charles'.

Quickly running out of the door, you knocked on the next door and Charles opened it since he was still in the entrance hall. "Hey, your jacket," you said, handing it to him. "Thanks for that, I needed it," you smiled, turning away.

"Have a nice night, Y/N," Charles said, poking his head out of the door.

"You too," you chirped, closing your door.

When Charles went home that night, after taking the stairs, he rummaged around in his pockets to try and find his keys. As he pulled them out, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up, and unfolded it when he went inside.

'We should go and get fresh popcorn next time - Y/N,' it said, with your number scrawled on the bottom. He smiled, opening his phone and immediately punching your number into his contacts. He didn't message for a while, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Hey Y/N, it's Charles. You free on Sunday? There's a carnival in town and my friend said they make popcorn with any topping you want, would love to go with you," he said, rewriting the message over and over before plucking up the courage and sending it.

You were about to close your eyes for the night when your phone beeped, and you saw a text from an unknown number. A huge smile spread across your face as you saw who it was from. "Hey Charles, I'd love to go to the carnival. We could walk from mine? Saves you driving all the way," you replied.

Charles was itching with excitement when he saw your text, and was immensely glad to have been in that elevator. Taking the stairs was overrated anyway.

A/N - Do we want to see Charles and Y/N go to the carnival in town and have popcorn?

|masterlist|

#f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagines #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #fluff #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #cl16

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